I've been thinking about creating a drabble thread for some time. And i'm not sure exactly how much time i'll have to dedicate to this, but I was just too intrigued to pass it up. So climb aboard the Howdy train! :insane:

The themes are random, chosen by me. And there aren't any set characters. I don't put many limitations on my writings, so it'll all be free and easy. ;D

Feel free to comment.

1. First Date
2. Pluto
3. Slumber Party
4. Evidence
5. Volcano
6. Interview
7. Suspicion
8. Butter
9. Shotgun
10. Poetry
11. Mourning
12. Thermos
13. Cold Sore
14. Awake
15. Hunchback
16. Outdoors
17. Competitive
18. Dial Tone
19. Desperation
20. False Alarm
21. Branding Iron
22. Pony
23. Boredom
24. Coupon
25. Double Standard
26. Piggy Bank
27. Folk Music
28. Lightning Rod
29. Caramel
30. Dysfunctional
31. Puppet
32. Demonstration
33. Sister-in-law
34. Jesus (Page 1 ~ Post 5)
35. Bumper Sticker
36. Bathroom
37. Skeleton
38. Photogenic
39. Close Call
40. Tree House
41. Outer Space
42. Watermelon
43. Stainless Steel (Page 1 ~ Post 3)
44. Exorcism
45. Murder-Suicide
46. High Heels
47. Guest
48. Cab Ride
49. Midnight
50. Drag Queen
51. Wonder Drug
52. Windmill
53. Future
54. Nightmare
55. Chimney
56. Separate
57. Oregon
58. Waitress
59. Salad
60. Hoax
61. Valentine's Day
62. Magic
63. Contemplation
64. Reunion
65. Tongue Twister
66. Communist
67. Intervention
68. Buddhist
69. Sandwich
70. Journey
71. Sitting Duck
72. Vacation (Page 1 ~ Post 4)
73. Leprechaun
74. Ambulance
75. Junk Food
76. Sweet Potato
77. Ghost
78. Shelf Life
79. Hypochondriac
80. Disapproval
81. Blowup Doll
82. Boy (Page 1 ~ Post 6)
83. Cow
84. Parking Garage
85. Splat
86. Pool Table
87. Santa Clause
88. Unproffesional
89. Moon
90. Tanslate
91. Frog
92. Redecorate
93. Dessert
94. Spider
95. Bar Mitzvah
96. Forty
97. Body Language
98. Bear
99. Library
100. Act of God

It uh... seems my drabbles are a little longer than a hundred words each. :sweat:

~RESERVED~

#43 - Stainless Steel

Mr. and Mrs. Saunders waited anxiously in their living room. More the latter than the former actually. Elliot Saunders wondered why he had to take the day off from work for this. It would have been just fine for him to see the room when he got home, but Natalie insisted. In comparison to her husband's relaxed demeanor, Mrs. Saunders sat at the edge of the sofa, her muscles tight with excited readiness. She'd show that snotty Helen Price.

Their heads turned when the scent of patchouli oil and pretention hit the air. A rail thin, wisp of a man, clad all in black, entered the room, bringing his arms up in great flourish. "The room... is ready!"

Natalie Saunders sprung forward, seemingly quite nimble despite her condition. "Oh, I can't wait!" She gasped.

"Me neither." Mr. Saunders stood, "After four weeks i'd like to see what you've done with the room, Martin."

The man brought an appalled hand to his chest. "No no no no! It is not... Martin." He spat the name in disgust. "It is pronounced... Mare-tain!"

Natalie shot Elliot an equally admonishing look. "Honey!"

"I... I... Sorry?" Mr. Saunders stammered.

"Never mind. It does not matter." Mare-tain dismissed him. "To the room."

"I thought I would just burst waiting for this day, Mare-tain." Natalie beamed. "I was so in love with what you did for the Whitmans."

"Yes, the Whitmans." He said with disdain. "The Whitmans are idiots. They are philistines. They lack any sense of creative vision. They deserve to be disembowled and have their entrails eaten by pigs."

A small nervous laugh escaped her. "Yes... well. ... Ha ha."

