That is just lovely, Typo Boy.

The drabble itself is very, very good.

This:

The birdsong beneath the words was nightingale sad:

is exquisite.

New drabble topic!

Challenge #109 (lies my parents told me) is now closed.

Challenge #110 is in the garden. Any garden. Even In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida, if you must....

For once, not autobiographical. This is Kinkaid-related.

The Ring Coffin

16, Howard Crescent, NW1, is classic Nash; gracious, spacious, elegant. On the crescent, nannies wheel babies in prams, old men walk overfed dogs. You'd never guess 16 belonged to a rock star.

At the back, pure London, there's a garden. Apple trees, one yew, drop their crabbed fruit and lethal berries, in the passing of seasons. There's a curving path; there's a stone bench.

Buried deep behind the bench is a polished box. It contains the ring worn by the musician's dead wife: Cilla, junkie and murderer.

The house will decay before the ring will. The musician's goodbye will remain.

OK - response to the challenge, but in no way a drabble.

[link]

Very talky meat, but I think since it is supposed to be a yarn maybe that's OK. I'd really welcome feedback on this - prefer here to livejournal comments, but either is fine.

And Deborah - melancholy, chilling, poetic - makes me want to read more.

TB, it's at the end of the third Kinkaid, London Calling.

I look forward to reading it when it's out.

Actually I guess I can paste in part of the story as a drabble. But there is more though this is probably the best part:

"In the great way-back-when we had other things to worry about than killing each other. No not food – stuff you could eat pretty much grew everywhere. And for treats there were grubs, and spider monkeys; we’d stumble on the occasional hidden newborn wildebeest or zebra with no adults around.

“But the problem was, a lot things liked to eat *us*. Cats – there more kinds of cats, and a larger number than you could believe, most of them a lot meaner than anything you have today. Some of them moved in packs.” The shudder, if faked, was Broadway quality acting.

“We could do without men more easily than women, cause y’know fewer men doesn’t have to mean fewer babies, but fewer women does. So we men took the brunt of it – outer perimeter, point, watch – whatever you want to call it. The women would fight if a cat got past us of course; but everyone made damn sure we did most of the dying.”

Phillip was positively glowing. “The ancient original matriarchy!”

For the first time since he began the story The Immortal smiled. “I dunno that I’d call it a matriarchy exactly. If the men got eaten by cats, the women died in childbirth. And decisions were mostly made by people, men and women both, who’d lived long enough to prove their opinions were worth listening to.“ The smile faded. “Anyway, there wasn’t any point in arguing who was in charge. We knew who was in charge – the damn cats.”

One of the arguers stirred: “Sounds awful.”

The Immortal nodded. “Thinking about it now, that seems ‘bout right. But not only awful. Sometimes there was a kind of thrill in the danger. You go to horror movies and ride roller coasters for that now. And you’ve got to understand, with our world view, these all powerful alien creatures who ruled our lives – we didn’t look on them the way you look on animals now. They were gods, gods and demons. Sometimes things went well, and we worshipped our gods with our spears; mostly we worshipped them with our bodies. We needed no altars for our sacrifices. The gods came to us, without invitation.”

If you want to read more, the whole thing is posted at: [link]

Very nice, Typo Boy. I particularly liked the last two lines:

We needed no altars for our sacrifices. The gods came to us, without invitation.

It's their worldview in a nutshell.