SF Drabble #190 “Upper Manhattan Limo Service, Inc.”

The job was simple, driving VIPs around the city. The money was good, and I had a spotless driving record, so I applied. They called me back within the hour.

When those three aliens piled into the back, I was scared shitless. I called in, but the dispatcher said, “just relax. There’s never been a problem, and the UN’s good for any damages.”


You should have seen the back of that car after I dropped them off. I took pictures with my phone, but the dispatcher made me delete them. I’ve never seen that much slime in my life.

Fantasy Drabble #133 “George”

“Come out, foul creature! face me!”

“Go away.”

“I will not. This reign of terror will end, and with it your miserable life.”

The dragon’s outline appeared from the darkness and, in spite of himself, George took a step backwards: it was far larger than he had expected. When it spoke, steam shot from its mouth and nose. “If only it were within your power, tiny hero. You would be ending my torment.”

George, appalled, cried, “Your torment? Yours? You have killed legions!”

Midz-Aset sighed. “Their lives would have ended in a flash, regardless. As will yours. I pity you.”

SF Drabble #189 “Equal Opportunity”

Her suit is pink. Which, out here, gets her laughed at. But she’s no tourist. I’ve seen her manhandle autominers onto an asteroid with a wicked spin, with the naked sun in her eyes. She does it faster than I can, in fact. Faster than half the men out here.

She’s a riot in the bars on Ganymede, too. It’s hard to dance in gravity that low, but she manages. You can imagine how few women there are out here, so she gets hit on constantly. You’re not considered a Beltjack until you’ve hit on Pinkie and been shot down.

Zombie Drabble #198 “Supply and Demand”

Standard split-level ranch house, no garage. Two cars in the driveway, neither of them worth the trouble. Most of the roads are blocked anyway.

Five zombies inside. One — the mother, I think — was close to the door, and I had to shoot her. Had time to get ready to beat the others down, though. Pantry was sparse, but did get some soup and some assorted canned fruit. One good raincoat, a little big. No shoes in my size.

Sixty-seven rounds left for the pistol. That’s sixty-six zombies I can put down, leaving one for myself. Just in case.

SF Drabble #188 “Survival”


“I am not thirsty.”

We’d been walking from the crash site for hours, and the mountains didn’t seem any closer.

“I don’t care, drink anyway. We’re keeping a schedule.”

She shook her head. “You forget always; I am Chanvite. We evolved on a world dryer than this. I have waters in bladders under my skin to last me three eights of days.”

I sighed. “I didn’t forget. I just feel guilty drinking when you don’t.”

“Remind me when we resting: show you where bladders are.”


“You can cut and drink from them if need arise.”

“That’s just disgusting.”

Fantasy Drabble #132 “A Stern Chase Is A Long Chase”

He walks down the street after leaving the corner Korean grocery, a bag under each arm. He doesn’t know I’m watching. For the life of me I can’t imagine why not.

He’s let himself go.

The last time I saw him, it was New Orleans, 1913: Storyville. He had a room next to a bordello. Then, he was fit, alert. He made me within an hour and was gone, slipped out the back after paying a whore five dollars to make sex noises at his bedroom window. I shouldn’t have fallen for it; he’s been gay since before Julius Caesar.

Zombie Drabble #197 “The New Order”

You can stay here, but you should understand a few things.

This is my town. I don’t mean like, ‘I’m the Mayor’. I mean I’m the fucking King. Everything inside that wall belongs to me. Weapons, supplies, gasoline, everything. I say what goes and what doesn’t. I say you work, you work. If you work hard, you get to eat. If you fuck up, you take a walk out the gate. If you fuck up real bad, you get fed to Ziggy over there. And lemme tell you, Ziggy hasn’t had any fresh live meat in months. So he’s hungry.

SF Drabble #187 “Stratification”

I was five before I saw my first Vylid. My father took me from the village down the long dirt road to the trading post, a four hour walk. There happened to be a Vylid trader there. I remember being told not to stare. From my father’s deference I somehow understood there was danger; no one explained why or what kind.

I was twelve when I saw my first Booroo. My father took me aside and said, “Don’t look a Booroo in the eye. Don’t piss one off. They can kill Humans or Vylid without consequences. It’s their planet. Remember.”

Zombie Drabble #196 “Riding It Out”

They’ve been bombing for hours now. We’ve been in the school basement, where they told us to go in the leaflets, the whole time. They haven’t hit us accidentally so far. Thank god for smart bombs.

I can only imagine what it’s like out there. The tens of thousands of zombies that were coming down the highway, with five hundred and thousand-pounders falling among them, being blown to tiny rotten smithereens. I wonder how small a piece of zombie can be and still be dangerous?

I guess they’re saving the nukes. When those start dropping, I’ll know: we’ve already lost.

Fantasy Drabble #131 “The Barley Moon”

The cruiser pulled over on the side of the road, just ahead of where I was walking. The cop was polite, asked a few questions, didn’t really lean on me much, but he made it clear: I had to be out of town by dark.

Now, keep in mind, you can’t tell what I am just by looking. There’s no mark, no sign. The backs of my hands aren’t hairy, my teeth are normal. There was no blood on my breath that day. I don’t know how he knew; maybe he’s got the sight, saw me turn later that night.

SF Drabble #186 “Her Excellency”

The Hrlgo female walked slowly around them, examining them carefully, meticulously. When she was done, a male came and repeated the inspection, though his effort seemed pro forma, ritual. When he was finished, the door flaps of the enormous tent were pulled back and they were allowed entry.

“I can’t decide whether I feel like the guest of honor or the main course.”

The scientist testily whispered, “Don’t be silly; nobody’s been eaten on Hrlg for years.”

“That’s so reassuring, Doc.”

“When we meet the Broon, let me do the talking.”

“Fine with me. Just don’t piss her off, Doc.”

Zombie Drabble #195 “Preparedness”

Mick had been throwing up most of the night. He was fairly certain it was from drinking rainwater from the bucket on the roof, because that was the only thing he’d ingested in two days.

He was a traveler, Mick, never home for long. The fridge was usually empty except for leftover takeout and whatever beer he’d bought down the corner the night before. This weekend was no exception. Though he had planned on going to the conrer grocery to get food before his sister came for her visit.

Oh, God: his sister. If only his cell could find service.