‘How are you, George?’
His skin was paper thin, tight to his bones, eyes buried deep in their sockets.
‘You’re still in pain?’
He tried to nod his head.
‘Do you want me to make it go away?’
He blinked, thinking that he hated rhetorical questions. Hated this damn hospital. Hated the cancer that had put him here.
She produced a syringe. ‘Morphine. It’ll make it all disappear.’
He watched her roll up his sleeve, the needle being fed into a vein, wondering about the use of ‘all’.
‘The pain will drift away, then a moment of karma, then ...’
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words