Pocket Money – 100-word fiction

The hangover was killing. He couldn’t imagine it would ever be over. He needed to join a gym, eat more healthily and never get too drunk again. These were the consequences: his actions, his fault. What he needed now though was a packet of crisps and a can of coke. The checkout girl was yawning and it made him yawn too. He needed to get out of the shop, there was no air in there. The woman in front was taking an age. He put his hand in his jeans pocket and felt for the last tenner. It wasn’t there.

Advertisements

Author: MW Bewick

Writer of poetry and place; editor and journalist. Co-founder of Dunlin Press. 'Scarecrow', a debut collection of poetry is available now from http://dunlinpress.bigcartel.com

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s