Welcome to this week’s installment of many micro stories, ranging in length from 100 words to 500 words.
With each story we hope to deliver a little whimsy into the lives of our readers.
LET’S DANCE
As soon as he walked through the door, Harry felt his scalp prickle, but he thought nothing of it, putting it down to the oven-like heat in the club.
Jack’s voice bellowed in his ear, “I’m off to the bar. What do you want?”
“Something cheap!”
Jack pulled a scrunched-up piece of paper from his pocket, “I’ve got a flyer for 2-for-1 shots.”
Harry grinned, “Nice one! Hey mate, can you smell that?”
“What? The sweat, cheap aftershave and dodgy toilets?”
“Ugh, gross, no. It smells like… seaweed?”
Jack made a show of sniffing the air, “Nah, all I can smell is your mum’s perfume on my shirt… Anyway, these drinks aren’t going to buy themselves.”
“Yeah, I’ll go grab us a table.”
Harry squinted into the darkness and staggered off to find somewhere to sit. His legs had started to feel distinctly wobbly. He skirted the dancefloor, doing a passable impression of a human pinball machine, and after a couple of minutes found some empty seats in the far corner.
Slumping down into one of the chairs, Harry felt his eyelids start to droop.
“Harry!”
“Ungh?”
“Here’s your drink. This is Cara, by the way.”
Harry muttered something highly uncomplimentary under his breath. This happened every bloody time. They would both drink a liver-crippling number of drinks, end up in their town’s only nightclub and Jack would promptly disappear off somewhere with the first female that showed any interest.
However, somewhat more pressingly, Harry realised his bladder was close to reaching some kind of crisis point. He smacked his shot glass down on the table, causing some of the liquid to splash over his fingers. Bollocks.
As he stood up, he heard… something? There, beneath the song currently playing, another tune, something sensual – a dream of the sea.
All thoughts of visiting the toilet vanished. What the hell was going on? He was in a club where the music was so loud it made his eyeballs vibrate and yet he could still hear this other melody. Somewhere deep inside, a primal part of him awoke from its slumber and called out a warning.
The lure of the music was stronger.
Turning, Harry scanned the room, trying to figure out where it was coming from. The floor was still filled with people gyrating, but as if in slow-motion. He frowned, trying to make sense of what was happening.
And then he spotted her.
She was about 20 feet away, moving towards him, eyes fixed on his. Harry was immediately struck by her hair – an incredible shade of emerald-green. How was it moving when there was no breath of wind?
She was mouthing something.
She smiled as she took him in her arms– a smile that promised much. There was that unmistakeable tang of sea air again. Harry felt her lips touch his and the primal voice was finally drowned out by an enormous rushing noise – a tidal wave.
He sank into its depths and only darkness remained.
Keith R. Burdon was born & raised in Middle England but now lives in sunny North Wales with his partner and a plethora of imaginary friends and pets.
He enjoys writing short stories, flash fiction and has recently discovered the pleasures of a good drabble.
When he isn’t writing, he can be found listening to music, documentary bingeing and dreaming of the next road trip to somewhere exotic, Belgium perhaps.
If you enjoyed this drabble you can find it and more in the Hawthorn & Ash 2023 anthology.
Iron Faerie Publishing 