Tag Archive for: drabble

Satisfaction

/by

by Jenny Thompson 

The captain clambered up the rope ladder.

“I’ve got it!” he called cheerfully before hopping the rail onto the deck of his ship. He tossed his leather map quiver to the First Mate. “The map’s a gift from the harbour master’s wife who turned out to be a most agreeable lady. Her husband, on the other hand…” He shook his head. “I had to make a rather quick exit from her bedchamber this morning.”

“Captain, you seem to have forgotten something.”

The captain glanced down.

“Right.” He shrugged. “I’m sure I can pick up my trousers next time we visit.”

Jenny Thompson

Jenny Thompson is an IT analyst based in Pittsburgh. Her poetry has been published in Strange Horizons, Star*Line, and the anthology Post ROE Alternatives: Fighting Back.

Choose Who You Accrue to Crew the Cruise Carefully

/by

by Steven Holding 

I didn’t sign up for this ship!

I was press-ganged; seduced by drink and the promise of riches. Slipped a mickey, woke afloat upon the ocean.

Luckily, the cretinous captain doesn’t realise mutiny’s nothing new to me. Quick compliments (YOU’RE NO OAR BORE, YOU’RE B.O.A.T!) and I’m soon first and best mate.

Using behind his back distraction tactics (AKA parrot poisoning) I slyly ply the crew with boozy truths. “This captain’s seafood! It’s the plank, then he’s plankton!”

A pirate’s pact is made; blades break skin, crimson drops diluting our drinks.

Us bloodthirsty lads raise a toast.

“Murder a redrum!”

Steven Holding

Steven Holding lives in the United Kingdom. Most recently, his stories have appeared in the collections Annihilation from Black Ink Fiction and Year Four from Black Hare Press. You can follow his work at:

Website: stevenholding.co.uk

Flabbergasted Tranquillity Sea Turtles

/by

by A.L. Blacklyn 

Tight together in a hidden corner of the storage decks, the former ship’s captain and I conspired for the lunar colony’s slave rebellion. I said. “I got it, but how do I know this isn’t a trap?”

“I give you my word,” he answered solemnly. He smelled like engine-room rum.

He was notoriously wily in negotiations. Regardless, I had no better choice than to trust him.

I tested his trustworthiness soon after.

He’d spoken truth all the way through. He distracted the officers. I overrode the external locks for the escapees to dock.

The new captain hadn’t changed his password.

A.L. Blacklyn

A.L. Blacklyn currently resides in the Southeastern United States. Read more about them and their fiction at:

Website: shadowsinmind.net

Tale of Two Mouths

/by

by Rotten Akers 

Captain Tinnitus staggered toward the voluptuous figure, empty rum in hand.

Her fingers ran along her scantily clothed body, wet and grimy in the ashen rain, with hungry eyes.

“I’ve had enough watchin’ me crew torn apart as cannon fodder, m’lady!” He burped. “I beg you, I’m in need of a woman’s tenderness. I can bear no more!”

“I’ll erase those memories. Come, lie down.”

Tinnitus hopped over, rolled on his back, and smiled toothy-like.

She disrobed and revealed a vagina with drooling sharp teeth and tentacles.

“That’s lovely.” He hiccupped.

She sat and devoured his head through muffled screams.

Rotten Akers

Rotten Akers is an American horror writer based in Cache County, Utah. Notable influences on his writing include RL Stine, Edgar Allan Poe, HP Lovecraft, and Stephen King. He lives happily in a little blue house with his wife, growing son, grandma of said son, two dogs, and two cats.

The Notorious Captain Jane Hotchkiss

/by

by Scott O’Neill

“Just surrender! We’re about through,” crowed Ensign Richards.

A plasma cutter splattered molten metal from the freighter’s final bulkhead.

Muffled contralto laughter sounded behind the hatch. “Dear boy, the renowned star pirate Captain Jane Hotchkiss doesn’t surrender.”

“Renowned? Notorious, maybe. You’ve no engines and minimal life support,” said Richards.

“Where could you go?”

The cut bulkhead fell. Eager navy ratings followed their ensign through the still-smoking hole.

“Wherever I please,” came the voice from a comlink in the empty compartment.

Vibrations from released docking clamps echoed in the suddenly still air.

“My notoriety waxes ever brighter. Your pinnace is lovely.”

Scott O’Neill

Scott writes reports and memorandums by day and speculative fiction by night, with short works published by various presses. You can find him on Twitter.

