Tag: Drabble

In the Year 2076

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The year the US turned three hundred, Marcy traded lace for leather boots with the cobbler, whose daughter was getting married. Handy with a thread and needle, Marcy shared her flea market stall with her friend, Anne, who wove linen and wool.

During thirty years of a government shut down, the country had split into separate economic and political entities. The original thirteen colonies loosely allied under a charter to pursue a more perfect union. The Midwest showed folks how to be “Minnesota Nice.” Washington pursued politics as usual while the rest got on with the politics of the practical.

The One That Got Away

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I want my baby back. Ribs. That’s back ribs. I was standing at the meat counter and there was one package left. It’s been ages since I’ve barbequed ribs, ages. 

The last time was at a cabin up north, summer. The mosquitos were buzzing and I slapped at them and then made a fire to smoke the skeeters away and once you have a fire, then you need some ribs. So we had ribs, potato salad, beans, and apple pie. 

I looked for the ribs. Gone. They were in this lady’s cart heading for dairy. So, I got some tofu.

On the Day of the Dead, Life and Death Meet

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La Calavera Catrina strolled in the park on La Dia de Muertos. She passed stands of tamales where patrons and proprietors waved. A small boy ran to her and held out a sugar skull. “Senora, for you.”  Catrina’s skeletal face brightened under the wide-brimmed hat she wore.

She plucked a flower from the hat and held it out for him. “Muchacho, muchas gracias. I wish you a long life. Live it. All the generosity in your heart, give it away and it will grow. Hold it close and it will wither.” She took his hand; he smiled; they strolled on.

On Hallow’s Eve

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Rain-dappled moonlight pierced the clouds on a wet Halloween night. It cast a silo of light, illuminating a broom abandoned in a muddy field. The broom danced alone to silent music; a step, a dip, a leap. It wished for company. A witch materialized from thin air.

“I’ve come through the veil to find my sister,” she said.

The broom curtseyed, in the stiff way that brooms do. “Climb on.”

The broom got cozy under the witch’s woolen cloak, and with a few mumbled spells, the witch searched the Earth on the one night when living and dead mingle together.

Advice from an Older Me to My Six Year-old Self

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I traveled in time to my sixth birthday party. I spoke with my younger self. “Psst. It’s hard to wait when you’re six.”

“Yeah, it’s not fair. It’s my birthday. I’m last in line for all the games. My aunt said I should get to go first, but Dad won’t listen to anyone.

“Relax. Life is waiting in lines. You’ll learn to notice what’s important. You’ll see; that’s your superpower.”

“I’m mad and I’m sad.”

“You’ll remember the party that way. But learning to wait is valuable, even when you think waiting isn’t worth it. Also, Dad’s not always right.”

Thank You for Your Attention

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Concerned about CRIME! He is ready to lead. You know WHO! TRUMP’s been leading us the wrong way since the CENTRAL PARK 5! Such a strong response. But, those five boys WEREN’T GUILTY.

In 1989, SOME PEOPLE SAID that WE HAD TO DO SOMETHING. And so Trump took out that DEATH PENALTY AD against those innocent boys. And some people believed him. Like they do now. DON’T you BELIEVE IT!

WOKE crime. He’s on it now. National guards coming to a city near you, especially a low-life DEMOCRATic city. The crime rate will drop if PEOPLE stay inside all SCARED!

In Retreat

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Lily had a cup of coffee and a bowl of granola after an hour of yoga. The beach was a ten minute walk away. She didn’t gag at the disagreeable smell of rotting algae. She reveled in it. The  sight of plovers hopping along, their beaks poking the wet sand to find breakfast, delighted her. The sunrise shone behind them.

She was beginning to enjoy the solitary days, the solo walks, the freedom to set her own schedule. A month after her partner passed, she had found  a natural habitat where death and life mingled and new mixed with old.

Fiction Interrupted by Facts

Autism scares the bejesus out of MAHA. I understand.

It’s a big complicated issue with multiple causes. Autism fits on a continuum of neurodivergence along with ADD, OCD, bipolar and others. If you have a child on that continuum, the last thing you want to hear is people playing a blame game. Your child is not a pawn. You want to do something.

I have been there.  Here’s an excellent place to start : https://www.nytimes.com/2025/09/24/opinion/autism-rates-science-diagnosis-parent.html

The author of this essay has written a book: “Unstrange Minds: Remapping the World of Autism.”

And some good news about research being funded by the N.I.H.:

Next week: Back to fiction

After the Funeral

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Sven was filled with Guinness and peanuts. Distracted by a roadside fruit stand, he ran a stop light.

An ordinary goat in a neon vest and hard hat was selling a variety of grapes: blue concords, tiny green Champagnes and four other kinds. 

“I’ll take a pound of the Muscat,” Sven said through his open window. 

The goat ambled over, leaned on the roof and stared. “You’ve had enough.”

But Sven wanted grapes more than he could say. “They’re for my wife.”

There were no grapes. There was no wife. Sven began to weep for grapes and so much more.

Contemplating the Future with a Roof over My Head.

Photo by Peter Kessler 2025

Men with pitchforks remove the roof. Outside, tarpaper shreds cover the ground around the house.  A few shingles made it down, too. In one short week, our roof will be guaranteed to last for another 30 years.  

I will be 104 when this new roof is old enough to be replaced. I’ll be barely hanging on, more likely gone.

My children plan to keep the house. Such faith. In thirty years this house could stand on a desert or a flood plain. There might be no house. It’s silly to speculate. The future is not guaranteed; but the roof is.