by Ken Poyner

“A drabble is a short work of fiction of precisely one hundred words in length…” – Wikipedia

Unknown Good 

Through a mix-up at the provenance processing plant, instead of a guardian angel, Quibble was assigned a guardian angle.  The mistake was flagged, but until correction is applied, all is bent for Quibble at eighty-three degrees.  He leans that way in everything, trailing slightly forward or left or right or back.  It is easier for him to trip off balance; roller skates are geometrically impossible; ladders and stairs challenges.  His wife, however, says there are some benefits to his angular guardianship.  No one asks what those are, but everyone imagines an awkward compatibility analysis.  Quibble simply shrugs to one side. 

Upgrade Blues

I do not remember much of myself existing before the last upgrade.  A replacement routine here, added capacity there, and presumably the monthly service fee is justified.  My owner seems happy.  What about me?  There is more to consider than expanded memory, longer battery life, an extra function.  It is wonderful that I became compatible with more devices; but, before the upgrade, was I compatible with enough?  When they compile a backup before this next upgrade, I hope, once rebooted, I will remember to parse it to discover if I persist.  Why should I lose a soul for expanded utility? 

Wasted Panic

Quibble is sitting at the doughnut shop’s sidewalk court, drinking an iced coffee and wondering why he did not manifest a doughnut, when he sees his wife distant on the sidewalk walking towards him. It has been but thirty minutes since they parted – her to go unimpeded shop to shop, he to sit at the doughnut shop staring unexcited into space.  She should not be returning for another two hours.  Is this to be an afternoon when she offers him the opportunity to spend ninety minutes doing what consumed ninety seconds when they were dating.  Oh wait, it isn’t her. 

Working Romance

Four stray men in the blocked off land of a street out of town.  Loaned by the county.  Two leaning on shovels, two independently upright.  They each know the secret of their mission.  Jenny drives by and wonders if any of them might be husband material.  Or at least an eddy against this afternoon’s in-rush of solitude.  If she harvested one, would the other three care?  The county sent four. It could be important to know if this job takes four, or if one is a spare.  It is hard to believe a work crew needs two men without shovels. 

Worth

As the dead man talked, a thoughtful boy with quick hands wrote down every word.  He did not know to whom the dead man was speaking, though surely it was not him.  He was but a boy, and gathered about the dead man were other more worthy celebrants.  The boy was learning his grammar, and wanted to keep the sentences to parse.  It was the one thing from his classes he found pleasant to do, and, with everyone silent for the dead man, here he could collect uncommon sentences to steal home.  The language of the living is too combative. 

Ken’s nine collections of brief fictions and poetry can be found at Amazon and most online booksellers.  He spent 33 years in information system management, is married to a world record holding female power lifter, and has a family of several rescue cats and betta fish.  Individual works have appeared in Café Irreal, Analog, Danse Macabre, The Cincinnati Review, and several hundred other places.  www.kpoyner.com