“The challenge is to stay cool enough to handle the pressure in the moment so that you can succeed in the future.” – Jurgen Klopp
As part of my challenge to improve my writing, I’ve been reading about the different types of short stories. If you didn’t know, there are 10 types of short stories and I will be attempting to experiment with each of them as we progress. But for today’s short story, I will be writing a drabble. A drabble is a tightly condensed type of story that captures a moment of intensity in just 100 words. Talk about pressure, right?
As you may have guessed, this is my first time experimenting with this form of story so I wanted to explore something that feels universally relatable: the pressure we often face from others. The story begins with someone metaphorically running away, not from a physical threat, but from the weight of expectations and the overwhelming need to meet them. It’s a reflection of how that pressure can feel suffocating, how it can chase us down even when we try to distance ourselves from it.
Writing a drabble for the first time was both challenging and refreshing. With such a strict word limit, every sentence needed to carry the necessary weight. This pushed me to focus on the core of the story without getting lost in details. I learnt quickly that this format of story encourages a certain precision, and it was exciting to see how much emotion and depth could be packed into such a small space.
I hope you enjoy my first drabble.
Running
Jide’s heart pounded in rhythm with his footsteps, the sound of his sneakers slapping against the cracked pavement of Lagos Island echoing in his ears. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the humid air as he dodged between street vendors and danfos, the city’s noise blurring into a distant hum.
He wasn’t running from anyone—no, not literally. There were no thugs or debt collectors behind him. But in a way, he was running from something much harder to shake: his past. The weight of his father’s expectations, the failure of his own small business, and the shame of having to return to his cramped family house after everything fell apart.
As he reached the Third Mainland Bridge, he stopped, breathless. Staring out at the murky waters of the lagoon below, Jide realized what he was really running from—his fear of starting over. His legs trembled, not from the sprint, but from the weight of that fear.
For the first time in months, he didn’t run. He just stood, breathing deeply, facing the city before him. Maybe he didn’t need to run anymore.
As I mentioned earlier, I’m going to spend the next two weeks experimenting with different types of short stories and poems. From drabbles to sonnets, lyric poems to flash fiction, I’m eager to explore these new forms and see which ones I love more (or less). I don’t know if this would be fun but I’ll do my best to create pieces that would be great to read. So, come back tomorrow to see what I’ll come up with.
P/s: If you have any questions about creating content, writing, or the story above, please leave a comment below or DM me on Instagram!
