Because I don't have enough to do in my life. I'm going to write some drabbles to flex my creative muscles. I contemplated just posting them up in my longer story thread... but that would be confusing.

I don't think I want to do 100 theme stuff. I think I'm going to see what my right brain throws at me.


1.
Today I am under a tall tree and it is raining. It is cold. I am waiting for the most beautiful person on earth. Some day this tree will be cut down. It will be made into windows. These windows will keep out the rain and the cold. I will light a candle in every one for this beautiful person. I will rest my elbows on a different pane every night, and my head in my hands watching for this beautiful person. Then I'll lift its frame and welcome the cold, the rain. They will climb in after. Not today.

2.
Once a boy had a best friend. The boy was like a misplaced sock, twisting gracefully in the wash, smudging his bright colors on every one he touched. He loved and was loved. The friend was like a mountain; beautiful, cold. But he loved and was loved. They shared thoughts and were happy. The boy had beautiful a shiny marble. Looking through it twisted the world in bright beautiful ways. The friend took a blood-smudged knife to the young pristine skin on the boy's back, stuck it between ribs and twisted it. He stole the marble. They hated each other.

Cool stories =]

Thank you!

I continue:

3.
The prince decrees that it will be sunny today. All subjects are to rub themselves with sun tan lotion and wear t-shirts and shorts. They are to attend his royal highness's party today at noon at the beach, bringing cold beverages and sunglasses. If his royal highness means anything to you at all, you will wear flip-flops and play "Beach Boys" full blast with your sun roof rolled back. You will play volleyball, and gawk at young women in skimpy bikinis, or young men without shirts. You will have fun, you will laugh, you will sweat. Never mind the snow.

4.
She felt sick. The leaves were dry and had lost their bright fall colors. The sky was streaked with heavy smeared clouds. The sun's rays passed through and turned red. The light was parched and the ground looked cracked like old parchment. She lived in constant fear someone would find out about this slimy disgusting creature that lived inside her. She lived in constant hope that some one would take a fork and shovel out her insides; organs, muscle and tissue. Carved out to a husk, she might float up where the light was brighter. Nothing changed as she grew.

5. (This one is only like 53 or something like that. Oh well!)

"Sugar?"
"Yes, please."
"Cream?"
"Yes, please."
"More?"
"Yes, please."
"How much?"
"Two lumps, please."
"Cinnamon?"
"Yes, please."
"Hug?"
"Yes please."
"How much?"
"Two arms, please."
"Joy?"
"Yes, please."
"More?"
"Yes, please."
"Life?"
"Yes, please."
"How much?"
"As much as you have."
"Love?"
"No, thank you."

We live in denial of what we want.

Ha ha. 3 made me laugh. ^^ And I do so like 5 very much.

Wheee! Thanks! ^^

6.
There will be no more light. We have crushed the candles, light bulbs, and the LEDs underfoot. There will be no more worries on what to wear, on how to fix one's hair, on how many zits one has. We have doused the fires and cut the wires. There will be no judgement passed on how one walks, no more dirty looks if one wants to dance naked in the street. No dirty looks at all. No more obscene stares from strangers on the street. We have blocked the sun. Sit in our darkness and love us for our voices.

wow #5 is really good. Even if it is short, it still makes you think... especially the last line.

I've really enjoyed your drabbles so far, and I really like how you throw sharp twists into some of them - especially the humorous one in 3 and the somewhat ironic one in 5, but also the distinct shift in 6 from sight to sound.

Great reads! Thanks for sharing.

Thank you!
I'm a sucker for irony myself.

Number five was a joy for me. It was one of those things that kind of wrote itself.

And I continue.

7. (somehow this one feels dead to me)

This chill is going to pass unnoticed. This ice that bites my tongue and burns my lips. Crystals grow in my throat and words crack through in whispers. And those whispers drift in odd directions. In this frozen aphasia I am fixed. While I am strapped by cracking icicle fingers to this winter, holly grows green and shining up from my feet. The leaves shiver with me, and prick my legs. It is painless. I’m numb to all of it now. The plant hides me from spring. And those who might melt the only solid part of me left. Ice.

8.

Music is the art of an instant. Of the power of impermanence. No sooner has this note been sung, it’s gone. Forever. We heard that moment for the first and last time. And we heard the following moment too. The way those two pieces of past ran into each other is the way to measure life. To count and gather it. Arrange it nicely in scales. This tiny second hand tick, a beat of a heart throbbing under the melody, someday it will drop out of the song. But not now. Now I am holding this moment. Until the next.