Trying To Help Out

I didn't mean to get home this late, but it seemed rude to just leave Robert sitting there. He had clearly been stood up... again and even though he said he was okay, I could tell he was teetering on the edge of instability. I ordered us a round. By his second rye and coke he was starting to make quite a scene. Max, the bouncer, had to help me drag him out to his car.

The trouble was how to get him into his house. I had tried to question him about where he kept his keys before his speech took a turn for the worse, but all I could make out was something about a conspiracy and not being able to trust anyone.

I left him snoring in the car and went to try all the doors. All locked. Then I moved on to the windows and managed to find one basement window partially open. I wriggled my way in.

I had just landed on the floor when the room filled with a blinding light.

"Who the hell are you?" A woman screeched.

"I'm a friend of Robert's."

"Robert?" the woman rasped.

"Doesn't Robert Foster live here?" I asked worried that I had made a terrible mistake.

"That drunk. No." the woman snarled, "just my Bobbie and me."

"Well…Bobbie’s out in the car. He's not feeling too well." I told her

She followed me out to the car and when she saw Robert, she yanked the door open sending him toppling onto the dewy grass. The jolt brought him awake. "Mama. Yer home."

"Yes, and you’re stinkin' drunk just like your worthless father."

This was my cue to leave. I backed off into the darkness.

Words = 287.


Daily Flash Fiction - due by 11 pm on June 20, 2019