Sunday, June 26, 2022

She was his choice

 Sandra closed her eyes and rolled her neck.

‘You’re just going to give up?’ Kate asked.


‘Even though you love him?’

‘What do you think I should do?’

‘Fight for him.’

‘You don’t fall out of love because someone else is in love with you.’

‘People are tempted away from partners all the time.’

‘She was his choice.’

‘At least give him a choice.’

‘I’m too tired for this, Kate. I’m not going to throw myself at him or try to undermine her.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because they deserve better. And I wouldn’t want someone to do it to me.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Sunday, June 19, 2022

Losing him slowly

‘Josie, love,’ Tim shouted from the kitchen, ‘I can’t find the salt.’

‘In the cupboard above the toaster.’

‘Who’s Josie?’ Kate asked.

‘His first wife.’

‘He thinks you’re his first wife?’

‘I’m losing him slowly. He still remembers who I am. Mostly.’

‘I’m so sorry, Lorna.’

‘It seems that she’s his true love.’

‘You know that’s not true.’

Lorna shrugged and twisted her wedding ring. ‘He seems happier when he thinks I’m her.’

‘You’ve been married, what, forty years?’

‘Forty one.’

‘That’s true love.’


‘For me at least.’

‘For the both of you.’

‘I better give him a hand.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Sunday, June 12, 2022

Only takes once to destroy trust

‘What you mean she’s gone?’

‘She moved out yesterday. We packed everything into a van; then she left.’

‘Where’d she go?’

‘I’ve no idea.’

‘You expect me to believe that? You’re her best friend.’

‘You can believe what you like, but she said if I didn’t know, I couldn’t say.’

‘What about a forwarding address?’

‘Her mother.’

‘I don’t believe this.’

‘I didn’t think you’d hit her.’

‘I … it was only once. I was drunk. I said I was sorry.’

‘It only takes once to destroy trust. And it can never be fully repaired.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Sunday, June 5, 2022

In the shadows

Paul had drunk too much. The party had spilled out of the house into the garden, small groups sitting on the grass, music drifting through patio doors. He’d retreated into the shadows, leaning against a tree trunk. Somehow, the longer a party progressed the more alone and out of place he felt.

‘It must be nice …’

Paul startled.

‘to be a party person.’

The woman was further into the shadows.

‘I …’

‘Me too.’

They stood in silence for a few minutes.



It was half-an-hour before Sarah said, ‘I …’


They crept out of the shadows.

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.