Standard disclaimer. I don't own them, I don't profit from them, but they insist on telling me their stories, so I'm sharing them with you.

Hello there, and welcome to the first installment of my Story A Day May drabbles! STaD is an annual challenge during which writers commit to finishing a story each day.

In addition to my marketable stories (which are explorations for a novel I'll be drafting in July; I do like to keep my writer-brain happy!), I thought it would be fun to do another series of TnT drabbles based on a story arc I'm keeping to myself for now. I promise that when the time is right, I'll reveal it!

To make the challenge even more interesting, I'll be using the daily STaD prompt, and also prompt words given to me by...well, you, if you want to play! Lay 'em on me - I love making my brain work for its amusement!

Today's words are leftovers from February, and I think belong to Chaara47 and Seacook (but I could be wrong; I thought I made a master list at the end of February, but, if I did, I didn't move it to my new-in-April laptop yet).

Here is today's STaD prompt, from writer Gregory Frost:

You attend the funeral of an old friend.

Afterwards, in the mail you receive a postcard. It's from the friend, and it reads "I'm not dead. Meet me Tuesday night at 8 at _." And signed by him/her.

And today's prompt words:

Chaara47:

death

murder

Seacook (I think):

effervescent

senile

serendipity

stencil

ochre

Standard disclaimer: I don't own them, I don't profit from them, but they insist on telling me their stories, so I'm sharing them with you.


And now..."Your Starfleet Career"

Trip Tucker had probably just witnessed the death –no, the murder - of his Starfleet career. Elizabeth's effervescence couldn't change that. Jon treating him like he was a deviant or prematurely senile didn't help, either.

He'd gone from incredible serendipity to a warp-core breach with that court-martial. He was innocent – but he couldn't prove it.

And now, a postcard with a stenciled ocher message. Just right for the burial. Lizzie peered over his shoulder, reading aloud. "I'm not dead. Meet me Tuesday night at 8 at Fusion, if you want to save my life. And it's signed, "Your Starfleet career."