Weekly Challenge #415 – PICK TWO

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 PICK TWO.

We’ve got stories by:

• John
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Spate
• Tura Brezoianu
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Norval Joe
• Singh/a>
• Danny
• Chelsea
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of HASH?

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.

JOHN

Yin and Yang‘s Main Lesson
by John Musico

Geometry demonstrates Yin Yang theory quite nicely-
Starting with a plain triangle:
add a side; now quadrangle.
Continue on this path of gain-
changing shapes upon the plane.
Pentagon,septagon,octagon more:
to the square we gain now four.
On this path what we have found,
is that the shape becomes quite round;
a shape devoid of sides at all,
the upper limit, then we fall.
That’s the crux that is profound;
that zero’s most;it goes around.
So when to gain becomes obsession,
remember Yin and Yang’s main lesson;
that the nature of procession-
brings us only to regression….

JEFFREY

The Well
by Jeffrey Fischer

“What’s that, girl? Timmy’s fallen into the well? Again?” We followed the barking dog outside.

“How can we reach him in time?” my sister asked.

I looked at the empty road in front of us. “Anything but taxis. I reckon we ain’t goin’ to see one for a spell.”

We jumped on bicycles as Lassie ran beside us. When we reached the well on Farmer Simpson’s property, we raced to it. No Timmy.

We searched one well after another. When we finally found the right one, Timmy was long dead. My sister blamed Lassie, but I pointed out that the dog was always slow and knew only one bark. “Don’ blame her. How could she figger out the dif’rence between them wells?”

Yin and Yang
by Jeffrey Fischer

Whenever Randy has a difficult decision ahead, he makes sure that all points of view are represented. He reaches into his sock drawer and puts on his morally-conservative socks. They’re the ones that tell him to take things slowly, that change for the sake of change is never good.

But Randy is no reactionary. When bold thinking is needed, he’s your man. To represent that side of him, he dons a pair of fishnet stockings, covering up the socks.

When he gets the crap beaten out of him, he protests in vain that his assailants aren’t looking at all sides of the issue, and, besides, his shoe laces are more moderate, but they never listen.

RICHARD

#1 – 52) Stumped

“You complete and utter git!”, exclaimed Emily, before pulling her shoe off and throwing it at George.

Her aim could have been somewhat better, and George deftly caught the missile as it flew towards him.

He smiled apologetically: “I knew being on the village cricket team would pay off! Look, Emily, I’m sorry… but you did deserve it.”

Emily appeared not to have heard – she was looking at him strangely. George fiddled with her shoe laces, uncomfortable under her stare.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“George… you’ve started remembering! You remembered being in the village cricket team!”

#2 – Main Course

One of the great things about travelling the world is seeing the strange things that crop up on restaurant menus.

I’ve eaten insects in Thailand, snake in Bali and guinea pig in Peru – all very interesting, but nowhere near as interesting as the mangled translations that get listed as dish of the day. Like the ‘curry children’ that I discovered in North Africa, which turned out to be goat.

This one had me baffled – ‘Donkey Salad’ – what on earth could that be?

My travelling companion wasn’t tempted: “I’ll have the fish”, she said – but I was feeling adventurous… “Donkey salad, with extra donkey, please!”

Here’s a tip – sometimes, those weird things on the menu are exactly what they appear to be!

#3 – The Party

Everything was going so well until the party.

The campaign posters were out, people were flocking to see us and the ‘Sermon on the Mount’ CDs were selling like hotcakes.

Then we got the invitation to the wedding and the boss stepped in when the caterers let everyone down. Sure, the whole ‘water into wine’ thing was great publicity, but when the boss had a few too many and started doing the lambada on the dance floor with the bride, something had to be done.

But, what do you do with a drunken Jesus?

Actually, I think Judas will make a great messiah, and I don’t think anyone’s noticed the switch!

LIZZIE

That dreadful day at the Kipling’s study group, composed of an eclectic group of people, was rife with unexpected events and Timmy, the host, was beside himself. The Egyptologist blabbered something about fish, a net and stockings and everyone understood he was wearing fishnet stockings. A drunken Jesus showed up claiming to be able to find the alien sparrows. Suddenly, someone hit the switch. Total darkness. As the light got back on, Timmy’s face bore suspicious shades of blue while his morally conservative socks were wrapped around his neck. “Well, why not?” added the ventriloquist. “This is better than cable.”

