Classroom of the Mind

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With the invention of Dreamshare, it was only a matter of time before dreamactors came about.
Professional dreamers, dreaming up dreams for sale.
The Morpheant Union tried to regulate entertainment-product dreams. Thankfully, independent production resisted and won out.
Then, someone got the bright idea to shift education from schools to dream academies. The classroom of the mind was born, a one-on-one tutorial between the slumbering student and the teacher.
No more bullies. No more cliques.
Every one was the teacher’s pet. Or was the Homecoming King. Or Queen.
Such fond memories I have of school. I replay them every night.

Better Luck

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Sure, I gave a fortune to Over-President Ichiro’s campaign, but the ambassadorship wasn’t the reward I had in mind.
The other day, a Grelp was in the embassy, asking about the horseshoe above my office door.
“Old Earth custom,” I said. “It’s for good luck.”
The next day, there was some sort of problem with a power converter trade agreement, so I headed over to the Grelp Ministry of Off-Planet Trade.
Nailed over the oozeway to Minister Sploch-Brbl’s puddlechamber was an entire horse, dead.
“For muchly more luck,” said Sploch-Brbl, flibbering happily.
Thank God I didn’t put up my crucifix.

Bumfight

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More political insight from our friend across the pond, Andrew Ian Dodge…

Five blokes are itching to lead their party or at least their version of the party. What party you might ask? Well this time it’s the Liberal-Democrats turn to pick a new leader after their previous one fell for being an chronic alky. Political hacks & addicts will have noted that there are two clear parts of the party who are not just divided by a hyphen. As the race moves on all five of these men attempt to be everything to all members but at the same time reassuring their “base”. Who will fall off the leadership tightrope first?

Oh well. There goes my hope of his Friday Catpodcasting.

Home

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When you are far from home and all you see is a pile of stones, fill your heart with memories of home and arrange the stones like the night sky above it.
Now close your eyes, take a deep breath, and forget where you are.
Concentrate completely on home. The sounds of home. The smells of home.
The weight of the air of home on your bare skin.
Know that you are home. Believe that you are home.
Count three beats of your heart, breathe deeply, and open your eyes.
Welcome home, apprentice, for you always bring home with you.

The Fourth Crewmember

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The robot listened for the homing signal.
Nothing. No sign of the crew, either.
Looking down at the pile of rocks, it decided to investigate.
An hour later, all of the rocks were removed, revealing three battered corpses.
The robot’s visual records were corrupted, so it took DNA samples and did a quick analysis.
TRAVIS. BLAKE. AL-MAJD.
All matched with the crew.
Placing the bodies back in the grave, the robot stacked the rocks back up.
The robot snapped a photograph for-
ERROR
It rebooted, and the robot listened for the homing signal.
Nothing. No sign of the crew, either…

Mainiac

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Andrew Ian Dodge looks at Maine and finds the fignerprints of one of the biggest maniacs on the planet…

In the bizarre world that is North America, and no I don’t mean Canuckland, the Maine governor has signed a deal with Hugo Chavez of Venezuela to provide cheap oil. Now Maine is not the slightest bit up in arms about its Governor sucking up to an anti-semite, anti-American socialist dictator. Chavez, routinely rhetorically supports America’s enemies and is a good buddy of Fidel Castro. There are other states in the snow belt who have been offered the deal. They all refused. And where are Maine’s Senators on this? The outrage? Mainiacs are seriously in trouble if they are not incensed.

We here in Texas will go back to horses and saddles before touching Chavez’s charity.

Trinkets

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The ancient Indian closed his eyes and hissed a curse:
The land, it hates you. It trembles with rage, shaking under your accursed White Man’s feet, wishing it could swallow you whole and spit you out in Hell.
Those maps in your wicked hand will not guide you. The land will twist and writhe like The Snake Spirit, sending you to your doom.
I looked at the trinkets on his table again.
“Okay, twenty bucks for the necklace,” I said.
“Thirty,” said the Indian.
“Twenty-five?”
The Indian smiled. “Sold,” he said. “And you’re lost because your map is upside down.”

Wedding

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Okay, so I was wasted out of my mind on Monday and recorded an interesting introduction to Kim’s piece to say the least.
Kim Benson and Andrew Ian Dodge get a little literary revenge…

It took place in a Balinese temple on a golden beach. Andrew and Kim had flown together with just two of their closest friends as witnesses. Andrew was dressed in a traditional Balinese outfit of red, white and gold as he awaited his bride to be. Kim with her hair laden with fresh tropical flowers was wearing a red and gold sari which was easily unravelled for later delights. Incense wafted over the temple as the flame of togetherness was swirled around both their heads and marriage vowels were spoken. STOP. How your mind wanders on 6 glasses of champagne.

Okay, no more drunk bookend recording. Sober recording only from now on.
(I only had two pints Downtown before heading to the radio show. Honest!)

Wampum

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Jim S. comes back with a new one…

What was that?
Thinking it was probably nothing, she got back to her work. Sweating profusely and muttering to herself, she meticulously counted out the wampum.
“One for you, one for me. One for you, two for me.”
It wasn’t quite fair, but to hell with them. They’d made her to divvy up the loot because she was apparently the only one who could count AND understand them.
Greed was, indeed a slippery slope. And a distracting one at that, since the ground shaking was actually their cannon shooting a fusillade at her village.
She NEVER even heard it coming.

Cool. Who else will become addicted to podcasting their 100 Word Stories? Will the entire world start podcasting them?
I hope so. Because they’re even more fun to listen to that to write.

Magic

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Hey, it’s another guest story from Kim in The Empire Formerly Known As British!

Is it possible to win £100,000 on Magic Radio’s Mystery voices competition without spending most of it trying to get through? You can only call when they advise you to and all calls are charged a flat rate of 25p whether you get through or not – most don’t. The jackpot currently stands at £96,700 (still rising at every wrong answer) which means that 967 have got the voices wrong! Gloria Estefan and Kurt Russell are dead certs but who is the third mystery voice? Could it be that Magic Radio themselves are the real winners where this competition is concerned?

Thanks, Kim, and it’s great to hear all sorts of different voices and styles coming together.
We all have something in common, and there’s lots of room in the 100 Word Story playpen.