Dead every which way

‘Where’s the beach?’

‘In front of us.  Keep rowing.’

‘Bloody fog.’

‘It’s keeping us hidden.’

‘We could be rowing out to sea for all we know.’

‘We’re heading the same way as the waves.’

‘And we’re going to surf in, are we?’

‘That’s the plan. Do you hear that?’

‘What?’

‘Waves breaking.’

The two brothers kept rowing.

The cliff loomed out of the fog.

‘Oh shit. We need to turn round.’

‘We’ll be side-on to the waves; we’ll capsize.’

‘If we don’t turn, we’ll hit the rocks.’

‘If we lose this consignment we’re dead.’

‘We’re dead every which way. Great.’



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.