Saturday, August 2, 2014

My name’s Marie

Marie sauntered into the site portacabin.  Five men were seated at two tables, a hot-water urn steamed in the corner.

‘Howya doing, Rosie?’ said a thick-necked man.

‘My name’s, Marie.’ 

‘This is no place for a pretty woman named Marie.  Convent’s over on James Street.’

One of the other men laughed.

‘You’ve nothing to giggle about, lard-ass.  I’m a much better lay than you: bricks and bed.’

‘What are you?  Some kind of lego whore?’ thick-neck said.

The roundhouse kick sent him tumbling to the floor, out cold.

Marie headed to the urn.  ‘Anyone else want to test my patience?’




A drabble is a story of exactly 100 words.