Greetings, Talebones Readers!
Today I’m bringing you something quite different from my usual.
(Looking for the usual? Check out my interconnected Ferris Island stories here, or tales from other settings/genres here.)
I’m going through a bit of a creativity slump at the moment, struggling to get words on the page that I’m happy with. Too much perfectionism, too much unnecessary pressure. So I decided to shake things up, slow things down, and have some fun with drabbles!
Drabbles are 100-word stories. I don’t play with microfiction very often, but I do find that they can be a great bit of creative calisthenics when I’m feeling stagnant or stuck, since I’m forced to strip a satisfying story to its barest bones. A tricky feat!
There are lots of ways to get drabblin’, but my favorite way to go about it is to draw one gold card (character) and one copper card (object/situation) from the Storymatic card deck and force myself to write my 100-word story within those two prompts. (I do allow myself a little bit of wiggle-room with the prompts, but try to stick as recognizably close to them as I can.)
Just for kicks, I’m sharing the five drabbles I wrote today with you all. And as a bonus, I’m including the randomized prompts that I used for each one below.
I invite you to write your own drabbles (or even longer flash fiction) using these prompts, and share them if you like! Feel free to put them in the comment section of this post, or tag me/restack this post if you share them elsewhere—like on Notes—so I can see!
My Prompt Pairings (via Storymatic):
(No real rules, here; feel free to mix and match the prompts if you want to! Have fun with it and follow your inspiration!)
seller of used cars/box of kittens
miner/last rehearsal
firefighter/historical re-creation goes awry
future president/wrong number
person who is bullied/missing child
Want more microfiction/prompt fun?
Scoot’s weekly prompts at Flash Fiction Friday are always inspiring!
Miguel S. deals microdoses of fiction prompts on the daily!
If you like these little stories, and you want to see more like them, please let me know with a like, comment, share, or restack!
And for more fiction fun of various shapes and sizes, subscribe for free!
I can’t wait to see what you come up with, and I hope you enjoy my tiny tales!
#1: Purring
Horace asked, “Where did this piece of crap come from?”
“Someone must have left it overnight,” the receptionist replied, filing her nails.
Horace approached the old beater at the edge of his used car lot. Paint peeling, tires sagging, bumper askew. It was unsellable, probably wouldn’t even be worth scrap.
He heard a sound from the trunk. A yearning, mewling sound.
“Oh, fantastic,” he sighed, picturing rats, or a box of runty kittens. Pests. Vermin.
He popped the creaking trunk.
The hatch yawned open, revealing a bottomless darkness.
A long-fingered hand pulled him into the void, purring like a throat.
***
#2: And Heaven When I Die
“I am a little collier and gweithio underground…”
In the morning mist, the phantoms rise to sing.
“The raff will never torri when I go up and down…”
Their pale transparent skin is still brushed with coal dust.
“It's bara when I'm hungry…”
Lunchpails filled with ghostly offerings for the coblynau who lurk in the tunnels.
“And cwrw when I'm dry…”
Rain falls through them, leaving them untouched.
“It's gwely when I'm tired…”
Their voices climb into the mountain’s arms and lie down for a while to sleep.
“And nefoedd when I die…”
They pass, unseen, up the lonely hill.
***
#3: Torched
“These torches are unacceptable. You can’t have an open flame in a highly traveled public space like this, especially with so many, uh…with so much, well…”
Sir Ronald of Wexbridge crossed his arms. The bells on his homemade jerkin jingled. “Prithee, explain yourself, sirrah!”
“There’s a lot of…cloaks. And sleeves. And highly flammable fairy wings.”
Ronald scoffed. “Nonsense! I have not heard so much malarkey in all my days! Draw steel, knave, and we’ll settle this like men.”
The fire marshal pulled the ticket from his notepad and handed it over.
“Just ditch the torches. Have a nice day, Lancelot.”
***
#4: When The Quakes Come
Amanda frowned at the unfamiliar number on the phone screen. Answered it anyway.
“Hello?”
“Listen, don’t speak.” A woman’s deep voice. “I don’t have much time. Someday, you’re going to fix everything. You’re going to be everything we waited for.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter. When the Quakes come, you’ll know. When the Quakes come, call this number. I’ll be waiting. Just don’t be afraid.”
The call dropped. Amanda stared at the phone, suspended.
“Honey, who was that?” Mom asked, calling like childhood through the bedroom door.
Amanda blinked, sighed, replied, “Just a wrong number.”
***
#5: Ate
“I ate him.”
Chelsea’s parents tutted, shook their heads, disapproving.
“That’s not kind, sweetheart,” her mother said. “We don’t say we hate people.”
They turned back to the TV, the news report, the solemn reporter.
“Brett Hollowman, age ten, has been missing since the twenty-first of April. If anyone has any information about his whereabouts, please call this number…”
Chelsea sat on the couch with her hands folded and watched without watching, Brett’s cruel laughter still audible in the air, in her gut, in her cells.
“I ate him,” she said, again, quieter.
Her parents didn’t hear. They never did.
"I ate him!" ... and no one heard her admit it. Loved it!
these were great!
I ate him!
delightful!