Sunday Scribblings: Late
A little something for an interesting Sunday Scribblings prompt, in 100 words. Yep, that’s a Drabble.
Late
The word hung in his head, stayed on the lips, a bitter bile.
Collar up against the wind, it echoed in his ears.
Over pizza - she’d let him pick the toppings - and a cold bottle of Chardonnay (which she mysteriously declined), she’d said it.
“I’m late.”
(And in saying so bit her lower lip until it turned pale white.)
Confused, he said something about the pizza delivery.
“Late, Donny. I’m pregnant.”
A coolness spread within him; he’d (luckily) declined to ask her if it was his. He downed the wine, got his coat, went for the door.
“I need air.”
Late
The word hung in his head, stayed on the lips, a bitter bile.
Collar up against the wind, it echoed in his ears.
Over pizza - she’d let him pick the toppings - and a cold bottle of Chardonnay (which she mysteriously declined), she’d said it.
“I’m late.”
(And in saying so bit her lower lip until it turned pale white.)
Confused, he said something about the pizza delivery.
“Late, Donny. I’m pregnant.”
A coolness spread within him; he’d (luckily) declined to ask her if it was his. He downed the wine, got his coat, went for the door.
“I need air.”
Comments
I want to know what happened. *grinz*
~Jules
http://casadejules.net/quepasa/?p=306
Ooooh, classic! And the first two sentences, a string of miseries, music to my ears that listen for combinations, food, for the soul, cooked just right :-)
missalister
but i just loved the way you created this scene !!