Note from Loth:
Well.... it's been simply ages since the Drabble Muse has woken me from a nap with an urge to write a 100 word story! It happened again today!


"Michael, you have a visitor"

I stand on my side of the glass—you on yours. I see you looking at me with questions and a touch of anger—but that is only because I am on the outside and that is where you want to be.

I look at you and see a young man who's seen things he ought not have had to see. I see myself in you.

Our fathers were as close as friends as two men ever were. I'll sit, wait for you to talk. I think you're worth the time it will take for us to become friends too.

Nice work.

I had to put my brain in gear for this one.. and discovered it has a badly slipping clutch

But I got it in the end

Thanks, Rocky!

MacGyver swung his legs in futility as he hung on to the ledge for dear life. He tried to claw his way onto the roof, but he couldn’t. Would he die? But footsteps passed above him. He looked up to see an obscured hand offer salvation. Mac grabbed it and heaved himself onto the cold metal. He sighed and jumped to his feet. He turned to the man saying “Thanks, Mr. ?”
“Murdoc.” He said calmly as he leveled a pistol at Mac.
“Well then. I guess I shouldn’t thank you. I should’ve let go of the ledge!” MacGyver added

That Murdoc... he pops up in the darnedest places!

Thanks for joining in the fun, True.

I was born to write! The pleasure's all mine.

A Bad Case of Gas

Mac was crumpled under the steering wheel as he helplessly fiddled with the wiring. The car was speeding out of control toward a gas truck. The truck was stalled and the car wouldn’t turn or stop. Mac tried valiantly to tie brightly colored wires together, hoping that some miracle would save him. Each bump lost his concentration and made him more desperate. He started chanting “COME ON!” repeatedly. But nothing was happening. Finally a combination sparked. He sat up and took the controls. He hit the brake only to feel the car speed up, feet from the gasoline filled truck.

An Alternate Ending to Trail to Doomsday

MacGyver stared in determination at the gleaming buttons. They lined the control panel. He had to stall the meltdown. Thinking quickly he flipped the entire collection. A blinking red light flashed. It read “Nuclear Meltdown Imminent.” The factory shook as a similarly flashing green light answered. It promised that the situation was overriden. He tried the switches again. The red light returned. He stared desperately at the light, praying for green. He waited a few minutes as the red light flashed. A countdown began. It lowered to 3 seconds. The green light reappeared and read “You’re MacGyver! Make Something Up!”

Countdown
Mac tried to untie himself from the roped chair. The rhythmic tempo of the bomb seemed to come from all around him. After fraying the bands, he leapt into action. He ran to the ticking explosive that gave him the exact time of his death. He removed the casing and skillfully played with the dials. The combination had to be something significant to the villain. He typed in Murdoc’s number of times he’s tried to kill Mac. A slight clicking continued. Mac spun around to face a similar bomb. It seems that he wasn’t crazy. The countdown reached 2 seconds.

Almost Home Free
Mac tried to maneuver around the explosives set in his houseboat. He had to avoid touching the ground. He jumped on to his coffee table. Choosing his next move he sidestepped onto his couch. He leapt into the air and gripped his chandelier. For a sickening moment he heard a cracking noise. He tried to shift his weight. He swung forward and released. He landed on the kitchen counter. He crawled along it and out the window. He kicked it open and ran outside. He sat in his jeep and turned the key. He heard a click from beneath it.

Regrets

“How do you find this stuff?”
“The stuff’s already here… I just find a different way of using it.”

Lisa’s a good kid. I can see that she’s changed since our adventures
together in Geneva. Never thought I’d see anger in her violet eyes
... or smell liquor on her breath.

She thinks she’s grown. I remember being like that. Harry’d been gone
for a few years, and I had grown a lot… but not 'up'.

Memories of those days are as bitter as the taste of beer. I’ve had
my share of both draughts, and I don’t care for either.

Ooo, Lothi, nice!

Hey it's cool to see drabbling again! I've missed this thread and was just thinking about it last week!

Great as usual, Loth and glad to see you joining in so soon True! I like Loth's introspection and True's cliffhangers...good stuff!

The cliffhangers force the readers to imagine the ending. Here's another "What Happens Next?" scenario.

Pipe Dream
Mac hung upside-down from the pipes on the ceiling. He looked down at the guards bustling in the hallway below. Mac strained to cling to the tubes while staying silent. Finally another man stepped in. It was another scheming dictator with an army. Mac turned his head down to see the man approach his guards. He could make out the conversation. “If you see him, shoot him.” Mac suddenly felt a sweat bead form on his nose. It slithered down his nose and almost jumped off. It stopped. He felt relieved until his pocket knife slipped out of his pocket.

Maybe that should read

"He felt relieved... until his pocket knife slipped out of his pocket."

Oops! Gravity happens!

Haha...love your little twists True. Yeah, I think Lothi's got it right, tho. Slightly better wording.

SNERK

Nymphy I knew you couldn't resist.

I'm sure she tried tho....


Bah...who am I kidding?