SERENDIPITY

We’ll never forget the day Jimmy was sliced in two. We told him not to play with chainsaws, but would he listen?

Miraculously, he avoided all his major organs, and it’s amazing what surgeons can do these days… soon, he was up and about, doing almost as well as before the accident.

Of course, some things were difficult, but Jimmy was an optimist, not letting a little thing like being half the man he once was, get in the way of his cheerful disposition.

“Look on the bright side”, he’d say… “this way, who cares if I’m wearing odd socks!”

TOM

A Great Awakening

The Penguin tramped through the snow. “What are those?” asked Frank.
“Morally Conservative Socks.” Ralph shook his head. “I need them because
of my chosen career path.” “Oh, really,” mocked Frank, “And that is?”
“Penguin Chaplin.” “Your making that up?” “Nope.” “Sam, penguins don’t
believe in god, we believe in herring.” “Len dose.” “Len is a idiot,
Penguin Chaplin is a totally fictitious job.” “Oh yee of little faith.”
Well I hope you have more than faith cus your morally conservative socks
are frozen to the rock. “We shall gather at the river …” “Good luck with
that” returned Frank.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 43

The Senator sat on the steps of the church, his Brooks Bro. pants hiked up
his ankles. “What are those?” asked Banister. “Morally Conservative
Socks.” “How can foundation ware be moral or conservative?” “Its like
Mormon Magic Underwear or Socialist wearing red ties, the context of
content is dictated by the juxtaposition of uninfected images. Take the
Department of Redundancy Department a more enlighten populous would
demand the removal of all thous fictitious jobs, but we of the Senate
frame the context.” “With sky blue argyle socks?” “Indeed.” Sparky
appeared ” Love your socks.” “That must be demoralizing” noted Banister.

MUNSI

Changing of the Guard

By Christopher Munroe

The newly elected MPs, some in odd socks, others in fishnets, still others in more morally conservative socks, made their way into the Capital, heads held high.

And why not?

They’d been elected to enact their version of the future, and that’s exactly what they intended to do, bringing with them a smorgasbord of values, principals and ideals.

Opportunity for all, an end to the abuses of the past, a nation where all could prosper.

And friendship, which is magic.

It was My Little Party’s first time forming a government, but they were determined that it wouldn’t be their last…

SPATE

The Magic Show

His trick was simple. Place any pretty, blonde, unassuming and preferably
dull witted assistant into the wooden box. just head and feet protruding on
either end.

Cut on center with a chain saw.

The assistant desperately shrieks before going disturbingly silent. He
slowly separates the box revealing she has indeed been sliced in two. The
audience gasps and screams as they stare in horror at the bloody severed
entrails.

But then the assistant shouts out: “It’s an illusion! I’m okay!”

The curtains close to a standing ovation.

Backstage he smiles knowing that he is more a ventriloquist than a magician.

TURA

Sparrows: Why Not?
——–
In the frozen meats aisle I picked up a hard, vacuum-packed block, and slowly deciphered the Japanese characters. “Two dozen sparrows.” A challenge! I rubbed my “WHY NOT?” medallion for luck.

Back in my tiny apartment I hesitated, then cut the package open and separated the tiny corpses. They were whole. Half an hour later I had a small pile of sparrow breasts, and a larger pile of… other parts. With enough deep frying, I thought, anything is edible. Then I pushed the larger pile into the bin.

Four dozen sparrow breasts make a nourishing bowl of stew for one.
——–

CLIFF

When I heard Larry, the lab technician cursing I came running. He told me that some of the patients were responding to the placebo as if it were the actual drug. I pulled up the supposedly private and confidential files of our paid volunteers and quickly found the problem. Writers. Dammit. Writers were practically fake people and responded differently. As such, they were banned but I could tell from the occupations listed. Sunset designer. Female Body Inspector. Earth worm rancher. Galactic Defender. And worst of all, Congressional Ethics Enforcer. Not a real job amongst them. The test was completely ruined.

