What you have to understand is – it was about the money.
Some people hear a word like debt and can only comprehend it hypothetically. Some people watch the syllable propelled out of your mouth like vomit and respond accordingly. Some people really sympathize. Fuck them.
One hundred grand, they said – problems solved.
That’s the Willett’s gang’s boys never darkening my door again. That’s the missus not finding out the extent of my gambling. That’s my kids safe. Take the package to Euston station. Jump off the train. Run.
They didn’t tell me what would happen next.
And I didn’t ask.
Rachael Charlotte is a writer and poet based in Lincolnshire, UK. She recently studied for an MA in Creative Writing at the University of Lincoln, and has work published or forthcoming with Truffle, can we have our ball back?, Burning House Press, Streetcake Magazine, Hedgehog Poetry, 3 Moon Magazine, Horla, and Fly on the Wall Press. Follow her on Twitter @rachaelg2601 or Instagram @rachaelcharlotte14.
The Centifictionist 
You must be logged in to post a comment.