Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was ACCIDENT.
We’ve got stories by:
- Tura Brezoianu
- Cliff – Uncle Monster
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
– NO RECORDING
The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of UNDERWEAR.
Use the Share buttons at the end of the post to spam your social networks. This obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:
Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.
A Well Defined Relationship Part 13
Her late human often said “Parsons Parse.” The Bowsman’s statement left
little doubt she had just exchanged a unit of favor, further the subtext
of Senator PorkBarrel’s worthiness pointed to the need for additional
commitment. The widow removed her wedding ring. Placed it square in front
of the Senator. If he took it he was bound to the role of marriage broker.
If he rejected it he might as well writing-off the widow vote. As the
smile migrated between the women it dawned on him he was F!D It was no
accident his presence at The Tea, he’d been played.
Accidents by their mire nature are anything but. A collection of quite
purposeful actions set in concert locked to time and place producing an
event rarely viewed as favorable. Take the sudden appearance of a thunder
shower on a previous parched patch of pavement. Add to this Sunday
motorists pressing to get home before dark. Compound that to the low
center of gravity of the Ford Econoline Van. The Stage is set for an
illegal lane-change. The force of the impact was sufficient to both popped
the passenger door open and throw me across all four lanes of the freeway.
In an Instant
by Jeffrey Fischer
Contrary to the cliche, nothing about the accident appeared to happen in slow motion. Instead, the incident was over in an instant. A flash of light, a squeal of brakes, the sound of metal crumpling. When the airbag deployed, the sensation of fabric against her face felt like an anticlimax.
The police officer first at the scene asked if she was hurt. He sounded genuinely concerned. Still dazed, she could only nod, hoping that this was the truth. She suspected his attitude would change when one of his colleagues discovered the body in the trunk. Funny how life can change in an instant.
by Jeffrey Fischer
Eyedropper. Test tube. Petri dish. Test. Repeat with fresh glass to avoid contamination. “What a boring job,” Ted thought. Time after time, he performed the experiment and found nothing. His dad was right: Ted should have gone into plumbing. At least there was the chance of screwing a bored housewife. Instead he was stuck in a lab coat, and the only female flesh nearby, Caitlin, was enough to make celibacy sound attractive.
Forgetting to replace the used eyedropper was a mistake made out of his boredom. And really, by the time the organism had grown to occupy the entire lab, achieved sentience, and declared itself Supreme Leader, blaming Ted was low on the priority list.
#1 – Accident
George couldn’t sleep – the journey was uncomfortable and noisy, and the fear of the unknown refused to let him rest.
Alone and frightened, his mind kept returning to the accident.
Everything had been fine, completely normal, in fact before that fateful day – was it possible that he was still in some sort of trauma? Maybe he was still lying in a hospital bed, unconscious, whilst his mind played these obscene tricks on him?
The line of thought was tempting, but the all too real motion of the truck, and the pain from his injured shoulder told an altogether different story.
#2 – Intelligent Design?
I’ve always disagreed with the idea that we came into being by accident – it’s plainly ridiculous to suggest that the universe and all life within it, in all its complexity, should have come into being as a result of some cosmic series of fortuitous coincidences – that’s like throwing a canvas and paints into a box, giving them a good shake, and ending up with the Mona Lisa.
The alternative though? The suggestion that some all-powerful being designed all of this…
C’mon – if you were almighty and omnipotent, wouldn’t you have come up with something better than this?
#3 – Accident of birth
My parents always said I was an accident. I wasn’t planned – a moment of drunken passion and, before they knew it, I arrived – an unwelcome and unwanted burden.
Despite which, I managed to make something of my life, although without the parental support that others seemed to enjoy; nevertheless, I persevered and made something of my life.
Now, my parents are old and needy, and they look to me for support and care: To me, an unwelcome and unwanted burden.
Well, I managed to make it on my own – I guess they’re just going to have to do the same!
#4 – Bizarre
We just love them!
Not your mundane slips, trips and falls; you can keep your everyday tumbles, crashes and collisions… we want more.
Give us eye candy and stomach-churning descriptions, keep us on the edge of our seats, anticipating what’s to come.
You know what we want – only to hear that simple, four-word preface: ‘In a bizarre accident…’
The weird and the wacky: with fence spikes and harpoons, nail guns and naked flames, razor blades and ricochets. X-rays of impossible insertions and mind-boggling mishaps. Blood, guts and gore; bemused emergency crews, baffled surgeons.
That’s what we want!
Forever committed to his investigation, Thomas was a renowned pioneer. He created so many improvements in the genetics of humans over the years that the other races began to express their concerns quite vocally. After all the agreement was to keep all forms of life balanced so that none would be tempted, as it happened in the past, to subdue the others. But they shouldn’t have been concerned, actually. Thomas wasn’t able to share the last results of his work. By accident, his tinkering with genes produced a breed of highly effective serial killers who had a taste for… humans.
