Ten Eggs

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I watched the eggs in the incubator hatch.
Ten slimy, wobbly chicks drying off in the heat of the lamps.
They preen, standing on wood shavings.
Not yet eating, drinking. Probably tomorrow.
We’ll move them over to the other box when they’re ready.
Until then, there’s one last egg in the incubator.
It’s glowing green.
The chicks avoid it, preening and peeping on the other side of the incubator.
Wait. There’s only eight of them.
Weren’t there ten before?
The green egg glows brighter.
Maybe we won’t move them out to the other box.
Or open the incubator at all.

Eight Nights

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On the second night of Hanukkah, the rabbis were desperate.
“This re-dedication will fail,” one said. “The consecrated oil will not last another night.”
“What do we have plenty of?” said another rabbi.
They found wine. Lots of it.
“Drink!” they shouted. “Everybody take a bottle and drink yourselves stiff!”
And so, everyone drank and drunk. They drank until they passed out.
The rabbis refilled the lamps with some non-holy oil while everyone slept it off.
“Boy, did you guys party last night!” said the rabbis. “Ready to light up again?”
The real miracle was: the wine lasted eight days.

Gadgets

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The gadgets you buy today will be the junk of tomorrow.
So why not buy junk now and just be a bit behind the curve?
It’s cheaper, less stressful, and you know the things will be tried-and-tested as opposed to the buggy releases available at the bleeding edge.
The guy that I got my secondhand artificial heart from was buying a newer, fancier model. He thought it would be more reliable.
It glitched while he was in an elevator. By the time they got him to the hospital, he was dead.
While his former heart keeps on ticking in me.

Talking To Candy

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It’s the holiday season, and I am busy as a bee.
I work in a chocolate shop, and there’s no busier time than Christmas.
You’d think it would be Valentine’s Day.
No.
Just before I wrap each of these chocolate-dipped apples and hand-rolled jellies into their packaging, I whisper a message for each to announce as they are unwrapped.
“Your teeth will all rot out,” I say. “You will get fat and then suffer from diabetes.”
Then I close the foil and cellophane over the treat, affix a label, and add it to the completed batch in the shop window.

Santa’s Menorah

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The elves wanted to explore diversity and different cultures, so Santa bought a menorah and lit the candles.
“Aren’t you supposed to sing something?” asked Blitzen.
“Shit if I know,” said Santa. “This writing looks like an army of chocolate-covered ants fucking.”
Santa put all nine candles in, the elves sang Christmas carols, and they all went back to work.
“Do you smell smoke?” said Twinkletoes.
Sure enough, the workshop was on fire.
The flames spread to the reindeer barn, the elf dormitory, and Santa’s house.
“Everybody gets wood burning kits,” declared Santa.
And they all froze their asses off.

Weekly Challenge #190 – Work

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety, 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… was…. um…
It’s Work!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Steven
Katharina
Zachmann
Justin
Planet Xray
TJ
Norval Joe
JRadimus
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Steven

Kethin’s legs squeezed against the dragon’s scales as they rose into
the winter night. His furs warmed him, but his eyes were freezing
behind the goggles. The mountain cave fell away behind the dragon’s
wings. The cold moonlight shone on fleeing clouds and glittering snow
below.
Kethin spotted the town lights below. He leaned forward, and the
dragon dove for the city. At the last moment, he drove in his spurs
and pulled up. Dragonfire lashed out, and they rose high over the
street, wet with newly melted snow.
“One of these days,” Kethin thought, “I’ll get an interesting job.”

Katharina

Today, I was the first one in the office. I had only just sat down when I heard the doorbell ring. The only reason I got back up was that it just didn’t stop ringing.
Opening the door I started to complain. As I looked up, I stopped mid-sentence. He was here. He was mine.
Wordless, he took my hand and led me to my office. If only to assure himself that I was still his, he lifted my skirt and took me then and there.
When we got back up, I heard the key in the entrance door turn.

Zachmann

The Nissa, the Norse little people, who followed my grandparents form the old world are trying to get me into trouble by going on my computer and posting on my facebook and twitter when I am at work since I would never do that myself not even with a smartphone.The Nissa watch youtube and Hulu when I am at work. I think they using the gaming systems since they are still turned on when I return home from work . They have a special affection for Link. Anything I posted when I’m at work was done by the Nissa

Justin

Robots tried cloning a human workforce, but the bodies grew to awaken brain dead. Clones work well for spare parts, but growing them takes months. I was always an advocate of workplace safety, but it has gotten ridiculous. The robots take over humanity, then because we are hard to “repair” quickly, they require us to wear ultra-powered safety armor so we don’t hurt ourselves. Why not just control the armor themselves? Hold on, if I can just override these security functions, done, and send this code to everyone, we fully control the system! Lets see how safe we are now

Planet Xray

I have always been a backward guy.
My week went something like this.
Mondays, I spent the day cleaning my BMW.
Tuesdays, I cruised the beaches looking at the sights and the ladies.
Wednesday, I set aside for sport, it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was athletic.
Thursdays I would spend the day flipping the TV between Showtime, HBO and the Discovery Channel.
Fridays I would hop from bar to bar, ending up at a dance club.
Saturday was my rest day.
And then there was Sunday, what can I say, you have to work sometime.

