A Dribble, A Drabble...

Submitted by Nikki on Sun, 10/16/2005 - 07:00

...A hundred-word long babble...

The American College Dictionary defines the word "drabble" as meaning... "to draggle; make or become wet or dirty." I offer a second and more pleasing definition. A drabble is a piece of writing exactly 100 words in length, with a title of up to 15 addtional words. Drabbles are most commonly used in fanfiction and I thank my good friends at theonering.net for introducing me to them, but they can be about anything your heart desires. I have found them very addictive. Go ahead, try one for yourself - just make sure to count those words!

It is dark, I’m hungry and my feet hurt. Waiting for water to boil I curl up with a book of poems and reach blindly towards those moments I’m so desperately scared of losing. The sunlight glinting copper off a chestnut coat. Blue sky and mown grass and gently, softly whispering trust into Cayenne’s ear. How I love teaching in the rain. That moment of rightness when yes, I made Caroline smile. Sometimes the reality of work lies so heavy on my shoulders. I think I will be fine as long as I remember that I am still an artist.

Gemini surveys the world through eyes – one blue, one gold – often haunted by worry. His past is a mystery, but you can tell that there has been trauma in his life. He has bounced from home to home, unwanted for his hostility towards other cats and his mouthy ways. Unwanted, because he just needs to be your friend.
“I don’t mind if you bite me,” I tell him, “just be gentle.” And he is, because under the tough exterior, all Gem wants is someone to love him. “No more worry,” I whisper into his scarred ears. “You’ve found a home.”

My horse. I dare to name her such because I love her so totally, desperately, illogically. Yet I know, deep inside, that this strong-willed creature is not really mine. She belongs only to herself.
But this small moment on the hill is mine to cherish forever. The silence, the golden light in her mane, the feel of her breathing beneath me – all are mine. Our frustrations vanish into the twilight. For a moment, our minds and hearts beat as one. It is Heaven who breaks the stillness, and turns to nuzzle my hand.
Tonight is a gift, from my horse.

It seems like only yesterday we were riding through the piney forest, following those dirt tracks that you swore had been put there for our purpose. We never quite knew where we were, but we knew if we rode long enough we’d eventually find our way home. Emerging into sunlight and the open field, we’d go for a canter that was always too short. Sugar laid down in those wildflowers once, the same day you saw the eagle overhead.
The meadow is a trailer park now. And you’re grown and have probably forgotten what it was like to be twelve.

This new journal with its crisp white lines, narrow-ruled as they must be, is almost too fine for me. In pale green and muted teal it hints at a life that is neat and pretty and calm. Even the elastic band is loose, like it is smiling at the absurd suggestion that there might be things inside worth hiding. There once was a long-haired kitten on the cover. Would he have been shocked at the wild randomness of the girl behind? I will give this journal a suitable cover someday, when I have figured out whom it really belongs to.

Author's age when written