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)

Living in Shadow

by Anonymous

Your name is whispered with reverence reserved for saints and legends. How can I live up to that? In every way I'm lesser. Smaller. Weaker.

No one has to tell me so.


I am your legacy. Do you see you in me? Flawed and raw as I am?

I want to see myself in your refined grace, your fierce power. I want to fulfill the promise of your blood beating in my veins.

But I'm afraid; if I become more like you, will I lose that which makes me me?

Can I be a legacy and still be me?


by Anonymous

In my dreams, memories flash, the past vibrant and technicolor, brighter than the moments ever were in mundane reality.

The scent of lavender filters out the acrid stench of sweat on my damp pillow. Red hair brushes my cheek, blue eyes gaze down as I feel a gentling touch, a cool hand on my febrile brow.

The fever makes everything blurry, but in my dreams, in my dreams within my dreams, everything is razor-sharp and loud.

I dreamt of her just once, delirious and drunk on fever. In my dreams, she was dark and fierce. A lioness.

A warrior.


by Anonymous

You say I’m naive because I have hope.

Let me tell you something.

It’s fucking easy to see this screwed-up world how it is: dark and cruel and heartless.

It’s easy to see smoke in the skies and taste blood in your mouth, shrug your shoulders and say, “That’s the way things are, kid, grow up. Life ain’t fair.”

It’s not easy to see what isn’t: how things could be, would be if everyone fought for their beliefs.

I come from a long line of believers. Their lives weren’t easy; my life sure isn’t.

But it’s worth fighting for.

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