‘It’s your turn, Coles, I did the last one.’
The big man nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek.
‘I fucking hate doing them,’ his companion continued.
He stared over at the drab, semi-detached house.
‘I can take seeing the body, but the family ... fuck, can’t sleep for a week.’
He pushed open the car door and trudged across the quiet road, trying to mentally compose the words that might break it gently. Humanely.
The front door was opened by a man with grey hair and skin, his eyes nursing a slither of hope.
There’d be little sleep tonight.
A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.