Drabbles

Drabble: Corrupted Power

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Prompt: By the Bed

On the nightstand in the tiny bedroom we used to share, I keep your picture. The frame is tarnished now but I can’t bring myself to clean it. I don’t want it to change. I want it to stay just the way it was when we had it made.

The artist’s hand wasn’t perfect, but she captured you so well; I see more than just your face, I see your aura, your lust for life, your contentment. If only he hadn’t come and dangled that one temptation before you, hadn’t made you those grand promises that I could never match, hadn’t stolen your heart with his talk of power and peace.

You were always an idealist, my dear. You always thought the world could be a better place, and all it took was the right carpetbagger to come along and offer you that perfect, idealized, impossible picture. It’s not your fault really. I can’t blame you for it. Power has always been your Achilles’ heel, and now you’re stuck in that terrible contract because of it.

He has you wrapped up in words, tied up with responsibilities, locked away in an illusion that fulfills your dreams. You know better though, don’t you, my dear? You can see the cracks bleeding through, you can see the disruption you cause, you can see that absolute power can’t bring perfect peace like you imagined so long ago. Don’t worry, I’m coming for you. I’ll break you free of his grip one way or another. I won’t leave you to rot away in a prison cell, even if you did choose to be there. You couldn’t possibly have known what it would be like; you couldn’t have known how it would tear us apart. You wouldn’t have accepted if you had known, right, dear?

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Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less. Please pardon typos or grammatical errors. See sidebar for copyright information.

Drabble: Diverted Flight

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Prompt: Diverted Flight

Into the trees, you crash and spin
the limbs cut ribbons into your skin.
You claw at the branches, your fingers rubbed bare
but there’s nothing to grab onto but air.

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The ground rushes toward you at impossible speed
bright roses greet you, immune to your needs.
Their blood-red blossoms bow and sway
already prepared for your inevitable grave.

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A sharp pain pulls against your chest
bones snap and your lungs protest
Your fall has ended but the pain only spreads
too late it comes, and you’re filled with dread.

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Your parachute caught up high in the trees
You’ll soon be a dead man swaying in the breeze.
Saved from a fall that was sure to kill
The ground won’t finish you, but dehydration will.

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You reach for your dagger to cut yourself free
but frown as your vision blurs; you can barely see
A few broken ribs are the least of your fears
regret fills you as you realize this is real.

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A voice in the distance sparks up some hope
but your breath cannot seem to escape your throat.
Something slick slips silently from your fingertips,
the knife hits the earth, a curse on your lips.

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They’re searching for you, down far below
but you can already feel yourself letting go
A gust of wind, and you’re lost in the trees,
and all because of a poorly timed breeze.

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The knife will be found long before the body;
the fool who leaped without researching his hobby.

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Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less. Please pardon typos or grammatical errors. See sidebar for copyright information.

Drabble: Siblings

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Prompt: Siblings

My dearest sister, how I miss you these days. We may not share a blood bond, but our bond was just as true. Remember when we went into the woods and built a fort? That became our hideaway for a full week when the village blamed us for their ten dead cattle. At the first sign of disease, they blamed those with powers they didn’t understand. You were always a clever builder, sister.

We went to the lake once and summoned forth the monsters that slept beneath the still waters. More than just fish answered us that day, and we learned about the neighbors we never knew we had. We gave each other the strength to face those dark, shadowy creatures; we gave each other the strength not to look away. We punished our enemies that day, sister, but we should have killed them.

Then we were accepted into the sisterhood and took the marks. Every time I look at my arm, every time I feel the puffy scar across my skin, I think of you. I think of us huddled together in those woods, I think of us standing in determination before that lake, and I remember the people who took you away.

I don’t know if you’re alive or not still, sister, but I will find you and I will punish your captors. If they have you bound, I will free you. If they have killed you, I swear, I will find a way to bring you back. Even if I must make a foul pact with some untrustworthy wretch, you will be at my side again.

Our friendship can’t be parted by death. We are a sisterhood that can’t be broken. Fear not, little sister, for I am coming for you. May our enemies quake in terror.

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Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less. Please pardon typos or grammatical errors. See sidebar for copyright information.

Drabble: Bigger than You

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Prompt: Bigger than You

She’s bigger than you and definitely built. She wields a sword that could skewer you vertically and not reach the hilt. Her reach is incredible. All you have is a set of daggers, little good when you’re rolling to keep your head attached to your shoulders.

You duck down just in time as the greatsword whistles over your head. You’re pretty sure you lost a few hairs in that move, but at least you’re alive. You can’t keep up at this pace. She’s not even breathing hard and here you are performing acrobatic feats. You need space to move. You need distance to think.

You spin on your heel and sprint for the door, slamming through the cold metal and running to the opposite end of the yard. Fencing topped with barbed wire greet you on all sides. A defeated whimper pulls at your throat.

“You can’t escape me,” she calls with a laugh, her powerful form emerging from the doorway. She rests the flat end of her blade against her shoulder and smiles. You’re the captured mouse here, not her. You’re the one who’s trapped on a butcher’s block.

That doesn’t mean you give up.

You laugh and show a cocky grin. “You have to catch me first.”

She barks a laugh and readies her blade, her muscled legs making little work of the distance. You have to think, while you still have a head, while a steamroller is barreling towards you.

Out of pure instinct more than intelligence, you spin your dagger in the air, catch the blade between your fingertips and chuck it at her. Her wild eyes get huge as the blade plunges into her forehead. She collapses with the outrage of a beast. You stand panting between nervous laughter.

“You gotta be quicker than that!”

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I post a new Drabble (almost) every Wednesday at Noon ET. Click Follow on the right to get weekly updates.

 

Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less. Please pardon typos or grammatical errors. See sidebar for copyright information.

Drabble: Hugs

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Prompt: Hugs

Course stone scratches against my back as the heavy arms come down on my shoulders. I stumble, losing my balance even as I stand lean against the rock wall behind me. The limbs are soft but I can feel the strength beneath the fur; powerful muscles shift just beneath the skin. Great claws knead lovingly into the wall. I manage a small smile and wrap my arms around the great cat’s flank. I can’t even put my arms together.

A deep rumble starts in his chest, soothing, rhythmic, and I instinctively relax. I lean my head against the tuft of fur on his chest, marveling at how soft it feels. Despite the fact that I am now trapped between at least five hundred solid pounds of love and a cold slab of rock, I feel safe. Then he turns his head around to rub the edge of his mouth against my forehead and the hot stink of his breath makes me wince. Wet saliva drips down my forehead, but I’m sorry to say I’ve grown accustomed to it.

I try to indicate I want to move again and try to duck under a limb, but he’ll have none of it. He drags his arm down, blocks my path, and gives a deep throated whine that might frighten someone who didn’t know him as well as me. He marks my head again with more determination, this time flipping my hair around into my face. He probably thinks I deserve it for trying to cut his hugs short.

I sigh as he begins to lap at my hair. If everyone knew the King of the Jungle was such a love bug, his title would be short lived.

Originally posted on Typetrigger. Fiction in 300 words or less.
Please pardon typos or grammatical errors. See sidebar for copyright information.