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Fruits of a week off: an actual tiny fragment of fiction. Apparently what I've been calling postcard fiction is known webside as The Drabble.

Their Palimpsest Was Dust

Plotting war was their delight for aeons. They'd never gotten farther than obtaining a huge roll of parchment and some colourful chalk. They scribbled, wiped out, redrew, bickered over the meaning of their own symbols, and swept out whole campaigns with an angry, a contemptuous, or a conciliatory twitch of one glittering powder-streaked wing.

Our plague felled them. I was their enemy, but I stepped among the wreckage of their silly grandeur with regret. By my order, a squad dragged away the empty scroll. A bad death and a blank page are no fit end even for fools and dragons.

I guess that's DragonDrabble.

I enjoy the paring down that very short fiction requires. I take issue with this: "There is no room in microfiction for... digression." I call it a hat trick if you can pull off a successful digression in 300 words or less. (Or, say, two digressions, for three full threads.)(Did you know that hat trick was originally from cricket? I always assumed hockey.)

{rf}