Drabbles

A ‘Drabble’ is a story of exactly 100 words (not including the title). The form is short, but this does not mean you can skimp on the basics of a good story. It should have a start, middle, and finish, and include conflict and resolution … In here, I will drop some of my efforts:

<— Back to Micro and Nano Fiction Menu

On to ’55’ Fiction —>

FESTIVE FOREBODINGS

PUBLISHED: 2016 … https://www.amazon.co.uk/~/e/B085NKJHJ4

“What do we have here, Constable?”

The officer knew, without turning, the icy tones of Sergeant Frost.

“Looks like a terrible accident, sir” he replied, waving at the wreckage.

“Witnesses?”

“Nine of them, Sir. Over in the forest.” He nodded to the right.

Sergeant Frost squinted, picking out the nine figures lit only by a strange red glowing orb.

Scanning the strewn wooden panels and presents, he shook his head in dismay.

“Note the positioning of the reins either side of the tree constable. This was no accident.”

As he said this, the figures moved further backwards and disappeared.

Christmas was cancelled.

TAKE THE SHOT

“Mike. Take the shot.”

“I can’t do it. I’m done.”

“You’ve taken shots far harder than this. Just take it.”

“This is just wrong. You know it is. When does it end? The next one, the one after, or the one after that? Tell me, John.”

“Do it. All for one and one for all, right? Are you part of this regiment or not?” He paused. “Lieutenant Sharp, take the shot. That’s an order.”

Mike looked him up and down. Resigned, he acquired his target.

Picking up the shot glass, he tipped his head back and swallowed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

IN THE NIGHT

Silence. She listens intently while her eyes adjust to the light. The moon’s glow casts an eerie layer of shadows. Keeping tight to the edge of the room, senses heightened, she is drawn forward. Her desire overriding her fear. From darkness to light and back again. Every few steps she stops, listens, and breathes deep. Her heart pounds against her ribs as if trying to burst free and run for cover. Closer. Closer. She leans forward, stretching onto the platform.

SNAP. The trap slams shut, leaving silence in its wake as the ball of cheese rolls away into the shadows.

EARLY RIDE

“Easy now,” she said, patting the horse’s flank. Placing both hands on the saddle horn and left foot in the stirrup, she mounted up. Leaning forward, she gathered the reins in one hand while stroking her mount’s solid neck with the other.

“Good girl,” she murmured “let’s go.”

They were off. Rocking back and forth in the saddle, she swiftly moved from a walk through a canter before pushing for a full gallop. Wind whipped through her hair as she laughed all the way.

Reaching the end of the hallway, she dismounted and spun Dobbin round for the return journey.

21st CENTURY BATTLE

Mac crept forward, using alleyways and shadows to disguise his approach. He checked and re-checked his weaponry and ammunition. At some point he’d need to re-stock but not before the planned attack. Chatter from his comrades dulled to a minimum as the countdown from the commander began. Three-Two-One. He launched forward from his spot, throwing two grenades in succession into the building opposite and grabbed for his AK-47. As he breached the doorway, he was hit in the chest with the shotgun blast. The light faded in his visor, replaced by a green flash, “GAME OVER. Press Ctrl-R to re-spawn”.