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:
- Norval Joe
- Danny Dwyer
- Tura Brezoianu
- Planet Z
by Jeffrey Fischer
Eight floors up, the shaking was noticeable if not alarming. Heads peeked out of offices and above cubicle walls to find out what was happening. West Coast natives knew the signs of an earthquake but couldn’t believe one might be happening in DC, while East Coast natives searched for explanations. Mine was that a particularly obnoxious driver, stuck at the light down below, had a powerful stereo.
Fire alarms clanged and everyone made the slow procession down the stairwells, out of the building. As we stood in the shadows of the skyscrapers, we wondered why it was safer to risk being hit by debris falling off facades than to remain inside. Still, outside on a sunny, temperate afternoon was not the worst place to be.
by Jeffrey Fischer
The building specs showed nine floors above ground and two underground, which made the set of stairs heading down from the sub-basement and the locked door at the bottom all the more mysterious. Vic opened the lock with what Ellen was sure were illegal picks and the pair crept through the doorway.
Inside, the firm’s top executives sat in plush armchairs, sipping drinks out of crystal goblets. “Oh ho, Jackson,” one said, “We’ve been discovered.” The company CEO waved a decanter. “Care to join us? We’re enjoying a lovely glass of Proletarian Tears. Vintage 2013, if I’m not mistaken.” The senior VP chimed in, “An especially good year. We fired 20% of the work force. Tears of fired employees taste the sweetest.”
The building was vacant a long time. Squatters had taken over, including a dozen meth zombies, heroin addicts, and retired circus clowns. The clowns were insidious, to such an extent that the addicts left…no longer able to handle the insanity, vulgar antics and games of the clown posse. One of their favorite parlor games was to play “shoot twixt wind and water.” It involved a game between the male and female clowns. My shyness and the propriety of this forum prevents further description. The clowns also enjoyed demonstrating how to “have one’s corn ground”, a popular game of the 1800’s.
Building a strong coalition of writers was her current goal. She put the word out using social media, and via her BLOG. Soon, a dozen writers joined her stable of regular contributors. She helped them find venues for publishing, and lined up open mic nights for poets and writers to read their work. She had some rules. Some of them necessary, some frivolous. Writers had to submit all work in the Comic Sans font, avoid French derived verbs, never write in the first or second person nor take any manner or stand on religious, political, artistic, or second amendment matters.
Her build put the Dymaxion structures of Buckminster Fuller to shame…built like a modular, fire-clay, outdoor lavatory, she could sing and she could dance, but all she had to do was make herself available for dates, and her future was assured. She started dating a fellow that was very powerful and rich. Cranston was tired, and forty years her senior. Laurie let him kiss her if he used Lavoris and wiped his mouth. No tongue, no lingering. He could touch her on top, but not below. The old gent was grateful, and showered her with gifts and a generous pre-nup.
William’s life had always been miserable. He blamed his parents – how on earth could they have been so thoughtless? But, maybe society in general was just as much at fault.
Despite his misfortune, he made something of his life – leaving behind the torment of schooldays, and setting up his own successful business. Even so, he was never really happy with his lot.
Eventually he concluded a change was necessary: He completed the paperwork, paid the fee and left the Registrar’s office with a smile on his face.
Hello Bill Smith, and good riddance to the hated Bill Ding!
All my neighbours think I’m a DIY nut – she’s always building they say, have you seen all the work she’s done on that house?
They do have a point; the place has changed considerably since when I first moved in. My first venture was filling in the cellar – that took some time, not what you’d call an overnight job, but some things you just can’t rush.
I’ve bricked up the odd fireplace, and rebuilt some of the old plasterboard walls.
My latest project is a new patio… Working on the foundations now: Just need a few more bodies!
