Drabble Collection - From 25 in 25

Drabble Collection

Drabble Collection from "Drabble Activity 2025 - 25 in 25"  (c. September 25, 2025)

Perfect Fit ▶︎

LaShonda was afraid.

"Don't worry," said the doctor. "You're in good hands. We've done this many times."

The anesthesiologist pressed something into her IV. "That should help."

Still frightened, she prayed silently. She knew having a kidney removed was not routine.

Then another vial and the world dimmed. The gurney moved, her eyes closed...

...And she awoke, groggy but mostly lucid. The pain was bad. She turned her head, looking at the young girl next to her, and still managed a smile. I had two, and she had none. Jesus gave me life, this is the least I could give.

Stealing Home ▶︎

As she sprinted down the third-base line, Daisy could hear the cheers. Finally! She finally had a chance to contribute to the team!

Her position on the girls' softball team had been Official Bench Warmer, unless there was a lefty up to bat; then they let her play deep, deep, roving left field, where the ball was never hit.

Now she was in the clutch position, the runner on third who would break the tie, with just one out left to go. Glory at last!

She slid, one leg out, and—

"Yerrrrr OUT!"

Daisy wasn't even surprised enough to cry.

Second Showing ▶︎

The two boys looked around. "You heard that, didn't you?" Paul asked. They shined their ushers' flashlights around the empty theater.

"What was that?" Hubert whispered. "It sounded like—"

"I know what you're thinking—don't say it!"

But he didn't have to finish. They both knew it was the impossible myth come to life...

@-----@-----@

When the next showing started, two ushers' uniforms were found in the back row, draped across the seats like a couple of two-dimensional people occupied them. But no one occupied them.

Few people took notice: after all, the show must go on... even without the ushers.

Saving a Star ▶︎

I'd always had a benign crush on her, so my opportunity to help was euphoric.

She'd been standing behind a mall, an unwelcome crowd gathering. "Miss Yearwood! Trisha! Autograph?!"

The noisy crowd was becoming more and more insistent. With no protective entourage around her, I decided to be her knight in plain clothes. I pushed through the crowd and smiled confidently. "Looks like a case of mistaken identity again, Heather. Let's go home..." She followed me to my old car.

We took backroads back to her hotel, where she thanked me profusely.

And she did sign an autograph for me.

Safe Trip Home ▶︎

Archie didn't want to be Casey, but here he was, winning run on third and an incredibly skillful pitcher firing bullets at him.

Swing—miss! Damn!

No swing... strike!

Inside curve... swing... contact!

The ball flew straight and low, glancing off the pitcher's mound. Sanchez bolted from third base as Archie ran toward first.

The ball sped toward the first baseman's glove—

—Sanchez brushed the plate—

—a split-second later, the ball hit the baseman's glove—

Safe at home, out at first. But the run came first!

Archie watched with amused irony the team lift Sanchez to their shoulders as MVP.

Safe Passage ▶︎

"Stagecoach comin'!" someone in the street yelled. Leo's hand dipped to his revolver.

'Nobody move. That 'coach came into town fully loaded, and that's how it'll leave!"

"I—I need my kegs... sir," the bartender whined.

"You'll get yer tuns, barman, you—"

With the crash of a pistol, the bartender crumpled. Leo crouched, drew and took a bead on the shooter in one movement. His pistol thundered, three bullets finding their mark.

He stood up, his badge twinkling in the dim light. "That puts paid to the stagecoach robber. This is a town of law—and that law is me."

Pale Face ▶︎

Sammy howled in petulant anger.

"I want caaaake!"

Aunt Frida slid the confection, covered in white chocolate frosting, under Sammy's nose. But Sammy still pouted. "I wanted a Pale Face cake, just like the cartoon," he moaned.

His brother, Murray, rolled his eyes. "It is a Pale Face cake, little bro. Look closer..."

The boy finally looked happy as he bent to inspect his cake. Suddenly, Murray pushed his brother's face into the cake. "Now you got a dang pale face cake!"

Everyone chuckled as a surprised Sammy goggled at them through a nice white mask.

Just like Pale Face.

Nothing For the Rally ▶︎

The valley resounded with the hero's horn, and the strong felt the call to arms. Cowards ducked into shadows and cursed the strong hearts.

The hero stood astride his white steed in the mountain pass, challenging the enemy with the might of the village behind him. And the enemy came, in wave upon wave; but the cries of blood from the village grew silent as the craven spread their words.

They took the pulpits and the lecterns, and they spoke fear and isolation.

