Drabbles are short fictional pieces of exactly 100 words. I wrote one a day (original fic!) throughout April. A few of them are connected, the same character, who I latched onto towards the end of the month.
I am a monster. Not of this Earth. I don’t know what it’s like at home; no one will tell me. I imagine they walk freely in Natural Form, instead of running into the girls’ bathroom and hiding in a stall just so they can Change. I can’t breath, can’t stretch my limbs, but for one moment, I don’t feel the constriction of this shell. My mind swims with ideas and emotions no human could imagine. Afterwards, I sit on the toilet, sometimes well until dusk, tugging at loose threads on my uniform, wondering when our penance will be over.
She’d been spending the night in the basement of one of those filthy abandoned places that smelled vaguely of urine and vomit. It was all right, though–or it would have been, if she hadn’t woken up to a corpse this morning. Some guy who hadn’t showered probably ever had crawled in there the night before and died. She’d sat staring at him for an hour, wondering what the hell she was doing here. The basement; the fucking city. Clarity came back soon enough. She was looking for her father. Her biological father. She knew nothing about him. Almost nothing.
Her soothing voice buoyed me like a gentle river current carries a broken branch. Through years and faces so familiar, to things long forgotten and insignificant–the cake falling to the floor on my sixth birthday. I didn’t cry. It was oddly meaningless to me.
And beyond that, murkiness.
How could I have distant memories so easy to touch in one month of a single year of life and none in another?
“There’s nothing. Nothing.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
A deep fear penetrated my chest. Go no further.
“Look beyond sight. What do you hear? Are there any scents?”
Got the prompt for this one from ladystarlightsj lol 😉 😉
I discovered the Raven’s Head pub downtown pretty much by accident. Not much to recommend it on the outside, of course. I just saw a couple women enter together in the middle of the day, neither of them dressed particularly downtownish. So I followed them in.
That’s where I met her, sitting alone at the bar idly stirring a gin and tonic at 2 PM on a Tuesday. She looked like she just wanted to be somewhere that wasn’t utterly hostile. I found her squishy love tunnel in the hotel upstairs and that was that; it became a regular thing.
This is my original fic drabble comm assignment, written over two days (X-posted):
I bought the ticket. I bought the fucking ticket and went home. Nine hours on a plane and in airports, and then a taxi ride down the Long Island Expressway. I was furious.
“You lied! I went to the city. I went to the county. I went to the fucking adoption agency. There was no father!”
Mother pouted at me from her perch on the paisley sofa. “I don’t know why this is so important to you.”
Dad was his usual timorous self. “It doesn’t matter, Harriet. The fact is, it’s important to her.”
“It’s like we’re not good enough for her!”
“Of course we’re good enough. That’s not what she’s saying.”
Suddenly, I wasn’t in the room anymore.
“You want to know what I’m saying? I’ll tell you what I’m saying!”
They both gaped at me as if I’d appeared out of nowhere.
“I’m thirty years old and I don’t know who I am!”
Mother turned away, crossing her arms. “Oh, honestly, what is that supposed to mean?”
Dad shifted uncomfortably in his armchair. “Well, I think she means….”
And then he looked at me uncertainly. “What do you mean, Theresa?”
Mom stood. “I’m going to lie down now.”
When I first saw her she was dancing. Grooving, spinning, long brown hair flying. In her own world. Low-cut jeans, belly button–pierced. Piercings all everywhere–ears, nose, eyelids. And tattoos. A wild thing. A slave unto herself.
She danced like I felt: like a caged animal, thrashing against invisible bars.
I wouldn’t have been surprised to find faint cut marks on her pale, slim arms if I’d been close enough. But I didn’t get close. Every move she made said stay away, which was must’ve been a disappointment to the crowd she’d gathered.
It was a disappointment to me.