Christmas drabbles
These aren't fic, nor are they particularly about Christmas - butterchicken and I got into an IM drabble-battle, and I was somewhat happy with some of the results, so I decided to post them here.
After Caitlin died, it was all I could do to keep it together.
Sometimes I see her, the way you do, walking down the road. Not walking. Shambling. That's what they do. I always keep my distance. I've seen the PSAs.
But something keeps me coming back to the crossroads.
You can call it love, or obsession; I don't care. You can call it crazy. I know it is. I know what will happen if I go to her. If I pull her face to mine, one last time.
I know she'll bite me. But I can't stop going back.
*
He was so tired, and his belly had been hurting for weeks now.
He'd followed the humans around, sticking his nose into their hands, trying to make them understand. He'd spent hours licking at his sore stomach, but that only made him swallow lots of hair and then throw it up again.
He held his head up high as they walked into the vet's office. It was important to put on a good show, especially in front of the cats.
The needle stung in his neck. He thrust his nose into his human's hand as the blackness swept over him.
*
She goes every night.
She can't afford the twenty-five dollars, or the time; but she can't stay away, either. She hesitates at the door, fingering the cash in her pocket, thinking four days' groceries or half what I'm short on the rent. She pulls it out and hands it to the doorman.
He grins at her as she passes. He knows her well.
She trembles as the curtain rises, as she glimpses silver hooves. She tries to stop blinking.
When the crumpled fabric reveals the shining, sword-sharp horn, it's all worth it.
She drinks it in, and dreams of tomorrow night.
*
FROM THE REGULATIONS OF THE 13TH BATTALION (EXOTERRAN), 3RD REVISION, 2335 CE:
On Dining Customs And The Maintenance Of Good Diplomatic Relations
The policy of the Terran Empire is to maintain good diplomatic relations with all known spacefaring cultures, provided a state of war does not exist against those cultures. However, it is the policy of the Battalion that friendly relations stop where the life and limbs of Battalion soldiers begin, even if a failure to observe local customs results in diplomatic contretemps.
Therefore, if a Regelian invites you out for dinner, you are hereby authorized to kill the sonofabitch.
*
Merry Christmas!
After Caitlin died, it was all I could do to keep it together.
Sometimes I see her, the way you do, walking down the road. Not walking. Shambling. That's what they do. I always keep my distance. I've seen the PSAs.
But something keeps me coming back to the crossroads.
You can call it love, or obsession; I don't care. You can call it crazy. I know it is. I know what will happen if I go to her. If I pull her face to mine, one last time.
I know she'll bite me. But I can't stop going back.
*
He was so tired, and his belly had been hurting for weeks now.
He'd followed the humans around, sticking his nose into their hands, trying to make them understand. He'd spent hours licking at his sore stomach, but that only made him swallow lots of hair and then throw it up again.
He held his head up high as they walked into the vet's office. It was important to put on a good show, especially in front of the cats.
The needle stung in his neck. He thrust his nose into his human's hand as the blackness swept over him.
*
She goes every night.
She can't afford the twenty-five dollars, or the time; but she can't stay away, either. She hesitates at the door, fingering the cash in her pocket, thinking four days' groceries or half what I'm short on the rent. She pulls it out and hands it to the doorman.
He grins at her as she passes. He knows her well.
She trembles as the curtain rises, as she glimpses silver hooves. She tries to stop blinking.
When the crumpled fabric reveals the shining, sword-sharp horn, it's all worth it.
She drinks it in, and dreams of tomorrow night.
*
FROM THE REGULATIONS OF THE 13TH BATTALION (EXOTERRAN), 3RD REVISION, 2335 CE:
On Dining Customs And The Maintenance Of Good Diplomatic Relations
The policy of the Terran Empire is to maintain good diplomatic relations with all known spacefaring cultures, provided a state of war does not exist against those cultures. However, it is the policy of the Battalion that friendly relations stop where the life and limbs of Battalion soldiers begin, even if a failure to observe local customs results in diplomatic contretemps.
Therefore, if a Regelian invites you out for dinner, you are hereby authorized to kill the sonofabitch.
*
Merry Christmas!