Fantasy Drabble #367 "Recipe"

"Then what?"

She continued stirring, but called out over her shoulder: "Crow's eye. Three."

"Crow's eye… crow's eye…" There were shelves upon shelves of bottle after bottle, and no categorization system that I could recognize. "I don't see it. What do they look like?"

"Seen a crow?"


"Did it have eyes?"

"…I guess."

"Like that then. Crow's eye. And be quick, we're almost to a boil here."

Still nothing. "Are you sure you need them?"

She stopped stirring, turned around. "Do you want this Roscover fellow dead," she hissed, jabbing a gnarled finger in my direction, "or don't you?"

SF Drabble #448 "Bedside Manner"


"Listen, I know you're nervous, I know you've heard any number of horror stories from friends and family and the internet, but believe me when I tell you: there's really nothing to worry about. I've done hundreds of these comprehensive Upgrade procedures and I haven't had a 'crash' yet, not a fatal one."

Once it was in his body and brain would be dependent on it, and if his body rejected it, he would cease to exist. But he could feel the anesthetic in his system, pouring over his skin like a warm bath, washing away all his doubts.


I told her I was only there for a week, visiting aunts and uncles and cousins; she told me she was couch-surfing on a year off from art school. "Mental health reasons," she'd said, and I'd wondered how seriously she'd meant it.

She knew all the good places to eat, all the nondescript apartment buildings where parties were sure to occur, all the romantic spots to stand and hold hands; I had specie in my pocket and didn't hit her, unlike her ex.

I wonder if that week was anywhere near as important to her as it was to me.