Twitter: @wererooster

Piracy in Practice

/by

by Keech Ballard

The hardest part of leading a pirate crew is not the danger. Nor the violence. Nor the uncertain income prospects. Nor the moral and ethical ambivalence of existentiality.

It’s the training requirements. Newly minted pirates are always too much. Or too little. Or too something. It’s not like the job comes with a training manual. Piratical policies and procedures.

Everything is up in the air. Negotiable. Subject to conditions. Really. It can be quite exasperating.

That’s why I use Helen Tavrel’s Piracy in Practice as my preferred guide to understanding the basics. For all new recruits. Whoever they may be.

Keech Ballard

Ghost Writer on the Storm

Website: keechballard.com

 

Ending the Sibling Rivalry

/by

by Jessica Gleason

As the bilge stilled, rancid water backing up into the hull, Stabby Scoop smiled. She’d staved across the galley unnoticed, sneaking deep into the ship’s belly to despatch the bilge workers, hoping to sink her older sister’s ship.

“Did ye hear the cannons last night?” she’d ask passersby, attempting small talk as a suspicion averting tactic.

Lower and lower still, the ship descended to the watery depths. Imperceptible to the naked eye, but more pressing as each moment ticked by.

Stabby Scoop looked on, her vessel a safe distance away, laughing at her sister’s end, finally becoming the favourite child.

Jessica Gleason

Jessica Gleason is a Hawaiian-Italian writer, reader, professor, and an all-around weirdo. Gleason has been a college English professor since 2008, is a painter of horror creatures, and has mastered the Song of Time on her ocarina. For daily updates, please follow her on Instagram.

Instagram: @j.g.writes

 

Namesake

/by

by Rich Rurshell

“The Leviathan!” spat ‘Gunpowder’ McGregor. His motley crew sneered and cackled.

“You think that relic stands a chance against the Cutter? She could take the Leviathan and the entire naval fleet with ease.”

Captain Jack Jones cleaned the dirt from beneath his fingernails with a small pocketknife. He glanced around the impressive top deck of the Cutter.

“I have no doubt of that, matey,” replied Jones, “but I wasn’t referring to that Leviathan.”

As Jones raised the Toothtip Horn to his lips and blew, McGregor paled. A colossal shadow darkened the waters beneath them, and McGregor knew his men were doomed.

Rich Rurshell

Rich Rurshell is a writer of horror, fantasy, and science fiction. Rich likes to ponder the existence of the sinister, the fantastic, and the downright terrifying. He likes to explore the darker side of life and what lies within us, and celebrate the beauty in the world and what lies beyond.

Facebook: @richrurshellauthor

.

 

Analysing a Film

/by

by Lisa H. Owens

“Today, we’ll explore found footage—the Blair Witch methodology.”

Professor McDaft drew attention to the film’s glacial backdrop, “Akin to The Ring, you’ll also notice effective usage of stop-motion technique.”

A distant waddle of penguins teetered a sluggish approach, then the scene skipped, and the penguins were closer, their eyes glimmering pinpricks.

“The initial absence of colour contributes to its vintage feel.”

The greyscale backdrop gave the silently approaching penguins a menacing air. Another skip and a collective lunge had the colony atop the videographer.

“Voila! The Technicolor of Oz!” The scene went crimson—the spray of an arterial bleed.

Lisa H. Owens

Lisa H. Owens, a former humourist columnist, resides in North Texas with two rescue dogs and a tenacious, sole-surviving air-plant named Airy Potter. Her work’s been published on various ezines and in numerous anthologies and her stories are often inspired by true events, sometimes including private jokes and family nicknames.

Website: www.lisahowens.com

.

 

Egg

/by

by Sasha Brown

One by one, the penguins adopt us. One by one, we disappoint. Tucked under their bulky stomachs, beneath their piss-caked feathers, we screech and flail and struggle. The giant birds stab down–elegantly, surgically, long beaks puncturing our tiny human skulls.

I watch, I learn.

When it’s my turn, I curl my pale naked body egg-shaped. No gangling parts. No elbows. The male rolls me onto his gnarled feet. I freeze. Towering over me, he twines his beak with his partner like a heart, like a greeting card. I clutch my knees under them. Stay smooth. Never move. Never move again.

Sasha Brown

Sasha Brown lives near Boston. He’s got work in Old Moon, Tales to Terrify and Cossmass Infinities. He can be found online at:

Website: sashabrownwriter.com

.