Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.
This is the 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:
The Secret Langue of Beggars and Thieves
Honor amongst thieves. How exactly dose that work? How do you insure the loot arrives intact? Doc made this all work like clockwork with one simple proviso. His son Jimmy Two Fingers. Pretty much an excellent optic. As said worked like a champ for a decade. Then one day Doc noted a two ton crane had been parked at the meet-up “Jimmy what’s with the crane?” “Pay back Dad.” The crane release its load, promptly buried Doc under 1000 pounds of silver bars. “Here’s the loot dad.” No one was about to cross Jimmy. They just divide up the loot
The Athenian Women
Loot was very well and good, as it contributed to luxury. But Athenian women were not about to give up the greatest luxury: power.
They certainly didn’t want men tromping about in the women’s quarters: and just let those Spartan trollops try and take away the himataeon that veiled one from the weather: warm in winter, shady in summer, preventing (long experience taught) that nasty sun blemish that could kill you so horribly.
Let some hetaera suffer the men babbling their philosophical nonsense over dinner! Let Athenian men tremble at what frightening mysteries their women concocted!
There must be War!
The dark entrance to the tunnel was dimly lit. It was tempting to rush in, grab whatever he could and rush out. On the other hand, the dragon had parked himself in there. He took a deep breath and walked in.
The next greedy bastard found him bored out of his wits in a small cage. Apparently, the dragon had a terrible sense of humor and didn’t believe he was just visiting.
The real problem was that the cage got considerably cramped with the new arrival.
He didn’t even want to think what would happen if anyone else showed up.
by Jeffrey Fischer
The loot was all I could think of. When the cops busted me, during my arraignment, throughout my trial – I wanted the loot. I *obsessed* over it. Piles of cash, handfuls of bearer bonds, pieces of jewelry. Mine.
My sentence was a long one. I can’t say I didn’t deserve it, but no way was I staying inside a minute longer than I had to. I was a good boy and got the max time off. I couldn’t wait to get my hands on what was mine.
At last I was free. I made a dash for the loot – and found my hiding place empty. In my mind, I heard the mocking laugh of my bastard lawyer. I should never have told him the truth.
Boggins sat sadly in the corner of the bar, a glass of tapwater in his hand.
He couldn’t believe that after surviving encounters with dragons, trolls, and all the other trials he’d been through, he’d nothing to show for his adventures. Not even a beer!
A familiar voice interrupted his reverie…
“Well, if it isn’t Mr Boggins, alive and well and as miserable as ever!”
It was the wizard.
“The last I heard of you, you were dragon food, yet here you are, and surely you didn’t escape empty handed?”
Boggins sadly shook his head;
“Nope, no loot at all”.
#2 – Re-enactment
I needed to get out more and meet people, so I joined one of those Viking reenactment groups.
I hadn’t realised how serious these people are! Step out of line by wearing modern fibres or speaking out of character and the penalties can be pretty severe.
I know this from bitter experience, and it’s not pleasant being on the receiving end of one of those warhammers.
They caught me using a mobile phone at an event.
This weekend, it’s ‘loot, rape and pillage day’ – and I’ve a horrible feeling I’ve been put down to experience some authentic Viking rape!
Hamlin Hummingshorts was flush with loot at the pawnshop. His associates thought of him as the prince of tossers, but he managed to serve them and they made a lot of money off the goods Hamlin fenced.
Today he passed a payment to the counter person at the Domino’s Pizza next door. He wrapped the bills inside a wad of celery stalks and passed it on, saying: “This is refreshing, Barbara, much better for you than grazing on raw pizza dough.”
Hamlin was busted soon thereafter, as a pizza patron’s spidey sense fired off and he alerted his detective friend.
By Emily Ann
The 3 a.m. darkness was lit by a flickering porch light. Stinking of smoke and whisky she stumbled into apartment forty-seven. Alone again. Her eyes filled with angry tears. She undressed. Cursing the repetitive payback for choices she desperately tried to escape. A shadowy figure crept closer, until the cold knife blade felt the flesh of her throat. The dark figure whispered of his plans for her. She wept. Blood stained the carpet. He stood over her – vindicated. Blurry eyed, she watched as he left with her soul. Suffering no more.
(Editor’s Note: I love it when things take on new life… glad you had fun with George, and here’s to more madness!)
Nancy was a pirate, and she was a very good pirate. When George joined her ship, she had him keelhauled the very first day. But she kept him on, to make the rest of the crew shine like gold doubloons against the example of George’s tarnished penny.
She was such a good pirate, that when she was thirty, she had enough loot to retire to the life of a wealthy gentlewoman in a prosperous town on the Barbary Coast. For recreation, she wrote stories of George the Pirate (who wasn’t a very good pirate), and published them under a pseudonym.
When President Trump only narrowly won re-election, he was furious. “Fake votes! Maybe Putin could help throw them out?” he thundered on Twitter. He introduced three great new bills, the greatest bills ever, to fix matters.
The Limitation Of Outstanding Taxes act annulled all tax obligations on the President, applied retroactively. The Presidential Immunity Liquidating Legal Assault on General Enterprise act gave him the power to block legal action against any business that was being unfairly targetted, especially his own.
Finally, the Republicans Against Presidential Elections act ensured that never again would President Trump have to face such a crisis.
You loot, I shoot!
That’s the sign I put on the security fence, and believe me, I intend enforcing it.
Since the breakdown of society, it’s everyone for themselves; and those who possess valuable commodities in demand, take whatever steps are necessary to protect them.
Hence the sign.
And I’m pretty sure that few will take the risk, because the commodity in my care clearly gives me the upper hand.
You see, you may have all the weapons in the world, but without ammunition, they’re practically useless…
And guess who has all the ammo!
And I always, shoot to kill!
Chuckie stood outside Angelica’s door in a cold sweat. He would rather face Reptaar bare handed. The girl was going to tear him to pieces.
He took the loot sack from his shoulder and hefted it to guage its weight. Not a good haul today. Much less than Angelica expected.
Both Phil and Lil had given him lame excuses about their mother switching all of their snacks to raw vegetables. Tommy said he was cleaned out, but Chucky was sure he was holding back something in his diaper.
Whoever said taking candy from babies was easy, didn’t know these babies.
After the hurricane, most of the flooded out residents fled to public shelters.
Others looted stores for food and survival supplies.
Then, there were the thieves who filled plastic bins with small electronics and floated them to a waiting pickup truck.
When the gangs went for houses, that’s when things got ugly.
The lights were off, but someone was home.
With a loaded shotgun.
“The first guy took my shotgun, the second guy took my Smith and Wesson,” said the homeowner. “They had an argument.”
The cops wrote it off.
And handed back the guns, to ruin any remaining evidence.