Disclaimer: I was out walking the other day, and I had to pass the golf course to get to the shops. On the Ninth Hole was a naked man with a large green frog on his head. "My God," I said, "I've heard of golf handicaps, but this is ridiculous. What's going on with you, then?" And the frog replied, "Well, it all started with this wart on my bum..."

A/N: These are drabbles - 100-word ficlets. They are the product of sleepless nights and stalled inspiration. Some of them are pretty random, but they were fun to write. Some were even cathartic. Have you ever written drabbles before? I suggest you try it. This particular collection is continually growing, and would appreciate feedback in the form of reviews. Thankee kindly.


Word Vomit: Version Titans

© Scribbler, February 2005


All Grown Up

When I was six, I wanted to be a supermodel. I wanted to stroll down the catwalk and pose for Cosmo. I wanted to be a glamorpuss, with a name like Glitter, or Shimmer, or Sparkle. I wanted to be someone special.

When I was six, my favourite colour was pink, just like every little girl. I had a Barbie Dreamhouse and a plastic horse that lived in its garage.

When I was six, I first wore bunches.

I'm not six anymore. I'm not a supermodel.

But I do wear bunches. I still like pink. And I am special.


Death's Soft Touch

"Someone get over here!"

The rusty whisper of breath against his hand. He tilts the neck gently, aware of the damage he might accidentally do, but equally aware that leaving his head there will mean him drowning in sewer water.

"Where's Raven? Someone get Raven!"

Except that Raven is too busy healing herself, deep in a trance designed to reassemble her midriff. Star flits from her to Robin, who never groans or whimpers. Not ever.

"Cy…"

"It's okay, B. I'll see you right."

Him. His responsibility.

"I'm scared, Cy."

A cough. Blood. The hand falls.

And the world changes.


Bottom of the Class

"We lost. Again."

The Headmaster sighs and pinches the spot between his eyes.

Jinx watches, resisting the urge to smack that stupid grin off Gizmo's face. Mammoth just stands there like he's waiting in a cafeteria line.

To say she's about to shit a brick is an understatement. She's about to relieve herself of an entire garden wall.

"Why?"

"The Titans - "

"You've faced them before."

She draws herself up. "We'll do better next time, sir - "

But he just smiles and says, "Punishment detail."

She scowls. Then sags. "Yes sir."

Right away sir. Three bags full, sir.


Roof-Talk

"It's inevitable, really."

"Don't say that!"

"Why?"

"You know why."

"Not mentioning it won't make it go away."

"Couldn't hurt to try."

"…"

"Raven, please. Don't do this."

"You don't want me spoiling the victory party."

"That's not what I meant - "

"It's okay. That's why I came up here. Meditation's easier if Beast Boy isn't thumping on my door with an elasticated cone hat."

"Keeping your distance from everyone won't solve your problems. Isolation isn't a magic wand."

"…"

"Raven - "

"There are no easy answers. Only more questions."

"What?"

"Nothing. Leave me alone, Robin. Starfire's calling."


Shelter

"I've got you."

Raven's voice never lifted. Her tone barely changed. She operated with the same quiet dignity that she faced all of life until her inner self caught up to her.

Beast Boy was perfectly aware of how dangerous she could be. He knew exactly how perilous it was to get close to her in battle.

But he also knew how much a bump on the noggin had scrambled his thoughts, making him lose his shape. And he knew how feather-light her arms were around him – a complete antithesis to the empty air he'd previously been falling through.

And he felt … safe.


Treading the Line

With two of their targets in a single place, Slade's dolls tighten their circle. What was a defensive manoeuvre now becomes a trap.

To their credit, Cyborg and Robin improvise well, moving in the synchrony of a precarious dance performed too many times. Robin darts out to strike, and back again, always moving, never still enough to catch. Cyborg covers his back, strafing the mindless automatons with blaster-fire.

One doll is impossibly fast. It catches Robin's foot. He goes down.

Cyborg breaks. He punches.

"Thanks."

Robin's gratefulness is fleeting – the barest acknowledgement he needed saving.

And then they're fighting again.


End Fracture One