[Lullaby]

"A drabble is an extremely short work of fiction exactly one hundred words in length [...]" - Wikipedia

Very useful as a method of getting over writer's block, or at least for me. Here are 1 2 3 4 lists of writing prompts. Feel free to add your own and by all means - share your drabbles with the world.


Hot chocolate
Where is he? a small voice echoed in Irene's head. Dawn was almost breaking, she observed, as her eyebrows furrowed in what could only be concern. She instinctively grabbed hold of her mug of hot chocolate and let the soothing warmth spread through her fingers. Pulling up the blanket, she got into a more comfortable position on the sofa and resumed staring at the door.

"Waiting for someone?" Kian's singsong voice came from behind her.

The sound of breaking porcelain was heard as the carpet proceeded to soak up the precious content of her ruined mug.

"I used the backdoor."

~

Meh, not the best, but you get the idea.

 

[Aiam]

I'll bite.

A Flooded Field

Helena didn't have much but the farm, with Roy gone. He'd gone ten years ago, and she stayed 'cause she had nowhere else to go. The rain started on Tuesday, opened up with big fat drops, the kind that meant the green skies were coming with the winds and the twisters.

But not this time. Deputy Leon came twice Wednesday, soaked, legs muddy to the knees. He said if she wasn't gone by tomorrow, he'd have no choice but to arrest her. Poor man never got a chance.

The twister sirens sang when the levee broke. Now, a drowned farm.

 

[Immemorial]

Untitled

The candle was nearing it's last few seconds of providing light, the flame almost extinguished. The dank and filthy room was fading out of existence, like the life flowing from a wheezing old man on his death bed. The room was filled with a tragic air of lost hopes and dreams. Once vibrant and welcoming; now jaded and cynical towards the world.

His shadow lurked around on the almost non-existent floor. Like its owner; it no longer possessed life. The owner had once cherished his existence as something to take pleasure in. He now cursed it for his mediocrity...

Ran out. :dry:

 

[Immemorial]

The fumes of the inferno continued to rise into the bleeding sky. The city was a sight of an Armageddon; the once glorious architecture of Stalingrad was now nothing more than a distant memory. The streets were littered with corpses of both the Wehrmacht, and Red Army. Their blood formed a river flowing down the roads, the wrecked and burnt out vehicles of both sides strewn about like unwanted toys.

A lone soldier limped into sight from a destroyed school, his face contorted into an expression of agony as he struggled to take in the sight that met him. He was fortunate enough to meet the bullet of a sniper. As the noise rang out, the city was engulfed in silence.

I don't care if I went over the limit. :bored:

 

[Lullaby]

Jar of olives
"What are you looking at?"

"That jar over there."

"What's so interesting about it?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Kian gave her a nod. How bad could it be anyway?

"Well, okay. First of all, those two olives look like they're kissing. That one to the right looks like it has its back towards them and seems a bit sad... Maybe the female olive broke his heart and left him for his best olive friend or something... If you look closely, you can see a bigger olive consoling him. Maybe she's his Mum and..."

"Irene, you need professional help."

~~

Just felt like writing something really silly. And yes, the same characters.

 

[Immemorial]

"Insanity and genius are two sided of the same coin, my dear boy." Leonard explained to his son.
"One cannot exist without the other."

His son inquired." Then father. Why are those in the lunatic asylums disregarded and forgotten? Surely their minds must possess something immensely powerful then?"

"My boy. Those people are utterly convinced of their normality." His father replied. " True geniuses embrace their madness. And walk with it until their end. For madness, my son. Is the nurturer of genius."

" Just look at those who we revere today. In their time, they were shunned and mocked for their unique nature. I want you to take this on board son. Never be afraid to show your madness. For the world will thank you one day."

 

[Immemorial]

The rain poured onto the rooftop and down to the invisible streets below, silencing everything with its feral roar. The city had never been famous for its spectacular weather, with 24 hour rain 358 days a year. The looming skyscrapers gave the entire area a feeling of suffocation, as if there was no escape from the neon and concrete prison.

