invert

Here is the first drabble I wrote. I think I might have mentioned, in an earlier post, that I wrote it to send to a website that was calling for competition entries. They set the gene as SciFi, and the theme as Inventions. I spent a lot of time on this, a new writing form for me, honing and editing until I was happy. I had a lot of fun with it, and when it was finished I emailed it off, meeting the given deadline, and was very pleased with myself for having had the discipline to complete the given task. Listen, I know some people can knock out a great drabble in five minutes flat, but that's not how I work. I write, I edit, I leave well alone for a few days, I return to write, I re-edit, then ignore for a week, then return etc etc. I'd still be working on it now if the deadline hadn't forced me to send it out. Anyway, there was no happy ending to this story. I logged on, on the day following the competition deadline, only to find that the website hadn't changed, the landing page was still calling for competition entries. I thought it odd that the website hadn't been updated, wasn't saying that the competition was now closed. Over the following weeks, I kept returning to the website, and it never did get updated. I still check it occasionally, and it still hasn't changed seven months later. Of course, I was disappointed. I'd put a lot of effort into this and I thought that the least the website manager could have done was post a message of apology on the site to explain why it had gone offline. That was my selfish opinion at the time, anyway. But I'm over it now. And I owe that website a debt of gratitude. Without that competition, I wouldn't have discovered the world of the drabble, which I've immersed myself in. I've spent many a happy hour writing further micro stories, and sending them out to other websites for publication (with some success). At other times in my life I might have looked at that episode as a sign that I was not meant to continue along that path, because that's how crippling self doubt can affect me. But thankfully this time I picked myself up, and dusted myself down, and started again.

Invert

‘And I just pull this lever?’

 

Fry’s impatient sigh fogs the thick glass separating them, as he looms outside the booth, where Lang frets. ‘Precisely.’

 

‘And this’ll erase all traces of my..’ Lang swallows down his shame, ‘..inclinations.’

 

‘Purged.’

 

Lang’s fingers tighten around the brass handle, then relax, ‘Explain again how this new-fangled..?’

 

‘Oscillating electro-magnetic waves.’ Fry proclaims, yanking a pocket watch from his waistcoat. ‘Look, sir, time’s a-wastin’. His smile is brittle.

 

Lang nods uneasily, braces, pulls the lever sharply, and billowing green gas fills the booth. He convulses, retching loudly, dying cruelly.

 

Jubilant Fry, meanwhile, preens. Another success.