Episode 11: "These Bills Don't Pay Themselves"

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 11, for Friday the eleventh of October 2024.

These Bills Don't Pay Themselves

by Elizabeth Guilt

Cursing people is easy. Anyone can do it. Removing curses, now. That's a skill. Learned it from my grandmother and I'm good at it.

No-one who comes through that door and pays up leaves with any kind of curse on them. Those who won't pay, mind, that's another story.

Trouble is, people are boring. A curse for a woman: losing her looks. A man? Usually someone's hoping, you know, something will drop off.

Past couple of weeks, mind. Wow. There's been some... yeah. Creative curses. I'm impressed.

It's intricate work, too. Looks intriguing. Looks... profitable.

I'm in the wrong business.

Episode 10: "Would You Like a Flake With That?"

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 10, for Thursday the tenth of October 2024.

Would You Like A Flake With That?

by Elizabeth Guilt

The kids tumbled giddily from the car.

"Let's get ice creams!"

Dad bought 99s for the family, and they raced onto the beach.

Elderly ladies strolled along the promenade, nibbling at melting vanilla. Teenagers dared each other into waves that washed off the last streaks of chocolate.

"No, thanks," said Henry.

His date stared. "But... We're at the seaside!"

He eyed the jagged purple rocks, and the seething yellow-grey sea.

"I don't like it here."

"Because you haven't had an ice cream, silly!"

Sweet cherry slid down his throat, so cold it numbed.

He smiled, and walked towards golden sands.

If you live in the UK, a trip to the beach can often be a collective delusion. I've eaten ice cream on days when I've had to shield it to stop the wind whipping my flake away, and also when I've had to race the tiny pits that formed as raindrops splattered into my scoop of vanilla.

There's got to be some kind of explanation.

Episode 9: "Set Fair"

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 9, for Wednesday the ninth of October 2024.

Set Fair

by Elizabeth Guilt

Ella turned her back.

"I'm not a child any more. I'm not stupid!"

Steve laid gentle hands on her six-year-old shoulders. "I know, love."

He stared at the horizon. In the milky light from the silica skymesh, the

podhouses soon shimmered into misty distance.

"It's true, though."

"It's not true! How would it get to the hydroponics?"

Ella kicked the polymer ducting, hard enough that the vibrations risked tripping alarms at the recyc. plant.

"Don't do that, Ella."

He didn't blame her. Even he struggled to believe that, when he was her age, water had sometimes fallen from the sky.

Episode 8: "Wrath"

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 8, for Tuesday the eighth of October 2024.

Wrath

by Elizabeth Guilt

"And Henry rode up with the head on his lance..."

"Don't be stupid."

"He did! Though he must have stopped at the ford to stick it there, just to show off. It'd be too heavy to ride far..."

"He wouldn't even be able to pick the lance up."

"Are you saying my brother didn't slay the dragon? I saw the head!"

"You liar."

"I'm not. It was the size of Farmer Brod's sow."

"What?"

"I've told you, he's killed..."

"Oh, gods. We're doomed."

"Henry's saved us!"

"That size? Henry killed a baby. We're not going to survive the mother's anger."

Episode 7: "Don't Let Go"

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 7, for Monday the seventh of October 2024.

Don't Let Go

by Elizabeth Guilt

When Lily slipped, I caught her and we fell screaming together. Snow tore our faces until I slammed into rock, and she disappeared over the edge.

Pain stretched the seconds, and spun the sky dark. I clung to my grip on her wrist, hers on mine.

Eventually, help arrived.

"Save Lily!" I begged, her weight dragging my arm numb.

"Who's Lily?" they asked.

When I woke in hospital, her hand was a comforting bracelet. We held on to each other through the surgery, through the long rehab.

Each day I wake, face down and arm outstretched, still holding Lily safe.

Episode 6: "Titration"

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 6, for Sunday the sixth of October 2024.

Titration

by Elizabeth Guilt

After the earthquake, shorn power conduits shook and writhed until downtown was flooded with electric. Dirty, unaligned electric - no use to anyone, and lethal. The council set up cordons, and tried to explain they couldn't clean up yet. Couldn't plan operations until they knew the Wattage.

Which is where I come in, with my suitcase of ghosts. It works, and science guys hate it. Electric and ghosts don't mix - lit rooms give spectres no corner to hide. So I just let 'em out, one at a time, until there's enough to be visible.

37 ghosts. That's 14 TeraWatts.

You're welcome.

There is an idea, which I've heard a few times though I haven't been able to find out whose it was originally, that electricity killed ghost stories. Once rooms were well lit, people stopped seeing ghosts.

I like the idea that the ghosts are fighting back.

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.