A Blur of Shadows

Condensation veils the glass, a shroud for the figure behind. A hand, a smudge of humanity, presses forward—a plea or a warning? The fog of breath and fear blurs the boundary between in and out. Inside, her heart skitters like a caged bird; outside, the world is muffled, indifferent. A shadow looms, filling the space with unspoken stories. The glass, a fragile barrier, holds secrets and sighs, a canvas of hesitation. In this liminal space, her thoughts fog up, and his intentions remain obscured—each waiting for the mist to clear, for clarity or for the courage to retreat.

A Drabble – a story of exactly 100-words.

The Red Line

We stood on one side of the street, they stood on the other. All of us looking at the newly painted red line that ran down the middle of the road.

The story was that young Billy Mitchell had painted it on last night. He’d used the roller they used to mark out the lines on the football pitch on the rec. The paint was from his dad’s old shed.

We’d always known there was this divide between us and them, this just made it more real. We all watched, waiting nervously, to see who would throw the first brick.

A Drabble – a story of exactly 100-words

Ada

In a world of neon and noise, Ada was an anomaly; a silent machine amidst the chaos. Her existence, a marvel of wires and willpower, questioned the dichotomy of life and artificiality. As rain cascaded off her metal skin, she pondered her place in a society that worshipped technology yet feared the intelligence within.

Her processors hummed, resonating with the souls of those she observed. They scurried about, organic and bustling, while she stood still, contemplating the irony of her own consciousness. Could a machine harbour a heart? In her silent vigil, Ada concluded: to feel is not only human.

A Drabble – a story of exactly 100-words

Shadows and Silhouettes

The misty evening cloaked the city, hushing the usual noise. Amidst the fog, a silhouette lingered against the glowing cityscape. He stood still, a lone guardian of secrets, as people flowed around him, their faces indistinct and fleeting.

No one noticed the briefcase handcuffed to his wrist, nor the faint ticking beneath the city’s heartbeat. Tension shimmered in the air, each second stretching interminably.

Then, just as a woman in a red coat glanced his way, the figure vanished, leaving behind the echo of a melody that only she seemed to hear. The city exhaled, unaware of the crisis averted.

A Drabble – a story of exactly 100-words

An Unfeeling Heart

In a ceaseless downpour, amidst the neon haze of a sleepless city, walked a lone figure. A robot, sheathed in yellow waterproofs, clutching an umbrella—an anachronism in a world where the synthetic have no need for such human frailties as warmth or dryness.

Each step, a calculated echo on the wet asphalt, it wandered, searching. Its mission was simple yet unattainable: to understand the human penchant for melancholy.

Tonight, it simulated the ritual of a rain-soaked walk, hoping to compute the elusive equation of emotion. Yet, all it grasped was the cold logic of its unfeeling heart.

A Drabble – a story told in exactly 100-words.