These drabbles were written in response to the 2006 Tracy Island Writers Forum's Drabble Challenge. Only three were to be entered, but Quiller wrote an additional two for purposes of posting here on The Tracy Island Chronicles. The challenge was as follows:

Choose three of the following six topics and write one drabble for each of the topics you chose. You will wind up with three 100-word drabbles on whichever three topics you chose. Here are your choices:

A) Scott during a rescue (could be his thoughts, someone observing him, something he's actually doing, etc.).
B) Virgil while playing the piano (again, could be his thoughts, someone observing/listening, etc.).
C) Gordon's and Alan's relationship as brothers (one or both of them thinking about it, one of them thinking about the other, someone else ruminating on their relationship, etc.).
D) Lady Penelope (either her thoughts or someone else's about her/what she does, etc.).
E) The Thunderbirds (perhaps the ship's actual POV or someone's thoughts about one or all of them, etc.).
F) Parody drabble (anything goes, parody style).

Drabble One

"Virgil, come in please."

I look at the clock on Mobile Control. It's been ten minutes since he went into that burning building and I'm starting to feel concerned. He should have reported in by now.

I rub my sweaty palms against my thighs. This is the part of my job that I hate. The others may think I have it easy, sitting here, giving orders. They don't realise how hard it is for me to sit still and send them into danger, when all my instincts cry out to protect them.

"Virgil, do you read me?" Answer, damn you! 

Drabble Two

"Virgil Tracy! Get away from that piano at once!"

The little boy gave a guilty start as a stern voice cut through the air. Reluctantly he climbed down from the piano stool and turned to face his grandmother.

"I wasn't playing, Grandma. Honest, I was only looking!"

It just wasn't fair that he was being punished. OK, he had hit Alan, but his younger brother had deserved it for knocking the water across Virgil's newly-finished painting. He walked from the room, a picture of dejection, turning to give his piano a last, forlorn look. Tomorrow was a long way away. 

Drabble Three

Alan on Gordon

I close the book and look up but you haven't moved. John said you didn't like 'Moby Dick' but I thought, fine, you can always wake up and tell me that yourself. I look at you lying there, tubes and wires connecting you to all the machines that surround you. Your chest moves slowly, but there is no other sign of life. What is going on under that copper thatch of yours? Are you dreaming? Why did you have to be in that damn hydrofoil anyway? I'm the speed freak of the family, not you.

Why won't you wake up? 

Drabble Four

As the train enters the tunnel I watch the lights from the windows flickering on the tunnel wall. As ever, my mind goes back to another train, another tunnel. Lying tied to the rail, looking up at the train roaring only inches above me, while you lay with your body shielding mine and your hand resting on my cheek. It was a terrifying experience, but at the same time, one I will always treasure. Our eyes met in that flickering light, and something special passed between us. Or is this just a silly woman's imagination?

Did you feel it too?

Drabble Five

God, she's so beautiful. And she's mine.

I stand at the bottom of the silo, craning my neck as I look up towards the nose of the mighty rocket. I can still hardly believe that Dad has put me in charge of this, the biggest of the Thunderbird fleet. OK, I know Scott will be co-pilot, but I feel Dad is showing his trust in me. I'm no longer the irresponsible kid who nearly got thrown out of college when my model rocket exploded, blowing out half the windows on the campus.

I won't let you down, Dad, I promise.

This newer drabble (below) was added to this file in December 2016. It was written in response to one of the monthly prompts on Tracy Island Writers Forum in which the prompt was to write a drabble based on the theme of 'fire.'

a drabble based on 'Day of disaster'

What sort of idiot would fire a missile at a rocket thatís sitting at the bottom of a river, primed and ready to launch at any moment?

A desperate one, thatís what.

Iíve spent hours cutting away the debris and now time is running out and so are my options. If I fire the missiles, I might save the men in that capsule, or I might blow them to smithereens, and myself along with them. Iíve talked to Brains and he agrees itís my only course of action.

I take a deep breath, cross my fingers and press the button.

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