Drabblewrimo 2022
- Thread starter sojourner
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MrCurry
right after this urgent rest
PRIDE
Janice had always known she would one day become a successful singer, so as she waited tremulously at the side of the stage, her heart fluttered with tension as she heard the preceding talent show entrants, the colourfully dressed Manchester Pride Chorus, build their routine to a crescendo.
Finally, her moment having arrived, and with nerves altogether out of control, she let loose a warbling, uncontrolled shrieking sound, which earned her the withering put-down judgement from judge Simon Cowell which assured Janice a place in the annals of “Pop Idol” history: “Seems like pride really does come before awful”.
Janice had always known she would one day become a successful singer, so as she waited tremulously at the side of the stage, her heart fluttered with tension as she heard the preceding talent show entrants, the colourfully dressed Manchester Pride Chorus, build their routine to a crescendo.
Finally, her moment having arrived, and with nerves altogether out of control, she let loose a warbling, uncontrolled shrieking sound, which earned her the withering put-down judgement from judge Simon Cowell which assured Janice a place in the annals of “Pop Idol” history: “Seems like pride really does come before awful”.
PRIDE
At the age of 75, George decided he’d learn how to use a computer. Progress was exceedingly slow and frustrating, and he drove his family mad with endless repeated mistakes.
A product of his generation, he was also a virulent homophobe, and never wasted an opportunity to pour scorn over “dirty queers” and “shit-stabbers”.
Upon finding out that his beloved grand-daughter was gay but was too scared to tell him in case he stopped loving her, he sent her his first email.
With two stubby fingers and tears in his eyes, he laboriously typed out
WALK TALL, WALK PROUD X
At the age of 75, George decided he’d learn how to use a computer. Progress was exceedingly slow and frustrating, and he drove his family mad with endless repeated mistakes.
A product of his generation, he was also a virulent homophobe, and never wasted an opportunity to pour scorn over “dirty queers” and “shit-stabbers”.
Upon finding out that his beloved grand-daughter was gay but was too scared to tell him in case he stopped loving her, he sent her his first email.
With two stubby fingers and tears in his eyes, he laboriously typed out
WALK TALL, WALK PROUD X
Fez909
toilet expert
Excellent.
Mirrors the history in my mildly-bigoted family when they have their first close relationship with gay, black, asian people etc., and have to suddenly reevaluate their views (at least publicly).
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
RADICAL
They walk among us. Like they own the place, Nige sniffs, but he's wrong. Symbiosis is the word.
A radical rewilding of the body, Guru Davide whispered. Two weeks in the wilderness without shaver or soap, my armpits were like little guinea pig nests. And my legs! So silky and luxuriant. I couldn't stop stroking myself.
This is just the beginning; take this mushroom, apply this lotion. Invite them in. Tiny new invaders poured through me, rebuilding connections, remaking every nook, crease and cranny. I strode out of the woods in full pelt pride, wifeliness forgotten. I own the place.
They walk among us. Like they own the place, Nige sniffs, but he's wrong. Symbiosis is the word.
A radical rewilding of the body, Guru Davide whispered. Two weeks in the wilderness without shaver or soap, my armpits were like little guinea pig nests. And my legs! So silky and luxuriant. I couldn't stop stroking myself.
This is just the beginning; take this mushroom, apply this lotion. Invite them in. Tiny new invaders poured through me, rebuilding connections, remaking every nook, crease and cranny. I strode out of the woods in full pelt pride, wifeliness forgotten. I own the place.
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
Music to my ears May Kasahara - be fab to see your outpourings whenever is good for you xTotally up for this sojourner, November is just crazy busy for meI do like writing them though so am aiming to do as many as I can.
ElizabethofYork
Old Crone
WEAKNESS
After a lifetime of being “different” I learn that I’m autistic. A shock of recognition that my shyness, awkwardness, anxiety, unsociability and all the other weaknesses were caused by this condition.
Nobody knew. Nobody saw it. I masked it so well. From childhood I taught myself to act like everyone else and not stand out in any way. Copying other girls. Talking like them. Perfection was always the goal. Terrified of making a mistake. I kept the sleepness nights, feeling inferior to everyone around me and the fear of failure to myself.