"But not you," the corners of Mare-tain's pencil mustache lifted with a disturbing smile, "you understand that what I do is a celebration of art. I will not be boxed in by generic worlds of pink and blue. What I present to you is not simply a room, it is a masterpiece."

"Oh!" Natalie squealed.

"Well, for the money i'm paying you, I hope it's something." Elliot said.

"Yes." Mare-tain sneered. He turned, grasping the door handle. "Now... I present to you. ... Your nursery!"

The door swung open, exposing the newly decorated room to Mr. and Mrs. Saunders. "Oh my god!" Natalie exclaimed. "Oh my god. Oh... my god. ... .. Oh god."

"You like, yes?"

Elliots eyes near popped out of his head. "What did you do to our nursery?!"

"I covered everything is stainless steel."

"Oh god." Natalie stood, dazed.

"Holy Jesus! The crib. The changing table. Even the stuffed animals! I... This is supposed to be a nursery! There is going to be a baby living in here! Do you understand that? A baby! This... this looks like a bomb shelter."

"Apparently you are not as receptive to high art as I thought you were." Mare-tain sniffed. "This room is the new millennium. It repesents the coldness and sterility of growing up in the modern age."

"Well, to me it just represents a big pile of shit! ... Natalie... Sweetheart, are you alright? Say something."

"Oh... oh god." And then her water broke.

"And see?" Mare-tain smirked. "Clean up's a breeze."

#72 ~ Vacation

"Oh Marv, listen to this. 'Though the Clock Tower of Westminster is often referred to as Big Ben, this is actually the nickname of the main bell located within the tower.' Now isn’t that something else?" The woman marveled, lifting the rim of her bucket hat to get a better look at the building.

"That sure is something, Margie." The man whistled.

"Oh! Oh, and listen to this. 'Big Ben came into operation in 1859 and weighs 13.7 tons.' My goodness! How do you suppose they got something that big all the way up there!?"

"A whole lot of elbow grease, I suppose." Marv snapped a picture with his free arm.

"But isn’t that something else. Isn’t that something else, Shelly?"

The girl stood with her back to her parents, looking out onto the River Thames, trying to remain oblivious to their tourist ramblings.

"I said isn’t that something else, Shelly?" Margie happily continued.

Shelly clenched her fist and let her eyes roll. "Yes… mom. It sure is." The tone of annoyance more than obvious.

Margie let the guide of London drop to her side. "Shelly Anne Briscombe, you have done nothing but mope and sass since we got to England. I get the feeling you’re not having a good time."

"Is there something wrong, princess?" Marv allowed the camera to drop on his neck.

Exasperated, Shelly turned to face her parents. "No! I’m not having a good time. I… I wish we hadn’t come."

"Aw, princess. You still think it’s too soon?"

"Well yeah, that and… "

"Shelly, honey," Margie approached her daughter, "I know it’s been hard on you since your brother died. It’s been hard on your father and I too, it really has. But Billy would have wanted us to move on with our lives. He was so looking forward to this trip and I know he wouldn’t have wanted anything to stop us from coming."

"I know that, mom. But… did we have to bring him?!"

The decaying remains of young Billy Briscombe stood propped up in his father’s right arm, head flopped to one side on the shoulder of his ‘I the UK’ t-shirt.

"Now that’s not fair, is it? Your brother is still a part of this family. And look at him… doesn’t he look adorable in his little vacation outfit!?" Putrefied bodily fluids saturated Billy’s clothing and bits and pieces of fallen, rotted flesh trailed him wherever they went.

"But he stinks!" Shelly exclaimed. "He stunk up the plane."

"At least we didn’t have to pay for his ticket. Isn’t that right, Marv?"

"Indeed. And he fit so nicely into the overhead compartment."

#34 ~ Jesus

It was Tuesday. Last Tuesday, just past 11:30 in the morning. It was a grey overcast day. Y’know, the kinda day where the sky borders on darkness. So the streetlights don’t know what to think. I’d come home early from my shift at the Olive Garden. Myself and the rest of the wait staff were getting ready to open when Mr. Rutledge, the day manager, stabbed himself with a steak knife. It wasn’t some sort of ill timed suicide attempt, just an accident. But he did spray blood across a whole section of tables and it was decided to shut down the restaurant for the day. Mr. Rutledge was rushed to the hospital. He was white as a sheet and kept repeating, "Tell my wife I love her!". The paramedics tried to reassure him that the wound wasn’t as serious as all that. Angela, the assistant manger, had asked some of us to stay behind and help clean up. I wasn’t one, for which I’m glad. I’ve never had the stomach for blood.

