When the publishers and I were working out which of my drabbles to include in the upcoming, The Corset and the Jellyfish, there were a few stories that the editorial team felt had issues, or due to being unable to be squeezed down, was eventually deemed a reject.
Sometimes it’s virtually impossible to convey time and place (beginning, middle, end) of a 100-word story.
Now, liberated from constraint, you can find five of those drabbles available as a guest post at the Civilian Reader.
Please enjoy!
*
HENRY
Monifa’s dragon snored. In truth, he snored so loudly he kept the whole village awake. This tended to make everyone extremely grumpy. Monifa tried everything, flipping Henry onto his stomach, stopping him from eating cheese, she even taped a band aid over his snout, but nothing quelled the beast’s rumbling.
The village elders apologetically warned Monifa that her dragon would be evicted if she couldn’t stem his nasal cacophony.
Then, one night, a small kitten, crept into her hut and curled-up in the cave of Henry’s armpit. The dragon, sighing contentedly, rolled onto its side and immediately ceased his snoring.
*
WOLFISH
He was a sheep in wolf’s clothing.
A very sharp dresser; winklepicker shoes, black drainpipes, white shirt, shoestring tie, and a knee-length teddy-boy coat.
He looked the part, but he just didn’t act it.
And when Vicky told him to take his hand off her knee, he did so immediately.
This willingness to desist without argument annoyed Victoria, who, in an age before ‘No’ truly meant ‘No’, expected a little more resistance from a boy who looked like James Dean.
After all, how was a girl supposed to lose her virginity and keep her dignity by playing hard
*
THE TOWEL
Late afternoon, she showered in the courtyard, enjoying the sun on her shoulders as she rubbed away the salty sweat with a bar of rough, carbolic soap. Stepping away from the glinting spray she grabbed a towel and began to dry herself off. Delores was smiling in contentment as her gaze slid down to admire her strong, healthy body.
She let out a sudden gasp of disbelief; her skin had become wrinkled, loose, and covered in age spots. How could that . . . but then to her horror, she saw the specter of her youth transferred onto the towel.
*
TWO DAYS WRONG
Somnambulating down Piccadilly, Mrs Loydon encountered a London Bobby; noticing that her eyes were closed he enquired as to her state of well-being. Mrs Loydon, who was expensively dressed, and exquisitely backlit by a luminous floating acorn, stopped, and began to recite from Edgar Alan Poe’s, ‘The Fall of the House of Usher’.
PC Bodkin, not being intimate with the book, but recognizing the lady’s condition, led her gently back to Fortnum and Mason’s, where he assumed, rightly, she’d be recognized by the store’s staff.
Sure enough, once in a familiar environ, she awoke, thanked Bodkin profusely and resumed shopping.
*
THE LAST SUPPER
Lost in an endless forest, mind-numbingly tired and so very hungry; an eternity had passed, since he’d crawled from the train-wreck.
This clearing felt familiar… had he seen it before?
Propped against a tree, he was peeling a bug, when he smelled the cooking pig. Of course, it was an illusion, but O, what a wonderful aroma.
Opening his eyes, he was taken-aback to see a rat-headed waiter, approaching him.
The rodent paused and wordlessly proffered a large white plate, “Your order Sir. One extra-large bacon sandwich.”
The man sighed, and stretching out a trembling hand, gratefully accepted his last supper.
*
Nick Bantock’s The Corset & The Jellyfish is due to be published by Tachyon Publication in North America and in the UK, on November 7th.
Here’s the book’s synopsis:
The internationally bestselling author of Griffin & Sabine returns with his newest literary mystery — a charming assemblage of his own illustrated stories. Each of the invitingly strange tales is paired with its own glyphic creature (perhaps created by Sabine herself?). Each accompanying story, the origin of which is unknown, totals exactly one-hundred words. These delightful “drabbles,” enjoyable in any sequence, allow the reader to bask in them — or even to solve the conundrum they imply.
Little is known of the fascinating manuscript that Nick Bantock has come to possess. It was discovered in an attic in North London, stuffed into a battered cardboard box, and unceremoniously delivered directly to Nick’s doorstep. Inside the package lay one hundred evocatively absurd stories, one hundred humorous drawings of strangely familiar, quirkish glyphs, plus a cryptically poetic note signed only as “HH.” (Possibly the well-known, eccentric billionaire, Hamilton Hasp?)
In these stories-each consisting of precisely 100 words-strange creatures slip through alleyways, and eerie streets swallow people whole. Taken altogether, they may constitute a puzzle that no one has been able to solve thus far. Could there be one missing story?
For those perceptive readers with a curious mind, the celebrated author of Griffin & Sabine cordially invites you to find your own path through his beguiling conundrum of drabbles — or even to contribute one of your very own.