They say building your own house is an empowering experience, buying your own lumber, your own nails, your own tools. Matt especially enjoyed his fuel-powered chainsaw with a ground breaking design; it was absolutely amazing. And no one was allowed to touch it. Yes, the others got splinters stuck in their eyes, fingers hammered till they were black and blue, but the fun it was to saw those logs was unbeatable. However, when someone saws a hand off by mistake, that can be a bloody mess. In the waiting-room of the hospital, Matt sighed. “Good thing it wasn’t my hand…”
“Have you seen the ghost?” asked the cleaning woman.
“No, but thanks for giving me something to think about before leaving me alone in the building for the rest of the night.” replied the security officer.
“Someone died here, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure someone died everywhere by now and every business in California big enough to have security is haunted because whoever leaves me alone for the remainder of the night always tells me they are. I have concluded that if anyplace I work has been haunted the ghosts didn’t mind having someone around to call the fire department.”
Building a Stronger America, Not
Some may argue that the 80s was the most eclectic decade of the pre-post human era. For your consideration I offer Talking Heads. Hands down the best cover of Take Me To The River. More Songs About Building and Food its sort of an anti-soundtrack to a anti-life. Even the cover art is way cool ins a sub zero sense. Anything but a head shot which is the joke a guess on you if you weren’t paying attention. Damn near wore the vinyl out on side two. I love saying side two. Thank God for CDs. Once in a life time.
We Just Did Stuff
I lament the loss of building that this generation of youts must endure. No opportunity to build tree houses, or forest forts if you prefer. The Boomers had enough scrape lumber to build may small cities. Midnight Requisition frown upon by parents was tolerated by construction worker as long as you didn’t get greedy. Our best structure was four stories. Granted each floor was 5 to 3 feet tall. Pretty Cool. We never had a blue print, we never had a drawing, we never had a plan. All we had was about a thousand nails. Couldn’t do that today.
I understand now that I tried to the enter the self publishing world backwards.
I just went out there and released my book on Kindle and Create Space expecting people to find it and buy it.
I should have spent several months before the book launch building my platform.
I’m already preparing my platform for a book I am just outlining.
It’s a non-fiction, self-help book, called, “Why You’re Smarter than the Next Guy, and How You can Profit By It.”
I’m starting a facebook page for egocentric sociopaths looking for ways to develop passive income without working for it.
What the hell am I building when I surround myself with negativity all the time? I gave up my practice to work for someone who calls me stupid because I’m losing my hearing. I have to agree, I am stupid. I’m stupid for following someone so negative, who clearly has an anger problem, who has taken every shred of pride I used to have against me, and screams at the top of his lungs about how worthless I am. It’s about time I questioned the people I call friends in my life. Because quite frankly, they are tearing me down.
You wish to visit the Palace? No, sir, this great building is merely its gatehouse.
But beware! Further on the road you will come to a far greater building, bustling with seeming activity, and will take that to be the palace. But that is the second gatehouse, inhabited only by mechanical puppets.
After that will be a third, vaster and more convincing still, and a fourth.
You cannot reach the palace. The procession is endless. Some say that its Architect waits at the end. But I think He is trapped there, waiting for the one who will unravel His magic.
How to Build
By Christopher Munroe
One piece at a time, focusing on the one, until a unified whole emerges.
THIS is how to build a thing, whether a structure, work of art, or a life, one piece upon another, focusing on the piece at hand, trying not to worry what the next might bring.
Trust each piece.
Your structure, your life, WILL with time emerge…
Or: Make a detailed plan, in advance, thinking things through and planning for any eventuality, then follow that plan.
But I’ve never been able to do that.
So one piece at a time it shall have to be…
Some say that a church is just another building, but there’s something special about a church.
It’s a community hub, where families come together, or singles can find other like-minded singles.
It’s a place of sanctuary, especially for illegal immigrants. I mean undocumented workers, because, I’m sure my paperwork is in here somewhere.
It’s somewhere to park when you don’t really trust the valet at the restaurant next door.
And it’s the last place where the cops will look for a hydroponic grow room.
The pastor’s glaucoma’s gotten really bad this year. Or so he says.
Would a priest lie?