Son

Richard glanced over at the boy, who was staring intently at a videogame.

His eyes tracked back to the report. 99.98 percent match. The boy was definitely his.

He’d found him waiting outside the apartment, along with two suitcases, a box of books and toys, and a DNA test. The note simply said, ‘I need you to take care of your son.’

He was still mulling over the identity of the mother. Trying to explain to the wrong ex-girlfriend might cause further headaches and set a rumour-mill spinning.  

And what was he meant to say to the boy? To Marie?

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Defensive wounds

‘She stabbed herself.’

‘In the neck?’ DS Branigan leant over the body.

‘Yes.’

The man was sitting on the edge of the sofa, staring at the floor.

‘And her hands and arms?’

‘She slashed them.’

‘Before or after she stabbed her neck?’

‘I … I don’t know.’

‘She cut both hands but there’s barely any blood on the knife handle.’

The man stayed silent.

‘You were arguing?’

‘No.’

‘The neighbours heard you.’

‘She was upset. Suicidal.’

‘And you let her get a knife?’

‘I …’

‘You stabbed her. The hands and arms are defensive wounds.’

‘No.’

‘That wasn’t a question.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

The last step

Anthony turned to face the river, clutching the railing at his back.

It somehow seemed inviting, the moonlight shimmering on the eddies.

He lifted a foot, leaving it hovering.

‘Is that really the answer, son?’

‘Probably.’

‘What about your parents?’

‘They won’t give a shit. I’ve failed all of their expectations.’

‘I sure that’s not true. And your friends?’

‘What friends?’

‘How about I be your friend then?’

‘No thanks.’

‘I’m a good listener.’

Anthony stared at the quick moving water.

‘Come-on, son. Climb back over.’

Anthony looked back, held the old man’s gaze and let go of the bridge.



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Prick

‘I don’t understand what the problem is?’

‘You!’ Jane whirled to face David. ‘You’re the problem.’

‘I’m the problem?’

‘You’re a self-centred prick.’

‘Is this still about your birthday?’

Jane shot out her hands; David flew backwards off the towpath, landing with a splash.

‘Jane set off without a backward glance.

‘Jane! … Jane!’

She ignored the frantic splashing.

‘I can’t swim!’

Jane turned, hands on hips.

‘Jane! Help!’

‘Put your feet down and stand up.’

‘Jane!’

‘Stand up.’

‘I can’t swim.’

‘But you can stand.’

‘I’m ... drowning.’

‘I’m not jumping in. Stand up. That’s it.’

‘I …’

‘Prick.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Different worlds

‘Let me get this straight. At school, she wasn’t your equal so you rejected her. Now she’s a famous actress and you’re a university researcher with a shitty wage you rejected her again because she’s surpassed you.’

‘That’s not what I said. I …’

‘That’s the essence of it.’

‘We live in different worlds.’

‘But both times she asked to be with you. It was her that asked again, right?’

‘I’ve fucked up, haven’t I?’

‘Duh! You over-think everything. How do you really feel about her?’

‘That she could do better than me.’

‘Not you, her.’

‘She’s … lovely.’

‘Idiot.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.