I Did a Bad Drabble

On why its important to carefully read the instructions

My writing adventure continues. Last week I joined one of those on-line writer’s support groups where you can post drafts and receive critiques in exchange for karma points. It’s all new to me but even this early I’ve connected with some interesting people. So far, so good.

They have a weekly challenge to create a drabble. I guess I’ve been living under a rock for a while because I didn’t know what it was. Turns out it’s a piece of fiction of exactly one hundred words. Who thinks them up?

The prompt was ‘Sail’. One word only. My imagination was bouncing all over the place.

So, I grabbed a coffee. Colombian, cold brew. Of course. And started drabbling. Turns out its much harder than it looks. Another coffee, another word count, another edit. After a while I’m happy to submit my first ever competition entry to my new buddies.

Disaster.

I misread the drabble conditions. For some mad reason I read two hundred words. It clearly says one hundred. I can’t explain it. Wishful thinking? I need new lenses? Age onset decline? Who knows.

Anyway, the coffee was good. So, ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the world’s first double drabble.

Flatface’s Gamble

Able Seaman Harry Flatface sways in the crow’s nest of the Black Pea, a small, speedy brigantine stolen from the Dutch. He wipes his brow, puts his only eye to the spyglass, and scans the horizon.

“He sees a blur. Cap’n. A ship. Southwest.”

“What is it, Flatface? Tell me quick or I’ll have you cleaning the deck with your tongue before the day is out.”

“Three masts. She rides low. Four cannons.”

“Speak soon, you mangy scoundrel. Tell me what I want to hear or I’ll keelhaul you.” Flatface concentrates. Black Calum will take the cat-o’-nine-tails and skin him alive if he gets this wrong.

“It’s a merchant ship. A fluyt under a Spanish flag.” He crosses himself and shouts, “Cap’n, it’s the Estrella del Sur.”

Calum ‘Black’ McRae turns to his crew. “Prepare for battle, me hearties. You’ll be rich before the day is out, or Flatface will be saying hello to his Maker—and I don’t mean his manky whore of a mother.”

The crew laugh, shout “Aye, Aye sir,” as one, and set to their work. Ropes whirr through pulleys. Powder horns are checked. Cutlasses kissed for luck. The skull and crossbones climb the main sail.

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@ Copyright 2026 Steve Gillies. All rights reserved.