Saturday, June 24, 2017


The water was the colour of valentine roses.

The woman shades of Rosemoor.

‘I hate this job sometimes,’ Naylor said. ‘What is she, thirty five?’

‘About that,’ Kinsale replied.  ‘She cut her own wrists?’

‘Well, something’s been cut.’ Naylor hovered over the bath. ‘We better leave it for the tech team. Who found her?’

‘Her daughter. Seven. Had the presence of mind to ring it in. Didn’t touch anything. Said she watches CSI.’

‘Jesus. I was still watching cartoons at seven. Vicious GBH and everyone bounced back.’

‘She says she wants to be a policewoman.’

‘Sounds like she already is.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Oh, what an awful thing that would be, to find your own mum like that. This story packs a punch, Rob - well done.