Friday Night Drabble Party is in the house! Or apartment! Or trailer! Or yurt!
Have ya missed it? I know ya have!
Now, I know you don’t want to hear me prattle on, so I’ll just get right into the free micro-fiction.
But…let me ask a favor. If you dig the Party, and you like micro-fiction that is FREE then please share the link to this post. Tweet it, Facebook it, whatever- share it. If I’m going to give these words away for free then I want as many people as possible to share in the madness that is Jake Bible Fiction.
Passing The Time
“Carabiner,” Bolton said. “Carabiner, carabiner, carabiner.”
“What are you doing?” Mintly asked.
“Just saying the word ‘carabiner’ over and over,” Bolton replied.
“I can hear that. Why?”
“Because the word is different.You know how when you say a word over and over it loses its meaning?”
“Carabiner doesn’t. Try it. I can say the word a hundred times and it still makes sense.”
Mintly stared at Bolton for a while then looked down at the massive pool of sharks below their cage.
“I can’t deal with you right now,” Mintly said. “You’re an idiot.”
Bolton shrugged. “Carabiner, carabiner, carabiner…”
Disclaimer: Everything changes, but it always stays the same.
The first Friday of October! Oh, let the Party begin!
I do love this month. Halloween and my birthday. I turn the big Four-Oh this month. Forty years of awesome! You know what else is awesome? The Friday Night Drabble Party! It’s true! And this month, each Friday will have some type of horror element. Not precisely Halloween themed, but close enough for horseshoes and beta releases.
So get to reading this week’s Drabble!
(PS- If you’re shopping for my birthday I prefer bourbon. I also like hats. I’m a bald man turning forty, so yes, I will wear them with irony.)
A Snapshot of Violence
The teeth flew from his mouth like streamers from a New Year’s Eve cracker. Bits of enamel like confetti; spittle like glitter. His head rocked to the side, all slow-motion and drama. Sweat exploded from his damp hair, spraying across the wall, filling the space between the splatters of blood. His legs went weak, his knees buckled, his hands reached behind him for something steady, something solid, substantial; the opposite of his mental state. He couldn’t open his eyes anymore; he couldn’t see the next hit. Or the next one. Or the next. Then, thankfully, it was over and done.
Disclaimer: I call them crackers, you call them poppers, either way they still go boom and spray paper and crap everywhere while making the dogs hide under the table.