Zombie Drabble #403 "One Eye Open"

He rolls over, sticks his head out over the edge, peers down into the darkness, lets his eyes adjust. The undead file past in groups of five, thirteen, forty-two. They don't notice him; all they see or smell is the distant fire that used to be San Antonio. They are drawn to the light, at least while the sun is down. He wonders if they will walk directly into the flames once they arrive. Maybe that was the idea. Maybe it was intentional.

He rolls back over, closes his eyes. He should sleep now, while he can, while he's safe.

Fantasy Drabble #312 "Champion"

"How old are you?" The little girl whispered at the darkness.

"You swallow dust that was my bones with every breath. I planted the trees that made the acorns that birthed the trees that were cut down to build this house. Old."

"But you're not real anymore."

"Real enough." From the darkness sounded a knock, knock, against the hardwood floor.

"But are you strong enough?" She glanced nervously at the door; her father would be home presently, smelling of smoke and liquor.

"I don't have to be strong. Smart is better than strong. And old is smart."

"I hope so."

SF Drabble #403 "Former Assistant Director, CERN"

There are eight people on the bus. The driver, me, an old lady, three teenagers sneaking drinks from beer cans hidden in paper bags, and a couple who are so intent on making out they're oblivious to all else.

The world's going to end in twelve minutes. Don't ask me how I know.

I wondered where I was going to be when it happened, and I guess this is it. I could pull the cord, get off at the next stop, but what would be the point? Maybe if we pass a bar… I wouldn't mind having one last drink.

White Lie

The woman sees him tramping up the dusty road and waves him over with a gentle smile. She offers him water and a tear of bread, and asks his name. He does not say, I am Rekkit. My father is Myn who rules all, and his father was Ul the exploded God.

"I am Juho, Chi-Eyd." He uses the word for mother that means 'adoptive'; it is a tradition among road-travelers. The name he chooses for himself once meant 'well-meant falsehood'.

"Sit, Juho, here in the shade of the awning. My sons are away at sea, and I have no one to talk to."

"I am grateful."

Her name is Kistril; she is a widow. From their sailor's pay, her sons send her scrip for gold through the mails so that she may keep her house and her full stomach. She sings to herself to pass the time; when he asks, she sings to Juho.

At song's end, she asks, "Where do you come from, and where do you go?"

You are foolish and impetuous and ungrateful of life, says his father's voice long ago in his memory. Go walk among your Aunt Vyl's creation, the Folk, and learn humility. His answer is piously evasive: "I come from East. Where I go is for the Gods to decide." It is, he is pleased to note, literally true.

Kistril has never been East, knows of the cities there only from songs. She married young, and bred young, and cared only for her children, and knows only the part of the valley she can see from her doorstep.

He finished the last scrap of bread. "You have been generous, Chi-Eyl. Is there work your sons would do were they here?"

She refuses the offer half-heartedly, but eventually admits that the fence has a hole in it that wild kree get through to steal from her garden; if it were fixed she would have more to eat. He convinces her to show him the break that he might repair it.

The garden is large and well-tended. To one side there is a weathered stone bench for reading and a gravestone, both cut from the same rock. On the gravestone is a girl's name and a rune that is well familiar to him.

"Your daughter was favored of Simkit?"

She gives a brave smile. "The Governor of the district sent his own physician as a Devotion. He said she would live only five years; she lived seven. So small and yet so strong." She laughed. "Folk who wanted good luck or special favors would bring her hard candies. I teased her that other people's misfortune would make her fat!"

Rekkit finds suitable wood and repairs the fence. It is hard work on a hot day, but he is free from care. When Kistril is not looking, Rekkit speaks to his brother Akril and his sister Bookt to ask their favor for her garden and house; the widow would have a comfortable winter, for once.

SF Drabble #402 "Be The You You Remember Being"

"How long will this take?"

They always ask, as though they had somewhere to be. "A few hours. Do you have someone to drive you home? You may be dizzy or drowsy, or both. Best not to operate heavy—"

"My car has A.I."

"Good. Now just lie down in the tank… there we go." I put the mask on her myself: they always get it wrong if you let them do it.

The tank filled with goo; I only stayed long enough to make sure she wasn't panicking. I'm over the novelty of standing there watching the years melt away.

Zombie Drabble #402 "So You Thought You Might Like To Go To The Show"

"Going somewhere?" Rick's voice, behind her.

Violet froze halfway up the ladder; in her attempt to climb silently with a heavy pack and rifle over her shoulder, she had forgotten to keep watch. "I'm leaving. Don't try to stop me."

"Technically all that stuff belongs to the town."

She didn't want to have to kill him. "I brought more than this in with me. You've made a profit."

"There are zombies out there."

She didn't respond, just resumed climbing, dropped down, sprinted off. The town wasn't going to last the winter; she'd seen it before. Better to risk the zombies.

Zombie Drabble #401 "Soles"

"This guy looks about your size." Farris stood over the now mostly-headless corpse.

Shepherd finished reloading and knelt down: like-new basketball shoes, not so much as a scuff on the outside. But the inside… "He's been dead too long. I'd never get the stink out."

"Beggars can't be—"

"I'm not taking his shoes."

"Suit yourself." Farris moved on, peering into cars that hadn't moved in three months. "Maybe there's a strip mall around somewhere."

"I don't even know where we are." Shepherd turned, called to the group. "Hey, anybody from around here? Or just knows where there's a shoe store?

Fantasy Drabble #311 "Vocation"

There was only one table in the tent where Orley waited. She stood silently, hands folded, while Kranz helped the orderly strip the wounded swordsman of his plate mail. Under where the metal had been pierced: a great gash of a wound.

Orley stepped forward, placed her palm on the injury, spoke the words as she had a thousand times before. The gaping wound began to close as sweat dripped from her quivering brow.

Kranz reached out to steady her. "I don't know how you do this, My Lady."

She smiled weakly, wanly. "It's all I ever wanted to do."

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