I succeeded. Is that weakness? I think not.
After a lifetime of being “different” I learn that I’m autistic. A shock of recognition that my shyness, awkwardness, anxiety, unsociability and all the other weaknesses were caused by this condition.
Nobody knew. Nobody saw it. I masked it so well. From childhood I taught myself to act like everyone else and not stand out in any way. Copying other girls. Talking like them. Perfection was always the goal. Terrified of making a mistake. I kept the sleepness nights, feeling inferior to everyone around me and the fear of failure to myself.
I succeeded. Is that weakness? I think not.
prunus
Tick tock.
I have never done this before, and probably not any creative writing since leaving school more than 3 decades ago , but here goes:
Weakness
The man lives in a wooden hut, hidden in a rock-strewn gully between two of the mountain peaks.
It is very cold, and winter is bestial, but there’s a meltwater stream, and enough green grows in spring that he can survive. And anyway, he must be strong.
He ventures out little, just as required to collect water, or a handful of moss or stream-weed.
Sometimes in the darkening evenings he can see down, to the lights of the people at the foot of the mountain.
There is a path, between the rocks, to the valley below. He never takes it.
, but here goes:Weakness
The man lives in a wooden hut, hidden in a rock-strewn gully between two of the mountain peaks.
It is very cold, and winter is bestial, but there’s a meltwater stream, and enough green grows in spring that he can survive. And anyway, he must be strong.
He ventures out little, just as required to collect water, or a handful of moss or stream-weed.
Sometimes in the darkening evenings he can see down, to the lights of the people at the foot of the mountain.
There is a path, between the rocks, to the valley below. He never takes it.
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Oh I love this!I have never done this before, and probably not any creative writing since leaving school more than 3 decades ago
Weakness
The man lives in a wooden hut, hidden in a rock-strewn gully between two of the mountain peaks.
It is very cold, and winter is bestial, but there’s a meltwater stream, and enough green grows in spring that he can survive. And anyway, he must be strong.
He ventures out little, just as required to collect water, or a handful of moss or stream-weed.
Sometimes in the darkening evenings he can see down, to the lights of the people at the foot of the mountain.
There is a path, between the rocks, to the valley below. He never takes it.
BOUNTY
She loved those dark chocolate Bounty bars. Would get a couple each time she drew her pension at the post office. That enticing red wrapper, the earthy smell, then a slow bite through thick dark chocolate to the sweet gooey innards.
Couldn’t stand milk chocolate ones, mind. They made her feel sick. She’d tried but as soon as she put them in her mouth, the retching began. Odd flashes of the headmaster’s office exploded in her head. Millisecond blips. Just long enough to feel choked and panicky, before she caught herself. Blinked. Blanked it.
Unwrapped another reward. Swallowed the shame.
She loved those dark chocolate Bounty bars. Would get a couple each time she drew her pension at the post office. That enticing red wrapper, the earthy smell, then a slow bite through thick dark chocolate to the sweet gooey innards.
Couldn’t stand milk chocolate ones, mind. They made her feel sick. She’d tried but as soon as she put them in her mouth, the retching began. Odd flashes of the headmaster’s office exploded in her head. Millisecond blips. Just long enough to feel choked and panicky, before she caught herself. Blinked. Blanked it.
Unwrapped another reward. Swallowed the shame.
prunus
Tick tock.
Brilliant. Perfect.
story
Changing the facts
ACORN
Pounding round the local park, uphill towards the oak tree at the top, where she would rest. Her legs were heavy and her feet felt like unbalanced mallets.
The fissured bark of the oak made complicated patterns, like the ripples reflected on the sand under clear waters on that last holiday. She tipped her head upwards, stretching out the sob in her throat.
A voice called ”Acorn!”, making her look towards the voice and the muddy dog that panted towards her, shoving his nose around her ankles, circling her before running off. A human followed behind, apologising as he ran.
This was the first draft, which is 239 words
Pounding round the outer perimeter path of the local park, she pushed herself up the long hill towards the large oak tree at the top. This was the worst bit. Her legs were heavy and with every step her feet felt heavier, like unbalanced mallets.
