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)

Don't Stand So

by Anonymous

You don't remember the time you bought me a dirty magazine after I asked you about something m'dad said at visitation. But you swore 'cross your heart not to tell Mum and she never found out because she never went looking. And I was mostly away besides.

Anyway -

I reckon I was a little young but no lasting harm done. I thought it was nice. The lady in the centerfold even looked a bit like you: perfect sine curve of ass, hips and pussy, calves flexed firm over spiked heels.

Eyes narrowed, pale skin silken soft on the page.

What Then

by Anonymous

If he'd remained behind,

like she asked him to.

He tokes alone, oily smoke compressed in his lungs and spent in a draconic wind warm through his sinuses

The ocean forbidding black for miles, cloying cloud cover smothering low with acidic humidity, he sits and watches and thinks to himself

indian style atop the edge of a skyscraper he has no right to occupy, through too many locked doors


brow hooded and knuckles bent to scruffy chin, city light an industrial smear of orange and bruise brown, jet liners coasting over a kingdom that doesn't belong to him


Fine Print

by Anonymous

Freedom isn't all it's made out to be. The freedom to run and set fires and wear what y'like, even if it's 'nothing.'

But freedom of rational choice is the real killer.

Freedom've choice entails accountability for actions taken by you,

the actor

in a context wherein independence is more accurately akin to


and so the absence of any culpable entity to blame beyond the civilized persons of messrs you and yourself for the utterly fuckin' retarded shit 'you' gets 'yourself' into when there's nobody qualified around to say 'No.'

'There isn't always a next time.'

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License