By Tyrean Martinson
I saw him every day, riding his one-speed bicycle and wearing his bright yellow sweatshirt. He always said hello even if he passed me twice. He was our neighborhood “old bike guy.” I didn’t know his name. I just knew his smile. He loved bicycling up and down the neighborhood.
He’s gone. Or I think he is. I didn’t know his name or which house he lived in, but I haven’t seen him this month or last. Maybe it’s been a year. Has he died? Moved? I don’t know. But I miss the old bike guy and his smile.
By Leanne Beattie
Isak Dinesen said, “All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or
tell a story about them.”
Is this an aphorism or a deeper truth? Say
he is lost in the map of his mind,
like leaves in November. Wet
gathering memories in his lungs to tell him who he was and still wants to be.
Each breath a gasping war between the body
and the soul,
the right thing can be the hardest.
Squeeze the hand and
By Jet Tryon
The world is different now; awareness exists incredulously.
Thyself rests within every others’ gaze; soft should it be,
In order to know, because seeing and believing happen at once.
Branches extend, grow, break, crack, but you must not remain near the trunk.
Upward and outward are the only source of fulfillment.
Calm yourself, for your soul tribe exists, you must climb now,
upward and outward.
Expression is your greatest ally, a friend when your friends are gone.
Carry it along, let it be apparent; your soul tribe will find you.
The wind carries, seeds scatter, a forest begins.
By Aurora Phoenix
In that moment
when you are absolutely certain
your soul has shattered
beyond all repair
and is falling
in jagged shards
That is the moment
though the descent is long
as indefatigable as Tiggers –
By José Cañusí
They say at the core of every man lay an empty vessel.
Pedro fills his with money. José fills his with religion. Ernesto pours alcohol into his.
Claudio stuffs his core with self-admiration.
Turns out Pedro’s vessel is too small to hold all his money, so he gives his leftover cash to José, who always exudes the type of inner peace Pedro so covets. (Plus, he can get a tax write-off.)
José secretly craves Ernesto’s decadence.
Meanwhile, Claudio assumes they all envy him. (He’s right, of course.)
By Ryan Stone
“Surrender?” he begged.
Aisha gazed down her rapier at Admiral Benpassa. When last they’d met, he was raping her mother, the Queen. Aisha escaped the horror that followed; fleeing her father’s fallen kingdom to be reborn as a pirate.
A sharp blade and sharper mind had kept her safe when her blossoming femininity betrayed her. Her beauty and fearless nature were unrivaled; pirates flocked to her banner. She raided the usurper’s fleet mercilessly, taking joy in each victory. Today was particularly fine.
Aisha drove her rapier through Benpassa’s skull, then swung from the burning flagship; steely eyes smoldering.
It’s hard to believe that today, March 23, 2017, marks the second anniversary of The Drabble, and we couldn’t be more proud of the vibrant community of drabblers we’ve become.
4,000 followers. 112,331 views: By our (admittedly bad) math, that’s about 154 page views per day, 1,080 per week, 4,680 per month, and those numbers keep growing.
Many thanks to all of you who have contributed to this community, both as writers and as readers. Please keep reading, submitting, and commenting. Help spread the word. Together let’s make The Drabble’s third year even better than its first two. Let’s break the Internet one-hundred words at a time.