Drabble Backlog (2025.02.21)
From January's personal "drabble a day" challenge, originally written January 18, 2025. These dailies are unedited and do not represent polished work.
There was macaroni on the floor. It wasn't even the kitchen floor. It was in his bedroom, right on the border of his shag carpet and the grooves of the hardwood. There was hot macaroni on his bedroom floor and soaking into his socks, and all Wendy could do was stand there and stare at the absurdity of it, thinking, 'Well at least the bowl didn't break.' The cheap bowl had somehow wheeled on its rim and left a cheesy trail all the way to his desk. It's funny, really. Hilarious. Actually, it's kind of ridiculous. Shitty day at work, dumped by his boyfriend, and this is just the absolute cherry on top, isn't it? And the laughter wells up uncontrollably before he can stop it, and it's like he's laughing his spirit out his own body. He laughs until his stomach hurts and cheeks cramp, the full comical weight of ill-timed tragedy slams into him like a semi-truck in a school zone. And as soon as the laughter flows it ebbs again, scraping back the sediment of his broken heart back with it. He slumps his head back, wiping a tear as he stares at the ceiling. "Ahh… fuck."