If you would like to submit a drabble (a short work of game-related fiction exactly 100 words), please @mail Queens with your submission, the title, the name you would like it to appear under and which category you feel it belongs best in.

Challenge Drabble for October 2018's the topic is Books.

316 String Theory drabbles written — and counting.


Abby (19)

Adel (2)

Anonymous (14)

Asi (1)

Astor (1)

Audrey (2)

Aviators (1)

Barbara (1)

Bao-Wei (3)

Bella (3)

Benji (3)

Bolivar (1)

Cardinal (2)

Calvin (3)

Cash (1)

Claire (2)

Colette (4)

Cooper (2)

Corbin (3)

Dajan (1)

Danko (2)

Daphne (4)

Deckard (6)

Delia (2)

Delilah (21)

Eileen (15)

Elisabeth (2)

Emily (1)

Evan (1)

Faye (1)

Francois (7)

Gabriel (3)

Gillian (12)

Hannah (2)

Helena (6)

Howard (2)

Huruma (9)

Ingrid (2)

Iris (1)

Jane (1)

Jenny (1)

JJ (2)

Jonathan (1)

Joseph (3)

Joshua (2)

Judah (2)

Kaitlyn (1)

Kaylee (21)

Kincaid (2)

Lancaster (1)

Lene (2)

Lexington (1)

Logan (4)

Lynette (3)

Magnes (1)

McRae (1)

Melissa (32)

Meredith (1)

Monica (1)

Murdoch (1)

Nadira (1)

Nick (1)

Nicole (1)

Nora (3)

Odessa (4)

Pandora (2)

Peyton (3)

Quinn (1)

Raith (3)

Robyn (1)

Roderick (2)

Ruiz (2)

Ryans (9)

Sable (2)

Stef (1)

Sylar (1)

Tasha (3)

Tavisha (1)

Teo (8)

Tess (1)

Veronica (2)

Walter (2)

Pretend Not to Hear

By Kaylee

I stand at the front of the room; slides clicking by.

Before me, people in crisps suits stare at me while I talk. Potential investors.

But they don't see me, they only see what I am.

A telepath…

I pretend not to hear. The doubt and the distrust.

Oh God, what if she hears me?

I wonder how many others she manipulated?

Never once does it show that I can hear their fear. That it calls to me.

Whispers dark secrets to me.

All they see is my smile, while I struggle within.

«You could make them love you.» No!

Flashing Through the Grid

by Sven

A burning smell, a flash, and I was gone again. Back into the labyrinth of power, of electricity. Walking, nay running, through seemingly endless tunnels.

The occasional intersection told me it wasn't endless. At times, the tunnels seemed to split a thousandfold. I knew those places were the most dangerous, the most likely to get me lost again.

But I knew this split, and recognized this path I had to take. Onwards, crawling through that tiny hole between me and the goal of this journey.

A light at the end of the tunnel, I stepped out, rematerializing yet again, naked.

Seeing Is Believing II

by Lexington

It was a flash. A moment. A vision. Maybe a hallucination. Maybe stress was to blame. Maybe it was all a dream.

She wondered, would wishing make it so?

Did she want to make that wish?

A lot of people get hurt.

He wasn't lying, but it was all the right people this time. Or, at least, the people on the other side, which is right enough for her.

She had to be there.

She had to see.

To act.

It was a bit like Spider-Man, she thought to herself. And wondered if those writers knew something we didn't.


What Will It Be

by Abby

What will it be?

What has god chosen for me, what genetic blueprint harbors a surprise that heats my forehead and makes me lay awake while my ribs ache beyond the drugs and wonder, pray, please manifest soon. Another depends on it. Telepath? A holy fire from my hands? Will I fly? A touch laying bare all a persons secrets. Will it be Richards salvation that springs forth from my hands like once it did not long ago.

Sing to me lord of what it shall be.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John, bless this bed that I lay on.


A Carnival of Sights

by Peyton

Pavement spins. Faces blur.
Corpses weep blood on hospital's bleached linoleum.
A gun lifts, its barrel blocking vision until brain and skull splatter glass.
Blood trickles from bullet shattered limbs,
dripping on dark and cold concrete floors.
A body splayed like art stares down with sightless eyes, a clock behind it a cryptic clue.
Water distorts men in white coats who stare back through thick glass.
Bodies shining with sweat entwine, something like love confusing hatred.
Blackness chokes. Whiteness blinds.
A bird's eye view of the city dizzies.
A fist shatters the mirror reflecting a face that's not mine.


by Abigail

There's something about that month, month or more that I don't want to forget. I'll never tell him, never tell anyone what it is. What came after the green flare. The way happiness and warmth bubbled up from infinitesimal point of origin in my body. It crept forward like a warm blanket pulled over me and after the first time, I never fought it again. I can see why they love him. I loved him too for that. I confess when I hit him, I wanted to feel that again. He disappointed me and gave me only pain. You bastard.

Happiness: On Top

by Logan

According to the best scientists in the world (probably), happiness is stimuli, neurological response, a release of flooding chemicals into synapses and then the body's stupid-dog tail wagging response. Happiness is also making her blush and making him shudder, and being on top, and a really nice pair of Versace blue jeans. Happiness is usually expensive for how cheap it really is.

But it's nothing without euphoria, snowstorm endorphins, without the finer tunes of dopamine and serotonin, the tickle sensation under flesh, the race of hot blood, the ache in loins. Surface giddiness, damp skin, unseeing eyes. Happiness is chemical.


by Melissa

"We are unique, special. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."

"But they told me that I was a freak! That I'm wrong somehow. That I shouldn't be. Maybe they're right."

"No, they're just jealous, or confused. We are evolution, sweetie. We are what is to come. A taste of the future. Foreshadowing, you could say. They want to be us, darlin'. That's all."

"You mean they wish they had powers like we do?"

"That's exactly what I mean. People tend to hate things that they don't understand, or hate those who have things that they want."

"I'll share with them."


by Huruma

She had been feeling ill for days. The nurse said it was nothing important, that she had probably gotten food poisoning and that she would be fine on Thursday morning. Come Thursday, her head was still throbbing and her brow still beaded with unnatural sweat. They made her go to class anyway.

It was test day, after all.

It was test day, and she hadn't studied because she was sick. And still was. So she watched the girl in front of her, weary eyes on the back of her head.

Something was humming.

Humming, like a stomach full of butterflies.

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