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.
We’ve got stories by:
- Anima Zabaleta
- John Musico
- Tura Brezoianu
- Norval Joe
- Planet Z
What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!
By Christopher Munroe
I’ve switched to Depeche Mode and all’s right in the world, because I could listen to Depeche Mode all week every week, forever.
As you well know.
My opinions on the band are known by anyone who’s ever seen me at a club, after all, they’re just incredibly good. Music for the Masses, at the moment, and loving it. Every track is genius, especially…
But none of this is new information.
What am I trying to do, after all, what am I trying to say? I’m not trying to tell you anything you didn’t know when you woke up today…
“The Destructive Force of a Tornado”
by Jeffrey Fischer
Mary fastened an earring as she opened the front door to the babysitter. “Thanks for coming over. I assure you that Shawn is no trouble at all.”
“How old is he?” asked Caitlin.
“He’s five, but very mature for his age. He’s quiet…” Just then a child started wailing in the next room. “Well, usually. He’s well-behaved, entertains himself with his toys, and puts everything back when he’s finished.” Caitlin followed Mary down the hallway to the den. Sitting on the floor was a child with a mischievous grin on his face, surrounded by Legos, toy cars, several jigsaw puzzles jumbled together, and the remains of a coffee table book that had been systematically shredded.
“No trouble, you say?” Caitlin said.
Mary looked at her son. “I’ve got nothing.”
“The Ultimate Weapon”
by Jeffrey Fischer
The terrorist carried a box containing a small sphere into the apartment where his colleague was assembling a bomb. “Praise be to Allah!” the first said, setting the box in front of the second. “You can stop work on the bomb now, as I have something better.”
The second peered at the sphere. “You have brought us an empty piece of glass?”
The first looked annoyed. “Not empty, my friend. It’s filled with a powerful explosive – called ‘nothing.’ I am assured that this is more destructive than plastique. You’ve heard of matter and anti-matter, have you not? This is nothing, and the principle is the same. When it comes in contact with something, a big explosion happens.”
The bomb-maker looked skeptical. “Where did you find this marvel?”
“On eBay, of course. I’m assured it is the genuine article.”
#1 – George’s Story – Part 93: Emotional roller coaster
Over the next fifteen minutes, George experienced a full range of emotions, from disbelief and bewilderment to outrage, anger and – eventually – resignation.
Weird as recent events had been, the explanation he was now receiving was beyond the realms of possibility. With every word that each of the men spoke, he found himself losing his grasp on what little sense of reality he now clung to.
“So, George, is there anything you’d like to ask us?”
“No”, he replied quietly, “I’ve got nothing…”
He became aware the sneering woman was again stood at his side – only now he understood her disdain.
#2 – Got nothing
I’ve got nothing… No money, no friends or family, nowhere to call home, not even a pair of shoes to call my own right now. It’s not an easy life but I get by – the odd dime from passers-by, handouts from the soup kitchen, and you’d be surprised what home comforts you can find, even out here on the street.
Sure, I’ve got nothing, but that means no job, no responsibilities and no commitments. No expectations and no disappointments. I’ve even had people tell me they envy me!
And you know what?
They don’t know a damn thing!
#3 – Guilty
“I’ve got nothing to say in my defence, your honour, but before you pass sentence, let me ask you just to pause a minute and consider whether you, or any other reasonable person would have done differently in the same circumstances.”
The judge looked at me curiously, then he spoke.
“It was indeed a unique set of circumstances, and considering the evidence before the court, there was little else that you could have done. Indeed, any reasonable person would probably have done the same.
However, regarding what I would do… I’ve got nothing to say.
You’re going down, sunshine.”
A Good Piece of Advice
Many years ago I apprenticed with a Cabinet Maker. Much like Anakin Skywalker. I was sorrowfully too old to fully integrate into the relationship. The best Mr. Russell could do, oddly enough, was prepare me for my up-coming divorce. He’d been adopted into a rich Chicago Meat Packing family. His choice of brides came from deep within the Junior League A list. Brushing his secret sealing oil on a drawer he said, “I was miserable for 10 years. The only way out was to walk away from everything.” Standing in the empty apartment I conciliatorily mused, “ I’ve got nothing.”
A Well Defined Relationship Part 93
“Sparky what do you have?” “I’ve got nothing.” The E meter while pegged-out showed no sign of Timmy’s presence. “Duke where’s Timmy?” “It’s pretty fuzzy pilgrim, but it seems he is in a cascade time loop.” “That means …” said Senator Smith just before blinking out. “… I was never here,” finished Dino Mod.” Both Banister and Proctor made a mad dash for the Tamerlane. Just as he laid his hand on the box his comrades vanished, replace by El Cid and the 40 thieves, guns drawn, firing.
