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Lindsay Wade



Flying High

Mabel adored flying. Everything about it seemed magical. The g-forces on take-off always set her tummy aquiver, followed by the serenity of level flight. She would gaze in wonder as familiar landmarks sped by beneath her, and then marvel as new lands unfolded.

Landings always carried a frisson of danger, but the worst bit was the long overland drag home afterwards. Still, it was a price worth paying for such adventure.

Mabel positively squirmed in pleasurable anticipation of the next time the gardener would pick her up with the other slugs and fling her on to the adjacent allotment.

It's A Hard Life

It's a hard life being a suspected psychopath.

People cross the street to avoid me and kids run away screaming for their daddies. Only my dog loves me, but then again he really is a serial killer. Mostly squirrels, but also a nice juicy postman.

I never get any visitors, except for the police. I seem to be the usual suspect whenever there is a petty murder in the village. I suppose they’ll be round again shortly, what with that nice Annelisa Christensen next door having gone missing.

Not to worry though. They'll never find where I put the body.

No Peas From Irene

Welcome, Mrs McCormick, may I call you Irene? My late mother was an Irene. Died very young, and so painfully. A sharpened spade can inflict fearful damage.

Do you like my garden? I never dig this fuchsia bed though, because of the body. That physocarpus stands guard over our darling little one.

This is my favourite bit - the vegetable patch. Sadly, it is such hard work getting enough organic matter to dig in. Which do you prefer Irene, potatoes or beans?

Sorry, I don't grow peas. Or was it ‘please’ that you screamed as the shears hit your neck?

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!

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.

Hanging Questions

His last meal eaten and final cigarette smoked, the serial killer slowly shuffled towards his execution.

“Are my parents here?' he asked.

“No,' said the chaplain as they approached the gallows.

“Has the governor rung with a reprieve?' he pleaded.

“No,' said the warden as the noose was placed round the prisoner’s neck.

“Will it… will it hurt?' he sobbed.

“No,' said the executioner as he pulled the lever to open the trapdoor to the death pit.

“Yes, it will hurt like hell,' said St Peter as he pulled the lever to open the trapdoor that led straight to Hades.

Spaced-out Jared

Like many boys, Jared grew up fascinated by the daring exploits of the space race. He followed the progression from satellites that just beeped, through flights containing animals and finally to people orbiting the planet and spacewalking.

He read everything he could on space travel, both factual and sci-fi. Models of spaceships hung from his bedroom ceiling and posters of astronauts lined the walls.

On reaching adulthood, naturally Jared applied for astronaut training. The application form question asking why he wanted to go into space was easy to answer.

“I want to travel to Earth in search of intelligent life.'

George Toughs It Out

“Go on, shoot! I dare you, just shoot!'

George was at his commanding best, showing no outward sign of emotion despite his seemingly hopeless position.

“Come on, get it over with and just shoot. What’s the matter with you? Scared that you might spend the rest of your days inside? Huh, what a bunch of pansies – you couldn’t shoot if somebody paid you!'

Grace, George’s long-suffering wife, heard the commotion and flew into the room.

“Darling,' she said, “perhaps you would have better luck if you just talked quietly and encouragingly to the plants, instead of shouting at them.'