Here are three more drabbles for your reading pleasure!
He clipped the lock to the fence. The gesture was romantic enough.
After the accident, she wished she’d never allowed it.
She paced before the chain links, listening to the lock rattle in the lonely wind. Beyond lay the vacant lot with its shallow grave. The shoes weren’t even fully covered, but it didn’t matter. Nobody ventured in there.
Kids said the place was haunted.
Years later, he visited.
“You’re dead,” he said.
“So are you.”
His lips twisted. “At least my soul isn’t locked to the fence.”
She longed to shout at him. But he disappeared before she could.
Every idea went into a bubble. It was the only way to keep everything straight in his head. Flowers, kittens, tears… all encased in a sphere. With each captured thought, his collection grew. He had another idea for a place to keep his trinkets—he called it a shelf—but since the idea for his storage solution was also encased in a bubble, he couldn’t actually use it.
Captured ideas drifted, catching the light. Wait… was that one a bad idea? His finger punctured the membrane, causing the idea within to vanish.
Why was his finger outstretched? He couldn’t remember.
I collect antique keys. On my last birthday, my best friend gave me a whole set. I had no idea what they were for. Probably someone’s closet.
When I moved into this old house, I noticed the locked door in the hallway, so I tried out my new set.
The first key worked. I opened the door to the sound of screams.
The second key worked, too. Behind that door lurked the scent of blood.
The third key stuck in the lock. I couldn’t get it out, nor could I open the door again.
That was probably for the best.
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