‘Hey, son, are you okay?’
Paddy dropped down to his haunches.
The boy was curled up under a privet hedge.
‘You alive?’
A leg started to stretch.
‘Well, at least you’re breathing. You need help?’
‘Leave me alone.’
‘You can’t lie there, son. You’ll catch your death with cold.’
‘I’ll be gone in a minute.’
‘Here, let me help you up.’
‘I’m fine.’ The boy shuffled out onto the pavement.
‘Jesus, you don’t look fine.’
The boy’s face was badly bruised.
‘You need to see a doctor.’
‘I need you to leave me alone.’
‘No-one wants to be alone, son.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
This hits hard in a very deftly-done way, Rob. I'd love to know what happened to the boy, and whether or not he gets the help he obviously needs.
Post a Comment