Saturday, July 14, 2018


‘I don’t understand people who get so drunk they end up sleeping in gutters,’ Kate said.

‘What?’ Jim staggered to a halt.

‘Her. Over there.’

‘Is she’s okay?’ Jim stepped off the kerb.

‘She’s just drunk.’

‘Then why’s she covered in blood?’


Jim wandered over.

‘Dead, I reckon.’

‘What are you doing?’

‘What’s it look like I’m doing?’

‘Stealing her handbag.’

‘Give that woman a medal.’


‘She doesn’t need it anymore.’

‘Put it back.’

‘With my fingerprints on it. Not likely. Come-on, let’s scarper.’

‘We need to call the cops.’

‘Ah, Jesus, Kate. They’ll find her soon enough.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Oh, this one's nicely dark, Rob. Makes me wonder if Jim would've nicked that handbag if he'd been sober himself...