And when the hero died in vain, something in the hearts of the town died, as well.

Maiden Birth ▶︎

1988 was a banner time for heavy metal. I would have to say Iron Maiden's Seventh Son of a Seventh Son stood head and shoulders above the rest. On this concept album ahead of its time, Maiden unashamedly included the verboten synthesizer into a heavy metal release, resulting in an album of atmosphere, drive, mystery, and epic storytelling.

The cover art also told a story: that of the band's own eras over time, offering the listener an additional experience.

While many consider Powerslave to top their discography, I consider Seventh Son to be the artistic apogee of an incredible band.

Learn From Your Elders ▶︎

Elizabeth had never heard Grand and Gram fight until that night. It scared her; her parents shouted like that, and God had taken them away.

She laid down, trembling. Gram and Grand were her rock; if they didn't love each other, like Mummadaddy...! She fell asleep to the sound of their muffled arguing.

Next morning, she was dumbfounded when she reached the kitchen doorway.

Grand was sitting in his chair; Gram sat across from him, smiling. Their hands were entwined lovingly.

Elizabeth learned the fragility of love from her parents; only now was she learning the deep strength of it.

Know Your Audience ▶︎

Gunnery Sergeant Pillman emerged into the general area and boomed in his baritone voice: "Where's my coffee, you sonsabitches?!"

Sergeant Phillips had thought it the height of hilarity to play an April Fool's prank on the Gunny. The rest of the office looked away apprehensively as Pillman stood seething. "Who in the hell—!"

Laughing, Phillips finally produced the steaming cup of coffee. "April Fool's, Gunny! Here ya go!"

Pillman took the cup and stormed back into his office. Later that day, he found it the heigh of hilarity to assign Pillman two weeks extra duty as the chow hall NCO.

Just One Kiss ▶︎

It's really not so bad, being a vampire. I was terrified it would be all blood and violence, but that's not so. It is actually quite romantic.

You see, blood is blood, and animal blood does work. Human blood is much more succulent, but it should be saved for a treat.

What I did not expect was the ability to seduce. Men fall at my feet, begging.

Take this bloke here. We work together; he's been begging to take me round for a month. Tonight, he'll get what he begs for.

Time for a snack—just a little love bite...

It's Just That Simple ▶︎

Rex felt like fingernails were being dragged down his mental chalkboard. It had been a cacophony at work, phones constantly ringing, coworkers shouting. Leaving work brought no surcease, either, with the hum of the crowd and sharp horns of drivers honking their secret language.

But Rex knew he would be able to clear his mind soon. As he entered his building, a small, relieved smile played across his lips.

And finally, he was home, soup on the table, the clink of his spoon the only sound.

It's this easy, he thought. Happiness is simply solitude...and a warm bowl of soup.

In the Heat of the Night ▶︎

The duchess reclined on the chaise longue, her head tilted back.

"The days simply must get cooler at some point, don't you think?"

Lord Furham looked at her with impatience. "Don't be silly. Of course it will. We don't live in the desert, for goodness sake!"

The woman looked back at him accusingly. "I imagine her house is cool, in the shade of the wall."

Lord Furham turned away, furtively looking down and his desk, and read what he had written so far: "I promise I will come to you as soon as Lady Furham is 'out of the way...'"

Heads Up! ▶︎

Jerry carefully wiped the dust form the delicate glass of the old clock. It was a beautiful piece, he thought, but it required so much care and attention to remain looking pristine. He certainly didn't pay as much attention to his office, where papers lurked on chairs and desk corners.

As he finished his task, still smiling at the elegance of the timepiece, he turned and walked directly into the bathroom door as his wife came out from her shower—hard enough to see stars.

"Oh, honey!" she said. "I'm so sorry, I certainly didn't mean to 'clean your clock!'"

The Fire of Truth ▶︎

"Once upon a time," he began sarcastically, "There was a huuuuuge dragon in the forest..." He paused. "What a crock!" he scoffed. "I'll be back day after tomorrow."

But he did not come back day after tomorrow, nor another two days hence. When he did return, his clothing was tattered, his shield burned black, the skin of his face knurled and raw.

He walked into the tavern and bumped into a young woman.

She cried. "You look like you've seen 'the dragon...!'" she intoned mockingly.

He glared at her and spoke with low urgency. "Young lady, once upon a time...!"

The Extent of Love ▶︎

Nurse Hardaway loved her patients.

She would plump their pillows and straighten their sheets several times per shift. Each of her charges had a fresh flower in their windowsill every day and had first pick at the best meals the facility had to offer.

