Another frickin' Drabble. About Simon.
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fiction_drabbles
Decisions
I told her. I mean, it says in my listing, “Cases at my discretion.” There are some things I just can't afford to get involved with. Nothing personal, I just have to look after my career first and foremost. Everyone's got their lines they don't cross and mine is simple: I don't mess with werewolves.
But there's her face, sad and lost and beautiful. There's the empty bench on my way into work where the city's omega usually sleeps. There's the nighttime silence that should be filled with song. She just wants her husband back.
I pick up the phone.
fiction_drabbles Decisions
I told her. I mean, it says in my listing, “Cases at my discretion.” There are some things I just can't afford to get involved with. Nothing personal, I just have to look after my career first and foremost. Everyone's got their lines they don't cross and mine is simple: I don't mess with werewolves.
But there's her face, sad and lost and beautiful. There's the empty bench on my way into work where the city's omega usually sleeps. There's the nighttime silence that should be filled with song. She just wants her husband back.
I pick up the phone.
Brian's Wish
Figured I could probably post some drabbles here, since I'm probably never going to try and publish them. This one's been posted online a couple times, so couldn't give anyone first rights, anyway. Still my favorite, though. Sometimes I think I should expand it into a full-fledged short story, but my first attempt failed when I realized it meant I'd have to research really depressing topics like child oncology and Oprah.
...
“Dying Boy, Eight, Seeks Prayer Answered.”
All the networks covered it: his inoperable brain tumor, his unspoken wish. Debated, it lingered on lips, filling stadiums with candles and Brian's name.
Last night, the angel came down, unexpectedly glorious. Dozens claimed the first photo of its unnatural symmetry, were brushed away till only we staff remained. It happened quickly, hushed, but still we heard.
“What did he ask for?” My girlfriend asked as I stepped out, shaken.
“He said.... he didn't want to die alone.”
The bombs took bloom like hospital roses, the night sky shattered by the threat of wings.
...
“Dying Boy, Eight, Seeks Prayer Answered.”
All the networks covered it: his inoperable brain tumor, his unspoken wish. Debated, it lingered on lips, filling stadiums with candles and Brian's name.
Last night, the angel came down, unexpectedly glorious. Dozens claimed the first photo of its unnatural symmetry, were brushed away till only we staff remained. It happened quickly, hushed, but still we heard.
“What did he ask for?” My girlfriend asked as I stepped out, shaken.
“He said.... he didn't want to die alone.”
The bombs took bloom like hospital roses, the night sky shattered by the threat of wings.