Monthly Archives: December 2015

Drabble: Social Anxiety – by Stella Garp

by specklit

Coming here was stupid. The victory party was just a bunch of grownups giving speeches and getting drunk, and the only music, if you could call it that, came from some guys in the corner beating at drums.

And so much for getting in with the popular girls. Vaani’s dietary restrictions were weird enough, but now there was the community bath thing. They’d probably think she was unhygienic, or something.

“I can’t,” she explained. “We’re vegetarians.”

“More like freaks,” said one of the girls.

Vaani ran then, leaving the savages to bathe in the stupid blood of their stupid enemies.

Author’s Note: If I’d been invited to this party, I would have found a quiet boulder to hide behind while I read my vellum.

Drabble: Mort sans Frontières – by Rob Francis

by specklit

Dr. Hausse gazed dispassionately on the shattered face of the man.

“Close range shot,” growled the sergeant. “Can you help?”

Hausse nodded. “I can glue the skull, stitch the flesh back together. He won’t be the man he was though.”

“Could he shoot a rifle?”

Hausse shrugged. “Sure.”

“Then do it. We’re getting slaughtered out there.” The sergeant stormed out.

Hausse sighed and turned back to the corpse. He had a suspicion he’d raised this one before, back in the early days of the conflict.

He lit a cigarette and wondered if it was too late for that second career.

Author’s note: Even life as a professional necromancer must get dull sometimes.

Drabble: The Forbidden Symphony – by Anna Salonen

by specklit

Sweat ran down Maestro Zithra’s brow. They had played parts of the Forbidden Symphony before, but this was the first time they would perform the piece in its entirety.

The first movement passed without incident.

Five people fainted during the second.

The third movement sent a dozen members of the audience into convulsions.

At the first notes of the fourth movement, a noxious gloom descended, solidifying into a monstrous being. It raised its claws and growled.

Then Perkins, the triangle player, struck a false note.

The thing disappeared.

Only half the audience went mad.

Maestro Zithra considered it a success.

Author’s Note: One day, at the Symphony…

Drabble: Raymond’s Battle – by Tiffany McCarroll

by specklit

“Tonight,” Raymond proclaimed to his battalion of dust bunnies, “We will have victory!” His army of grey clumps roared their battle cry in the darkness under Raymond’s bed. But then the thumps interrupted the morale, shaking the floor. Heart thudding, Raymond flicked the flashlight on. The monster’s scaly feet tapped impatiently on the floor beside the bed.

“Forward!” Raymond commanded, ushering the attack.

The dust bunnies stampeded from under the bed against the beast in the dark, making it howl as it crashed backward on the floor. There the little sneeze-inducing warriors feasted until Raymond’s worst nightmare was no more.

Author’s Note: There’s nothing to fear in the dark so long as you haven’t vacuumed.

Drabble: Monster’s Under the Bed – by Ann Weeth

by specklit

It wasn’t the dark that was scary. Oh, no. It was the shadows, which need light to exist, that were scary. People often get that wrong. Not Maddy, though.

“Wouldn’t you like a night light?” Her worried parents would ask, particularly after some other child was on the news for being snatched by the monster under the bed.

Piffle, Maddy would say.

In fact, Maddy was quite friendly with her monster. Along with Teddy, they had successfully beaten back the shadows for five nights running. If they could just keep the stupid night light out they might actually survive. Probably.

Author’s Note: Parents often discount a child’s fear as nonsense, but they discount their strengths even more. I have often thought that parents should pay more attention to the seemingly nonsensical things that children say.

Drabble: Caught in the Mirrors – by Alisia Faust

by specklit

I wonder how many times it has happened before I noticed. Immersed in my thoughts, brushing my hair, my teeth, I barely register them—my infinite copies. They do the same thing as me, so I ignore them.

Except sometimes, one of them isn’t doing the same thing. It’s hard to catch if you don’t know what to look for—a subtle bit of lag.

Now he won’t look me in the eye, as if he’s ashamed that I’ve caught him slacking off at work. As if he knows I’ll be watching. As if he knows he’ll do it again.

Author’s Note: In my old house, my bathroom cabinets were mirrors that looked into each other if you opened them up, so whenever I looked at myself there were infinite copies of me looking into the mirror. Sometimes I felt like one of them, hidden in the very back, isn’t doing what I think it should be doing.

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