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What's in a Name?

 
His cutthroat razor gleamed ‘you raped and beat my mother, Johnson.’ Then he leapt, slashing. I sidestepped, kicking his groin.  
The razor at his neck I asked, ‘how old are you?’
‘Twenty, bastard.’
‘I left Eileen Brady twenty-one years ago. My name's Johnstone.’  
That’s how I first met my son.
blocat
Written by blocat
Published
Author's Note
This was written for a 50-word story challenge on Facebook.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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