Tag Archive for: drabble

Chow Time

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by Jessica Brook Johnson

 

The tentacled being floated through space in a ball of ice.

Smack! It hit the surface of a massive object. The ice cracked. The being was freed. Its tentacles tasted the object. Not food. The being’s stomach churned in hunger. It could not last much longer. It searched the object in desperation, tentacles clinging, pulling, and prying at every crevice.

An opening formed. Air blasted outward. The being almost blew away, but with determination, squeezed itself inside.

Noises blared above. “Decompression! Ship losing oxygen. Mayday!”

It tasted the air. It was full of pheromones, of fear, of food. At last…

Jessica Brook Johnson

I’ve traditionally published nine short works of fiction, one work of poetry, and I’ve won two Ron Hubbard Writers of the Future awards.

 

Voyage of Their Lives

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by Chris Tattersall

 

He had been blessed whilst his wife perished. Six days marooned; he knew the opposite to be true. He had been cursed with life.

His yacht gone, his wife dead. Starvation threatened, and soon any meat would be inedible. He told himself it would taste like pork, apparently humans do.

Saying a silent prayer for his wife, he sliced into the flesh with a shard of glass. The leg opened easily, exposing a layer of yellowy fat. He cut again; the pain hitting soon after exposing the red strands of his muscle.

If only his wife’s body had washed up.

Chris Tattersall

Chris is a Health Service Manager and lives with his wife Hayley and Border Collie Toby in Wales, UK. He is a self-confessed flash fiction addict with some publication and competition success. He also hosts his own website with a free flash fiction competition and resources.
Website: fusilliwriting.com

 

The Devil’s Breath

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by Pauline Yates

 

Tossed onto a reef by a rogue wave, our pirate ship shudders, and a sickening crunch sounds our death knell. Salt burns my lungs when I gulp water, not air, then I’m back on board with my crew, peering through fog that reeks of sulphur.

“What’s that smell?”

“The Devil’s breath,” a crewmate says. “Collecting our plundering souls, he is.”

I clutch my ghostly chest. “He can take it. I never want to drown again.”

“Nay. Caught in a hell loop, I fear.” He points at the ocean. A wave swells, tossing the ship. “Brace yourself. We’re going down again.”

Pauline Yates

Pauline Yates lives in Australia and writes horror and dark speculative fiction. Links to her publications can be found here: https://linktr.ee/paulineyates

 

 

 

From the Deep

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by Michael Stroh

 

I wake, vomiting seawater. I’m shivering and clutching soggy driftwood that’s barely keeping me afloat. A piece of our ship, I realise. I see nothing but empty, uncharted ocean. And bits of debris bobbing indifferently.

What happened? A storm?

It returns in flashes. The Catalina rocking, splintering. Harpoons hurtling. Tentacles reaching. The crew dragged screaming beneath the waves.

It was no storm.

I yank my legs from the blue-black water, searching the depths for movement. Something bubbles to the surface. A torso—bloated and bloodless. Wearing the captain’s jacket.

Around me, the water darkens. A shadow rising from the deep.

Michael Stroh

Michael Stroh is a pastor and writer in the Dallas area. His stories have appeared or are forthcoming in publications including Shoreline of Infinity, Martian Magazine, SQ Mag, and anthologies by Black Hare Press and Shacklebound Books. He and his wife Libby have three kids. Find him on Twitter @pastor_writer.

 

 

 

Cover Your Ears

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by Karen Thrower

 

It’s been a year since the dead began rising from their graves, hunting whatever humans they could find. We tried to get them to eat animals, but there was something about us that they craved. It didn’t take long before we lost hope and shuttered ourselves in our homes. Then one bright day, we found our solution. A happy accident really, during a zombie attack in Switzerland. As someone just happened to run into an old Victrola, the music that spilled forth had the zombies scrambling to get away. Who knew that yodelling would be our salvation against the undead.

Karen Thrower

Karen Thrower is a native Oklahoman, wife, and mother to a rambunctious eight-year old.  She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Deaf Education from The University of Tulsa.  She is also a member of Oklahoma Science Fiction Writers and serves as the Facebook ‘Wizard’.

 

 

 

Season of the Zombie

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by Shane Sinjun

 

“Revenge is a dish best served hot.” Rico turned from the campfire and flipped the pan-fried zombie brains onto Cat’s plate.

