Waiter, There's An Oz Drabble Tree In My Soup
The First Ever Oz Drabble Tree, The Return of Oz Drabble Tree, The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could, Are You There God? It's Oz Drabble Tree, Oz Drabble Tree Knows Best, In Oz Drabble Tree, No One Can Hear You Scream, This Is An Emergency Oz Drabble Tree, Please, Sir, May I Have Another Oz Drabble Tree?, Leggo My Oz Drabble Tree, and Come With Oz Drabble Tree If You Want to Live.
The Rules
1. Oz characters, please. Crossovers with the usual suspects are also welcome (SVU, Wanted, Homicide, Fringe, Lost, The Wire, The Unusuals, etc).
2. Het, slash, gen. Any character or pairing. It's all good.
3. Drabble (100 words) is a suggestion. You won't get shanked if you do a double drabble or it runs a bit long.
4. Your drabble must be posted as a comment to this entry.
5. Include a word, phrase or sentence from a previous drabble in the tree. Put it in the subject line and bold it in your drabble.
6. You can riff on any drabble in the tree. Just reply to the drabble you're riffing from.
7. Write as many drabbles as you want.
8. Drabbles only, please. No comments. Show your appreciation by jumping off someone else's drabble.
9. You can leave comments for the writers at the announcement post at oz_rapsheet
10. The Drabble Tree will run for a week or two; if there's enough interest, we'll keep it running longer. When it's over, post your drabbles to your own LJ and/or archive them.
11. RPS is allowed; please put RPS in the header of your drabble. If you don't want to read RPS, then pay attention to the headers. (NOTE: LJ Doesn't have subject lines any more? So please put information at the top of your drabble.)
12. Have fun! :D
Starter Ficlet by cmk418
Rebadow remembers the first time God spoke to him even though he didn’t accept it for what it was at the time. He was sitting in his cell on death row, waiting for the guards to come and take him to the electric chair. A voice sounded in his head; it sounded like his Uncle Morty, who’d been dead for five years. The voice simply said, “It’s not your time.”
Truth be told, he laughed at the words. He knew better. The time for appeals had run out. There would be no call from the Governor to save him. He felt no trepidation even as he heard the sound of black patent leather shoes, tip-tapping on the tile floor to take him to the place where he would die. There was only a cool resignation as the guard fastened the restraints around his wrists and ankles. He felt them attach the cap to his head, knowing that in a few moments he would ride the electricity all the way to the afterlife.
His last thought before they flipped the switch was that he would have liked to have seen his son. Then he felt pain, white hot lightning ripping through his body that seemed to go on forever. Every inch of his body felt as if it was on fire. He hadn’t expected death to be like this. He thought it would be more instantaneous.
Wherever he was, it was dark. He’d never been told about darkness during those few times he’d gone to church in his youth. Except for the darkness within - there was sermon after sermon about that. But after death, it was either fire and brimstone or harp music and fluffy white clouds. This was neither.
He heard the sound of chair legs scuttling over tile and the yelp of some asshole that probably kicked it. A gruff male voice that seemed familiar to him ground out, “Crap. What are we gonna do now?”
He could hear footsteps growing louder in their approach. Out of nowhere, a beam of light from a flashlight hit him square in the eye. He blinked, and even that slight movement was filled with pain.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” another voice said. “Take him to the infirmary.”
The light was taken away and the gurney that would have been used to transport his dead body was now wheeling him in for another chance at life.
It wasn’t his time.
He doesn’t lie to the inmates. He still hears the voice of God from time to time, but after three decades in this place, he knows the patterns. He can see the way that things develop - everything old is new again.
He wonders if he’ll have that - the great rush of youth, the feeling of doing something unexpected when really you’re just following the pattern that’s been laid out for you. Like everyone else here, he’s a pawn in the larger game called life.
And until his time is up, he has to play.
ETA: Waiter, There's An Oz Drabble Tree In My Soup is officially closed! This has been one of our most successful drabble trees! Congratulations to everyone who participated! Please remember to archive your drabbles.
The Rules
1. Oz characters, please. Crossovers with the usual suspects are also welcome (SVU, Wanted, Homicide, Fringe, Lost, The Wire, The Unusuals, etc).
2. Het, slash, gen. Any character or pairing. It's all good.
3. Drabble (100 words) is a suggestion. You won't get shanked if you do a double drabble or it runs a bit long.
4. Your drabble must be posted as a comment to this entry.
5. Include a word, phrase or sentence from a previous drabble in the tree. Put it in the subject line and bold it in your drabble.
6. You can riff on any drabble in the tree. Just reply to the drabble you're riffing from.
7. Write as many drabbles as you want.
8. Drabbles only, please. No comments. Show your appreciation by jumping off someone else's drabble.
9. You can leave comments for the writers at the announcement post at oz_rapsheet
10. The Drabble Tree will run for a week or two; if there's enough interest, we'll keep it running longer. When it's over, post your drabbles to your own LJ and/or archive them.
11. RPS is allowed; please put RPS in the header of your drabble. If you don't want to read RPS, then pay attention to the headers. (NOTE: LJ Doesn't have subject lines any more? So please put information at the top of your drabble.)
12. Have fun! :D
Starter Ficlet by cmk418
Rebadow remembers the first time God spoke to him even though he didn’t accept it for what it was at the time. He was sitting in his cell on death row, waiting for the guards to come and take him to the electric chair. A voice sounded in his head; it sounded like his Uncle Morty, who’d been dead for five years. The voice simply said, “It’s not your time.”
Truth be told, he laughed at the words. He knew better. The time for appeals had run out. There would be no call from the Governor to save him. He felt no trepidation even as he heard the sound of black patent leather shoes, tip-tapping on the tile floor to take him to the place where he would die. There was only a cool resignation as the guard fastened the restraints around his wrists and ankles. He felt them attach the cap to his head, knowing that in a few moments he would ride the electricity all the way to the afterlife.
His last thought before they flipped the switch was that he would have liked to have seen his son. Then he felt pain, white hot lightning ripping through his body that seemed to go on forever. Every inch of his body felt as if it was on fire. He hadn’t expected death to be like this. He thought it would be more instantaneous.
Wherever he was, it was dark. He’d never been told about darkness during those few times he’d gone to church in his youth. Except for the darkness within - there was sermon after sermon about that. But after death, it was either fire and brimstone or harp music and fluffy white clouds. This was neither.
He heard the sound of chair legs scuttling over tile and the yelp of some asshole that probably kicked it. A gruff male voice that seemed familiar to him ground out, “Crap. What are we gonna do now?”
He could hear footsteps growing louder in their approach. Out of nowhere, a beam of light from a flashlight hit him square in the eye. He blinked, and even that slight movement was filled with pain.
“Oh sweet Jesus,” another voice said. “Take him to the infirmary.”
The light was taken away and the gurney that would have been used to transport his dead body was now wheeling him in for another chance at life.
It wasn’t his time.
He doesn’t lie to the inmates. He still hears the voice of God from time to time, but after three decades in this place, he knows the patterns. He can see the way that things develop - everything old is new again.
He wonders if he’ll have that - the great rush of youth, the feeling of doing something unexpected when really you’re just following the pattern that’s been laid out for you. Like everyone else here, he’s a pawn in the larger game called life.
And until his time is up, he has to play.
ETA: Waiter, There's An Oz Drabble Tree In My Soup is officially closed! This has been one of our most successful drabble trees! Congratulations to everyone who participated! Please remember to archive your drabbles.