Thrust, lever, lift and throw

Calum thrust the spade into the sod and turned it. Repeated the process to form a grave-sized hole, then stared at the stars until his sight blurred with tears.

He returned to his digging, working methodically – thrust, lever, lift, throw. A rhythm at a steady tempo, stopping only to wipe the sweat from his brow.

Once the edge reached his waist he clambered out and stretched.

The tears started again as he rolled the body in. He really didn’t want to kill her. She shouldn’t provoked him. Shouldn’t have …

He shovelled the soil back, the rhythm sapping his regret.

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

No way back

‘What do you think you’re playing at Ryan?’

‘What?’

‘Telling people that we’re dating?’

‘Well, you know … I was planning to …’

‘You’ve heard of consent, right? That both people have to agree? This is the same. You can’t just universally declare a relationship.’

‘I get that. Look, sorry Lorna, I got ahead of myself. Of us. But …’
There is no us, Ryan. There’s never going to be an us.’

‘I said I was sorry. Can we not just …’

‘No, we can’t. Respect and trust, Ryan. You’ve destroyed them both and there’s no way back from that.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

The slow reel

 Marie cast the line far out into the lake and started to reel it in slowly. The weather was on the cusp of turning, but that was fine; the rain would bring the fish to the surface. A few moments later, the first drops speckled the surface. Fifty yards to her right a doe and her calf broke the treeline, halting before cautiously edging to the water. The rain was pouring down now. Marie continued to reel the line, not caring whether it lured a fish. That was incidental to process. The deer disappeared into the forest leaving her alone.

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.