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:
So, here I am, Sat in the pub, enjoying my pint, phone in hand, pondering what to write for this week’s story.
And, literally at the moment I tap out the heading, ‘Generally’, the chap across the bar loudly says the exact same word to his companion.
I’m a little freaked out…
Am I being watched? Under covert surveillance by who knows what shady organisation? Is some bizarre experiment in thought control taking place here?
I take another draught from my glass.
Maybe it was just a freaky coincidence… But, if nothing else, I’ve got a story out of it!
I find that generalisations are, generally pretty useful.
They can cover a multitude of sins and can allow you – quite literally sometimes – to get away with murder.
They’re handy for providing alibis, without actually being deceptive…
“Where were you on the night in question?”
“Well generally, I’m at church on a Sunday at that time of the evening, so I suppose that must have been the case.”
“And, as a rule, I generally go straight home afterwards, to a mug of cocoa, and a good night’s sleep.”
And the best of it is that I, generally, get away with it!
When the boss started off with those words, you knew you were in for an hour of boredom.
Not that you could show it, mind you.
If you closed your eyes or crossed your arms, he was right there in your face, asking if there was a problem.
And then he’d start back over again with those words:
There were only two ways to get out of that.
Lunch and quitting time.
You get home, you have your dinner, you put your feet up, and…
When you go to sleep, and dream of those words again.
The bronckle is an old folk instrument traditionally made, and played, by shepherds. It consists of a long, stout, hollow staff with a mouthpiece and finger holes. The opposite end is terminated by a large hollow wooden ball that provides percussion accompaniment when swung against a tree. Thus did shepherds amuse themselves in former times.
The bronckle has never found favour in the salon, but the composer Marin Marais once accepted a challenge to create a piece for bronckle consort, performed by shepherds on the King’s estates. It was generally agreed that the effect resembled a stampede of confused cows.
The river rose all day–The river rose all night
Generally speaking Dean was the last person I’d have thought would be capable of such a selfless act of kindness. It not that he is some kind of self-center asshole, it more he has the heart and soul of an accountant. One to weight the cost benefits of any given interaction. But there he was knee deep in the river with the tiny girl riding on his shoulders. And he didn’t stop there. Dean return to the river a dozen time. The water rising to hip, then chest. He didn’t make it back from the last trip. Well done Dean.
Why I Am Not As Good As Lovecraft
Generally speaking, I always try to be specific. Generalities are sometimes useful, like statistics, but they usually present a false, or at least inadequate, image of something that would be better served with a precise and specific representation. Specificity allows for the possible communication of precise information. Generality, at best, allows for the communication of a warm fuzzy feeling or a cold chill of horror.
Lovecraft used non-specific information more effectively than anyone in achieving a precise reaction of horror in his readers. Through non-specificity he became, generally, one of the greatest writers of horror stories in all of literature.
Generally, I do not fly Airlingis. The last time I called them, I misdialed. A woman answered, and when I asked for comfortable, Airlingis accommodations, she gasped and slammed the phone down. I do this sort of thing often.
As I get older, I make more mistakes, and make them more often.
As I near my final days, I plan to get my head removed and stored at an Alcor, cryogenic facility. My executors will handle everything, including reanimation.
Some day, my ancestors will fetch me from the walk-in, and we can sit down to catch up on the news.
The lighthouse keeper stared at the horizon. Five lines. The sea was unusually calm and it was bitter cold. His mind wandered back to that day. The sea wasn’t calm then and it wasn’t cold but he felt it at the back of his neck like a knife. The body was out there. He knew exactly where. Five years ago. Each year, on that day, he would stand up there. He didn’t know how. He never noticed when. But he knew she came from the sea to carve another line on his arm, a reminder of what he had done.
by Jeffrey Fischer
Generally, the sound of a police siren and the sight of flashing lights invokes the following reactions: pulling over, handing license and registration to the officer, and responding politely to questions and instructions from the officer. He’s armed and the driver is usually not. Confrontations generally work out poorly for the driver. This is common sense.
It’s annoying to read the self-righteous accounts of black parents lecturing their male children of driving age to take the above steps in a respectful manner. The implication is that young black males have trouble with these simple concepts. Be a man, kid, and respect the law. You’ll live longer that way.
I shaded more red into my canvas, working while the crowds shuffled
around. My subject squirmed and whined before settling on command. I
hastened to finish my latest masterpiece, turning it for parental
They squawked and shouted offending words I dare not repeat, insisting
I did not capture their child, but in reviewing my sketch, taking note
of horns, gnashing teeth, and evil glint, I assured them my
interpretation was accurate. It was how I generally saw all of them
in the park.
I don’t remember much more after the mouse came up and punched me in the head.
Being a boy in middle school is generally a negative thing.
For the few boys with confidence and maturity beyond their years it’s an opportunity to control hundreds of others. Like fish in a barrel, the less mature and more insecure rise to the surface with hopes for acceptance and inclusion, only to get a bullet through the head.
So it was that Billbert fell victim to Roderick’s prank. Though, now, he had something none of the other boys had: a super power.
True. He wore a plastic bag for a loin cloth, which, generally was not a positive thing.
Hollywood is remaking The Dukes of Hazard. The story is generally the same. Uncle Jesse is the same old curmudgeon, but running a recycling center. Daisy runs a tech firm. “Mayor” Hogg is a philanthropist who loves helping others and playing Santa at Christmas.
And don’t forget that iconic car. It’s now a bright green Prius, with a yellow peace sign on the roof. They use it to deliver meals on wheels or sometimes as a Lyft service and hilarity ensues. They call it “The Generally.” So how much trouble will those Duke boys be in this week? Not much…