Cursing is a kind of praying

‘What the fuck was that?’ Popowski muttered, wrestling with a jammed door.

‘Probably a gun magazine,’ Hansen replied. ‘Half the ship must be ablaze by now.’

‘Fuck! We’re trapped in a fucking sinking tin can.’

‘Our Father in heaven, hallowed be ...’

The two men glanced down at the man praying.

‘Sorry about the cursing, padre,’ Hansen said.

The pastor smiled. ‘Cursing is a kind of praying, son. And all prayers are welcome right now.’

‘Fucking, right,’ Popowski muttered. ‘But you can’t hustle on your knees, padre; but you can pray while pushing a fucking door.’  

‘Amen.’

‘On three, push.’


A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.