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 Who do you miss?.
We’ve got stories by:
- Tura Brezoianu
- Cliff – Uncle Monster
- Whispy Darkstone
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of PICK TWO?
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 Rose by any Other Name Would Still Smell as Sweet”
by John Musico
Two thousand years ago, Jesus stood before the masses.
He was concerned that much dissention regarding the Messiah had led to wars.
He passed his hand over his face changing it to the face of Buddha and announced; “My name is Buddha.” He pointed at one of his followers and asked sternly; “Do you no longer believe in me?” He again passed his hand over his face revealing the face of Mohammed and said; ”My name is Mohammed. There is but one God, see that He comes in more than one form.” The Messiah then left and prayed for them.
The Missing Doctor
by Jeffrey Fischer
Last November, when the 50th anniversary of Doctor Who rolled around, the BBC made sure that the anniversary was both a statement about where the show was heading and a celebration of the past. Between the anniversary episode itself, the prequel “The Night of the Doctor,” and the Peter Davison-penned “The Five(ish) Doctors Reboot,” all but one of the surviving actors who played the Doctor made an appearance. Smith, Tennant, Hurt, and Tom Baker in the anniversary episode, a marvelous six minutes of McGann in the prequel, and Davison, Colin Baker, and McCoy in the “Five(ish) Doctors.”
Christopher Eccleston, I don’t know who pissed you off, but it’s time to stop holding a grudge. We missed you.
by Jeffrey Fischer
That smile. The gentle southern accent – the genuine article, not an affectation.
Military service. An engineering degree. Experience in both business and governing.
A wife who wasn’t a national scold.
The relative competence in foreign policy. (I did say “relative.”)
Yes, I miss the Carter Presidency. Sure, energy crisis, gasoline rationing, sweaters in the White House, hostages in Iran, inflation, unemployment, malaise, misery index… and yet… Come back, Jimmy, all is forgiven.
My wife yells from the next room. “Jeff, stop reading the goddam Washington Post! You know it just irritates you!”
#1 – George’s Story: Part 51 – Missed me?
“Did you miss me?”, enquired Emily, flirtatiously.
Annoyed at her joke, George responded grumpily: “No, I didn’t! If anyone can look after themselves, you can. To be honest, I was happy to get the hell out of town without you holding me back!”
Emily looked hurt; “But George, I missed you”
George sighed, “You know who I miss?… all those normal people from before this nightmare started, my friends and family. People who weren’t terrified the world was going to end.”
Emily still looked upset.
“Gotcha! You’re not the only joker around here! Of course I missed you.”
#2 – The One
There’s always ‘the one’ – she’s the one you grew up with and shared your schooldays; maybe even that first kiss. You had a special connection, loved the same music, and enjoyed those wild and crazy moments together; now so long ago.
Then life intervened. You moved apart, stayed in touch for a while, but gradually, quietly, you grew distant and apart.
And now, only memories remain… the fleeting moments restored by a familiar song or rediscovered photograph.
So many years have passed.
And, do I miss her?
Hell no! She was a complete leech!
But I bet she misses me!
We might have met on Ios, or perhaps it was Delos, or Santorini. The only customers in a small café, an invitation from one to join the other, and then walking together to contemplate the gleaming white houses, the blue domes, and the occasional fragments of antiquity.
And we did what neither of us would have done alone, going island-hopping around the Cyclades for two weeks, using our small Greek to find lodgings wherever our spirits took us.
And then? Well, there is no “and then”, because this is just a story I made up. But I still miss her.
The white BMW
Rides on autopilot—
It knows its way to work.
Where I smile, nod
For $85,000 a year.
I spread my legs weekly,
Take my body—
To keep the peace.
Smile and nod, again.
17 years ago
I carried a child,
Nausea, piercing spear pain
Under my ribs
Until they took you—
All they gave me was Tylenol.
Oh Tylenol, Oh Tuinol, Oh Xanax
These aliens, they inhabit me
These strangers, they take me,
In bits and pieces
Who I miss
Is that girl
The roller-coaster was closed. A crowd of people stood at the gates of the Carnival. The media gathered, awkwardly silent except for one reporter.
“Who do you miss?” he asked.
“I miss my friend Tom,” replied the kid.
The reporter motioned his cameraman to go back in the van. No report would come out of this…
He took one last glance at the crowd of sad people, poor souls. They had all been decapitated by that darn rollercoaster and apparently they didn’t know it yet.
Of all things, the reporter couldn’t help thinking “I would’ve replied… I definitely miss myself”.
