The drabble is an interesting length: a story told in exactly 100 words. I’ve played with this length before, but most often as a side project to keep being creative while I worked something else, something more important, out in my head.
I’m going to try working at this length for its own sake for a bit. Not constantly, but maybe one or two per week for a while. Here’s a recent attempt.
No one ever looks under the flowers. People admire them, stop and smell them, even pick a few sometimes, but no one actually looks under them. After all, there’s nothing there but dirt and a few worms, right? Maybe a mole or some weird little grubs.
They really should.
You really should.
Sometimes, there’s something waiting.
Sometimes, I’m waiting.
Eater of dreams, devourer of lives, consumer of flesh.
Waiting for the right moment. Everything you are, everything you were, everything you ever might be will become part of me. I’m waiting, patiently, quietly.
Under the flowers.
Where you didn’t look.by