Living within a mile from work makes for a shot walk home. I stopped though at the Starbucks at the corner before making my way up the four flights of my apartment building. Bought myself a tall white chocolate mocha frappuccino and chocolate croissant. I usually don’t allow myself things like that cause, y’know, I don’t make a whole lot of money. But it was, I thought, a special day. And as it turns out, it was a special day.

It was Tuesday. The day I was visited by Jesus.

It was just past 11:30. Rain had been threatening since the early morning and finally the clouds begin to send down heavy showers. It was a nice sight, sitting there at my fourth floor window, watching the empty street. Everyone was either at work or had been driven indoors by the sudden rain. All was quiet save for the melodic tapping of raindrops against the glass. It was peaceful.

And then, from behind me, there was a sudden burst of light, like lightning had struck my living room, accompanied by a sound that I find hard to describe. It was at the same time both beautiful and frightening. I quickly turned and there stood a Man, bathed in a heavenly glow.

"Who are you?" I breathed, but already knew. And I fell to my knees.

"Do not be afraid," He said, "for I am the Lord, thy savior. The Son of thy God."

There was within me at that moment a sense of awe that I had never felt before. A feeling I’m sure I will never feel again. It was the sense of my own smallness combined with the mightiness and all encompassing love that radiated from Him. He spoke again.

"I have come to bring you a message, my son. A time of peace is quickly approaching the world; when all evils shall be driven from the shadows. A time when all nations shall come together as brothers and throw down their armaments."

Tear sprang to my eye. "Oh my Lord…"

"But it will not be an easy endeavor. I will need a vassal, someone to spread My word. Someone to dedicate their life to Me and the pursuit of peace. Only that one with an untarnished goodness, with a pure soul and a virtuous heart, only he is worthy to extend My message, to usher in this new ago of harmony. And to him, in return, will be given all the rewards of heaven! That vassal," The Lord, my savior, raised His arms, and the light around Him begin to swell. In my chest my heart raced, my breath quickened. The air was suddenly filled with the voices of a heavenly choir. And I knew then, that my whole life was merely in preparation for this moment. God had chosen for me a destiny far greater than I or anyone could imagine. Today, this special day, would be the beginning of my destiny, "that vassal is you… Alexander Marshall!"

… "Tom Baker."

The choir died. "What?" He looked down at me, confused.

"M…my name is Tom Baker."

The light faded and Jesus dropped his arm. "You’re not Alexander Marshall?" He said flatly.

"No, I’m… I’m not."

"Wait wait wait… hold on a sec. Isn’t this apartment 516?"

"No, it’s 416. 516’s the floor above."

"Oh… shit. Geez uh… Um… oh God!" Jesus stepped closer and put a hand on my shoulder. "Listen, Tim…"

"Tom."

"Yeah… I’m sorry about all this but I’ve made a huge mistake."

"A mistake?"

"Yeah, I got sent to the wrong place. There musta been some sorta mixup upstairs. You know, never send a seraph to do an archangels job." He weakly laughed.

"You mean I’m not the chosen vassal?" My heart sunk.

"I’m afraid not. But hey, I’m sure you’re still a nifty guy."

"But… but no, my Lord, couldn’t I be the one?! There must be a reason you were brought to me! Doesn’t all things fall into God’s plan?!"

Jesus slightly rolled his eye. "Uh, God’s plan, yeah. See, thing is, a lot of the time my Dad just wings it."

"But all my life I have been a good person and I’ve followed your teachings! I have always had nothing but love and compassion for my fellow man! Please… give me this chance. I won’t fail you."

"Aw Tim…"

"Tom."

"Yeah… Believe me, if I could I would. If it were up to me, you’d be in. But, y’see, my hands are tied. The paperwork’s already been filled out and notarized. And it’d be just a big hassle to undo all that. I’d have to go stand in a line and I just know the Holy Ghost would be all on my ass."

