“We havenʼt heard from your mum all day.”
We trudge round, hands gripping pocket linings. Ring the doorbell. Knock loudly.
The lounge is vacant, television blaring. The dining room silent, cereal bowl empty.
Bedrooms lie as still as their dust.
Laurence rushes to the bathroom, I catch a glimpse, I pull him back.
There, slumped on the toilet, Mills and Boon has fallen flat. Blue and black and sagging all over.
The lounge isnʼt vacant now, voices murmur.
I listen as they drag her down the stairs, with the opposite of ease. Bump bump bump bump.
Story #39 was pulled out of Drabble #2 by the request of the writer.