Flash Fiction: Gulliver in Drobspocklin

This week’s prompt in Matt’s Flash Fiction Foray was Skin by Rag’n’Bone Man.


Upon entering Drobspocklin, I made the acquaintance of a certain Lubnitt, with whom I conversed agreeably, before suggesting we pursue our talk in an attractive tavern nearby.

‘I’m sorry, Sir,’ he said, ‘but I’m a Slate. That tavern is for Tiles.’ Seeing my bafflement, he continued, ‘You’ve noticed, no doubt, that the roofs on some of our dwellings are of slate, whereas others, larger and prettier, have tiles. I’m afraid we Slates are second-class citizens, denied employment, harassed by guards, even occasionally shot.’ He sighed. ‘But your country is enlightened. I’m sure to you such blatant roofism must appear preposterous.’


Jonathan Swift will, I hope, forgive me for borrowing his hero for a little unplanned detour, but I thought you might be interested to learn that, unbelievable as it may seem, such backward attitudes can exist – albeit, of course, only in the mystifying minds of Drobspockliners.