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)

Insomniac's Vigil

by Daphne

It's never silent in New York. Even at 3 in the morning, there's the rumble of the subway beneath asphalt, the shrill whistle of someone hailing a cab, the howl of a siren, the thrum of electricity and energy everywhere.

From her perch on a roof, she watches this time of transition.The lights in the buildings flicker on and off like the blinking lights of a Christmas tree. The windows of those going to bed go black, while the windows of those just waking suddenly fill with light.

She rises, blur of light herself, to make her way home.


by Melissa

The land of the damned. Where the souls of the most evil, the most depraved go to spend eternity. That's your name. And slowly you're forming into a place that resembles the name. Or at least gives a hint of the meaning. The red lights, the darkness, the bleakness of design.

But it's missing something.

It's missing the crush of people. The heavy heartbeat. The screams of the damned.

But I can't see you as you're meant to be, not yet. It'll take some time yet, before you can properly welcome the damned.

Except here? Here we call them Goths.

A Dive

by Anonymous

Delicate sensibilities beware.

We do not strip (You want Burlesque).

We will kiss and press hip to hip in short skirts, writhing above that wooden bar and grabbing poles while we dance to whatever blares from the jukebox. Legs will intertwine and alcohol will pour from the bottles that we will tilt tantalizingly from above in exchange for cash.

Kama Sutra on the walls, a couple pant, fondle in the alley while someone waits to press a gun to their temple. The Nun will look away, Red blatantly stares, Izzy screams approval from heaven.

One step above a strip joint.


by Melissa

The weather outside is frightful.

Plows try to clear the streets and businesses shut down. It's too much trouble to get to work today!

Yes, it's fun for kids. Snow day! Time to go have snowball fights and make snowmen and snow angels! Time for hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows, and sitting in front of a raging fire.

But on the other side of the city, people suffer. They huddle under threadbare blankets, and gather around burning cans of trash. They shiver and wonder if they will survive until tomorrow.

Will tonight be the last night of winter for them?

The Meat Man

by Raith

How many times has he said it? One hundred? One thousand? It doesn't matter anymore. He told them, he kept telling them. They stopped listening, so he stopped telling them. They'd rather worry about the snow than about me. And because of that, I'm free.

He's been wrong, whenever he told them. She is not his city. She is my city. I know her alleys, her gutters, her towers, her most intimate secrets. And now, I'm free to prowl in her deep shadows and stalk her icy night. You should have listened. Too late now.

Watch out for me, darling.


by Anonymous

Each day we wake, welcomed by the sounds of our New York. The ambulance sirens pass at the speed of life. A protester spews forth his genetic hate and demands of purity over a megaphone. Brakes squeal as the taxi stomps his brakes and screams at pedestrians. Music vibrates through the air when club doors open to disgorge it's patrons. The skeletons of what was - is - midtown groan and creak with their rusting complaints. Gus bellows his displeasure from his fake iceberg in the zoo.

This is my New York.

There is no quiet in our New York.

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