"But… but…"

"You wouldn’t want the job anyway. Long hours. You’d have to work weekends. And plus the rewards of heaven aren’t really what they’re all cracked up to be."

"But… but…"

"But hey, Tim, don’t think you’re not a primo guy, cause you really are." He pulled up the left arm of His robe to look at His watch. "Listen, I gotta go. I gotta take care of this thing and then I’m meeting Buddha for lunch." He began to raise His arms, the glow reappearing, but then stopped. "Y’know, maybe I’ll just take the stairs."

The front door closed behind Him and He was gone, leaving me alone, on the floor, with only the sound of the rain outside. … Leaving me to ponder all I have known and all I will ever know.

"… … … Fuckballs."

#82 ~ Boy

“Auuugghhh! I… I can’t!”

“Yes you can, honey! I know you can!”

“No Elliot, I…”

“Just one more push, Natalie. Just give me one more big push.” Dr. Barker, with his short though sturdily built frame, sat nestled between Mrs. Saunder’s legs. Fixated on her dilated vaginal opening, in his head he was already planning what he’d order from that little Italian restaurant he and Marshall were going to that evening. Definitely, he decided, not oysters.

“You see, honey? You can do it. I know you can. Just one big push.” Elliot Saunders encouraged his wife, eager to see the birth through, not only for her relief but also for the relief of his hand caught in the vice of her death grip.

Back in her college days, Natalie had run and successfully completed the Boston Marathon. Crossing the finish line she collapsed; overheated, exhausted and drenched in sweat. Every muscle in her body cried out and as soon as it was done she vowed she’d never do it again. Right now, Natalie was feeling that same way. “Auuugghhh! I swear to god you’re never sticking anything in me again, Elliot!” She roared.

“I know, hon… Wait, what?”

“Here it comes, Natalie!” Dr. Barker could see the head begin to crown. “Push!” Flesh weary but still tenuously tethered to spirit, Natalie mustered every drop of strength left in her body, going beyond what she felt she had, and pushed.

“You can do it, Nat! I’m here for you.!” Elliot cheered her on.

Hair matted, face a violent shade of scarlet, she gritted her teeth and screamed.

“There we go!” Dr. Barker exclaimed. “It’s a boy!”

Natalie weakly laughed, in spite of the pain. “Oh Elliot, a boy.”

Mr. Saunders, beaming, bent down and kissed his wife. “You did good, honey. You did so good.” He turned. “Is he okay, Dr. Barker?”

“Perfectly. See for yourself.”

Elliot looked from the doctor to each of the nurses in the room searching for his baby. “Where… where is he?”

“Right here.” Dr. Barker gestured to the boy standing beside him.

“Wh-what?” Natalie strained to prop herself up. “What are talking about? Where’s my son?”

“Cor blimey, ain’t that a question? ‘Ere I am. ‘Ello Mum. ‘Ello Dad.” The little nipper tipped his cap.

“Congratulations, you’ve given birth to a bright and healthy nineteenth century cockney bootblack.”

“Was a bit of a flummut that at the end. Fraid I’d fall on me ‘ead and go right nickey, I was. But shore is a saint’s blessing not t’ be knapped up in that salt box, innit?”

“He’s so Dickensian.” Dr. Barker smiled.

Mrs. Saunders grabbed the arm of the nearest nurse. “Am I high? I thought I said no drugs.”

Germs no longer being anywhere near the vicinity of his current concerns, Mr. Saunders tossed his facemask aside. “Wh… what?! Dr. Barker, I don’t understand any of this. That doesn’t make sense. HE doesn’t make any sense!”

“You see, Eliot, nature is a wondrous and mysterious thing. In the same way that many people are born with, say, brown eyes or curly hair, there some who are born with, for example, webbed toes… or extra digits… or as a character from Oliver Twist.”

“Shine your shoes, guv? Only a farthing.” The boy raised his kit to Dr. Barker.

“Sure, why the hell not?”

Natalie’s eyes widened. “Where the hell did the shoe shine box come from?!”

Elliot frowned. “Well, I hope you like stainless steel, kid.”