“Too late,” said the Doctor
“Too late,” said the Bandit.
Then came the Flash.
His eyes burned into me across the desk.
“We know you did it. You had motive, the means and you’re a cold hearted, calculating bitch. Just confess and make it easy for all of us.”
“Where’s your evidence, detective? What do you have that’s going to nail me?”
“You know I’ve got nothing, yet… but trust me, I’ll find it!”
“Oh, I know you will”, I stood to leave the room, “and sooner than you expect”, I muttered, under my breath.
He snarled at me, and drained his coffee – along with the poison I’d slipped him.
Two lonely hearts, pulled together by circumstances and pain. They talked and danced. They shared their stories and their moments. They shared the others, the others in their lives who didn’t know they were being shared. They shared and got closer. They got as close as that illusive closeness of nothingness, with nothing but fragments of lives and the excitement of the unknown, of warm familiarity, of love. Loneliness is a high price to pay for the determination of commitment. So, they decided to seize the moment, not caring for anyone else but themselves in a selfish illusion of nearness.
Emma looked at the homemade card – 12 hand drawn hearts, in varying states of artistry. Some were neat, others more of a child’s scrawl. Holiday cards were in fashion.
Inside, the text was brief – “Joseph, for all that you do and all you provide, we love you more every day”.
What do you think? Anything else we should say?
From around the room – “Looks great!” “I have nothing more to add” “Can we use the purple ink?”
As Emma was the first and oldest, she signed first, then organized the other sister-wives to sign the simple Valentine’s day card.
Snow In February
Dim’s dog Bummer did it.
Should’ve known better… leaving him alone in the Chevy while we worked
He ate the candy, chewed the flowers and pissed all over the back seat,
thoroughly soaking the Hallmark card that played Barry Manilow when you
“Dimitri, your dog sucks!”
Dim shrugged the shrug of a man that had nothing to contribute.
Now here I was meeting Snow at the Denny’s for our Valentine’s dinner (her
breakfast) and I’ve got nothing for her. Nothing!
But she smiles that smile so lovely.
And in that moment I knew she was everything.
(music: “Soul Wants To Grow” arrangement by Zep Hurme / lyrics and vocals by
Snowflake aka Emily Richards / curator: CC Mixter / licensed under Creative
Commons Attribution Noncommercial 3.0)
I hear The Rhode Show podcast with Hugh and Kelli will have its 300th episode this week and would like me to send something in. Hugh Four, Snarkdogg Kent, and The Space Turtle (eehowm) had introduced me to drabbles but also have done many good things so eventually listeners of The 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge will forgive them for that. Maybe I could start with “This is Zackmann. You might know from disrupting such chatrooms Snark Infested Waters and Bearcrawling but I would just be stealing that introduction from DAVe Avila. Sorry Hugh Four, so far I’ve got nothing.
I verbally wrote a story yesterday morning. It involved two people speaking with New Yorker accents. The man and the woman made humorous comments on twists of word meaning which were somewhat dependant on the way they spoke to have the greatest impact.
I tried repeating the dialog with different accents and inflections but the effect just wasn’t the same.
I was in a hurry to get to work, so I thought I would just write it down later.
Now, for the life of me, I can’t remember the story.
It would have been great, but now, I’ve got nothing.
Weekly Challenge 460: “I’ve Got Nothing”
I’ve lost my house, my office, my practice, my dignity, and my bar license. I’ve not held myself up to the high standards of an institution that cannot even stand up for itself. I’ve bought into every lie about the American Dream, working hard for little or nothing, holding up ideals for a society that has none. I’m now told I’m a loser, a taker. I’ve got nothing, I am nothing, and therefore, I will always be nothing. Sorry to disappoint. I am now the voice of the oppressed, the hell of your own creation you wish you never raised.
I’ve got nothing
“I got plenty o’ nuthin'”, the song goes, and nowhere is that more true than here at the offices of Plenty-O-Nuthin tax accountants. Are you finding it hard to make ends meet on a $10 million income, when the government takes away half of it in taxes, year after year? Lay down your burden with us! Our skilled prestidigitators will magically cut away all of your profits and capital gains when the auditors call, while leaving your bank balance completely unharmed! Join our satisfied clients in the freedom of having plenty of nothing, and nothing will be plenty for you!
Time Magazine’s cover shows a baby that they say could live to one hundred and forty-two years old.
Of course, if his mother is Jenny McCarthy, he could catch the Mumps, or some other deadly disease that could be prevented by a simple vaccination.
He could also have a mother that doesn’t believe in using a child safety seat in the car. Or making him wear a helmet while he’s on a bike.
Or civilization could collapse from a jihadi uprising, food shortages, global warming…
What good is living over a century, and he’s got nothing to look forward to?