When they were sick, she was the first to their aid—a cool rag, soothing medicines, a friendly hand to hold. She helped them heal the best she could, and when that failed, she was still there to help, with her "special" syringe.

Because she didn't just love them; Nurse Hardaway loved her patients to death.

Everyman ▶︎

The hair fell to the floor in greasy clumps; the homeless, hopeless man transformed into everyman. His blue eyes sharpened on his reflection, and his confidence seemed to grow with each snip of the barber's scissors.

When his hair was finished, he stood up staright for the first time in years. His donated clothing was neat and smartly buttoned.

"Thank you, young man. You've given me something I've not had in a long time: my pride."

The young man had tears in his eyes. "I'm glad I found you. I've always hoped to pay you back for raising me, Dad."

A Dead-End Vignette ▶︎

He sits and stares at the screen, his fingers idle, his focus far away. The cursor blinks.

This is his home; these are his people. He thinks how they resurrected him by believing in him.

He had been lost when he had awakened, isolated. But he found that these people understood him, wrote stories about him, obsessed over him!

How do I capture the intricate connection of Writing.Com to my new life—my death?

He tilts his head, a faint smile coming to his corroded lips, and his rotted hand begins to type.

"Once upon a time, I wasn't dead..."

Days of Frost ▶︎

Robert Frost appeals to so many because of his most profound works, such as "Stopping By the Woods on a Snowy Evening." However, his humanity makes him accessible to me.

It is so much easier to read "Acquainted With the Night" from the same fellow who wrote that "A slim door got in past my guard..." He got a bump on the head and wrote a silly little poem about it. I write silly poems. If Frost can be great at it, why can't ?

Frost's willingness to admit his fallibility—thereby validating my own vulnerability—makes him my favorite poet.

Crowning Achievement ▶︎

"They'll never tear me from your arms. Damn their customs!"

He looked at her cautiously. "You know you've no claim to anything, not even reputation, if we're found out, don't you?"

She looked at him defiantly. "I would almost welcome it to declare that I had such love of the King, even the Queen couldn't match; for I am the one carrying his son!"

King Lucas II moved to the chambermaid's side, wide-eyed. "A... son?"

She beamed at him, nodding.

An offshoot son, bastard lineage!

He wrapped his arms around her gently, murmuring, drawing her toward the open window slowly...

Businessman ▶︎

Kenneth didn't think of himself as a criminal. He thought of himself as an entrepreneur. He was a clearinghouse, if you will. He received items that were unwanted by their current owners, paying them short on the dollar— sometimes mere pennies— for profit.

Business was business, and that should be clear to anyone.

But it was apparently not clear to Judge Edmond T. Leonard, who decided Kenneth's fencing of stolen goods was not only not entrepreneurial, but quite criminal— to the tune of seven and a half years in state prison.

For the foreseeable future, Kenneth was out of business.

Battlefield Brothers ▶︎

Hampton didn't hear the explosions; nor did he feel the ground shaking from the artillery barrage. He only saw his buddy from childhood, with whom he had reconnected only yesterday. The young man's eyes were fixed, glassy, and dead. He didn't know whether he should cry or not. Did one cry in war? He supposed not; in fact, he wasn't even sure if he could cry.

Instead, he reached out and took Leeson's poncho from his pack and laid it over his face.

"At ease, soldier. I'll take it from here."

And with that, Private Hampton went back to war.

Happy Birthday, Lisa! ▶︎

I look at the empty highchair and wiped tears from my face. Gregory had sat there what seemed like seconds ago. But twenty four years go by in a flash. Denise and Lisa would be over soon, and Lisa would take that place.

They say cancer never kills one person at a time; but Gregory held on to life for her first birthday, and today is Lisa's second . So I'll hold back the tears long enough to celebrate her little life; I'll cry for Gregory later. Life and love really are more powerful.

Gregory's legacy is here: Happy Birthday, Lisa!

Surprise! ▶︎

Not even a text. No card, not a word about it this morning. Steve wasn't all about birthdays, but at least a kind word could be expected.

At work, he wondered if Leah was planning a surprise party for him? As four o'clock neared, he began to smile; that had to be it. Just after four, Leah texted him: Meet me at the Doolins' after work.

Around 4:30, Steve approached the Doolins' door expectantly. Leah answered, looking disappointed, and Steve heard a party already in full swing, with music and laughter. "Oh, Steve. You missed Harry Doolin's surprise birthday party!"