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Recent Drabbles

Fish Tale

Annabel had not eaten fish for three years after nearly choking to death on an unfilleted trout. It was time to face her nemesis.

She stared at the solitary fish finger on her plate and then nibbled a morsel without gagging or fainting. Soon, the plate was empty and her thoughts turned to future meals, perhaps involving sea bass or bream.

Annabel was dead on arrival at hospital. A paramedic from the ambulance was chatting at A&E reception.

“Looks like she was heading towards the washing-up bowl but stumbled and fell. It was a fish knife that killed her.”

Andrew Atkinson Merits

8 most prolific4 most esteemed


Even entering the museum of our life together, I am drawn by the memory of each gift, each apology that once mended a fight or misunderstanding and made us stronger.

I sit in the tall-backed armchair, so old and well-used the leather had scuffed and cracked in the place he had always sat in that room. The chair was the one thing he never gave to me or allowed me to use. From there I could see our broken life.

Kintsugi: the Japanese art of mending cracked pots with gold.

There is no gold left to mend this last break.

What, No Drabble?

What, no drabble? Again? Seems like Lindsay Wade is the only one writing them these days.

Mind you, he writes awfully good stuff. Builds a scene and then shatters it with a twist in the tail of the tale. Perhaps all the other drabblists have conceded that they have met their match. Been shown how it is done by a master author. All gone home to take up knitting or crossword puzzles.

Then again, I suppose they can hardly write drabbles now they are all buried in my back garden. That'll teach them to try and match imaginations with me!

Problems Of The 100-Word Limit: No.1

“Inspector Campbell, you cannot possibly believe that I’m responsible for Sir Ernest Smyth’s death?”

“Oh no, Lady Agatha. The placement of your pearls by the body was intended to put me off the trail. The real killer is one of the men in this very room.”

Lady Agatha looked around the gathering in her library. Her son Reggie, grandsons and nephews? No. The colonel or the bishop? Surely not. The Foster-Wortley man – who had invited him for the weekend shoot? James, the butler? Hardly likely.

“Yes,” said the Inspector, spinning around and pointing a finger, “the killer is Mr…”

Andrew Atkinson Merits

8 most prolific4 most esteemed

The Bus Stop

The four girls stood in the rain at the bus stop. A car pulled up. It was Colin from accounts.

“Let me give you girls a lift. But I can only take three of you – insurance,” he said.

“You go,” Sarah said, “I’ll be fine.”

“No, I’ll wait,” Barbara said.

Samantha protested. “Look, you’re holding Colin up. I’ll stay.”

Finally, the other three hopped in, leaving Samantha alone.

A silver Mercedes pulled up. Samantha got in.

The driver leaned across and kissed her softly. “Where to?”

“The Anchor Hotel,” Samantha said, “I need to get out of these wet clothes.”

Falling Objects

The four siblings were messing about in the clear water, just lazing around and enjoying the sunshine.

Out of the blue, a giant lump of something slammed into the water – causing the first twin to dive underwater in fright. Another huge object hurtled down, barely missing the second twin. Then a dozen or more similar objects landed around them almost simultaneously.

“Meteor strike!” screamed their panicked younger brother. “Or maybe an avalanche or space junk or bits falling off aeroplanes!” he gabbled.

“Don't be daft,” said the eldest brother. “Its just Dad bringing our supper. Yummy, Pond Sticks – my favourite.”


Heart pounding and lungs aching, Mary raced through the forest, sensing that IT was close behind.

Nettles stung her legs but still she ran from IT. Brambles snagged at her skirt, slowing her down and letting IT get so close that she could feel the hot breath on her neck.

Mary tried to hurdle a fallen branch, but her tired legs failed her. She went down on her hands and knees, totally at the mercy of IT. A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and she looked up to face her fate.

“Tag, you're IT!” giggled her younger brother Pete.

Best Friends

Sam and Luke had been been best friends since their very first day at school.

They were on their last summer holiday break before going to the same senior school, and were out for a walk.

Luke stood on the clifftop. "Look, Sam!" he cried, stretching out his arms. "I feel like I can fly!"

"You sure can," said Sam as he pushed his friend over the edge and watched him fall to the ground far below.

Running back to alert his parents of the tragedy, he thought that it was about the right time for a new best friend.

The Blade

Arthur transitioned seamlessly from the dull and dusty world of accounts to the quiet of home retirement. Prudence the cat purred her approval, but Maggie was determined to fill his time with trivial domestic tasks that had until then remained happily undone.

“Enter a competition,” she had suggested, and so he did.

That was weeks ago, and now he marched steadily behind his Jaguar XV-5 mower. His inch-perfect lines and symmetrical shading would surely deliver the points required.

Arthur stood mopping his brow at the finish, then froze at the sight of a solitary, fluttering blade - waving his defeat.

Death in the Forest

There was an unfamiliar stirring in the forest. From some way off, the young sapling could hear strange murmurs that steadily grew into laughter. She thought it was good that someone was enjoying the forest.

But as the sounds got closer, she sensed a menacing undertone to the laughter. A discomforting chill exuded from the deep voices that generated a cruel sense of excitement.

Suddenly there was a scream. A piercing scream so loud it embraced the entire forest. Even the solid, lichen-covered trunks of the largest trees could not mute nor subdue the screaming machine.

The deforestation had begun.

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