To celebrate the conclusion of the second calendar year of our existence, Drabble editors (both of us) have compiled a list of some our favorite posts of 2016.
While we are grateful to every Drabble reader and writer for helping to make this small corner of the Internet such an unexpected success, we wanted to call out a few pieces that we feel truly accomplished what we were setting out to do when we began this blog back in March 2015.
Here (in no particular order) are ten drabbles we truly loved in 2016, enjoy:
Writing Advice by Jamie Thunder
Dear Me by Anonymous
Goodbye by Mentalist at Work
The Field by Ali Grimshaw
Vesuvius by T.N. Haynes
The Haunted Mirror by Rufus Woodward
Her Blank Page by Isabelle Andres
Q & A by Nick Dunster
The Color of Poppies by S.S. Hicks
Run by Vidur Sahdev
You will fall in love with words and writing, and in the process, you’ll hear this a lot: “Don’t write like a victim.”
Don’t listen! Don’t let anyone else tell you how to express your truth.
Someday soon you will come to realize the Universe is arbitrary. Things will happen that are outside of your control, and some of those things will be painful. Yet, somehow you will make it through, I promise.
I’ve written this because I love you, and I don’t want you to ever forget that.
Your future self
By Vidur Sahdev
even the moon failed
this strange paradox
of finding love,
why was it
one falls in,
finds a reason
By Mentalist at Work
I can’t recall our first kiss
but I remember our last.
You tasted of coffee and toothpaste.
I murmured goodbye,
still naked, bleary eyed.
You let yourself out and drove back
to your work
I fell asleep and didn’t dream
By Ali Grimshaw
followed by a breaking open.
As the walls fall,
you will no longer be contained,
Grieve and they shall crumble,
until the last stone is still
Leaving you in a field of golden openness.
Wide and light,
No need for protection
In the warm air.
Bio: Ali Grimshaw is a poet and blogger. Her blog called flashlight batteries, https://flashlightbatteries.wordpress.com/, offers hope for those struggling in the darkness and a mirror for tough times in life.
By Rufus Woodward
My Grandfather had a haunted mirror. He said, “If you look into the mirror very closely, so very closely, you can see the ghost and the ghost can see you.”
“Did you ever see the ghost, Grandfather?” I asked him once.
“I did better than that,” he said. “I put it there!”
My sister giggled. My mother scowled. Only I believed every word he said.
* * *
Now the mirror is mine and I look into it every day. Sometimes the eyes that look back at me are not my own. They are my Grandfather’s, and he is smiling at me.
Bio: Rufus Woodward lives and works in Edinburgh, Scotland. He is the author of three volumes of weird tales.
By T.N. Haynes
the aftershocks shook paint from chapel walls,
Rendered pillars into powder—
a triturate of
They say a sooty residue
forever clogged the cogs of gratitude, and
to forever and ever