Went to Challenge in a Can for more inspiration, and got (after only twenty or so tries) "Giles, needing, calendar."
Which somehow led to unemployed S4 Giles.
Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow
Giles sleeps until the afternoon sun wakes him, doesn't bother showering, forgets the date and sometimes the day. Even the month blurs--who'd know it's January, in this climate?
Last year's calendar hangs on the kitchen wall, forlorn as the balding Christmas trees on every curb. Silver garlands drape limply over his shelves and around the windows, put up in a passing mood of December cheer. Eventually he'll take them down.
Time's not a line, not an arrow, not a journey. Time's a desert expanse, featureless and blank.
He'd welcome an apocalypse, but they never come when you need them.
Is there something innately depressing about drabbles? Lately, every drabble of mine features somebody one drink away from phoning a suicide hotline.