Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
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 TEMPER.
We’ve got stories by:
- Tura Brezoianu
- Dionysis Clowes
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of SAUSAGE.
One Way Street, by John Musico
I had been in this unbearable condition too long and could take it no more. I looked up to God and beseeched; “I now wish to go back to the other side.” The Lord replied; “What you request is wrong. You found yourself here not by my hand but by yours and your request is not permitted. You chose to be dead and here you shall stay.” Once again I implored; “I made a mistake; I now wish to be alive again.” God replied; “You had free will then, now the only will is mine- here you shall stay.”
by Jeffrey Fischer
Young Raymond sat before his piano and stared at the sheet music, down at the keys, then back again. His teacher had assigned him the first two preludes in Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. He knew that a “clavier” was like a piano, and having a temper meant being mad, so he concluded that Mr. Bach meant for him to be mad at the piano. First he pounded on the keys. Then he said nasty words to it – the nastiest words he knew, even those Mommy keeps telling Daddy to never say again. By this time, Raymond had worked himself into a fine frenzy. When his father returned from work, Raymond had taken a claw hammer to the unsuspecting piano and was dismantling it blow by blow.
That was the end of Raymond’s career as a pianist.
by Jeffrey Fischer
As the meeting to plan the retreat to plan the year’s meetings dragged into its third hour, Connie felt tempers begin to fray. Hers slid past the breaking point long ago, during the discussion of letter-versus-legal-sized pads. Now the topic was the ratio of regular to decaf in the coffee urns, and Connie could take no more.
“No one cares about any of these stupid issues! You’re only obsessing over this because you think holding a meeting is actually doing something. Get a life!” She stormed out.
The others looked at one another, embarrassed for Connie’s sake. Several made the “she’s nuts” gesture of finger spun around the ear. Then they got back to work, considering the merits of HB versus Number 2 lead in the conference room pencils. The discussion was quite spirited.
Why So Sad?
Lucia Corleone press the triangles bland to Raphael’s shoulder. He spit out foam and a defiant growl. “Temper Temper Putto,” she whispered her Italian Greyhound at her feet. A picture of fidelity and wrath was the Don’s daughter. Fidelity was not Raphael Luma’s strong card. He strove the city in an Adonic fashion turning heads and braking hearts. “The name putto?” the knife cut deeper. Defiance fled, all that was left was desire for peace. “Paulo.” came his shrift
At the funeral Lucia lay a bundle of Ranunculaceae upon the coffin no one missed the sexual reference or the man.
A Well Defined Relationship Part 56
The few remaining gun-men took aim in the direction of the fire. The acuteness of this angle of fire insured their shots dug into the dirt kicking up Funky town dust obscuring the women’s position. From that cloud came a second volley and the number of bandits stood at 40.
Timmy and Doc slowly walked straight at Le Cid firing at the ground kick up a hellish amount of dirt. “My dirty little secret” said Doc, “they’ll never see us coming or Dino Mod.” Tempers spilled into chaos shots flew wild and random. Behind the line the ghillie suit rose.
#1 – George’s Story – Part 60: Caged
George realised the weirdness of his predicament – in a strange reversal of fortune, he had become a caged animal, whilst the real animal that should have been in a cage, paced fiercely on the other side of the bars.
To make matters worse, George was acutely aware that he wasn’t alone in the cage – something was snuffling about in the opposite corner.
He had no idea what it was – but whatever it might be, George sincerely hoped it was small, friendly and had a naturally even temper.
Unfortunately, the rhino in question bore absolutely no similarity to that particular description!
#2 – Angry Chef
Hiro was the angriest chef I’d ever met – his kitchen was terrifying: knives, saucepans and plates would frequently be turned into missiles – it was like a war zone!
His temper was legendary – it was said that he could curdle milk with a stare, and I could well believe it.
But, when it came to food, batter was his nemesis!
He’d stand over the fryer, shouting, screaming and red in the face – “Fry, dammit! Fry!”
Until the day his new commis chef started – he watched, then took Hiro quietly to one side and simply said to him: “It’s tempura, Hiro, tempura!”
If there is any expression I hate is the proverbial “temper, temper”. I have trouble dealing with self-righteous people who wave the flag of knowing-it-all and when they add that sanctimonious “temper, temper”, I wonder how a tragic fatality doesn’t inevitably occur.
Every now and then, there is someone who throws a single “temper” at me, going from a low pitched beginning to a dragged high pitched ending. I’m not really sure which is worse, to be honest.
So, to avoid losing my temper with all this temper business, I’ll wrap up, thinking that perhaps I should’ve written about… swords!
I used to have a terrible temper – the smallest upset would make me flip, and then… watch out!
I’d shout and scream, trash anything to hand and if you happened to be the object of my anger… well, you’d better leave town, and pretty damn quickly.
Funny how the years – and therapy – can mellow even the most destructive temper – these days, I’m one of the most relaxed people you could ever imagine. It’s not been easy, long hours of counselling, sheer determination and a cocktail of drugs have kept things nicely in check.
That, and the occasional mass killing spree!
By Chris Munroe
I can’t seem to get angry anymore.
