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Date Posted: Tuesday, April 19, 12:11:44pm
Author: EllenM
Subject: Golden Oldies Drabble Challenge (3 drabbles)
In reply to: EllenM 's message, "The First Golden Oldies Drabble Challenge" on Wednesday, April 06, 04:57:41pm

What if?

In his office, Michael opened Madeline’s folder and stared, with a strange sense of recognition and excitement, at the blonde girl’s photograph.


A loud shriek pierces the air. “Noooo... Give that back to me.”

“Girls, girls. Stop this fighting at once.”

“But, Mother, I know Nikita doesn't want to go to Section One.”

“Darling, these are just dolls. They have no feelings. Now put them down and come to dinner.”


Inside the Section One dollhouse, all was quiet. The dolls lay motionless, as they were strewn, except for one slight movement—a small tear slowly wending its way down the face of the Michael doll.



Whenever she dreamt of her mother, it was fall, she was seven years old and she held her mother's hand as they walked along Van Ness Street to the library.

On the way to her favorite place, late season's dried brown leaves eddied around their legs, making a satisfying crunch under the feet of the excited little girl. Anticipation was in the crisp fall air, security and love in the hand she held.

That winter, her sister died. From then on, the only time she walked to the library, crushing leaves and holding her mother's hand, was in Madeline's dreams.



He dug deep into the hard, dark earth—aimlessly, but steadfastly.

If he kept digging, would he come out the other end in China, as he once heard tell in childhood? He grimaced wryly—China or oblivion, whichever came first.

He didn't dig her grave. They killed her on a mission—no body to bury, no grave to visit, no place to touch.

Belinda. Uncried grief began to overtake him as the pain of remembering filled his brain.

He jammed the shovel straight down into the earth and, holding fast to the handle, sunk to his knees.

Finally, he wept.


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