Here are three more drabbles for your reading pleasure!
“They ruined my shot!” Malcolm ranted.
“So edit it,” I said. “You’d do that anyway, right?”
“Stupid idiot,” he muttered. I chose to assume he was talking about the person in the photo, not me. Peering at his laptop screen, I noted the falling figure superimposed on the otherwise spectacular landscape.
“Why’d you take that shot if you didn’t want someone in it?”
“They weren’t there when I took the shot.”
“You sure?”
“I was the only one on that beach. Now I have to spend extra time fixing this…”
Leave it to Malcolm to focus on the wrong thing.
Sally stood on the stone head, resisting the urge to poop. There was a time and place for such things.
“Brothers and sisters!” she screeched. The other seagulls milling around the feet of the statue looked up. “For too long,” she cried, “we’ve been chased away from our feeding grounds—”
“Who wants to get some fries?” Stu asked.
Sally glared down at him. “We’ll have all the food we want once we initiate the plan!”
“You and your plans. My wing still hasn’t healed from the last one.”
A moment later, Stu screamed and flapped crookedly away, splattered in white.
“What if,” Karen said, “you were so ugly you had to wear a paper bag on your head so you wouldn’t freak people out?”
I raised one eyebrow. “You trying to tell me something?”
“I’m trying to ask you a question.”
“Well, first, I’d use a box, not a bag. If it rained, a bag would get all soggy, and then I’d have to get a new bag, and I’d be going through paper bags like—”
“You’re focused on the bag?”
“What else would I focus on?”
“Your ugliness.”
“I thought you said I wasn’t ugly.”
“I never said that.”
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