The Drabblecast Forums

I was feeling lit-ficcy the day I wrote it.

I couldn’t park in the garage, Jimmy said. I was annoyed. I worry about people breaking my mirrors or peeing in my wheel wells or something. What gives, man? I asked. No room, he told me. Moon’s in there. I peeked in the garage, and there it was: the moon, spinning quietly. It’s wobbling, I said. Ye...

You can't tell me it wasn't awesome having no responsibilities other than to pass classes, though. I used to have five roleplaying game sessions in a row every weekend, starting midday Friday and rolling through to early Sunday morning.

After two years in the slushpile, I have an undying (Har!) hatred of zombies.

But I like this drabble.

A theme that appears somewhat regularly in my writing is the old saying, "Heaven preserve us from what we may one day get used to." Acclimatization and incrementalism are all the more potent for how hard they are to detect. I can't say that thoughts about how we've been in constant (self-inflicted a...

The sirens went off in the early morning. It was an emergency. No one knew what to do at first. The nature of the emergency did not immediately reveal itself. Eventually, people ventured outside. The sirens continued. The emergency was happening. Life went on. There were some differences. Prices wer...

Well, you should know that my stories never require any further elucidation than is provided within them, even if it is sometimes a little obscure.

No backstory other than me thinking, "They say 'X is out of your league. What if there were leagues? What if you weren't allowed to go outside of them, like weight classes in wrestling?"

Life is just death plus shit, then?

Well, pretty much, actually.

Oh, they don't eat them. They use them.

Horrid, grasping, vicious vermin, clawing and biting and scrabbling for everything they can get, uncaring, inhuman, bestial, and cruel.

Once they're on the bus, how will we ever tell them apart? We'd never be rid of them.

If you sow as you reap, Death, therefore, must be the source of life?

“She’s way out of your league, dude,” said Harrison. And he was right. Trent was tall, blond, athletic; Elizabeth anything but. But when he’d heard Elizabeth ask a single question that stopped Professor Stromboldt cold, he knew she was the one. It was not easy. She assumed at first that he was mocki...

It's not so bad here. If you are strong or clever, you can claim takeout bags almost nightly. The seats are narrow, true, but that just makes them easier to defend, once wedged against the blackened windows. Yes, I have also heard the rumors. That somewhere overhead is the Upper Deck, where the weal...

What's interesting is how many students appear to have been killed immediately prior to the beginning of the school year. Entrance exams are getting tougher...

The line is Ouroboros in shabby coats. Ahead, the guard beckons the frontmost applicant forward. His coat is an incongruously cheery blue. He stares at the applicant, a stolid woman in late middle age. “Have you ever loved a man to exhaustion out of hatred?” the guard asks. The woman stammers. The g...

strawman wrote:Would you self-identify as a Designer or a Cracker?

Oh, Designer, no question. I have no drive to break things or find exploits, but I do like discerning the underlying systems. That's why I love board games so much.

The streetlights cast shadows as I ride. A man on a motorcycle appears, attenuates, is gone. Another. Another. They race on, splinters of night, flaked from me like chips of flint. They are faster than I; I cannot win. The sky twinkles, and grows dimmer. They are stealing the stars, I realize, one b...

The story is clearly speculative because, as the recent update notes specify, they have removed Herobrine. (I play a lot of Minecraft. I'm not *good* at it. I just play it a lot, roaming around building castles on mountaintops and piston-operated waterfall elevators up to them. And gardening. And mi...

I am just here to say that this is my very favorite Lovecraft story. Nowhere else outside of Coyote, Wile E., Esquire, regarding a shadow at his feet growing rapidly and mysteriously larger has ever been equaled this hilarious level of dawning realization.

Basically flowers are trying to kill you, is really the core theme of most of my writing.