It hadn’t taken long for word to get around. Cooking zombie brains altered the proteins in the meat. It tasted rich and salty, but this delicacy offered something even more delectable—immunity.

Cat skewered the seasoned meat and held it aloft. “Here’s to the best zombie chef in town.”

They chewed, swallowed, savoured.

Rico grabbed two burning branches from the fire and handed one to Cat. They turned and faced the approaching zombie horde.

Cat roared, “Bring on dessert!”

Shane Sinjun

Shane Sinjun writes dark quirky fiction from Melbourne, Australia. He has a heart of gold. The rest is mainly base metals. Follow him on Twitter: @Shane_SJF

 

 

 

Joe’s Bar

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by Jodie Angell

 

Joe’s Bar had changed considerably since the zombie apocalypse first broke out. He’d learned rather quickly that there was a shift in the market—instead of Sex on the Beach, mojitos, and piña coladas, his menu offered a variety of Molotov cocktails.

He grabbed his firebombs from behind the bar and positioned them side by side.

“Going to need them today, bud.” Max exchanged cash for cocktails.

“Aye.” Joe grinned.

Together, they strode outside, facing the encroaching crowd of screeching zombies.

They lit the rags, then launched the fiery weapons. Bloodied limbs, severed heads, and guts erupted from the flames.

Jodie Angell

Jodie Angell grew up in South Wales, U.K. She started writing at the age of eleven, entering children’s anthologies. Her first book, Crimson Kiss, is published with Champagne Book Group.

Jodie explores all genres, including dark fiction, fantasy, and romance.

Instagram: @jodieangell_author

 

 

 

The Door

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by Alden Terzo

 

The cellar door creaked and flexed as the hungry zombies outside pushed against it. Alone in the cellar, Olivia sliced a hunk of rotting meat and tossed it through a small opening high in the wall. It hit the ground outside with a plop. The noise and smell drew the zombies from the door.

She’d bought some time. Before her father died, he’d promised her help was coming. Olivia needed the door to hold until then.

Grimacing, she cut another hunk of putrid flesh to distract the zombies. She hoped help arrived soon. There wasn’t much of her father left.

Alden Terzo

When Alden Terzo isn’t reading, he’s often writing. Or procrastinating. There is usually coffee involved. Find him on Twitter @AmbassadorAlden 

 

 

 

The Cellar

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by Tracy Davidson

 

My arms ache from swinging the scythe so often. Must have decapitated fifty already today, and it’s not even lunchtime.

They outnumber us now. Most human survivors shelter offshore. Zombies don’t seem to like oceans. But I’m still a hundred miles from the nearest coast.

Dammit, here’s another one, drooling at the sight of flesh. My scythe’s by the door. I throw the nearest object, running for my weapon. But don’t need it. The zombie’s head melts away.

A salt cellar? Salt! No wonder they avoid oceans.

I stock up. I’m gonna make it after all. Maybe we all will.

Tracy Davidson

Tracy Davidson lives in Warwickshire, England, and writes poetry and flash fiction. Her work has appeared in various publications and anthologies, including: Poet’s Market, Mslexia, Atlas Poetica, Modern Haiku, The Binnacle, A Hundred Gourds, Shooter, Journey to Crone, The Great Gatsby Anthology, WAR, In Protest: 150 Poems for Human Rights.

 

 

 

I Guess Grannie Will Be Fine

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by Greg Beatty

 

After Johnny’s parents died, Grannie raised him.

She helped him with algebra, bullies, and dating. When the zombies came, it was time for Johnny to return the favour.

“Grannie’s tough,” he told his wife. “But these days she just sits and knits.”

When he got to her cottage, Grannie was sitting on the porch. Knitting.

“Careful!” she called. “Only walk on the white stones.”

Johnny did, joining her on the porch just as the zombies broke into the garden…where they fell to pieces, dropping arms here and heads there.

Grannie said, “I used some of your grandpa’s special monofilament wire.”

Greg Beatty

When he’s not writing, Greg Beatty walks with his dog, dabbles in the martial arts, plays with his grandchildren, and teaches college.
You can find a number of his stories on Payhip: https://payhip.com/GregBeatty