“This is how the fire starts. This is how we burn.” — Libba Bray
This Round of Last Drabble Writer Standing (LDWS) is pure, utter, delightful Chaos. Each round of LDWS a group of writers anonymously competes to write drabbles (500 words or less) on a given prompt - for the Chaos round, the pairing, the trope, AND the word count vary week to week.
Week One featured Harry/Luna, fake dating, and had to be 350 words EXACTLY
(Interested in following the comp? Head on over to our facebook group to see each week’s top 5, admin’s choice, and other fun surrounding the drabbles.)
NOW it is time for this week’s SOCIALS SPOTLIGHT! Of the 30 amazing drabbles we got to read from, each week your self-proclaimed Socials Sorcerer (me, itscometothis) has the pleasure of featuring one drabble from the bunch.
There was a lot to love about this crop of drabbles, but the author of this one just drew me in; their turns of phrase from "sad nachos" to "the delusions of the lonely are bitter and strong" evoked such strong emotion at the syntax level as well as the overall storytelling and prompt use.
This week’s Socials Spotlight is: Practice by @eveningstruggle
Ginny breaks up with him on a cold and rainy summer day. It should have been unbearably hot and sticky, but they’re wearing jumpers and wellies. Like someone dropped the calendar and accidentally shuffled a November page into the middle of August. Maybe that’s why Harry can’t move on—that day shouldn’t have happened yet. Or maybe it’s because he’s lost so much love to death, he doesn’t know how to let go of love that still breathes.
But Ginny moves on anyway. By mid-October, she and Neville are making moon-eyes at each other over drinks while Luna and Harry share sad nachos on the other side of the pub.
“Maybe if we snogged—“ he starts.
“—they’d notice us again,” she finishes.
(The delusions of the lonely and bitter are strong.)
First: bumped chins and teeth, laughs, apologies. Then: soft lips, caught breaths, a surprised oh. An interlude: cleared throats, averted eyes, subtly adjusted trousers, downed pints. Their intended audience remains blissfully oblivious.
He grins. “Be my pretend date at the gala next week. They’ll be there. We can…practice this weekend.”
At the weekend, they hold hands while they eat. (“For practice.”) His thumb ghosts over her knuckles; her fingers flex. They clink glasses of wine filled to the brim (“To practice!”) and snog on the sofa.
“Do you think they’ll buy it?” she asks. He stares, heavy-lidded, panting. He has, why wouldn’t they?
“Yes,” he says, and reaches for her again. She lets him. For practice.
..........................................
“We have to sell it,” she says, and adjusts his lapel. “Just like we practiced. Or they’ll never believe it.”
She tilts her head and smiles conspiratorially at him. Her earrings—moon on the left, sun on the right, gold like her dress—twist and shimmer in the candlelight.
The November evening is unseasonably warm. This is the day from August, he thinks. This is when Ginny was supposed to dump him, before someone dropped the calendar.
He watches Luna’s shoulders rise and fall with her breath.
"Just like we practiced."
Adore this drabble just as much as I did? There’s more where that came from! Check out the rest of this week’s excellent drabbles HERE. Want to enjoy the fires of Chaos more closely? Again, check us out on facebook to read along and vote each week!
🔥 Come on it. The fire’s warm. 🔥
