Rob Kitchin's Blog, page 6

Why didn't you look for me?

John almost collided with the young woman blocking the path.

‘You don’t recognize your daughter?’

‘Sorry?’

‘I recognized you straightaway.’

‘Jane?’

‘You have another daughter?’

‘No … Wow, what is it, fourteen years?’

‘Fifteen. And who’s fault is that? Nothing for fifteen years.’

‘Sorry. I sent a letter each week for a while. After that on special occasions. But I never received a reply’

‘Really?’

‘Your mother … She wanted a fresh start.’

‘So you just walked away?’

‘I wasn’t the one who left.’

‘Why didn’t you look for me?’

‘I … I wasn’t sure you’d want to be found.’

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

 

As always

 Greg peered through the glass pane.

‘Is she okay?’

‘Perfect,’ Kate said, ‘that’s why she’s ICU.’

‘There’s no need …’

‘She’s here because of you.’

‘Me?’

‘Your school girl floozy …’

‘She’s twenty four.’

‘… asked Emily and Tom whether they wanted to live with you permanently. And they said yes.’

‘She seemed to be struggling to look after them.’

‘Who’s fault is that? You left her to cope on her own. Then you tried to steal the one thing keeping her going.’

‘I didn’t think she’d try to top herself.’

‘You didn’t think about her at all. As always.’

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

No sympathy

 Kathy was surprised to find tearful Rachel on her doorstep.

‘Is he here?’

‘Why would that lying, cheating scumbag be here?’

‘Because he never stops droning on about you.’

‘I threw him out the day I found out he was fucking a slag. Why the hell would I take him back?’

‘Oh, god!’

‘What were you expecting, Rachel? You were his mistress. Is it a big surprise he’s another now?’

‘I thought …’

‘That it was different with you? Ha! I’d invite you in and give you a bit of comfort, but I’ve no fucking sympathy.’ Kathy slammed the door.


A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

The moment I opened the door

Cassie opened the door. ‘Oh, it’s you.’

Jeanne stared at her feet. ‘I came to say sorry.’

‘You’ve said it.’

‘I didn’t mean to …’

‘You did; you just regret it now.’

‘You’re right. Sorry. I just …’

‘You just?’

‘I just … self-sabotage. It’s a means of short-circuiting … minimizing loss.’

‘Short-circuiting?’

‘The pain of it ending later will be much greater than destroying it now.’

‘But it might be wonderful.’

‘But if it’s not?’

‘It will be if you give us a chance. If you take my hand.’

‘I’m forgiven?’

‘You were the moment I opened the door.’



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Time to drift free

‘You’re just going to let things slip away?’ Jason lifted the suitcase onto the guesthouse bed.

‘They’ve been slipping away for years, dear. It’s time to drift free.’

‘But what about me?’

‘You’re twenty-two; you expect me to stay with him for your sake?’

‘No, for your sake. Mum, do you really want to start over again?’

‘The reward for years of unhappiness is not more of the same’

‘No. But maybe … you used to be happy.’

‘Used to, but not anymore. This is the only way I might be again.’

‘And Dad?’

‘It’s the same for him, dear.’

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Second shot

‘Would you like a sample, Sir?’ Heidi waved the perfume bottle.

‘Wow, Helen Jacobs,’ the American boomed.

‘Heidi. How can …’

‘I always wondered … You were terrific in After the Storm.’

‘I don’t know …’

‘And here you are, working in an airport shop! So?’

‘Please, people are staring.’

‘So they should; you should have been a star.’

‘Clearly not.’

‘Look, I’m making a series for Netflix. You’d be perfect for the mother.’

‘I sell perfume.’

‘You’re an actor between jobs.’

‘I don’t ...’

‘And you’ve just landed a job.’

‘Is this a prank?’

‘This is a second shot.’



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

Inner beauty

As Tom bounded up Sylvie scanned the room looking for an exit.

‘Wow! You were magnificent.’

‘I’m not joining your team.’

‘I bet your husband hasn’t won an argument since he met you!’

‘Besides not having a husband, I don’t live my life as a debate.’

‘But you have it to an art form! It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful.’

‘According to Twitter I’m a dishevelled version of Susan Boyle.’

‘I’m talking inner beauty!’

‘So, I …’

‘I’m trying to give you compliments here.’

‘What do you want, Tom?’

‘D’you fancy dinner?’

‘…’

‘Wow, struck dumb! But do I want the riposte!’

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

This is the end

Matt toppled a pile of books onto the floor.

‘Just, stop.’

Chess pieces flew from their board.

‘I need this to end.’

‘What?’

‘Us. This. Whatever this is. I love you, but I hate myself when I’m with you.’

‘Huh?’

‘I need to love, even just like, myself. This … this is too self-destructive.’

‘You just said you love me.’

‘It’s not a healthy love, Matt. It’s all lies and silence and walking on eggshells. All we do is fight, sulk, kind of make-up, then repeat. It’s not good for either of us.’

‘Carrie?’

‘Sorry, Matt. This is the end.’

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words

Can't take any more

Ciara watched her father slide onto the floor.

Conor cannoned through the front door, halting at the sight of the prone body.

‘What’s up with Dad?’

‘Mum’s asked for a divorce.’

‘What?’

‘She said she can’t take any more.’

‘More of what?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Huh? Dad’s been having an affair?’

‘He’s way too boring for that.’

‘But what about us?’

‘We’re to stay here for now.’

‘Mum’s left?’

‘She’s staying with Sheila.’

‘She didn’t even wait to say goodbye?’

‘It just happened. He asked for the remote and she asked for a divorce, then left.’

‘But she’ll be back?’

Ciara shrugged.



A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.

That'd be a first

‘Jack, I like you. I could get serious about you, but you need to know that I was wild in my twenties; I’ve no idea how many men I’ve slept with. I’ve been the victim of revenge porn. I’m all over the frigging internet and you can never get rid of that shit. I had a kid, but she died. Leukemia. I’ll never get over it. I can be a bitch at that time of the month. If any of that’s a problem then let’s end before we start.’

‘I’d like to get serious too.’

‘Really? That’d be a first.’

 

A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.