TJ

We don’t always hear positive reinforcement concerning the things we do, but if you ever wonder if your work is appreciated, copy editors: misspell someone’s name in the paper. Stockboys. Let the toilet paper aisle run low. Pharmacists: Forget to order Pepto-Bismol. Bankers: Make a bunch of thoroughly indefensible loans and sell them to each other. Mechanics: Replace brake fluid with motor oil. Chefs: Switch out vegetarian lasagna with regular. Farmers: Leave off milking for a day or two. Baristas: Forget to unlock the doors for a couple hours. Whatever it is we do, indeed, we are all deeply appreciated.

Norval Joe

They quietly slipped through the sliding glass door into the backyard.
“What is it?” he asked the older boy, eyeing the silky black wad of material his brother clutched close to his chest.
“It’s a Batman cape, just like the one on TV. With this cape, you can fly,” he said with believable sincerity. He’d seen the show on their black and white TV, and it looked like the one.
He helped his little brother into the cape and onto the roof of the house.

JRadimus

Let’s see… What’s the Weekly Challenge this week…? Hmm… “Work”… Huh. One of those “broad-strokes” topics. I like those: they don’t shove you in a particular corner. There are so many directions I could go…
…“Hard work”…
…“Yard work”…
…“Job I hated”…
…“Job I loved”…
…”Old job”…
…”New job”…
You know what? Just give me some direction!
…Wait a minute. This is an easy topic! I could write any story I can think of, and just work the topic in- wait: -“work”- the topic in. That gives me an idea – How many words am I up to? …98, 99, 100!

Planet Z

Even though Fred worked in banking, he loved to make up occupations on his tax returns.
“Rodeo Clown Consultant” was his latest. He’s also claimed to be a Psychic Fishtank Cleaner, an Elevator Repair Superhero, and The Number Twelve.
He’d get audited every year, and laughed as the auditor came up with the exact same figures he did on his returns.
Every year, he’d get the same auditor, and given a choice between becoming enemies and friends, they chose friendship.
Both retired the same year and, soon afterwards, died in a horrible elevator accident.
Well, Fred obviously couldn’t repair it.

Wigs

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I know a man who flips people’s wigs.
Figuratively and literally.
It’s not easy to do these days, considering the complexity of hair weaves and the strength of organic glues, but he’s had a lot of practice and never fails to cause sufficient stupefaction and hairpiece inversion.
Sy Sperling, the hairpiece magnate, and the wig-flipping man are arch-rivals. When Sy creates an unflappable wig, the man stays up nights working out how to flip it.
And he does.
Upon hearing of his latest failure, sure enough, Sy feels a brief rush of air on his scalp.
He’s flipped his wig!

Gift Basket

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My wife is making the cats a gift basket.
The gifts include treats, new collars, and catnip.
A few toys, too. As if they don’t have enough toys already.
There’s also a lot of colored tissue paper that the cats will like to play around in.
Despite the fact that the basket is on a high shelf, the kitten’s managed to find a way up there and inside the basket.
Based on how much of a pest she is to the other two cats, I don’t think she’s trying to say she’s a gift to them.
We need more catnip.

Cookies

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My mom always made the best cookies. I have recipes, but it’s not the same.
It was so hard to resist them. They never lasted long.
When she made plates of them for others, she had to hide them, or wrap them with several layers of foil and plastic to keep the rest of us out.
She put a plate on the front bench to take to the neighbors, but the next morning all that was left was the plate.
No foil, no plastic, no cookies.
The dog had eaten them all.
Or, at least, that’s what we told her.

Regifting

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Santa slides down the chimney, opens his sack, and puts the presents under the tree.
Then he picks up the presents sitting by the fireplace and stuffs those into his sack.
Back up the chimney, into the sleigh, and the helper-elf double-checks the inventory and flight plans.
“I know that business is bad, Boss, but did you have to add regifting to your services?” asked Twinky.
“Shut up,” said Santa, watching the GPS flash a new destination. The time display next to it flashes an unjolly red. “Fucking eBay.”
He cracks his whip, and the eight miserable reindeer take flight.