SF Drabble #223 “Fell in Love With A Girl”

She came back with me from Rostov IX. It wasn’t hard getting her through customs: she took suitcase form, and I put all my things inside and checked her. She rode the shuttle down in the cargo compartment.

Now that we’re here, I just tell people we met on holiday, fell in love, and married before coming back. They’re so happy for me. The hard part was getting her to choose one form and face to use with the people I — we — know. I mean, I can’t keep showing up to parties with a different girl. Nobody would buy that.

SF Drabble #222 “Loop”

Ramsey runs down the corridor, towards the engine room. I’m right behind her. We know what’s about to happen; we knew it the first time.

We both turn on a dime to sprint through the open engine room door, and we both immediately trip over Dr. Englund’s body. Ramsey is immediately back up, lunging for the the Reemer-Englund Drive control panel, but I am frozen, staring at the horror of Englund’s face contorted in death.

Ramsey won’t make it. She never does. She’ll get to the console just as the Drive activates, and then we’ll do it all over again.

Zombie Drabble #239 “Diet”

I hired a company, Weston Survival Inc., to build and stock my civil defense shelter. Very reputable firm, did all the digging themselves. I remember sitting in a lawn chair with an iced tea and watching the delivery men carry in bottle after bottle of distilled water, numbered crate after numbered crate of canned food.

If I’d only thought to ask.

When the zombies chased me in here, I felt smug, proud of myself. It was halfway through my second meal that I realized all the crates contained the same thing: canned beans. For every meal, canned beans. Possibly forever.

Zombie Drabble #238 “Where The Heart Is”

The heads on stakes by the side of the road were the first indication that we were approaching a settlement. Some of them had clearly been there for years; they were little more than skulls.

We sent Ricks on ahead, as we always do. He’s about as threatening as a possum. When he came back, he had their terms for entry: give up any guns and ammo, pool all food supplies. The usual.

We won’t oblige, of course. We’ve been to towns like this before. If they don’t like you, they kick you out with nothing. Better to keep looking.

Fantasy Drabble #161 “On The Half Shell”

The sea was like glass, and the sails hung slack and empty. Prosperia sat like a toy boat in a long-forgotten bath.

Mr. RIchmond climbed up to the wheel. “Captain, I’ve made my count, sir; we lost two more last night.”

“Damned singing was louder.”

“Yes, sir. What do we do?”

The Captain pulled at his beard nervously. “Tonight, if we still haven’t caught the damned breeze, we chain the men to the guns. The officers will sleep in the wardroom, all together, to watch each other.”

“I’ll see to it.”

“Damned Sirens are taking their dinner piecemeal.”

“Aye, sir.”