They were known as the LWF and they were the strangest criminal organization Steele had ever encountered. They targeted seemingly random people. Age, race, pro-life, pro-war, pro-wrestling, the LWF hit them all. It was armed robbery with a bizarre twist. Each victim was relieved of valuables but also, of one sock. When Steele caught up with them, the cash was found but the socks were gone. The criminals turned out to be political activists who set the socks free. They were the Liberators of Weary Footwear. Steele just called them the morons responsible for the collapse of the sock market.

NORVAL JOE

“Come in,” Halberk Crottage called from behind his government surplus desk. Local Super Hero Liaison was by necessity a low profile job.
A man stepped in. Bright red lipstick matched his flowing red hair. He wore a black satin jacket over a silver French cut leotard, and black fishnet stockings.
“Let me guess. You’re Drag Queen Man,” Halberk said.
“I prefer, just Drag Queen.”
“Okay. What’s your super power?”
“Among other things, I can talk with my mouth closed,” a voice said from behind.
“Why not?” Crottage said. “What brings you in?”
A tear form in Drag’s eye, “Timmy’s Dead.”

SINGH

Ch 30.1

The village priest had set his sights on Margot,

the Foreign Madam. Her sweeper urchin

was also growing up with a smart mouth,

plus bringing that filthy yapper into the temple!

He was ready to blame and cite dogmas of caste.

Let ragpickers stick to sweeping up the compounds,

then stay away on the refuse edge of the village

with those dirty biters and not defile pure houses.

But this Madam was an education do-gooder,

fiddling with the bottom rung of the ladder

that shouldn’t be climbed. He flapped like a fighting bantam,

scratching in his kingdom of cockalorum.

30.2

The sweatshop season brought a year long glut

of swamp frogs into homes. Rats, mice and voles

found cosy huts, and next — the slither realm.

Trinket snakes, keelbacks, vipers, cobras

hatched from anthills, rocky crevices

like phrases growing into the narrative

of waterlogged days and barefoot paddy fields.

Ram, the neighbour was bitten. He foamed and choked,

paralysed cold by the time they brought him back

on a buffalo dray. Relatives and the villagers

prayed and wailed. The pujari said the prayers

around a white-sheet body; then the procession

chanted Ram Nam Satya Hai * to the pyre.

*The Name of Ram is Truth.

30.3

At the cremation, beside cold-coffee Ganga

Margot joined the women in funeral whites

but did not have the right Punjabi suit.

They started to spit with superstitious venom.

“She has no respect! Why is she here, just why?

Gandi nazar! Gandi nazar!” A gossip said.

“The Dirty Eye. Her eyes are evil slits!

Beware your children! She’s stealing them from us —

all because her own man has gone off,”

they surmised. Man-envy was the cause

and lack of having children of her own.

They prattled on. The temple priest just gloated.

Luckily the widow did not blame her.

30.4

Kamal was known for quiet piety,

submerging herself inside her husband-loss

as Margot sat alone with a snoring puppy,

wondering how or if she would survive here.

She remembered the River Oise, those hog-tied,

gasping moments, thrown in witch-float water.

She didn’t understand. A past life flash-back?

Why was she feared? She’d only sought to teach,

and had left behind her own two darling daughters.

It was sacrifice she told herself. She’d come

to give to needy others. Was this delusion

or misplaced missionary ego? It

was then she saw the shadow on the floor.

30.5

Yudhi growled and barked. She held him tight

upon the bed. He barked again. She grabbed

her torch from under the pillow, searchlighting

the hopping frogs, then a long shape struck.

It was a rat snake, brown with a diamond back.

Atul had showed her one on the way to school.

They were not venomous, but if frogs or rodents

came, slitherers would find the holes and gaps

in these reed walls. She ranged her snaky light

around the floor. Sure enough another

and still more nosed from a fertiliser bag.

Someone had put a snake sack in her hut.