With the far corner of the building in collapse, the remaining plinths beneath disintegrated in a sudden vertical rush burying those on the first and second levels beneath drowning rubble. Bhim, took a breath and followed by Devika, leapt the remaining six or seven metres into the choppy flood clutching the infant. His one thought on touching bottom was to spring the child to surface, which he did holding Priya above his head like a prize. Somehow, Devika was soon bobbing next to them amidst hundreds of others who had also leapt from the roof, screaming and floundering to remain buoyant.
Bhim Das passed the baby to Devika and then said, “Climb up.” With that, he bobbed underwater, rising up with her legs around his neck. There were many around him, but he paid no heed. The notion of community had been irrevocably shattered. Forcing himself on without direction or plan he began to wonder whether the farmer son of Raj Das and Meena Devi from district Sitapur had ever existed. The past was submerged, until he felt the weight on his shoulders and remembered a wife and child. “Is the baby…?” he asked.
As if on cue, poor Priya cried out.
He didn’t know how long he had waded ahead with a blunted consciousness. Sometimes he stumbled but regained his footing, balancing Devika like an acrobat. The truth was– without her and Priya he could have easily succumbed to the idea of slipping away into the brackish water. By now, the mad storm has dissipated to drops of rain as the darkness gave way to vague shapes and the first flare of sunrise. Just as it was bad luck to look back when embarking on a long journey, he pressed doggedly on, wading toward what looked like an island of floating foliage.
Wading ahead Bhim survivors were in river boats poling through the deluged rice fields. Others were also up to their necks, but floating pots of drinking water in front of them upon the waves. More were on top of thatched roofs that had been tethered between palm trees, walls or power poles. Approaching the drowned trees Bhim now took in the body of man hooked above over a limb. A dramatic accident. He still might snap out of it. Inspecting closer, it was clear he had breathed his last, here where the steamroller flood had collected him, fatally winded.
Then Devika heard the bleating. “There! Beneath,” she said. Bhim waded closer. Below the corpse, was a spoon-shaped boat with a half-cylindrical roof of black plastic. Obviously the man had run aground. Even the long paddle was still tied to a rope floating in the water and a goat was crouched and shivering on top beside a cooking pot. Bhim reached through foliage to liberate the craft, pulling at the liana tangle. Suddenly he felt something move. The green bar was a vine snake, camouflaged and living here off geckoes, birds and frogs. Bhim withdraw his hand with cautious respect.
After some effort he disentangled the boat from the tree island and helped his wife and daughter aboard. Then he clambered up, hauled in the pole trailing behind on its rope. feeling a great sense of relief. Sighing, the pent-up exhaustion hit him then, and he lay on his back, inside the small shelter aware now for the first time of his furiously beating heart fuelled by adrenalin alone during the hours of darkness. For the first time he allowed himself to think of his lost mother and two small rivers began to trickle from his eyes.
With Devika and Priya at rest, Bhim finally sat up. Luck had provided a boat and a goat. He hesitated to call it blessing, having endured God’s recent handiwork. He remembered melting glacier headlines from the flood-hit northern state of Utterakhand, and the huge army operation mounted with helicopter evacuation sorties and distribution of foodgrains, kerosene and LPG. Some politician had made a withdrawal from his vote-bank, unlike what happened in West Bengal and neighbouring Bangladesh, forever cyclone prone. Governments had ample rhetoric, but little political interest to address what seemed unsolvable. No. They were on their own.
His thoughts too, returned to old Bapu. Bhim had railed against him in life and now his father returned to haunt him in death. “A man falls out of the sky only to land in a date palm with a snake,” the irritating voice of memory said. They had escaped from one crisis only to land up in another. Now the main challenge would be finding potable water. Every village pond and tube-well was submerged and now they were adrift in salty storm wash, navigating around bloating bodies of dead people and livestock — the liquid conductor of invisible bacterial death.
When he tried to visualise some place that might offer the hope of life, he thought of the jungle. In coastal Bengal this meant the mangrove island estuaries, the Sundarbans teaming with wildlife. A locals had to be licensed to fish, gather wild honey or firewood there. He had been with fisherman Varun Das Uncle many times as a youngster and he knew his way. Those trips had been some of his happiest memories, although the place was not without its challenges and real dangers. Bhim looked at the position of the morning sun and started to pole with fresh vigour.
Hey, officer, it was an accident! How could I have known he’d just walk into the road?
I braked fast as I could, but in rain like this, and the wipers not working, what chance did I have? They should have better lighting here anyway.
