A Selection of Drabbles
Photo: © davincidig | Depositphotos.com
This past Fall (2023) I spent some time writing drabbles.
Drabbles are one hundred word stories; exactly one hundred words. It's always challenging to write very short, but an exact word count requirement adds a little something extra.
Here's a smattering of what I wrote. Most of these are untitled and they run in various genres although they skew fantasy/supernatural (which is typical of my fiction anyways).
If you've ever wondered what a one hundred word story looks like (because I'm sure you have), here you go...
With two fingers pressed to the wood, Mary pushed open the door that sat at the very top of the staircase in her university’s library.
After studying for hours, she needed to get her blood pumping and decided the stairs would be great for that. When she saw the door ajar, she couldn’t help herself…
On a table in the center of the room, lay an open book. Walking toward it, Mary recognized it as a copy of Gray’s Anatomy. That’s when she noticed the shelves full of skulls and bones. The door slammed shut and the room went dark.
We met on a boat out on the river. Well, I was on a boat. She was in a tube.
“Hey there,” she called out while floating by. “How’s the fishing?” She must have noticed my equipment.
“Terrible,” I said, smiling.
“That’s okay,” she responded, sipping from a can. “It’s gorgeous out.”
“That it is,” I said, and I wasn’t just talking about the scenery.
She floated by with one last wave and I had half a mind to call out and ask her to stay.
But I didn’t.
I watched as her light blue tube eventually faded from view.
The dead leaves crunched under the soles of my shoes and I instantly remembered what a satisfying sound it was.
Crispy and delicate.
I much preferred them dead and brown, as unpopular of an opinion as that was. There was something fulfilling about seeing them scattered on the ground, bunched up against curbs, bagged and ready for pick up.
It was a life well lived. But it also reminded me that they were making space for the new life that would come next spring.
Plump and green. Bursting with life.
Until they withered, turned brown, and fell.
Crispy and delicate.
The house was constructed entirely of mirrors. The interior walls were one smooth reflective surface after another.
Not like in a fun house where the mirrors were different sizes and shapes. These mirrors didn’t distort; they showed you exactly as you were.
You couldn’t get away from yourself.
No one could stay for long. The continuous sight of one’s body was enough to make most people uneasy, or downright angry.
A shadow, but worse.
Shadows come and go with the light, but your reflection is always there as long as you are.
Staring right back at you with your eyes.
Amanda Linehan is a multi-genre fiction writer and indie author. She has published five novels and one novella since 2012 and has been read in 113 countries.
If you enjoyed these drabbles you can donate on her Ko-fi page by clicking the button below. All support is voluntary and appreciated. :)
