Non-Drabble: Break Update

Hey all. Hope you and yours are good.

Just a short note to let you know what's going on. Not to get into too much detail, basically a major change in my life was meant to be done with by now, at least the main part of it. But because of reasons, it's going to continue for another month. Now I could, in theory, come back and then stop again closer to the date, but given the circumstances, I've decided to extend my break till after it's all done.

So, the TL:DR part; my break will extend to the end of December, I haven't had a really long break since I started, so I'm taking one now. I'll restart the blog on Jan 1st, 2024. In the meantime, why not go back and read some of the old ones you might have missed? I might post flashbacks on social media, but baring major unforeseen changes, new content will return in the new year.

Thank you for your support.

Non-Drabble: Brief Absence

Just a quick programming note, there will be no Drabbles for at least a couple weeks, while I sort out some stuff, I will return ASAP.

Spirited

I asked for prayer and bowed my head, as did everyone else.

And then I heard it, a tinny little tune, a ringtone.

Uncontrollable tears would have been expected, a badly timed coughing fit would have been understandable, but this was not something I'd let stand.

I looked around, trying to find the guilty party, until my eyes moved and found the source of the ringing phone.

It was coming from the coffin.

I was confused but slowly opened it, and found the phone in his suit pocket. I pulled it out and answered it.

"Hello?"

"I requested no prayers!"

Blow The Deal

Billy Smithson was the trumpet player in the Blue Swamp bar in New Orleans, back when jazz was being born. And he was incredible, almost every night he'd play the best ever jazz that anyone had heard, every night was different but equally brilliant.

Almost every night.

Because on nights when they wanted to record him, or when some important agent was in the audience, he'd play terribly. He told people he just had bad nerves.

The truth was that he'd made a deal for his place with the devil.

Or at least the owner of the bar, same thing. 

Scotched

I turned off the TV just as they were making futile suggestions on what to do to try and survive the asteroid's impact.

I debated beating the rush, but then my eyes fell on the bottle.

It was the last present my father ever bought me, his last attempt to get me interested in what he liked, given that I'd rejected football, The Stones, and home renovation.

After he passed, I'd kept the scotch untouched, but at this point, why not?

I opened it, poured out a glass, and drank it.

I woke up the next morning confused but happy.

Evil Fake Out

I held the gun out, flicking between the two of them, both of whom held their hands up.

"Babe, calm down, just shoot it, it's clearly the shapeshifter!" said the first Jack.

"Honey, don't listen to it, it's the evil thing, shoot it!" said Jack 2.

I switched between the two of them.

"Ok, what's something only Jack would know about me?" I asked.

"You've always thought that idea was fucking stupid!"

As soon as Jack said this, I shot the fake. Jack smiled as he approached, before hugging me tight.

Too tight.

"Why'd you think only one shapeshifter exists?" 

Magic Hands

My Mentor had a habit of going off on tangents. He'd be teaching me about magic circle symbol drawing then suddenly would begin to talk about how to defend yourself against a werelion. It was tiring, but usually it was still useful information.

But today, he got five minutes into talking about proper wand manipulation when he suddenly began talking about succubi, how to identify, how to handle, how to summon and banish, he was focused for the rest of the day.

My confusion was eventually solved when the next day he confessed to me about his ex, a half-succubus.