It's been a while since I wrote any drabbles (100-word fiction) and they behaved rather like buses this week. Three on the trot appeared in the Book Hippo newsletter. Book Hippo is the new name of Indie Book Bargains and features the same quality indie authors alongside mainstream fiction. The line is thus blurred between indie and mainstream and the focus is on quality fiction in general, which is just as it should be. You can sign up for the free daily newsletter here and my author profile and published drabbles are available here. My latest featured drabbles follow.
Nutter's Pharmacy
How Mr Nutter the pharmacist stayed in business was anyone's guess, for he hardly dispensed any prescriptions or sold any medicines.
"Have you anything for my sore throat?" an old lady asked.
"Certainly! That hat of yours suits you perfectly," replied Mr Nutter.
"I keep getting indigestion," complained another.
"You're looking particularly well-groomed today," replied Mr Nutter. "Next!"
Mr Pumphrey, a regular, staggered in clutching his chest. "My heart..."
Mr Nutter knew what to do. "Morning! Oh you've shined those shoes a treat, Mr Pumphrey!"
Moments before Mr Pumphrey collapsed, he’d passed a large banner outside that read ‘Complimentary Medicine’.
A Mother's Loss
It’s the anniversary of the bombings and she is sitting on the edge of her bed clutching a photograph: her son. She’s rocking back and forth, back and forth, in silent agony. All year round’s painful but this day’s the worst. Her face is the picture of someone crying yet no tears flow. She cried herself dry long ago.
In the photograph her son is smiling. She’s not smiled since that terrible day. She wonders now where her son would be if he’d lived. She wonders where it all went wrong. Could she have stopped him killing all those people?
The Anniversary Gift
Agatha and Robert were due to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary this April. Their daughter, Natasha, wanted to treat them. They deserved some happiness at this late stage in life. Who knew how much longer they’d be around? And they’d never been abroad, so this gift was very special indeed.
Agatha had tears of joy in her eyes after she’d opened the envelope. She showed the tickets to Robert, who emitted an impressed whistle.
“Titanic,” Agatha gasped.
Natasha could have sworn the whispered word was accompanied by a small mist of condensed breath. As if the room were ice cold.
Nutter's Pharmacy
How Mr Nutter the pharmacist stayed in business was anyone's guess, for he hardly dispensed any prescriptions or sold any medicines.
"Have you anything for my sore throat?" an old lady asked.
"Certainly! That hat of yours suits you perfectly," replied Mr Nutter.
"I keep getting indigestion," complained another.
"You're looking particularly well-groomed today," replied Mr Nutter. "Next!"
Mr Pumphrey, a regular, staggered in clutching his chest. "My heart..."
Mr Nutter knew what to do. "Morning! Oh you've shined those shoes a treat, Mr Pumphrey!"
Moments before Mr Pumphrey collapsed, he’d passed a large banner outside that read ‘Complimentary Medicine’.
A Mother's Loss
It’s the anniversary of the bombings and she is sitting on the edge of her bed clutching a photograph: her son. She’s rocking back and forth, back and forth, in silent agony. All year round’s painful but this day’s the worst. Her face is the picture of someone crying yet no tears flow. She cried herself dry long ago.
In the photograph her son is smiling. She’s not smiled since that terrible day. She wonders now where her son would be if he’d lived. She wonders where it all went wrong. Could she have stopped him killing all those people?
The Anniversary Gift
Agatha and Robert were due to celebrate their golden wedding anniversary this April. Their daughter, Natasha, wanted to treat them. They deserved some happiness at this late stage in life. Who knew how much longer they’d be around? And they’d never been abroad, so this gift was very special indeed.
Agatha had tears of joy in her eyes after she’d opened the envelope. She showed the tickets to Robert, who emitted an impressed whistle.
“Titanic,” Agatha gasped.
Natasha could have sworn the whispered word was accompanied by a small mist of condensed breath. As if the room were ice cold.
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