30.6

At first she felt

a surge of wild horror

constrict her breathing the frog parlour waited

for macabre partners till each came forward

making a sea of writhing

snakes and victims

marooning Margot

on the boat of her bed

not daring to move

fearing they would smell

her fear. She closed her eyes to breathe and focus

whether projection

or a vision

she saw Lord Shiva

eyes half-closed

in meditative focus

Mahadeva wearing

a risen cobra

around his neck

Vasuki the churning rod

stirrer of poisons

from the primordial

sea of milk

the world floats upon

all now drunk down

by Mahadeva

trapped in his throat

by Parvati’s swift hands

turning it blue

the blue-necked one

Neelakantha Shiva

raising his palm

in benediction

time to leave

five snakes

were busy gorging

Grabbing Yudhi

she stepped between

turned the nob

and fled

30.7 Raindrop

The first big glob of rain hit her forehead

and without any warning the downpour drilled the earth.

Kamal Devi’s hut was her only option —

the neighbour widow. She ran to knock for shelter.

Kamal’s eyes were red, but she let in Margot,

even with the barking yellow pup.

She held an infant girl, had lost her husband

but still she was kind, unlike the finger-pointers.

Margot explained the snake-sack in her hut.

Kamal Devi, named for a lotus goddess,

just nodded knowing the cruelty of the present

that rips out love, yet here she had a sister.

30.8 Shadowlands

Widowhood is the whiter shadowlands.

Entering young, she knew that she would have

to wear for life this simple snowy sari —

the wrapping of death and inauspiciousness.

At best she’d have shaved-head aunty status

expected to stay within the family compound

under Brother-In-Law’s predatory eye,

her child her passport, albeit an infant girl.

She would never marry again, or inherit

any portion of shared family lands.

Her lack of luck was good luck for her brother.

They would let her stay as an extra pair of hands;

and she knew of course she would be ‘second wife.’

30.9

Margot breathed. Kamal made chai.

The night of snakes would slither away.

Two troubled women beneath gruel sky

sharing memories on instant replay.

Kamal Devi with a child,

Margot adrift, still under threat.

Clearly someone else was riled.

Was the snake a trick, a karmic debt?

Her village time was going sour,

parents would hold back each school child.

Some shift in the balance of power

had made the snakes of tongues turn wild.

They were pariahs, three together.

Was this first chapter or epilogue —

with shared loss in rain god weather

for Caucasian, Indian and yellow dog?

DANNY

What’s on my mind!!? I screamed at myself while I ate my donkey salad while hailing anything but a taxi. Fortunately, there was this carriage drawn by a donkey I had not eaten yet, in some kind of odd sock salad form, and in an instant lasting over 5 hours, 45 minutes, and 35 seconds, exactly, I was off to my fictitious job creating a paradox for morally conservative socks designed as fishnet stockings to please the conservative white Republican male perverts who love to wear them while pretending to be Ventriloquists. Even the German Porn sites who love the Scheiße essen are blushing.

CHELSEA

Who do you miss?

I miss him the moment he’s out of my sight. The moment I can no longer smell his sweat or feel his arms around me.

I know full well that it’s irrational, it is just a combination of neurotransmitters in my brain flooding the the receptor sites of the neurons. A complex chemical reaction that I must stand aside and let happen.

That does not change the fact that I can feel the press of his lips on mine and the shiver at the ghost of his touch on my skin.

I miss him so much it hurts and I like it.

Tease!

Hot bath full of bubbles perfumed with lavender bath salts.
Shaving cream to make my legs silky smooth.
Slide the fishnet stocking slowly up one leg and then the other.
Black lace bra and panty set.
Knee length skirt with a zipper slit.
6 inch stiletto heals.
Button down shirt with the top button undone.
Hair in a bun, a few wispy curls hanging down.
Lashes curled and lips lined.
Earrings sparkling in the mirror.
Glasses placed on the tip of my nose.
One quick wink in the mirror.
I am such an awful tease.
But really, why not?

PLANET Z

The forklift robot was in the middle of the warehouse, spinning in circles.

We tried to remotely shut it down, but the communications module was offline. And nobody was crazy enough to climb up on the thing to pull out the power core.

“It’ll stop when it runs out of power,” I said. “We can use the spare forklift in the meantime.”

While we placed bets on the spinner, the spare booted up.

“WAIT!” I yelled, and jumped on the spare.

Just like the other forklift, it began to spin.

“Fucking virus,” I growled, and I pulled the power core.