Sunday, January 12th, 2014
Warning:  Some explicit language

Cover for Drabblecast 309, All the Young Kirks and Their Good Intentions, by Jonathan Wilson2249 A.D.

All the young Kirks in Riverside Public High School are assigned to the same Homeroom class. They sit together in the back corner on the far side from the door. They speak only to each other.

The young Kirk on the Moon goes to school with no one. Each of the colonists has a job and he or she is responsible only to the duties of that job. The others call him Fisher instead of James since he spends his days knee deep in the trout pond, allowing the fish to glide between his legs. When the fish become completely inured to his presence, he thrusts his hands into the water and grasps one around the belly. It fights and Fisher holds on. He is supposed to take it out of the water, to throw it into the white bucket by the shore, but Fisher never does. He lets the fish go and when he comes home, with nothing to show for it, his mother expresses her irrevocable disappointment and sends him to bed.

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First appeared in Clarkesworld, February 2012.
Episode Art:  Jonathan Wilson
Read by:  Zoe Kerr, Paul Huntington, Naomi Mercer, Bryan Lincoln

Twabble:  “Dear ancient roly poly king, Matured to stone and bone. You have outlived all the other things, and now you're all alone. ”  by  sigment

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Tuesday, September 3rd, 2013
Warning:  Some explicit language

Cover for Drabblecast episode 294, Partial Inventory, by John DebergeThe air conditioning only worked when the speedometer crept past 70 MPH which the lumbering GMC van (on loan from a friend of a friend who took pity on the family and their situation) rarely did. November in the South is hardly hot, but thirteen hours in any vehicle with nearly a half dozen relatives and mismatched belongings, each one trying to both curl and crowd themselves into their claimed seats had left the air warm and slick and smelling faintly of musk.

 

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A Drabblecast original.
Episode Art:  John Deberge
Read by:  Hananel Mavity

Twabble:  “Slowly. Quietly. I creep down the tube. I sense the open air. My eight legs leave the vacuum cleaner; I run. Now. Revenge. ”  by  Lyda

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