SF Drabble #161 “We All Inherit The Moon”

Riggy, he’s fifth generation Loony; his great-great grandfather came up with the First Hundred, digging out where the first domes were, breaking air out of rocks, the whole klick. There’s a status that comes with that kind of pedigree, not to mention the inherited wealth: some of those quarters have been in those families for a hundred years, and they make them a lot smaller these days.

He’s not resting on any genetic coat-tails, though. He’s giving up his lease and signing up for Ganymede. “Someday,” he says, “I want people to talk about me like I talk about Great-Great.”

SF Drabble #160 “The Old Country”

He could never quite get over the sinking feeling that everything was wrong. It drove him antisocial; he stopped going to work, to weekend town meetings, to the newly traditional cookouts. When he couldn’t stand everyone’s concern and judgment anymore, he rode off into the hills to where the terraforming had only begun to take hold. By the fire, under the stars, he could pretend he was back in Colorado, all those light-years away.

The horse was perfectly comfortable. It had been grown in a test tube from a newly thawed fertilized ovum; it didn’t know it was an alien.

Fantasy Drabble #110 “The Window Opposite”

The apartments in that building are all laid out exactly the same: Two windows that show the living room, one that opens onto the hall bathroom, and then two that show the master bedroom. Every apartment, identical but for paint and knick-knacks.

Even his. It’s like he wants it as normal as possible, just in case there are ever any questions. Except, his is the only bedroom closet door that opens to disgorge group of exactly ten people, every night at eight sharp. He hands each new arrival an envelope, and they let themselves out the front door. Every night.

Fantasy Drabble #109 “Gremlins”

You don’t leave too much, just half-eaten scraps. A crust of bread, half a cookie, something like that. Too much and they’ll know it’s a trap.

Once you’ve got them, you’ve still got to negotiate. They can fix just about anything, but you’ve got to make it worth their while. Confections are best, followed by other baked goods. Make sure you’ve got something sugary they can drink, like Hawaiian Punch.

Live up to your end of the bargain, whatever you do. They can break your stuff just as fast as they can fix it. And then they’ll come for you.

Zombie Drabble #166 “Clozapine”

Ran out of pills a week ago. Feel fine. Everything’s fine. I knew I didn’t need them. Fuck that judge and that doctor. I’m fine. It’s not like they’re gonna put me away now, right? No more assholes in white suits. We all know who they were really working for, right? I figured it out. Wasn’t hard. It was obvious if you just thought hard enough about it. The same people who started the plague, man. But they made a mistake, I’m immune. But they’ll come after me. The zombies, they’re going to report back. I can hear them whispering…

Zombie Drabble #165 “The Times, They Are A-Changin’.”

Ran into another group of survivors. Didn’t even try to talk this time, they just started shooting. In the first days, when you met up with someone you were glad: another pair of eyes to stand watch, arms to build barriers, maybe another gun. Now I guess all people see is another mouth to feed.

Doesn’t matter. They didn’t know what they were doing. They didn’t even try to make it to cover, they just opened up. Second squad picked them off while we hid behind an overturned bus. Gained more ammo than we lost.

Overall, not a bad day.

SF Drabble #159 “Man”


“Charles Morton Everest.”

“Charles Morton Everest, today is your eighteenth birthday, which is the age of responsibility for humans. In accordance with Union law, you are now required to pledge obedience to the Union Council, to Union Law, and to the Yndag as your racial superiors. Do you so pledge?”

The human paused, then answered. “No.”

“What? Human, the answer is ‘yes’.”

“I do not pledge.”

“Human, you… the penalty for refusal is the mines. You are the offspring of trusted humans. You need not—”

“You have my answer.”

“Fool.” He turned to the usually ceremonial guards. “Take him.”

SF Drabble #158 “Child”

Junior wasn’t handed to his adoptive parents by an agent of the Interstellar Adoption Agency: he was mailed to them. Jenny could still remember removing the tiny blue egg from it’s bubble-wrap protection and settling it with care under the Infrared light in the nursery. It was such a proud and happy day.

But now, watching him crawl inquisitively around the yard — all two hundred kilograms of him — Jenny was mostly filled with worry. The ‘terrible twos’ were not that far off.

She crossed her arms and sighed. “George, dear, we’re going to need to a bigger crib.”

Fantasy Drabble #108 “A Change is Gonna Come”

The wolf has the cat treed; she cannot escape as there are no other trees to jump to. After a while, she settles on a naked branch to wait. Their eyes are locked even as their heads rest on their paws. He knows he has likely failed, but there is always a chance she will panic and come down to test her luck on open ground.

It is only a matter of time: come sunrise the moon will pass from the sky. They will make the change and — sheepishly collecting their clothes — make their way back to town.

Fantasy Drabble #107 “Truth In Advertising”

Who can count the age of the world? When my brothers and I came to this place, the rock was sharp and the grass short, but I make no claim at having been here when it was made, and certainly none at having made it.

Others are less reticent; when speaking to the local folk, Muriu claims to have vomited up the world in a spasm of indigestion. Why anyone finds that reassuring I have no idea. The truth is; Muriu came here long after we did.

Were I not myself a god I would denounce them all as liars.