I try, I mean there’s plenty of horrible shit going on around the world that’s well worth getting angry over, but however much I strain I can’t.
I used to be able to summon up appropriately righteous fury, and I still mean to, but I never seem to get there.
I’m no longer shocked by mankind’s inhumanity. I’m used to it. Outrage fatigue, I guess. I don’t know the technical term. I just know I used to be angry, but I can’t get there any more…
…at some point, I lost my temper.
You must see the latest Dan Brown film, “The Well-Tempered Clavier.” Based on his impeccable scholarly research into Johann Sebastian Bach’s secret system of tuning the musical scale, it tells how the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor (both played by Ian McKellen, one with a beard, one without) tried to steal the occult secret for themselves. At the climax of the film, Bach (played by Robert Downey Jr.) defeats the Vatican’s ninja monks and the Emperor’s crack Templar Knights with the demonic harmonies he wrests from the great 12-manual organ of St. Peter’s.
“The Well-Tempered Clavier”, in cinemas now!
Hash – Part 16
They caught Davidson; he didn’t get far; got stuck in the HVAC directly
above the guards’ lounge. He couldn’t go any further without causing himself
more pain than he was willing to endure. Given the choice between his erect
manhood pinned and savagely scraped across the rough prison sheet metal air
duct or lethal injection, well.
They rushed him straight to the gurney as is; naked and all greasy and
shiny, with his stomach rumbling and his member at attention, bobbing and
leading the way.
Warden was of ill temper. He had seen botched executions before but this was
We make love
And I keep my temper in check
The cold shards of 30 years
Falling from me in crystalline brilliance
On the cement floor.
Shattering like broken wedding crystal/
There is the door.
I can walk through,
At any time.
Not any more.
You pay my bills—
I am your whore.
I am everyone’s.
To money, to love
Find a way to not let this Irish blood boil
To check these passions and do what you all need from me.
To not lose my temper.
I am 100% a natural red head and that fact comes with a few well known facts about my appearance, pale, freckles, green eyes. These things are not a stretch for you to assume about me, and you would me right. I have all of those things.
Things that are often assumed about me that are not necessarily true include, high energy, evil, wicked temper, and soul eater. I’m not going to say that these things are not true. They are in fact true, but it’s kinda rude for you to assume. And now I have my eye on you…
You will find, said the emperor, that Malvoorian justice is tempered with mercy, just as the Malvoorian steel from which we forge our exquisite blades is tempered in our forges.
Our courage, tempered in the violence you initiated is not tempered by such idealism, said the sweaty, muscled prisoner standing before him.
The emperor allowed a slight smile to pass over his face, like a shadow of the moon Calys.
Tempers may be tempered by experience but intemperate experience only tempers the tempted.
Now you’re only playing with words, said he prisoner, who was executed at dawn the next morning.
“Tempered” was the word the man before him had used. Now it was his word and his duty. They could not understand because they were not tempered.
Could never be. Perhaps this one would become a man. He didn’t cry like the others. They knew they had no destiny, suffered in their weakness until … flotsam and jetsam.
Had he been wrong to give almost all of them the opportunity to prove him wrong? The thought that he himself was still untempered.
After checking the basement lock again, he looked in the mirror as he went out and thought, humbly, I am still not what I should be.
Jarvis couldn’t figure out why his aggressive and violent temper didn’t measure up to the even more aggressive and violent world.
His shortcoming concerned him in every and all moments. The thought that his freedom and continued well-being depended on controlling his temper failed to console him. Thoughts of freedom and well-being drew a bitter scowl to his face and exacerbated his disappointment in himself — as well as his disappointment in everyone and everything around him, since they had failed to engulf him adequately in rage.
Imagine his disappointment, dying peacefully at home, old, surrounded by children and grandchildren, all of whom hated him.
When you have a son with autism who inherited fetal alcohol effect from his drug addict birth mother, temper tantrums are something you get used to.
Pull yourself together. Don’t get your knickers in a knot, your undies in a bundle. Don’t have a kanipshun fit, a cow or a baby. For that matter a royal canary. Believe me. I’ve used them all to describe my boy when he’s acting out, as they say at his school.
However, it can only be described as going postal, or maybe even a nuclear melt down when my son’s father has had enough.
by Caledonia Skytower (Judith Cullen)
She felt him, squirming on the other end. After three years of being dominated by his fictions, she was the one in control – her pin twisting ever so slightly with the certain truth of her knowledge. He brazened it out, and she silently gave him credit for it. Then the key moment arrived, “Am I wrong?” A long silence. “About what?” The power filled and flooded through her. She could unleash it all: hurt, anger, pain, confusion. Her smile blossomed as she decided. “It’s not important.” No longer needing to know why, she pulled the pin out, and released.
To say that Capone had a temper is understating things a bit.
When Al got mad, he got mad, and people got hurt.
The boys went to The Big Apple for a weekend, and Al can’t sleep. He says that Statue Of Liberty broad is shining her torch in his window, so go do something about it.
They get him moved to the other side of the hotel, that ain’t enough… he wants them to kneecap her.
All night long, they’re whackin’ the thing with baseball bats and pool cues, but no dice.
“Fuggedaboutit,” he says. And he shoots them.