An Alternate Kind of Weekend

Sorry for the late post, I usually post this just before the day begins.  It took me longer to think of what to write to the point that I actually had to sleep on it.  I really wanted to do a story about memories, this doesn't feel like the right kind of story that relates to it, but it does relate to one of my favorite quotes:

“You know what I think?" she says. "That people's memories are maybe the fuel they burn to stay alive. Whether those memories have any actual importance or not, it doesn't matter as far as the maintenance of life is concerned. They're all just fuel. " -Haruki Murakami, After Dark

I've enjoyed four of his books so far:  The Wind up Bird Chronicles, After Dark, Kafka on the Shore, and South of the Border, West of the Sun.  I highly recommend his books.  

Here's the late 100 daily word for Saturday, an old 100 word story which was a Harry Potter fan-fic challenge by a group of friends, and an old 100 word poem about my favorite mischievous creatures of fantasy: Imps.  

Enjoy the read, and I hope you all have a wonderful Saturday.  

08/31/2013 (Saturday)-  A Glass to Remember

Downtown, at a normal cat and fiddle kind of place- dark, dingy, filled with smoke, the clinking of glasses, and a dash of jazz. 

The kind of place you go to in order to burn some memories. 

The bartender knows what he serves: a thimble of hindsight, a glass of forgetfulness, and bottles of smoky sweet amber lies.  I order two fingers of the latter, then a glass, until I finally end up with two empty bottles in front of me.  The bartender shakes his head for the third bottle. 

I try to remember why I came here. 

Oh well.  

12/05/2012- The First

The boy runs across the marshland with his woven grass basket bouncing along beside him.  He hears it again, a soft voice drifting along the winds of the fen; he slows nearing the source of it. 

A beautiful, slender, white snake with eyes of the darkest emerald green- he reaches for the pronged stick in his basket to catch it. 

‘Boy… you think to capture me?’ The snake asks raising its head, ‘You think me ordinary like my sssimple kin?  How amusssing, what isss your name youngling?  I will not let you die unnamed.’

‘Salazar, and I am your master.’

04/04/2013-  March of The Imps.

We climb ‘n we scramble,
Thru red waxy floors-

We skips ‘n we dances!
No chalk!  No chalk!

Arise!  Arise!  Lickety split!
The candles are lit…

The hour has struck…
‘tis our midnight amok! 

We flee ‘n run,
down yer midnite road~
We cometh~ we cometh to yer little abode!
We cometh~ we cometh to take ye all back!
Back?  Back!  To the Midnite Son!

Oh, we choose ‘n we pick…
not all of ye can comes… 
BOOM!  BOOM!  Go our Impish drums!
BOOM!  BOOM!  We leaves!  We goes~!
Click!  Shuts the Doors of Nite… 

Click!  Click!  Click!