Jack downed the whisky.
‘What would you do if you could see the future?’
‘Find out that week’s lottery numbers.’ Greg refilled the glass.
‘But what if you were going to die?’
‘Then Gemma would be a rich widow.’
‘I’m being serious. What if you could foretell your own death?’
‘Then I’d change my future.’
‘How?’
‘By avoiding whatever kills me; steering clear of the place and activity.’
‘What if you can’t?’
‘Then you’re fucked. Relax; none of us know our future.’
‘I knew you’d say that.’
‘Déjà vu.’
‘I know a truck is about to plough through that wall.’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.
1 comment:
Oh, I like that last line, Rob! And it's a really interesting question, too: what would you do if you could foretell your own death.... Maybe it's better we can't.
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