Five 100-word stories from Tony Roberts

Here are four 100-word stories. I am a retired civil servant and local government officer and live in Shoreham. I write mainly short stories but occasionally lapse into poetry.

   Tony Roberts

 

AFTERMATH

Dr Jones was on his house calls when he heard that a bomb had gone off nearby; he went to help. He treated several of the injured the best he could. Then he found another; he recoiled in horror as the man was clearly dying in a pool of blood. He gave him a pain-killer, and held his hand. “Doctor can you help please.” It was one of the emergency team calling in some exasperation. “I’ve checked him; we can’t do anything.” Dr Jones nodded. He brushed away his tears, kissed his son goodbye and hurried over to the waiting medic.

 

MISSING MOBILE

 

It was the morning after the party and the house resembled a battlefield. I had the task of clearing up while Judy went to work.

“Bye then,” she muttered. I sighed; things were not good between us.

Later I found a mobile. I shrugged; I knew its owner would ring to track it down.

 

It rang at lunchtime; I pressed answer.

Before I could speak I heard a voice harsh and strident; it was Judy.

“You bastard, where are you? I’ve wasted six months of my life on you.”

“Hi Judy, who do you wish to speak to?” I said.

 

OLD FRIENDS 100

I recognised her immediately when she answered the door. It was a posh house in a posh street and she now wore smart designer clothes and that expensive hair-do.

“Tom, in 10 years you will still be in some dead-end job. I mean to get on,” she said the day she left me and clearly she had. “Who is it Claire?” came a cultured voice from inside the house. Claire, I thought; it was Tracey when I knew you. But I gave her the corporate smile as I handed over two cardboard boxes.

“Good evening; Pizza Express at your service.

 

STROKE

Sue smiled when she saw John fall to the floor. They had been warned a second stroke was possible. And it was just after his first stroke that as he rambled in a semi- delirious state in his hospital bed she learned of his long-term affair. She decided to bide her time.

She left him and went to read her book. After an hour she went back; John was lying still. She checked, there was no pulse and his hand was cold. She picked up the phone and dialled 999.

“Hello please come at once. My husband’s had a stroke. 

THE HERO

 

The crematorium chapel was full and people were standing by the walls; Sue sat impassively. It was her Peter’s funeral and she was dreading it. She wanted a quiet ceremony but had been prevailed upon. Peter had been a hero going into a neighbour’s house to recue two children while the mother stood outside. Then he collapsed and died from a heart attack. She sighed; I will hate that woman forever she thought. Afterwards she dutifully smiled at the wake while the mourners stuffed and drank themselves silly.

“Peter, you blood fool. Why did you have to do it?”