In my profession, you can’t afford to be sentimental. The higher ups expect things of you and they don’t take excuses. Emotions get in the way. Mind you, I’m not a machine or anything. I have feelings just like anybody. I just control them. Still, everyone has a weakness. You know, someone they can’t forget. For me, it was Natasha. I spoke to her once seven years ago and I still miss her. It seems stupid, but it’s true. I miss her but some day, I’ll get over it and finally hit her. Being a sniper is a tough business.
They call it ‘sniper alley’ – the only route into the city, and anyone using it is a sitting duck.
It’s almost too easy from where I’m hidden on the hillside. I’m protected, invisible and deadly. It’s a case of ‘you can run, but you can’t hide’ – and I’m good at my job, extremely good.
I keep on the move: claiming a new spot under cover of darkness, waiting until daybreak, and the next unfortunate soul.
Load. Aim. Fire… Reload.
Too damn easy.
Not so much a case of whom do you target, more a case of who do you miss?
I Miss Him Still
By Christopher Munroe
I miss the man I used to be.
The energy, the enthusiasm of youth. The belief that I could do anything, these are things I do genuinely miss.
Don’t get me wrong, I’d never go back to being him in a million years. He was just the worst. If I met myself at seventeen it’d be five minutes before I wanted to punch him in the face. He was too full of himself, too in love with the sound of his own voice to be even remotely tolerable.
I still am, but the material I do now has improved somewhat…
“How was your grocery shopping trip with my favorite cousin?”
“Not too bad dearest. I brought you home some fresh butter.”
“But I asked for cream not butter.”
“Yes, I purchase you cream and you have butter.”
“You don’t make any sense.”
“Well Dearest, It would make sense if you had been riding in the car with you cousin. He got pulled over with the police officer accusing him of almost hitting a pedestrian. He might have gotten away without a ticket if he hadn’t said something to the cop about what matters is how many pedestrians he decisively missed.”
“I read that the place that Spongebob lives was probably named after where those nuclear tests were done.” mentioned Drew.
“Yes Dylan, and Bikini Bottom would be under it.” said Drew
“I never understood how crabs could give birth to blue whales.” pondered Zack.
“Mr Krabs didn’t give birth to Pearl. He is a crab not a seahorse.” responded Dyan
“Is Mr Krabs the Sweeney Todd of Bikini Bottom?” inquired Zack
“No, thats silly. Mr Krabs isn’t a barber.” replied Drew
“It’s unlikely Krabby patties are crab meat” added Dylan
“We’ll miss these talks when spring break ends.”
The Captain’s Eyeglass
Ruby wakes prodded from her sedation,
“Did you say, how do you do Miss?”
“I’ll have you know, I’m no Miss! I’m a Ms!”
“I was a Miss, a proper little Miss!”
“He put paid to that, ‘HIS Mrs’, he said, his to punch, slap and shout, get on yer back to! Do I feel remorse, do I heck, that knife set me free! What? Oh!”
“Who do I miss? I miss the dog, now give me my medication and get out!”
The officer drops the pills, rushes out, slamming and locking the door.
Ruby swallows the pills.
She was gone. He knew already as he lay in the fog of sleep before even
getting out of bed. He couldn’t smell coffee. She always made the coffee.
He wasn’t sure what he would find. A note? Torn photographs? An empty
ring? But as he turned the corner she was there, sitting at the kitchen
table, smoking a cigarette, wearing that vacant stare.
The doctors said Alzheimer’s. Dementia. Neurodegenerative plaque. Said
her brain got all tangled.
He couldn’t let her go so ungraciously.
He reloaded the pistol, moved closer and aimed, determined through bitter
tears not to miss again.
Well Defined Relationship Part 40someting
As the good ladies of the Gear Guild swirled on the veranda, edges of lace
danced in the sunlight. The year of black was coming to a close. But who
would she leave behind when the morning-ware was neatly folded into a
chest? Who would she miss more the husband or the mother? As tea and cake
circulated a moment of seemly least significance arose. A random Sunday
with mother, her’s, and her sisters, flashed, then dissolved. She found
herself pulled to that circle of women. A black shawl dropped into the
dust. “My name is xxx” said the ex-widow.
Who would I Miss?
Speaking as an agnostic I wish to say the lure of heaven is as seductive
as a pint of Ben and Jerry’s on an Osage August afternoon. The more years
you pile up, the pile of funeral card keeps step as the days slip away.
Who do I miss? Grandma, Tony, Cliff, Jack, Susie, Billy, Adolph, Betty,
Zax, and Carl. For one reason or another be it distance or time I never
got the full measure of these people’s company. A happy wish heaven, but
if wishes were horses then beggars would ride. Oh yea Jimi Hendrix and Jim