The heat her body generated was cut off sharply by the knife-ish wind as soon as it arrived at her skin, leaving behind a scalded feeling and mottled red marks. She paused to breathe and rest, a reward she allowed herself under this tree on each circuit. One day, she hoped, she wouldn’t need it.
The fissured bark of the oak made complicated patterns that reminded her of the ripples reflected on the shelving sand under clear blue waters on that last holiday. She tipped her head upwards to stretch out the sob in her throat and to keep the tears from falling out. She made herself look further than the scanty leaves and towards the white sky beyond.
A voice called ”Acorn! Acorn!”, like a warning, and she looked for a cascade of them, ready to duck the impact. “Acorn!” said again with more urgency, making her look towards the voice and the muddy dog that came panting towards her, shoving his nose around her ankles, circling her, disinterested in every aspect but her smell before running off with smiling whiskers and mouth wide open. A human followed behind, calling for his dog and apologising as he ran.
Pounding round the local park, uphill towards the oak tree at the top, where she would rest. Her legs were heavy and her feet felt like unbalanced mallets.
The fissured bark of the oak made complicated patterns, like the ripples reflected on the sand under clear waters on that last holiday. She tipped her head upwards, stretching out the sob in her throat.
A voice called ”Acorn!”, making her look towards the voice and the muddy dog that panted towards her, shoving his nose around her ankles, circling her before running off. A human followed behind, apologising as he ran.
This was the first draft, which is 239 words
Pounding round the outer perimeter path of the local park, she pushed herself up the long hill towards the large oak tree at the top. This was the worst bit. Her legs were heavy and with every step her feet felt heavier, like unbalanced mallets.
The heat her body generated was cut off sharply by the knife-ish wind as soon as it arrived at her skin, leaving behind a scalded feeling and mottled red marks. She paused to breathe and rest, a reward she allowed herself under this tree on each circuit. One day, she hoped, she wouldn’t need it.
The fissured bark of the oak made complicated patterns that reminded her of the ripples reflected on the shelving sand under clear blue waters on that last holiday. She tipped her head upwards to stretch out the sob in her throat and to keep the tears from falling out. She made herself look further than the scanty leaves and towards the white sky beyond.
A voice called ”Acorn! Acorn!”, like a warning, and she looked for a cascade of them, ready to duck the impact. “Acorn!” said again with more urgency, making her look towards the voice and the muddy dog that came panting towards her, shoving his nose around her ankles, circling her, disinterested in every aspect but her smell before running off with smiling whiskers and mouth wide open. A human followed behind, calling for his dog and apologising as he ran.
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Yu_Gi_Oh
天天好心情
Oh, oh! I want to play!
Entropy:
It begins with a play on words, and she, still crouched incredulous in the shadow of romantic catastrophe, cannot believe that a French man is cracking jokes about making her come before she’s even sipped her second coffee of the day, with the sunlight not yet even melting through the high windows of the faculty lounge.
It ends, after weeks of sweaty bedsheets and risky, sexy trips across borders, incoherently, in that same lounge, with him blocking her path to the sink and her holding the pink IKEA mug helplessly, hopelessly, wordlessly, with the light flooding in from the other direction.
Marigold:
He tells me that marigolds are strung in garlands and placed around the necks of homecoming loved ones, and I wince to imagine how they will soon adorn him, as he crosses the boundary from mine to theirs. Weeks later, as an act of grief, of honoring all I could not hold onto and all I was not allowed to keep, I sow marigold seeds in small pots for my balcony, and each day, as I understand a little better how these seeds, unlike the others I planted, will not germinate, I curl a little more comfortably into my sadness.
Entropy:
It begins with a play on words, and she, still crouched incredulous in the shadow of romantic catastrophe, cannot believe that a French man is cracking jokes about making her come before she’s even sipped her second coffee of the day, with the sunlight not yet even melting through the high windows of the faculty lounge.
It ends, after weeks of sweaty bedsheets and risky, sexy trips across borders, incoherently, in that same lounge, with him blocking her path to the sink and her holding the pink IKEA mug helplessly, hopelessly, wordlessly, with the light flooding in from the other direction.
