Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Twenty-Five

The waiter brought me soup. And a folded note. I picked up my spoon and ignored the paper. The boy grinned. I motioned him away.

He went. And I picked up the paper.

There were three words scrawled in a familiar hand. In spite of myself, I laughed.

I walked into my house and followed the line of discarded clothes to my big white bed. He sprawled there, on the duvet, dark, hairy and dangerous.

“Should’ve made you leave the stupid key.”

And that was all I had breath for. 

I guess divorce is on the back burner. For now…

©️jj 2019


Do poets immerse themselves in verse?
Do dentists bathe in teeth?
Does the innkeeper’s wife wash in water of life?
Does swag rain down on the thief?
Does the land-owning ilk bath daily in milk?
Do bakers recline in dough?
Does the writer of prose get full stops up his nose?
Do the elderly wash really slow?
Does the lumberjack soak in the sap of the oak?
Do artists in sepia sit?
Do EastEnders blokes use a gallon of soap?
And does Parliament shower in s**t?

©jane jago 2018

Weekend Wind Down – Eden

Underneath the blanket, the girl was mother naked. She shivered lightly, but whether it was fear or excitement she couldn’t tell. She watched her new master as he walked around the room. He too was naked and the firelight placed on the flat planes of his stomach and the corded muscles in his arms and legs. She swallowed nervously and closed her eyes, peeping through the forest of her eyelashes as he turned and come towards her.
“Do you feign sleep?” his deep rather lazy voice mocked her.
“I feign nothing. I just don’t want to see…”
“See what?”
“See your… Your.”
He laughed, but this time the laughter wasn’t mocking.
“Have you never seen a naked man before?”
“Well open your eyes and look.”
She shook her head and screwed her eyes tighter shut.
He put one big hand under her chin.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
She opened her eyes and found herself looking into a pair of bright amber orbs. They were amused, but also seemed to her to be understanding of her predicament.
He took his hand from under her chin.
“How old are you?” he asked abruptly.
She sat up, clutching the rough blanket to her small breasts.
“I don’t exactly know.”
“Well roughly then.”
She lifted a slender shoulder. “About seventeen,” she hazarded.
“And how close is that likely to be?”
“I’m a slave lord. Nobody takes any notice of what age a slave might be. I started to bleed two summers ago, and they thought about selling my virginity. But then Madam said not. Said to keep me untouched until somebody with money came along.”
He looked into her eyes, and whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him.
“Drop the blanket then.”
The girl obeyed and her master’s eyes roamed her smooth pale skin.
“Very pretty,” he said and reached out a hand to caress her throat.
She swallowed and his smile became feral. He bent his head and nipped the tender skin beneath her ear. She drew in a shaky breath and his mouth roamed lower.

Some considerable while later, the girl stirred in her master’s arms. She stretched like a cat and made a small sound in the back of her throat.
“Master,” she said quietly.
He grunted encouragingly.
“Master, what is Eden?”
He sat up and grasped her shoulders.
“What do you know about Eden?”
His hands were biting into her flesh and she flinched, but he did not loosen his grip.
“Eden,” he demanded harshly.
“They brought me here. Madam and the sergeant of your guard. And I heard them. He laughed and touched my face. It’s a waste, he said, she’s a pretty little thing, and he’s destined for Eden.”
He let go of her shoulders and laughed.
“Oh. That’s what he thinks is it? We shall see.”
He rolled over and pinned the not unwilling girl under his heavy body.

After another interval, he lay on his back, with the girl draped across his body. He ran a hand down her spine.
“Will you help me?”
She lifted her face and smiled down at him.
“If I can.”
“Oh. You can. But you will need to be brave.”
“I think I can be brave. What do you need?”
“I need the sergeant in here.”
“Will he come if I start screaming?”
“He will. But then…”
“But then what?”
“Then I have to kill him.”
She lifted a shoulder.
“And there is a bit more to it. I will need to paint some symbols on your body with his blood. And make love to you whilst you are painted.”
She shrugged and showed him her small, white teeth.

And then she started screaming.

The door burst open and the sergeant rushed in with his sword drawn. The girl stood up, giving him a view of her white nakedness. Her master kicked the door shut and his knife took the sergeant beneath his chin cutting the arteries in his throat. The girl dropped a heavy bar into slots in the door and turned to watch the soldier with bright pitiless eyes.
“Does Death not worry you, little one?”
“I’m a slave. I’ve seen death all my life. How should it worry me?”
The man dipped his finger in the pulsing red blood and began to paint the girl’s naked body with oddly disturbing symbols.
When he had finished he tumbled her to the mattress and took her roughly. At the moment when her eyes became blind in her own ecstasy he slipped his long, thin knife between her ribs.
“Eden” he cried in a great voice, and when the girl’s spirit left her body he saw for an instant a white and golden angel who took that spirit in his corded arms and ascended into the light.
The master dressed himself meditatively and slipped out of the window into the ever thickening darkness of the night.

© jane jago 2017

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Twenty-Four

It was a mistake to underestimate Cody. She may have had dimples, but she also had a brain. When she handwrote the code that gave computers the ability to accurately assess breast scans she was lauded worldwide – if with grudgingly faint praise among the ‘silverback gorilla’ clan.

When a loudmouthed Armenian ‘doctor’ claimed she had stolen his work, a lot of the establishment quietly shifted to his side of the scale, simply because of his gender.

