Jane Jago’s Drabbles – Four Hundred and Eighty-Three

The blobs sang, though it got on their nerves. The humans moved knobs and made what they laughingly called ‘tunes’, although most were, at best, uninspired.

At worst, the blobs hurt their own ears as they strained and squealed, and burped and groaned to make the awful noises their masters demanded.

It was awful. Demeaning, disturbing, disgusting, and it made them dreadfully unhappy.

However, they carried on.


Then one man went too far, tuning the bass to high c and the tenors to somewhere approaching a faraway thunderstorm.

When the blobs sucked off his head, the silence was bliss…

©️jj 2021

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