Tag Archive for: drabble

The Invitation

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by G.B. Dinesh

The doorbell rings. It’s 3 a.m. God, who died?

I find a postman outside the door.

“Hello, Mr Smith.” He hands over an invitation.

An invitation to—

“Mister, what game are you playing?” I try to grab his collar, but I can’t.

I dash to the bedroom.

I touch my wife, I feel nothing. I kiss her lips, I feel nothing. I kneel down on the floor and weep. In her sleep, her face slowly settles into the most beautiful smile in the world. Holding that smile in my memory and the invitation to heaven in my hand, I leave.

G.B. Dinesh

G.B. Dinesh is a young Indian writer whose works span across many genres.

 

Lemonade, Mister?

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by Josh Hagen

Three nights in a row. Cars lined up for blocks through the neighbourhood. The crowd has grown from last time. More like a swarm. All searching for their sweet nectar.

I called the police again. The patrol showed up and got in line. Shuffling forward to receive their gift.

Enough of this. I storm outside in my robe and slippered feet. Three in the morning.

My temper flaring. “Hey! Some of us have to work in the morning.”

The mob turns to me, parting in unison to allow passage.

The kids at the lemonade stand offer a cup.

“Lemonade, mister?

Josh Hagen

After spending years as a storyboard artist for film and television, Josh utilised the power of coffee to focus on his writing. Bit by bit he has clawed his way up the overwhelming mountain that is the writing process in the hopes of one day becoming a professional author.

 

The Window Cleaner

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by Tracy Davidson

I know that whistle. That thunk of ladder against wall, those heavy footsteps hitting every rung. But never at 3 a.m. before.

I’d heard he was ill, close to death. Guess not. Through thin curtains, I see the shape of head and torso. The squeak of his squeegee gets louder. Where his eyes would be, two glowing orbs cut through the curtain, their light creeping up my bedcovers. I try to reassure myself I’m dreaming.

Whistle, squeak. Whistle, squeak. Finally…silence. I rise, move to the window. Nothing. I sigh, relieved. Until…bare feet step on a soaking wet sponge.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

Neighbourly

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by Sheridan “Virgil” Seine

I’m new to the neighbourhood, and work night shift. Lately, I’m waking up to footsteps and a knock outside my bedroom window.

Wilson, my always smiling, retired neighbour, is on the other side of the glass; a wide-eyed stare coming through the blinds, the afternoon sun on his face. Chuckling, he reminds me that the grass needs to be cut.

But I’m on vacation this week and it’s the middle of the night.

I roll over in bed, and my eyes drift to the window at my shoulder. A bug-eyed smile just outside says, “Not yet. Go back to sleep.”

Sheridan “Virgil” Seine

Co-administrator of The Twisted Castle, Sheridan “Virgil” Seine has been a professional monster wrangler for over 20 years. In his spare time, once his wards have been safely returned to their individual habitats, Virgil researches various literary genres to produce content for his YouTube channel, Literally Books. He also lets his wife write his bios.

 

Queen of the Night

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by Jeff Currier

“Staring out his sliding door, wishing for sleep, Jacob spied his new neighbour, poised atop a beach towel, rubbing lotion over gleaming moonlit porcelain skin. Adjusting her scant blood-red bikini, she lay back as if starting a mid-afternoon sunbath.

Suddenly swathed in full moonlight, she blossomed blindingly bright. Blinking away afterimages, Jacob saw her towel, smouldering in the grass, empty. He rushed outside; stopped short. Basking, glowing, she smiled, moonbeams glinting off—what the hell? She brushed his arm. A sharp prick, then darkness.

Dew-covered, Jacob awoke, a throbbing rash wrapping his arm, radiating from an embedded porcelain-white cactus spine.

Jeff Currier

Jeff works three jobs, so has little time to write. Hence, he writes little stories.

 

We All Scream

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by Kristin Lennox

“London Bridge is Falling Down…” The piping calliope music was faint, but it pulled Cindy from sleep.

Instead of pondering why the ice cream truck was trundling slowly through the neighbourhood in the dead of night, Cindy frantically scoured her bedroom for loose change.

Broke and dejected, she barely recognised her friend Hannah in the moonlight, accepting a double-scoop cone from a white-gloved hand. So lucky.

Such a waste, though, Cindy thought, as she discovered the cone in the street the next morning, upside down in a sticky puddle of mint chocolate chip…

…and a splash of bright raspberry swirl.

Kristin Lennox

Kristin is delighted to have had several drabbles published by Black Hare Press. She’s also a voice actor, and when she’s not talking to herself in her padded room (home studio), she tries to get the voices out of her head and onto the page.

 

Witching Hour

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by Kimberly Rei 

“We are gathered here to welcome Isabella into our church and our hearts.”

The small group pulled closer, sighing with joy at the bundle in the priest’s hands. He held the baby over a font, dribbling water on her forehead as he spoke. For her part, Isabella didn’t cry. She hiccuped at him, drawing indulgent laughter.

One by one, the candles flicked out, casting the church into shadow. A full moon shone through stained glass windows, painting priest and child in deep crimson tones. Chanting filled the space as unseen joined the ceremony.

This child would have a blessed life.

Kimberly Rei

Kimberly Rei does her best work in the places that can’t exist…the in-between places where imagination defies reality. With a penchant for dark corners and hooks that leave readers looking over their shoulder, she is always on the lookout for new ideas and new ways to make words dance.

Website: reitales.com

 

The Affectionate Captain Belle

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by Alden Terzo 

Captain Belle and Bonecrusher Pete brought their dinghy alongside her ship.

Belle stood, jewels in hand. “Sorry luv, you won’t be coming aboard.”

  Pete gaped. “You’re double crossing me?”

“Maths was never your strength, was it sugar?” She smiled. “We double crossed that jeweller. This is a triple cross.”

Pete stood, towering over her. “I’ll not stand for this!”

“I know, baby,” Belle cooed. Drawing her cutlass, she deftly sliced the tendon beneath his kneecap, sending him sprawling. “You may sit.”

Pete roared.

“Such a tantrum!” Belle exclaimed as her crew pulled her aboard. “Was it the maths barb, darlin’?

Alden Terzo

When Alden Terzo isn’t reading, he’s often writing. Or procrastinating. There is usually coffee involved. Find him on Twitter 

Twitter: @AmbassadorAlden 

 

The Wrong Ship for That

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by T.J. Gallasch 

“Hand over the necklace, in the name of His Majesty the King,” the officer ordered.

“You’ll need to take it from me,” One-Eyed Sue declared.

“What are you waiting for, man?” ordered the officer’s senior dressed in red. “Kill her and take what we’ve come for.”

Without hesitation, the sailor lunged with his sword.

Sue felt the point pierce her chest, but the pain was evident in the sailor’s eyes. Before her, mist surrounded the man, changing him—painfully.

“And the Black Mist’s crew keeps growing,” laughed Sue as she jumped overboard, the precious necklace still firmly in her grasp.

T.J. Gallasch

 

The Pirate’s Parrot

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by Tracy Davidson 

Captain Drake “Ducky” Mallard never touched rum. Or Spanish gold. She’d seen what both did to fellow pirates. She preferred a clear head and curseless life.

Well, relatively curseless. Once a month, hormones turned her into raving hellbeast. Her First Mate learnt to handle her (after having been tossed overboard two or thirteen times). The support parrot helped. And pots and pots of smuggled tea.

She didn’t murder. Or maim (much). Until the day an aggrieved tea merchant strangled said support parrot.

She had both stuffed and mounted. Now, parrot feathers and a pair of ball bags adorn her hat.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.