Episode 5: "It's Not The Labour, It's The Parts"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 5, for Saturday the fifth of October 2024.

It's Not The Labour, It's The Parts

by Elizabeth Guilt

I waved as he disappeared. I held my breath.

He didn't come back.

I waited a couple of hours, but still no cheerful creak as he shouldered open the door, brimming with stories.

Perhaps things weren't as predictable as we'd thought. Maybe our calculations were off.

After a year, I had to know the worst. I thrust a spade between the roots of our old oak tree, riving the ground apart until I found the metal box, rusted after a century in soil. It was stuffed with letters. He loved me, missed me, but could not repair our time machine.

Episode 4: "New Tricks"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 4, for Friday the fourth of October 2024.

New Tricks

by Elizabeth Guilt

Girls love a boy who's spliced in dog DNA. They can't wait to ruffle Hugo's fur, fondle his ears. Sylvie doesn't notice that the hand curled around the glass is too much paw these days. Doesn't see him when his money's run out, snapping and snarling over bones in the gutter.

"You'd look cute with a tail," she says.

"That's not for me," I murmur.

My changes are minute, easily hidden. Fly DNA for reflexes. Tarantula and scorpion for stealth and defence. Enough to pull off the deals to pay for more splices.

This isn't about girls. It's about survival.

Episode 3: "Destiny"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 3, for Thursday the third of October 2024.

Destiny

by Elizabeth Guilt

She was born, red-haired and screaming, on the third full moon. The priests took up their chanting.

Her siblings, whom she never met, worked the fields; she was taught to read the scrolls.

They starved and huddled by the hearth; she ate banquets and slept on silk.

They fought among themselves; the priests waited for her to fulfil the Prophecy.

They laughed, and shouted, and danced, and ran; the priests waited for her to fulfil the Prophecy.

And yet, the priests were surprised beyond belief when she escaped out the window, and ran away with a band of strolling players.

It's amazing how many books start with a kid hearing about a prophecy and, lo and behold, by chapter ten there they are, growing into their own and fulfilling it.

I honestly think we need more books about people who hear a prophecy, and run rapidly in the opposite direction.

Episode 2: "Becalmed"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 2, for Wednesday the second of October 2024.

Becalmed

by Elizabeth Guilt

He stared across the turquoise waves. Something wasn't right.

"Braithwaite!"

"Cap'n?" The First Mate came running.

"I don't like it. The seas are too quiet."

Braithwaite gazed for a long minute. Not one of the rolling, foam-topped wave crests moved. At all.

"And not a breath of wind either."

They both looked up to the sails, which bellied round with wind. A wind that did not blow.

Braithwaite ran towards the wheel. Then the rudder. Then the mast, then the side again.

He stared at the waves.

And the ship, in the tiny glass bottle, on the shelf, sailed on.

Episode 1: "Part of the Furniture"

A impressionist image of a figure walking down a curved tunnel of trees. Across the top in yellow block caps, "DRABBLETOBER".

Hello, and welcome to Drabbletober. This is episode 1, for Tuesday the first of October 2024.

Part of the Furniture

by Elizabeth Guilt

The sofa was the softest leather I'd ever touched, and I relaxed into its warm embrace. I had never sat anywhere so comfortable.

"Curl up, get cosy," encouraged the sales assistant. "You'll find it needs very little care."

"Uh-huh." I wasn't really listening.

"You won't see any behavioural problems with this model."

"Really?" I was struggling not to doze off.

"The central nervous system is completely minimal."

I sat up hurriedly. "What?"

"The brainstem has been..."

"This thing is alive?"

I leapt to my feet. The cushions slid slowly away, as if they could hardly bear to let me go.

Are you sitting comfortably? Were you sitting comfortably? When I first shared this drabble with some friends, one of them reported that it caused her to jump up and stare suspiciously at the chair she had been sitting on.

And that's just the kind of effect I like my stories to have.