Marigold:
He tells me that marigolds are strung in garlands and placed around the necks of homecoming loved ones, and I wince to imagine how they will soon adorn him, as he crosses the boundary from mine to theirs. Weeks later, as an act of grief, of honoring all I could not hold onto and all I was not allowed to keep, I sow marigold seeds in small pots for my balcony, and each day, as I understand a little better how these seeds, unlike the others I planted, will not germinate, I curl a little more comfortably into my sadness.
scifisam
feck! arse! girls! drink!
Joe's Grandfather had always been called Bounty, the name bestowed upon him after he was discovered unconscious, the only survivor of a shipwreck he could not remember, like the rest of his life. The village had cherished him, all those harbour mothers clutching at the thought that someone else might be doing the same for their sons lost on distant seas, even if this kind, hard-working newcomer looked a little different.
At the funeral, the priest took Joe aside, and showed him the picture that had been pinned to his shipwrecked Grandfather. “It needn’t be secret now.”
“Bounty: escaped slave.”
At the funeral, the priest took Joe aside, and showed him the picture that had been pinned to his shipwrecked Grandfather. “It needn’t be secret now.”
“Bounty: escaped slave.”
MARIGOLD
It always seemed to happen in the wee hours, when no one was about.
They’d wake to find Marigold beside them, gently holding their hand, whispering words of comfort and love in the darkness. Some would cry, grateful for her presence. Others simply smiled.
As ever, the next day would find Marigold back in the arms of another, being cuddled and crooned over.
Doll therapy, they call it, but no one knew quite how therapeutic little Marigold really was. Bought to soothe the demented, the little baby doll made sure that no poor soul left this world scared and alone.
It always seemed to happen in the wee hours, when no one was about.
They’d wake to find Marigold beside them, gently holding their hand, whispering words of comfort and love in the darkness. Some would cry, grateful for her presence. Others simply smiled.
As ever, the next day would find Marigold back in the arms of another, being cuddled and crooned over.
Doll therapy, they call it, but no one knew quite how therapeutic little Marigold really was. Bought to soothe the demented, the little baby doll made sure that no poor soul left this world scared and alone.
Yu_Gi_Oh
天天好心情
Bounty:
He’s sure he doesn’t mean them to die, but he kills on capture, hating the memories how of their eyes bore into his during their last breaths, and the weakness he feels when he cannot look away, cannot help but watch them watching him: a doubled judgement, a magnified shame, and worst of all, the tickling thrill of power.
He lays out traps laced with things they cannot resist, each time hand-picked, tailored with careful sensitivity to their desires, their needs; he observes the spaces inside that weep to be satisfied. Wounds already, really. In some ways, that’s absolution.
He’s sure he doesn’t mean them to die, but he kills on capture, hating the memories how of their eyes bore into his during their last breaths, and the weakness he feels when he cannot look away, cannot help but watch them watching him: a doubled judgement, a magnified shame, and worst of all, the tickling thrill of power.
He lays out traps laced with things they cannot resist, each time hand-picked, tailored with careful sensitivity to their desires, their needs; he observes the spaces inside that weep to be satisfied. Wounds already, really. In some ways, that’s absolution.
story
Changing the facts
BURIAL
He stood at the graveside. Rain pooled in footprints, the only sign that anyone had been there to bear witness. He looked down into the earthen slit and tried not to think about the cold stillness inside the coffin. One of the other mourners turned to look back at him and he took his cue to join them by the cars. They parted gently to allow him access to the group, murmuring faint words, touching his arm, reaching for his hand. “He wanted to be buried in a winding sheet” he said. “But I’m so worried that he’ll be cold”.
He stood at the graveside. Rain pooled in footprints, the only sign that anyone had been there to bear witness. He looked down into the earthen slit and tried not to think about the cold stillness inside the coffin. One of the other mourners turned to look back at him and he took his cue to join them by the cars. They parted gently to allow him access to the group, murmuring faint words, touching his arm, reaching for his hand. “He wanted to be buried in a winding sheet” he said. “But I’m so worried that he’ll be cold”.
RECKLESS
I can’t say I wasn’t warned because I was, several times. I just struggle really badly with being told No.
