Miscellaneous Drabbles

If The Shoe Fits, Wait For It To Drop

His name was Dimitri. I called him Dim... because he was.

We worked together; third shift over at Kozlowski's sausage factory. He ran the grinder. I stuffed casings.

One night, he's got this burning itchy foot fungus thing going on and he's hopping around pulling his shoe off to scratch it when he stumbles and the shoe flies out of his hands and sails into the vat of meat scraps feeding the grinder.

Next morning, Dim punches out wearing only one shoe.

Management stares but says nothing.

You learn not to ask questions when you work at a sausage factory.

Music: "Amari szi Amari" by Rozsa / rozsaband.com / curator: freemusicarchive.org / Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0


She was gone. He knew already as he lay in the fog of sleep before even getting out of bed. He couldn’t smell coffee. She always made the coffee.

He wasn’t sure what he would find. A note? Torn photographs? An empty ring? But as he turned the corner she was there, sitting at the kitchen table, smoking a cigarette, wearing that vacant stare.

The doctors said Alzheimer’s. Dementia. Neurodegenerative plaque. Said her brain got all tangled.

He couldn’t let her go so ungraciously.

He reloaded the pistol, moved closer and aimed, determined through bitter tears not to miss again.

Music:"Ghostpocalypse - 8 Epilog" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

The Choice

Slow death is delicate agony. An Esther Williams black and white synchronized water ballet of goodbyes. Fully extended arms as metronomes, reaching in unison, counting the moments… backstroke goodbye, backstroke goodbye; swimming away until strength is no more and then quietly slipping beneath the surface of the pool.

Fade out.

Fast death is an act of piracy. An abrupt Charles Laughton led boarding under cover of darkness. Pillaging substance, raping permanence; it sets the ship afire, leaving you to jump alone into the black turbulence of the sea.

Celluloid breaks, flapping to projector white light.

Which ending would you choose?

Music: “New England Is Interesting” by BOPD / curator: freemusicarchive.org / licensed CC BY-NC 3.0

The Ex's

His first wife loved it rich and utterly decadent. Drizzle chocolate sauce on anything and her lower lip would quiver.

Wife number two was the opposite. She liked it bare and basic. Just a banana; peeled, of course. Maybe brushed with a light coat of clover honey.

The third wife had a penchant for lovely slices of homemade strawberry rhubarb pie with fresh whipped cream on top.

Pity that he could remember such intimate details of their dessert preferences yet, once again, call out the wrong wife's name at the most inappropriate time.

Now he's searching for wife number four.

Music: "Goldenshteyn" by Rozsa / rozsaband.com / curator: freemusicarchive.org / WFMU recording / Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0

Hairy Situation

After the lawsuits he was destitute. Sad fate for the chemist who effectively eliminated baldness. 

When applied, his formula instantly created follicles that immediately produced hair. Not that monoxadil wispy new down stuff but thick, rich, lavish, permanent, very fast growing hair.

Just a drop of it on any human skin. And that was the problem… any skin. The stupidity of man was terribly underestimated.

And he cursed himself by testing it on his own palm.

Has to carry an electric razor and shave it three times a day and he still gets the odd look whenever he shakes hands.

Music: Air on the G String, from orchestral suite BWV 1068, guitar arr. (paulstretch filter applied)
Johann Sebastian Bach

No Survivors

When challenged, and you believe beyond absolute certainty that you are in the right, you must hold steadfast. You cannot be a coward when faced with that moment or all your moral principles will crumble into a broken heap to be dragged behind you for the rest of your life. 

Stand firm with clear eyes. No thoughts of retreat or compromise. Now that destiny has come, do not turn and run.

Be solid and true and just and do what you know you must. Protect your honor and pride.

Afterwards, they say he said, “Throw your popcorn in my face.”

Music: "Elusive Happiness" by TheDICE / CC BY 3.0


Every Sunday the faithful would find Uncle Fred in church always sitting in the same seat. And whenever the choir would sing, he’d look like he was in heaven listening to angels.

But now Uncle Fred is dead and we’re here for his funeral.

As his only heir, I sit here in his chair while he’s laid out up there by the choir.

Mrs. Cheshire in the choir with the frizzy blue hair looks at me a little queer. Then with a wink and a smile she discreetly spreads her knees so only I can see she has no underwear.

Music: "Gypsy Shoegazer" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

Cupid’s Arrows

But what is this?   She sits lonely reading her phone, hoping the train arrives soon.

He’s across the way, head hidden inside the daily paper. Soon he’ll have his own business and not take trains anymore.

My moment has come. I take aim with my bow, slowly drawing back two arrows with ardent intent. Then they fly.

The first hits the mark. The businessman slowly lowers the newspaper. His gaze meets…

Oh shit!

The second arrow went astray hitting the homeless drunk in his rump. His bloodshot eyes lock with my amorous entrepreneur.

Ahhh…. c’est la vie. Love is love.

"La Madeline Au Truffe (composed by Jeris)" basematic / CC BY 3.0

Emily’s Family

On a brilliant sunny day, Emily has tea with her family at the tiny table in the atrium by the library. 

Brave Meshka the lion bear arrives first and claims the chair of honor. One Eyed Susie and Cowboy Teddy file in behind. Mama Poof and Baby Piff take the last seat together. Emily serves then has her tea standing.

Sammy Snake slithers in late. He hates tea and just wants cookies.

The conversation fills with polite niceties.

Unaware of the passing whispers and stares, Emily smiles, delighted to be with her stuffed animal family now that she’s turned eighty-three.

Music: "Dark Hallway (clean)" Kevin MacLeod (incompetech.com)
(modified by repetition of one section and repeating last note)
Licensed under Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0

First Seraphim Savings Bank

Are you tired of trying to live the chaste life of a saint in hopes of a happy hereafter?

Do you find yourself uncomfortable leaving your personal salvation in the hands of some remote third party?

Well, here at First Seraphim Savings Bank you can deposit your soul in one of our hermetically sealed, climate controlled, Satan proof vaults and go party like the devil with full confidence that when it's time to move towards that big bright white light, your record will be clean as a whistle.

First Seraphim Savings Bank: we keep souls sinless with interest.

Member FDIC.



I’ve been watching you. Tracking your movements. Listening to your phone calls. Analyzing your forays onto the internet.

No probable cause. No warrant. No judicial oversight. I act alone.

You complain? You have no one to blame but yourself. You stuck your head in the Snowden refused to believe. Now you are stuck with your own reality.

There are no secrets. I know everything that you have done.

You’ve been bad and now your night of reckoning has come.

Yes, your foremost fear is here… nothing but a lump of coal for your stocking this year.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

Music: Excerpts from Peer Gynt Suite No. 1, Op. 46 - IV. In the Hall of the Mountain King
Edvard Grieg