Bald tyres? They passed the annual inspection, got the certificate right here!
Yes, that’s my whisky bottle, and I could do with one right now. What do you think it was like for me, running over a kid like that? And the car looks like a write-off.
Arrest? You’re kidding, right? It was an accident!
“Congratulations on your success, I love your Undersea Radish Kingdom books, cartoons, and toys. I have a King Wasabi action figure complete with his sea horseradish myself. Would you like to tell the audience the secret of your success?” said the show host.
“Our story not unlike the cough syrup carbonated water was mistakenly put in that became Coca-Cola or the soap mixing machine that was left on overnight that became the original floating Ivory soap is the story of a fabulous accent. In our case it involved a Lovecraft fan fiction with a spellchecker that changed Dagon to Diagon.”
The accident investigation report was damning: the brake fittings were faulty. A thirty cent securing pin was missing, leading to catastrophic failures at high speed.
Several fatalities, followed by a rash of law suits and a product recall of all affected models brought the company to the verge of bankruptcy. The negative publicity and subsequent nose dive in sales effectively finished the job.
Harold Denton put down his morning paper, shaking his head at his ex-employer’s misfortune.
That would teach them to make him redundant!
The only problem now was what to do with fifteen thousand useless brake securing pins.
One week ago, my wife and I were driving home. As I entered a downtown intersection, I saw a flash of white. A GMC pickup truck slammed into our van. For a moment, my entire universe was crumpling metal and shattering glass. When the world was still again, we determined that we were breathing and relatively unharmed. Soon, the circus of firemen, police, tow truck drivers, and curious onlookers was in full swing. We eventually made it home and to bed. In the morning, I saw the topic for the next challenge. Accident. My suggestion for next week? Free money.
The Vreen had crossed hundreds of light years to let us know that we weren’t alone in the galaxy. They said they wanted to share their knowledge with us. Their technology was amazing. Their ships were sleek and beautiful, each powered by a captured black hole. Therein lay the problem. One pilot misjudged his landing and came down too hard. No one was hurt, but the power core broke open and the tiny black hole fell into the Earth. They estimate we have about a century before it eats the planet. And they say they feel really bad about that.
Ebony gates shuttered. Their squealing movement made Iorian want to cry out for mercy.
Not an appropriate sound to allow to escape, especially since a prisoner snuck out through the tunnels this evening. Headaches were a curse on any sorcerer. Despite his credentials, Iorian, the Bane of Existence, was not an exception to this fact.
It all started after the summoning accident. Iorian thought he was casting the right runes, but his magnifying lens wasn’t powerful enough for him to read his spellbooks anymore.
And now the poltergeist wouldn’t allow him to work long enough to make a new one.
Great news this week! Nissan is the first automaker to promise self-driving cars by 2020. Accidents will be a thing of the past. This will be a golden era, where you will see a resurgence of drinking and driving, which in this automated future will be legal because you will not be in actual physical control of your car, a computer will! I can see it now, cruising down the highway drunk off your ass, chugging vodka from a large bottle while waving at the enraged officer in his computer controlled police cruiser in the lane next to you. “Bye-bye, Officer!”
Figuring two out of three eyes should be enough, Flooob held the joystick of his Sandblaster 487 with his middle prehensile eyebrow instead of using his tentacles, as proper vehicle operation recommended. He winked his rightish eye at his date and slobbered winningly when she shimmered.
“Waarrrrgggg,” Slimbish gurgled making Flooob blush.
Keeping his leftish eye on the terrain whizzing below he intertwined two thirds of his appendages with the girls.
He never saw the Kraddle Gliff squad approach from behind the cactus to his right.
They declared it an accident, but it was actually a series of poor choices.
By Christopher Munroe
They were going to change mankind forever.
To reanimate dead cells, such that even after the moment of death a cure might yet be found for a given affliction? Nothing would be the same!
Yet, that fateful night, an accident occurred.
A barrier broke, safety precautions, though taken, proved insufficient, and real life got in the way.
Doesn’t it always?
And when it did, a world ended, and a new one began. One nobody could ever have foreseen…
…sorry, the experiment went fine. I should have said that earlier.
However, at the party afterward, the lead scientist’s girlfriend became pregnant…
Just when I finished strapping Little Teddy into his baby car seat, he pissed his diaper.
So, I had to pull him out, open up the back hatch, and change him in there.
By the time I got him back in the baby seat, he’d shit himself.
Another trip to the hatch to change him.
The phone rang. “Where the hell are you two? Is he okay?”
“Just a little accident,” I said to my wife.
She freaked out, and I had to say it was in his diaper, not a car accident.
Next time, we’re getting a goddamned puppy.