Tag Archives: drabble

Out of the Chrysalis

crystals

PHOTO PROMPT © Marie Gail Stratford

The crystals surrounded and penetrated me. It didn’t hurt, but I did experience the horrifying feeling of my very identity being drained away.

The corporations sold the government the idea that instead of changing the climate, they could change human beings to adapt to the rising temperatures and levels of carbon dioxide.

They told us it worked. They never said what it cost. The people behind “the change” were isolated from the crystals in underground bunkers. That wasn’t going to help them.

We did change. When we emerged from our chrysalis, we were far too deadly for them to control.

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Cut Down

stump

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

Emory heard that you could tell how old a tree is by the number of rings in its trunk. He had no idea how to figure the age of the stump in front of his place. The city had ordered the beautiful shade tree cut down because it was a hazard.

Pity. He used to sit underneath it with his grandchildren and read to them. He played hide-and-go-seek with them behind it by never quite hiding. It had been his harbinger of winter and his herald of spring.

Now, like him, it was just a broken relic of the past.

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A Finally Perfect World

Chateau

PHOTO PROMPT © Sandra Crook

Ali met Marie after her tour of the old French chateau. In ages past it was the manor or palace of the noble class.

Of course, no one could live like that anymore.

“Was it enjoyable?” Ali asked. He fanned himself. The museum weather simulation was too realistically warm.

“Enlightening, though a bore,” she said stepping into ersatz sunlight.

“Hard to believe people used to live this way.” Ali strode beside her toward the hidden exit.

“I’m glad our world is completely equitable, but let’s hurry.” Feeling an uncomfortable twinge of individuality, she walked faster toward the mental conditioning station.

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A Lasting Peace

fireworks

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

November was a cold month for fireworks, especially on the river, but it was a special day for Charles and his young bride Elizabeth. They held hands as they watched, bundled up as they were in heavy coats.

“It’s over,” she murmured. Charles put and arm around Liz.

“Not soon enough,” said Charles. “Poor Elliot.”

“My brother succumbed to the terrible influenza, not mustard gas or artillery shell.”

“He still died in war,” said Charles.

“But no more will perish as he did,” said Liz.

“Armistice Day.” Charles stood a little taller. “The war to end all wars is over.”

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Homecoming

david-stewart-house

PHOTO PROMPT © David Stewart

“Home.”

Gerald had dreamed of going home for so long. He’d had an idyllic childhood. From the white picket fence, to the front pouch where Grandpa would swap tall tales with neighbors, to the family backyard barbecues.

He stood outside drinking it all in. His dress uniform was crisp, the duffle he’d been carrying which rested on the sidewalk had been light. Gerald tried to breathe a sigh of relief.

But he was sixty years late. Instead of coming home from Nam, he was still buried in an unmarked grave thousands of miles from home. Now he could only dream.

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The Patchwork Man

stuff

PHOTO PROMPT © Rochelle Wisoff-Fields

“What the hell is this?” Matthew’s new eyes flickered across the macabre collection of “get well” gifts by his hospital bed.

“I would think it’s obvious, Sir.”

He called her “Big Nurse” but the woman’s nametag said “Louise.”

“I’m back from the dead and my friends send me crap?” He tried to sit up in bed, but morphine-blunted pain restrained him.

“Sir, you have no friends,” said Louise bluntly. “You’ve outlived them all. These are from your doctor.”

“What’s his problem? I pay him well enough.”

“It’s just that he doesn’t like harvesting your clones merely to keep you alive.”

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Bad Art

ted's bad art

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“This is just like before. Look at the image and tell me what you see.”

Ron sat across the table from Dr. Anita Smythe in the mint-green examination room, his blue eyes staring at the photo.

“Bad art.”

“Does it evoke any particular thoughts or emotions?” she asked.

“Only that I’m getting tired of this charade.”

“Ron, it’s not a…”

He slammed his fists on the table and she jumped at the sound.

The door burst open and two armed guards ran in.

“It’s okay,” said Smythe. “Reprogramming someone to be an assassin…”

“…is dangerous work,” Ron completed the sentence.

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All the World’s a Game and All the Lords and Captives Merely Players

cribbage

PHOTO PROMPT © Ted Strutz

“Shall we play a game?” Her jailer placed the elements of Charlotte on the table between him and Ciara with notable mistakes. Ciara recognized what Isom had taken from her brother’s style but only a barbarian would have so clumsily arranged the dice on the left of the cards and the board.

“You bested my brother one game out of thousands and now you would play with me, Lord Governor?” It was difficult for her to keep disdain from her voice.

“One game between us, Princess. You win and your brother goes free. You lose, and I execute you both.”

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And the Sea Shall Claim Her Dead

roger-bridge

PHOTO PROMPT © Roger Bultot

“We came to take nuclear torpedoes from an old submarine, not hunt for ghosts.” Simon, in the pilot’s seat of the deep-sea submersible, sounded almost panicked rather than his usual assured self.

“I can’t help that,” yelled Cora at the hydrophones. The banging I hear from the inside of that sub is an SOS. Someone’s still alive in there.”

“That’s bloody impossible,” snarled Vic. He was working the manipulators trying to free the first torpedo. “We’re 10,000 feet deep and that sub sank 60 years ago.”

“Tell that to them,” Cora shrieked. Then the sea’s dead came for the pirates.

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I Don’t Know Art, But I Know What I Like

box of rocks

PHOTO PROMPT © Dale Rogerson

“What do you think, Dad?” Liz proudly showed off her university senior art project resting in a dorm courtyard.

“I’m not sure what to think,” Mike said. “What is it?”

“It’s symbolic of the constraints placed on reality and the illusion that if we were released from our cage, that we would be anything more than inert material.”

“Seems a little dark, Liz,” said Mike scratching his chin.

“We live in a dark world, Dad.”

“But why so grim? You’ve got your whole life ahead of you.”

“Dad, you grew up in a world of hope. That world is gone.”

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