Haha, very funny. That wasn't actually supposed to be a joke. I only realized it after I posted it. But here is another story anyway.

To Be MacGyver
To be MacGyver you’ve got to be tough. You’ve got to be inventive. You’ve got to be quick-witted under pressure. You’ve got to be able to use a paperclip to do something other than clip paper. You’ve got to be a master of duct tape uses. You must have a perfectly feathered mullet. You’ve got to have a maniacal enemy who never dies. You’ve got to meet a new woman once a week. You’ve must not be able to commit to the women you meet each week. You must have a mullet. You must move at least once a year.

Souvenir

On the top of my bookshelf, there's a little box with two things in it. One is a tarnished old amulet with a narrow cut on one end and a fragment of parchment inside. The other is an old wooden pocketknife with a divot where a bullet struck.

I keep them away from inquisitive eyes-- they are too hard to try to explain. I've never told a soul where they really came from... I'm not sure I believe it myself. But every once in awhile I take that box down and I look at those things.

And sometimes, I dream...

A (too) Slick Getaway
Mac slid down the snowy hill, escaping the terrorists. An explosion shook the land behind him. His steel plate served as the toboggan. He enjoyed the ride. The city ahead was approaching. Mac leaned forward to feel speed take over. Mac dodged trees on his descent. He looked back to see the hideout be washed over with glistening snow. He won the fight. He suddenly slid up an incline and flew through the air. He let go and fell onto the hard asphalt. After he caught his breath he looked ahead to see a semi speeding toward his hidden body.

Huh?

MacGyver didn't move for 4 years, and even that was only cos the houseboat burned down, not cos he wanted to move.

That was just an over-exaggeration.

Wave Goodbye

Mac violently spun the various wheels in the pump room. He was hoping to pump out the invading water that had plagued the ship. But nothing seemed to be working. MacGyver tapped on the large pipe that leads from the pump room to the sea. It was empty. But soon water was dribbling through. He threw more switches. More liquid poured through. Mac lit a match to see what he had pressed. According to the buttons, he started pumping fuel from the engines. He turned around to see the pipe bursting with too much gasoline. He still held the match.

This spun off of "Up a Long Ladder" -- much to my surprise! I've never written a drabble before.

Better Smart Than Lucky

Don’t say, “Hey, you’re lucky it worked!” – Okay?

I’d rather make my own luck – and I wanna make it based on calculation, not chance.

The only thing worse than succeeding out of sheer luck is surviving due to it. I’ve done that a few times, and I hate it. It makes me nervous.

I feel like I’ve cheated, and I’m gonna get caught and have to pay up at the worst possible moment . . . or, maybe, it’s like I’ve used up something. It’s a limited resource, and I’m gonna run out just when I need it the most.

I hate ‘luck’.

A great drabble for a great fic!! Thanks, Beth!

Down a Long Ladder

Mac dodged the boot that was constantly shooting down at his face. He clasped onto the flimsy rope ladder as Murdoc tried to kick him off from above. Mac’s head dodged left and right to avoid a flattened head. The rubber sole finally smacked the top of his head. Mac slid a few rungs, but still hung on. Murdoc looked down with a sneer of frustration. He turned back and ascended to the helicopter floating above. Mac looked down at the city hundreds of feet below. Above, Murdoc pulled out a knife and proceeded to saw through the rope ladder.

The Gratuitous Car Chase ( )

Going so fast that tires have quit squealing on the corners; they just groan on the turns. Steering wheel’s gone sticky under my white-knuckles grip. To make things more interesting, bullets rip through the rags of my rear windshield.

We roar down deserted roads. He’s driving to kill, but I know this stretch… and I know he’s not about to slow down.

I stand on the brakes and the whole car spins, slewing me around in time to see his car—trailing smoke and curses—diving over the bank and into the gorge.

This isn’t my favorite kind of race.

Hot Under the Collar

Mac frantically sprinted down the chilling blast corridor. Alarms blared overhead as he stumbled through the consistently thinner openings. Mac looked back, regretting his decision. Shadows of soldiers were outlined by the orange glow cast on the perpendicular hallway. Screams of terror and anguish echoed into his head. Mac looked ahead. The final blast door was within feet of him. Mac picked up his pace and slid through the opening, the cold doors touching his torso and back. He skidded into the wall and leaned on his knees, panting heavily. He peered back at the doors. They didn’t close completely.

All this talk of a new MacGyver movie has reminded me most sharply of the loss of Dana. I decided to Drabble about it.


'Tis angsty.


June 6th ( )

A tall figure stands in the shadow of a great tree, head bowed. From the fingers of one hand a few blooming stems dangle, half-forgotten as he reads the words incised upon the stone at his feet.

A few errant drops cut through the trees, dragging occasional leaves from the green clusters overhead. They fall like tears unnoticed on the man's shirt as he stoops awkwardly and lays the flowers at the base of the stone.

"I miss you, Pete. Things just aren't the same without you."

In a shaft of sunlight, falling drops become glowing jewels.

Oh, Lothi, that's lovely.