SF Drabble #141 “Antiquities”

There are these stones on Filax; tapered obelisks three meters tall, covered in inscriptions. There’s a whole cottage industry of scientists and linguists camped out around them trying to figure out what it says, but nobody has a clue.

There’s a guy who’s convinced a lot of it’s math, but he can’t prove it yet. There’s another guy who’s created a religion around it. He’s selling merchandise.

Ask a Filaxian, and he’ll tell you: “Hey, they’re just stones, man. We didn’t make them. They’ve never really done anything interesting. They just sit there. We can’t figure out why anyone cares.”

SF Drabble #140 “Catapult”

We built the ships and the linear accelerator in orbit around Jupiter. After all, all the fuel you’ll ever need is right there, and you don’t have to go far for metals.

We would finish two ships, fling one, flip the accelerator around to face the other direction, and fling the next; that way, the recoil is cancelled. Twenty-eight colony ships were launched that way, before the war.

Now, with Earth in the first years of a nuclear winter that may last a millennium, we’re on our own up here. At least we got some eggs out of the basket.

Fantasy Drabble #98 “Ask The Experts”

Magic is mostly physics. I bet you didn’t know that.

Want to fly? You could transform yourself into an eagle or a hawk, of course, if you want to be prosaic. But that takes a lot of juice, and you’re not going to be able to cast another spell for a few days, so get used to being an bird for a while.

The smart wizard simply creates an area of low inertial resistance around his body, and then jumps into the air. After that, he steers by making the resistance greater on one side or another. Efficient and effective.

Fantasy Drabble #97 “Earth Mother”

I am the land. My blood is the sap that runs through the branches of the tree. My breath is the wind that rustles the leaves and makes waves in the grass. My hands and feet are the hills and the mountains. My soul is the sunlight that warms the ground.

The people call me by many names; names of their own devising. I have nothing like a name.

I do not speak to them. I ask nothing, desire nothing. They imagine me walking amongst them, as if I were man or an animal. I pity their lack of imagination.

Zombie Drabble #150 “Midnight Feeding”

Felt awful most of the day, really terrible. Laid down on the couch. The baby cried, but I didn’t have the strength to get up. I called my sister to get her to come over, but she didn’t answer. After a little while, I was feeling so bad I called 911, but they didn’t answer either. I think the baby fell asleep. After that I threw up and I think I passed out for awhile.

I’m awake now, and it’s dark. I feel different: strange, achy. There’s still pain, but it’s distant. Hard to think straight.

Hungry. Really, really hungry.

Zombie Drabble #149 “Repeating Myself”

I blew away a fat dude today. His jaw was already gone and the lower half of one of his arms was mostly eaten away. He was wearing a shirt and tie, and brown corduroy slacks.

The thing is, I had the weirdest feeling of deja vu when I did it; like, I’d offed that particular zombie before. I mean, you put down enough of the walking dead, they start to run together. And I’m sure there’s been fat dudes with jaws and arms missing in my sights before, and no doubt will be again.

It’s just weird, you know?

SF Drabble #138 “Eberswalde Crater”

“Where are you?”
“I’m over by Promontory 14. Sunward side. Why?”
“I wrecked the Rollabout. And that’s not all.”
“Are you all right?”
“Yeah. But my ‘O’ pressure is dropping.”
“Jesus, John, how fast?”
“Slow. But I’m all the way over by P9. I can’t get the Rollabout turned back over, the front end is dug in pretty good—”
“I’m on my way. Try to breathe normally, and slowly. Sit down somewhere. Relax. Don’t get worked up. And don’t talk. I’m already halfway back to the lander.”
“Don’t you turn over too.”
“Just hang on. Ten minutes.”

SF Drabble #139 “Way Back When, Down in Dallas”

“All right, everyone ready? Great. I know the shoes are uncomfortable, miss, but they’re ‘period’, there’s just nothing to be done about it. Now, when we get there, we’ll be standing in a group, always together. There will be previous groups there, too, of course. But they’ll be taking other spots. Try not to look too long at the Book Depository. Definitely don’t point. At least not until after the shots. Once the car is out of sight we’ll be blinking right out, to take advantage of the confusion.

“Don’t leave the group. You don’t want to get left behind.”

Fantasy Drabble #96 “Cold Sleep”

The snow fell silently, gracefully, and with finality; as if it would never melt away in a thousand years. The old stone wall was gone, buried, and with it the path. His footprints would go too soon enough. The house grew larger as he approached. A good, solid house of brick and stone and hardwood: it would protect him while he slept. 

What the world would look like when he awoke, when the snow was gone, he couldn’t say. Different, likely. A new language to learn, probably. New people, new customs to observe. There always had been, every time before.

Fantasy Drabble #95 “Stella”


There was no answer. He crept through the house, the only sound made by the creaking floorboards, the squeaking door hinges. The late afternoon sun made beams of dusty air that he hesitated to walk though. Outside, the moving van waited.

“Stella. Where will you go when they tear this house down?””

She refused to answer during the day. At night, she was all to happy to torture him with sudden noises and cold chills and whispered words.

“I’m not sorry, Stella. I’m glad. Do you hear? I’m glad you’re dead.”

Still, there was no answer.

“Goodbye Stella.”