The others said I’d never do it, not in that timeframe. Naysayers. But I showed them alright, oh yeh baby.
They also said it would end in disaster blah blah and although that does now appear to be the case, I maintain that it was a good idea in theory. It’s those bloody people. They’ve ruined the whole glorious project.
Okay, with hindsight, creating a world in 7 days MAY have been a teeny tiny bit reckless, I admit that.
I can’t say I wasn’t warned because I was, several times. I just struggle really badly with being told No.
The others said I’d never do it, not in that timeframe. Naysayers. But I showed them alright, oh yeh baby.
They also said it would end in disaster blah blah and although that does now appear to be the case, I maintain that it was a good idea in theory. It’s those bloody people. They’ve ruined the whole glorious project.
Okay, with hindsight, creating a world in 7 days MAY have been a teeny tiny bit reckless, I admit that.
prunus
Tick tock.
MrCurry
right after this urgent rest
Bloody genius
Yu_Gi_Oh
天天好心情
Reckless:
When she tells him she’s finally bold enough to cycle home along the four-lane truck-dominated road that bisects both halves of the mountain, she waits for his admiration the way a chicken sits on a soon to hatch egg, all warm anticipation, settled in, feathers plump. She can still hear the fuzzy echo of Sajit’s voice, the way he used to say “Brave girl. Tough girl”. The way he used to say “Oh my god, honey. You’re amazing”. She waits for some variation of those words from this new man’s mouth, and he says “No. Oh my god. Be careful”.
When she tells him she’s finally bold enough to cycle home along the four-lane truck-dominated road that bisects both halves of the mountain, she waits for his admiration the way a chicken sits on a soon to hatch egg, all warm anticipation, settled in, feathers plump. She can still hear the fuzzy echo of Sajit’s voice, the way he used to say “Brave girl. Tough girl”. The way he used to say “Oh my god, honey. You’re amazing”. She waits for some variation of those words from this new man’s mouth, and he says “No. Oh my god. Be careful”.
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
RECKLESS
Wrestle a crocodile. Wrestle a crocodile, drunk. Wrestle a crocodile while it's drunk. Doesn't have to be a croc, of course; could be a big pig, bear, snake, a really pissed off cow, they don't like it when you threaten their babies. Good idea! Threaten a baby. Eat three day old shrimp, with hands washed in the gutter. Express an opinion on Twitter. Outrun a lava flow to the edge of a cliff where you will fling yourself off, try to knit a parachute on the way down. All of this, so much less reckless than what you're doing now.
Wrestle a crocodile. Wrestle a crocodile, drunk. Wrestle a crocodile while it's drunk. Doesn't have to be a croc, of course; could be a big pig, bear, snake, a really pissed off cow, they don't like it when you threaten their babies. Good idea! Threaten a baby. Eat three day old shrimp, with hands washed in the gutter. Express an opinion on Twitter. Outrun a lava flow to the edge of a cliff where you will fling yourself off, try to knit a parachute on the way down. All of this, so much less reckless than what you're doing now.
May Kasahara
take me to the feeling
BOUNTY
"Hiya love, is now a good time? IS NOW A GOOD TIME? Goodness, he's got a set of lungs on him, eh? Lovely stuff. Now, I popped in earlier but you were sleeping and I didn't want to disturb…just come to give you one of our famous 'New Mum' packs, it's got discount coupons, nappies, Sudocrem and…oh. Oh, what's up? Don't cry! He'll get the hang of it, you'll see - maybe try the rugby ball hold - like this? That's it. Look! He's feeding. You're feeding him. Small miracles, eh? The first of many. How does it feel to work magic?"
"Hiya love, is now a good time? IS NOW A GOOD TIME? Goodness, he's got a set of lungs on him, eh? Lovely stuff. Now, I popped in earlier but you were sleeping and I didn't want to disturb…just come to give you one of our famous 'New Mum' packs, it's got discount coupons, nappies, Sudocrem and…oh. Oh, what's up? Don't cry! He'll get the hang of it, you'll see - maybe try the rugby ball hold - like this? That's it. Look! He's feeding. You're feeding him. Small miracles, eh? The first of many. How does it feel to work magic?"