The feeling of imprisonment was not coincidence here. For the city had been segregated from the rest of the world for use as a criminal dumping ground over 20 years ago. Surrounded on all sides by massive walls and the ocean beyond.

Yeah, I was bored. So? :bored:

 

[Lullaby]

She can't break into his thoughts
Eyes squeezed shut, Kian was rubbing his temples as quiet curses escaped his lips. A steady flow of blood was trickling from his lip onto his bare chest covered in bruises. The skin was missing from his knuckles. A grotesque picture of a once handsome young man, now twisted and pained beyond recognition.

On the other side of the room Irene couldn't take her eyes off him. She had offered to clean the blood, to bandage his injuries, to... fix him.. But he wouldn't let her. He stood there in his wounded pride like a bloodied angel, refusing all help.

 

[heartturnedtoporcelain]

Paper Airplanes

The sun caressed its folds and dips. The wind pushed it, spiraling in gentle circles.

The plane touched down in a pool of mud.

Its inherent fragility was obvious as I picked it up. The plains of its body were loose, easily disfigured. The mud staining its crisp cleanliness. I threw it away.




erm, you can tell I never write fiction :blushed:

also, the word count is way under

 

[heartturnedtoporcelain]

Old Acquaintances

I hide my face, my self as they drift by. They're caught up in new worlds, new friends, new colours. I turn away - a rude gesture, a disguise of my feelings.

They're far away. I cannot reach out and penetrate the gossamer bubble in which they exist. My perceptions are unrealistic, a fanciful projection of perfect distance. I tuck my eyes away and place my hands firmly in my pockets. They are no longer for me.

 

[Immemorial]

As I turned the corner of the house, my eyes fixed on a sight of unimaginable monstrosity. My heart practically burst through my chest, my legs weakened and trembled, I attempted to step back but failed to keep my balance, stumbling backwards I crashed loudly onto the floor. The abomination that stood before my eyes had its cold glare fixated on me.

I struggled to picture what this creature may have been previously, as whatever it was, it did not resemble it in the slightest.
Black, soul-piercing eyes like black holes sucking the life out of me, draining the light from my vision. Heavily disfigured facial features, with a nose pointing upwards with blood dripping from the points where the bone protruded, a mouth that curled upwards into some sort of painful grin, its teeth had all either been knocked out or forced into its gums.. The sight of this creature filled me with fear and revulsion...

Blatantly over the word limit, but I don't care.

 

[Poet]

I should start this with a warning, it's a bit gritty.

...She had always said that knowledge was a matter of faith. I told her it seemed to be a matter of trust. Good thing the IRS refused to trust a bankrupt banker... but those discussions were as dead as freedom and my soul.

I still had conversations... Yesterday my new cell-mate asked me if I'd suck his d*** for a toothbrush. I shrugged my shoulders and said, "If the rest of me is rotting, I see no reason to spare my teeth."

He gave me a quizzical stare and chuckled. I knew he wouldn't understand.

 

[Poet]

I understand this has striking similarities to the first drabble I wrote, I guess together they are more similar to a sonnet cycle than a short-story compilation. I'll try next time.



She said I was more inconstant than the winter wind. I told her I was only afraid of losing her love. She said I should be more afraid of losing my legs.

The IED's had died down and I had lost no friends. It wasn't a concern, the area was secure. The northern provinces were Hell, not where we were at.

If I lost her love I'd rather die anyway. But that's not what I told her. I told her if she missed me, send a card.

I never heard from her since.

 

[Poet]

Darling, would you mind snatching me another cup of tea?"

"Sure, sweetheart"

The morning was fast fading into a gloomy afternoon. The birds ceased to sing after the skies shed the last of it's cosmic roses. Jane and Jonathon Jones sat outside on the terrace.

"This chamomile is so relaxing, especially with a twist of lemon."
Jane had a mild air of enthusiasm echoing with her near pedantry.

"That's good to hear, Honey."

Jonathon wondered when it was when he had ceased to sooth her soul. Had tea taken the place of a tender heart. With a countenance as dead as the sky, he excused himself to the kitchen to weep fallen years.