Friday Night Drabble Party!

Another Friday be here, yes. Another party be in full swing, I say!

This week I will do something different. It has been suggested that I post the Drabble in the body of the post instead of as a separate PDF. So I am going to give that a whirl tonight!

Please let me know if this works better for y’all. I aim to please, ya know.

This does mean that the comments section tonight is for comment on the new format AND so you can add your 100 words worth. You know how I like it when y’all play along. So far there’ve only been a couple of players with the Drabbles, but a small party is still a Party!

Have a read below and if you are inspired to add to the story, take a related tangent, create something new that follows the spirit, what have you, then please do! It is a Party after all.

Enjoy!

***

We Always Do

By

Jake Bible

Of the Weeping Time we know. Of the Horror of Banford we know. Of the Call to All That Came Before we know.

So I sit upon my chair –the hardbacked one with the spent spring in the seat- and stare at the Fog as it crawls from the harbor, up the street, through the alley, and to my window.

Of the Fog we do not know. But we will learn.

We always do.

And those that remember, those that are left?

We shall write about it; tell tales by firelight; sing sad ballads in the pub.

We always do.

***

So what did you think of having those words right there in your face? I kinda like it. Let me know.

Cheers!

Disclaimer: Shhhhhh. The Fog can hear you…

Posted on February 8, 2013, in Friday Night Drabble Party and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 1 Comment.

  1. Belched upon the emptied wharf in the grey shroud of the fog, the hungry child does not consider the rotting contents that lay within the ship through which cannon-pierced hull she has crawled. Instead she turns her coal-fire eyes to the small lights burning in the small houses that line the silence cobbled streets. Within each home a closely huddled pack of fish filled bellies waiting for dreams to dispossess them of their terror of the dark. While they inside slip into slumber, she presses her claws between the cobblestones making her mist-veiled journey inland. 

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