Sadly for them, Cody’s record keeping was as immaculate as her mathematics and she sued their asses.

It was a mistake to underestimate Cody.

©️jj 2019

Madam Pendulica’s Indispensable Guide to the Character and Propensities of those individuals born in each of the twelve Zodiacal Houses – Part the First

The Working Title crew bring you the exclusive opportunity to enjoy the wisdom of the mysteriously enigmatic Madam Pendulica...



The mythical ram with his thick woolly coat and his sharpened horns is the father of this house. His children are simple folk, and as sheep to those they love – following without thought or complaint. But make an enemy of one and the whole flock will turn upon you stamping you into the mire of their ordure with little hard hooves and spearing your very breast with the weapons on their foreheads. 

Good as winter clothing.

Bad side? Often having hairy bottoms that can be crusted with faeces.


After the ram comes the bull. Slow of intellect and lumbering in movement, the children of the bull are known for tenacity and a certain ponderous determination. The bull is a reliable, if boring, friend, but as an enemy he is implacable and deadly. He will get you however long it takes. Beware the horns of Taurus

Good on the barbecue.

Bad in that Taureans stick to one as if attached by Velcro, and they know stuff like train timetables by heart. Befriend one at your peril.


The twins have two faces and look both ways. They see both the future and the past with equal clarity making their offspring both difficult to lie to and impossible to believe. Those outside their coterie will never know which face they are looking at. Beware the obfuscation of Gemini.

Good as observers at obtuse junctions and busy interchanges

Bad – unimaginably untrustworthy and two-faced. Remember this: while one twin is fornicating with your beloved the other is available to keep watch.


As the crab scuttles sideways about his work so do his children approach life from the side. No scion of Cancer will be straightforward or clear in any action, and they possess a nasty nip too. On the upside they are rather tasty. Beware the claws of Cancer.

Good in a sandwich.

Bad on a country ramble as the silly bastards keep sidling off into the undergrowth.


The king of the savannah spends twenty hours of each day asleep, and his children are similarly unlikely to put themselves to too much trouble. They tend to be large, handsome, golden people whose physical attractiveness cannot be overstated. They like sex, but they also like raw meat. Beware the appetites of Leo.

Good as a soft toy or fictional hero.

Bad as a friend, partner, or workmate as they are unbelievably lazy but so persuasive that somebody else does the work and they get the credit. And they make a lot of pointless noise


The ‘virgin’ smiles primly self-satisfied by her own virtue. She ignores her offspring as they make liars of her virgin state, preferring to cut them loose, armed only with rigid moralistic views of life and very little charm. Beware the dogma of Virgo.

Good in nunneries.

Bad anywhere people are living normal lives. 

Madame Pendulica predicts she will return...

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Twenty-Three

Adakichi the beautiful was the most treasured concubine of a man with enough wealth to buy the stars should he so desire. 

She pleased her master greatly.

In a moment of rare whimsy he desired that she explain her attachment to a beaten silver hand mirror of little value. She smiled her secret smile.

“It is flattering to this poor face, Tokugawa Sama.”

He laughed.

Eventually alone, she lifted the mirror and looked into its depths, seeing a toothless crone smile back at her and knowing that one day she too would be free of the probing fingers of men.

©️jj 2019

Coffee Break Read – Double Double


If it wasn’t so freaking cold I would have had a cappuccino to go, but the frost still rimed the pavement, and my hands were freezing. I grabbed a small table and the waitress brought me an extra-large. She also brought me a slice of coffee walnut cake and a neatly folded note. I raised my eyebrows and she pointed to a corner booth where a very thin man sat staring fixedly at me. I looked down at the note, then opened it.
My dear Katarina, I read. My name isn’t Katarina, and I don’t read other people’s mail so I handed the paper and the plate back to the waitress.
“Whoever he’s after, it isn’t me.”
She shrugged and took the stuff away.
Me? I sipped my coffee, opened my book, and forgot all about strange men and slices of cake.


If it wasn’t so freaking cold I would have had a cappuccino to go, but the frost still rimed the pavement, and my hands were freezing. I grabbed a small table and the waitress brought me an extra-large. She also brought me a slice of coffee walnut cake and a neatly folded note. I raised my eyebrows and she pointed to a corner booth where a very thin man sat staring fixedly at me. I looked down at the note, then opened it.
My dear Katarina, I read. My name isn’t Katarina, but I was fascinated in spite of myself. I turned to face the man and he smiled coldly. I tore a page from my notebook and wrote three words before passing the folded sheet to an obviously amused waitress. She passed him the note and he glanced at it before getting up and coming over to where I sat. He looked down at me.
“Then why do you wear Katerina’s face?”
I shrugged. Then screamed as the acid he threw hit me.
I don’t drink cappuccino any more…

© jane jago

Jane Jago’s Daily Drabble – Two Hundred and Twenty-Two

She didn’t understand fear of the dark. Darkness was a friend, and she walked unafraid through the night. The sound of night animals and the susurration of wind in the trees were as familiar as her own heartbeat. 

It was in daylight they called her scarface and the children threw stones.

She met the devil at sunset, and tried to hide her cicatrised visage. He laughed, but his laughter was different. It was kindly and he lifted her face in one clawed hand. She walked the dark pathways at his side, and he understood her stumbling speech.

Scarface never returned.  

©️jj 2018

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