“The Sandman of the Sky” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

Looking down upon my slumbering form I am overcome with guilt.

That I see myself sleeping and know that even this is but a dream within a dream does little to assuage my shame.

For regardless of the depth of my disembodied cognizance, it was I that begged for active duty, I that crowed my amazingly keen eyesight and I that irresponsibly allowed Polaris to lull me to sleep while patrolling the lofty watchtower.

Deplorably, as hordes of xanthous daemons feast on the flesh of my fallen comrades, my snoring is the only human voice still echoing betwixt strange peaks.

“Of Meadows and Waterfalls” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

T’was not a meteorite that struck, but a wondrous casing for a pocket book, the composition of both defying all analysis.

When translated it relates a partial account which I transcribe here without editorial slant or implied context.

“While once I was flesh, now I am transcendence.

I exist on a floating island, leaving behind hateful things that look like trees but are not, past tranquil meadows, towards an unseen waterfall.

I know how this came to pass, and such blasphemies must never be repeated.

Heed these words. Do not translate that cursed book … “

The rest was illegible.

“Bury Me Where My Name Lies” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I cannot attest to wherefore I gained my knowledge of past events and conversations that had previously escaped attention, else you would declare me insane.

That I can perfectly mimic an accent long considered archaic is a failing of your uneducated academics, not of myself.

Neither can I explain how I could know every nook and cranny of that sealed tomb, chained off for decades, despite never setting foot inside. All that I humbly request is that after my eventual passing over, my remains are placed on the slab of that undisturbed crypt which has my name inscribed upon it.

“Down the Aeons” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

From my position it does me little credit to have outlived Booth, Yates or Keats, for they are fondly remembered whereas I am not.

It irks me a tad to know that I spoon fed the much-revered Shakespeare his most successful verses.

T’is only a fleeting irritation that I recall putting the world to rights with the teenage acned Aristotle, decades before people hailed him one of the world’s greatest free thinkers.

For you see I had my time and was warmly beloved in ancient Egypt, until my face fell off my giant statue that future laymen branded ‘the sphynx’.

“My Troubled Grandfather” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I am deeply worried about my poor grandfather who suffers tragically from demons within.

Doctors say that there is nothing physically wrong with him, while his military records say only that he was invalided back to Blighty.

All day long he sits glass eyed in his chair, lifeless as a statue, though he still has wits to attend calls of nature when I lead him by the hand.

What worries me is recently in the news there is a story of an uncharted pacific island, which when he hears he frantically clutches his chair and grinds his safety dentures incessantly.

“No time to Love” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

I write this as I expect I will soon be dead.

While it is true, I was born with title, lands and wealth, these are but ashes in my mouth, for my parents are gone and our castle lies ruined.

Before infirmity took him, my aged retainer entrusted upon me a parchment that upon reading has left me without sleep.

It detailed a curse and foretold my brief existence, for there is no senility for men of my line.

Instead I am to suffer a premature death as penance for the unjust slaying of a vengeful wizard. And so I…

“Mr Underhill” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

There are still such places in this world where man’s technology has not yet rudely exposed.

Deep underground chasms located within the most barren desert requiring several days ride to approach.

It is in one such remote and untainted cavern that I currently find myself, unaided and confused.

Unaided yes, but not alone, or though I shunned the advice to bring guide or companion on this forsaken trek, I have long since detected the unmistakable sound of muffled breathing.

Truly I am not alone, but the question currently plaguing my mind is whether said breathing belongs to someone, or something!

“The Ship Without Colours” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

The nonaligned ship pulled into harbour unannounced and dropped anchor.

When it weighed anchor next morning its cargo had increased.

It forcefully broke through a blockade and kidnapped another victim.

It moored briefly off Madagascar’s coast to capture another soul.

For his notorious antics the captain warranted a capture notice.

Utilising a submersible, they took another hostage at Florida Keys.

It’s an established fact that No-Man’s Land is in Antarctica.

In a hut in No-Man’s Land the prisoners huddled together.

The authorities laid a trap outside of No-Man’s Land port. Those rescued enjoyed a joyous homecoming while the others hung.

“The Curse of Wishful Thinking” – A Lovecraftian Drabble

It was only a short walk to the shops, but the two siblings should never have been left alone.

It was just a game, wishing over the ornate wooden box, but they had never played it before wearing their grandma’s gold rings.

He closed his eyes and wished her miles away, while she wished for him to be rich.

In a flash she disappeared and a solid gold nugget rested on the base of the box.

Instantly regretting his words, he cried and wished, but she never returned. He was too young to know the magic only worked for others.