What follows is offered in response to Velvet Verbosity's 100 Word Challenge. The challenge, this week, is "Sainted".
Sean and Padraig staggered along the rutted track in the stygian dark of the rural night, both of them drunk with too much stout and too much whiskey. Singing, they were, at the top of their lungs.
"Nah, Sean. That's not how it goes."
"No. I'm sure yer wrong, Sean. That last note goes down, not up."
"No. It's you that's wrong, Paddy. I'm sure I sing it aright."
"Sean, my sainted mother herself taught me that song, and the last note goes down."
"Yer mother is not sainted - I sawr her yesterday."
"Oh. Well then. Let's go home."