The Good Doctor

hallway hospital
CC0 Public Domain

I resisted the urge to tug at the tubes going into my body while I listened to the doctor talk. “Dead for thirty-seven minutes.” “Had to use a defibrillator.” His voice droned on and all I wanted to do was to eat him—sink my teeth into his flesh and tear out a big chunk of meat, chewing it while warm blood trickled down my chin. The smell of him made my mouth water.

“By this time tomorrow, you’ll be able to go home.” He patted my knee.

A smile stretched my lips—tomorrow. I’d have me some doctor then.

A Morning Snore

Man with a bookI woke to the sound of rustling paper. With a soft murmur, I turned, hoping he would think I was still asleep. The sun caressed his bare skin, enhancing the slopes and valleys. I could watch him read forever if he’d only let me. A day in bed, what more could a guy wish for? He would never allow it, though. With a frown, he turned another page. I quickly closed my eyes, if he saw me he would insist on us getting up.

“I know you’re looking at me.”

My fake snore wasn’t as believable as I had hoped.


 

photo credit: chamber of secrets via photopin (license)

The key to survival

Man swimming

“If we sneak out through the bushes, there’s a possibility they won’t see us until we’ve reached the car.”

I looked behind me. “Are you crazy? Those are thorn bushes.”

“Well, we can’t go out there.” He pointed at the rock where our clothes were drying after our swim. They would kill us. If they were merciful it would be quick, if they were bored… How long would I survive torture?

“We crawl through there. You get into the car. Start it—”

“I don’t have the key.”

If looks could kill I wouldn’t have to worry about the flesh-eaters.


 

photo credit: Man Swimming in the Anacostia via photopin (license)

Ranidaphobia

Today’s Daily Prompt at The Daily Post:

1984

You’re locked in a room with your greatest fear. Describe what’s in the room.

 

Frog
Public domain

Crazy butterflies fluttered about in Adam’s stomach as the door clicked shut behind him. What was Chris up to?

“Okay, remove the blindfold.”

Adam frowned. Why was Christ on the other side of the door? He squinted at the light, then the room. His shriek bounced off the walls.

He threw himself backwards. “Let me out!”

The room tilted. He couldn’t breathe. He clawed at the door, tears trickling down his cheeks while Chris laughed on the other side.

A soft squish sounded as a frog leapt behind him. He was trapped—couldn’t breathe. It came closer, the erratic monster.

Autumn Cleaning

Getting rid of the filth…

4398562998_9cca06d38a

Adam was cleaning. He’d had enough, the clutter had to go. He threw Chris’ wellies out on the lawn, frowning at the sand on the floor. He shook the doormat, grumbling as cat hairs flew around in the air.

Chris’ nasty cat.

As Adam was about the close the door the glowering creature came sneaking towards the door. Adam threw it out—it wasn’t allowed to be outside. He scrubbed the floor, grousing over his filthy boyfriend and his repulsive cat when the door opened and Chris stepped inside—dirty footprints multiplying on the floor.

Adam threw him out too.

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[bctt tweet=”Check out this peculiar drabble”]


 

photo credit: Man aan het stofzuigen / Man hoovering via photopin (license)

How to Remember a Name?

A puzzled man
A Puzzled Man (CC0 Public Domain)

Dave woke slowly. On the other side of the bedroom door…Al—his husband was making breakfast. It was always the same. His husband, his…Allen? No. Albert?  

Albert.” He tasted it on his tongue. Yes, several years ago he married Albert.

“Dave? Are you up?” The door opened and there he was, Albert. “I’m Adam, and—“

“I know…love.” The relief he saw in Adam’s eyes was painful to watch. Damn, why couldn’t he remember that fucking name? Adam—it didn’t even feel right.

He beamed. “I’m so glad you remembered.”

Dave felt like shit, but who could remember a name?

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[bctt tweet=”I just read this confusing drabble”]

Loving Death

Death (CC0 Public Domain)
Death (CC0 Public Domain)

The night was chillier than he’d expected—it was every year. The moon shone bright, almost as bright as the need burned in him. He cracked his knuckles as he waited.

The smell came first, it always did. He breathed in. The thick odour of putrid rot made his cock stiffen.

“Back for more, I see.” The raspy voice was as he remembered it. He knew a laugh would follow, but it didn’t stop him from unbuttoning his trousers. One day a year was all he got. The smell of death lasted longer—it would cling to him for days.

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[bctt tweet=”I just read this horrific drabble”]