Weekly Challenge – Page 84 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #120 – Olive Loaf

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twenty, 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 selected by Planet Z, and we went with Olive Loaf.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

Hi Laurence
I started a page on Squidoo about flash fiction and wanted to invite and of your contributors to send me one written story (up to 200 words) that I will add to the page and each will have their name and a link back to their site. It is a good way to get a backlink ..
if you think it’s something you want to do please announce it on your Sat broadcast. I’ll accept the first 25 stories I get. they can be mailed to info@theopensite.com with something in the subject alerting me to what it is.
I will also be making a spot available on my blog for the stories and links to be published again and there is no requirement for anyone to link to me or the squidoo page, though of course I won’t discourage anyone from doing so.
Thanks a Bunch
Craig

MENUBAR

“The mailman didn’t come again today,” she said “I doubt there will ever be mail again.”
“We’re just going to have to make due with what we have, Jane. You know we’ve always done okay for ourselves.”
“I miss the children, Frank. Do you think they’re alright?”
“If I know Jimmy, he’s with his friends having a hell of a time. He was a born leader, Jimmy was.”
“Yes, he always put Mary in her place, even though she was bigger. What do you think Mary is doing right now, Frank?”
“Mary sure loved her olive loaf.”
“I remember.”

BLUESMOKE

The food supply was beginning to run quite low. The horde of Kaprualy The Chirapa had brought with them from their home planet have been dwindling steadily and the vegetation was to tired from the artificial lighting to grow properly. They could survive on Kaprualy meat loaf with blue Taranka Sarka olives for just that long. They needed to sample some of the local cuisine, and they needed to do this as soon as possible. Chaketo Chirapa knew they would need to earn the trust of the humans quickly, so he continued podcasting while searching the web for an answer.

ELISSON

Every so often, I like to survey the deli counter, looking for disturbing meats. Scary meats.
Headcheese, for instance. No cheese, but plenty of head, chunks floating in a sea of gelatinous goop. I wouldn’t eat it on a dare.
Or mortadella. Sounds like Morticia’s older sister. Looks like sliced cellulite. Ecch.
The most disturbing of all? Gotta be Olive Loaf.
The name’s bad enough, like something Popeye’s girlfriend might drop off at the pool. All those embedded olives, sliced in cross-section, staring out of the meat case like evil eyes? It’s the lunchmeat that looks at you.
Scary, man.

MIKE

“Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?” asked the skycop.
“Not really,” I replied, trying to focus on the holoimage.
“You changed navigation corridors twice without updating your flight plan and exceeded the posted Mach limit. Have you been drinking, sir?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “Look, I overslept and was running late, so I hit the FoodMat for an InstaMeal pellet, then jumped the skyway. I may have …drifted.”
“Which meal?” he asked.
“One with a weird name: A Olive Loaf.”
“‘A’ indicates the meal contains alcohol, ‘OLIVE’ indicates a martini. Disengage your hoverdrive, sir; I’m tractoring you in.”

KEEME

Three years inside and all I ever got to eat was damned Olive loaf on stale bread. Funny how something you once loved can turn against you. Its not like I actually killed her, this time. At home we were welcomed by my dear sweet mother-in-law, sitting in my favorite chair sans right arm, sewing with her left. Hi Millie. Hello prison bitch hope you’re hungry. I quickly made my way to the kitchen to avoid her lovely improvement advice. In the fridge were over 100 packages of Olive Loaf. Sure hope she can knit with her teeth.Three years inside and all I ever got to eat was damned Olive loaf on stale bread. Funny how something you once loved can turn against you. Its not like I actually killed her, this time. At home we were welcomed by my dear sweet mother-in-law, sitting in my favorite chair sans right arm, sewing with her left. Hi Millie. Hello prison bitch hope you’re hungry. I quickly made my way to the kitchen to avoid her lovely improvement advice. In the fridge were over 100 packages of Olive Loaf. Sure hope she can knit with her teeth.

BRAD Z

Becoming a homeless being is the best way to observe anything in the universe. I have been observing the Earth this way for two cycles now.
Yesterday the Supreme Commander wanted to assisted me on an observation.
After five hours the Supreme Commander started getting hungry. We had no local currency to spend so we went to something called a soup kitchen. They had an excellent beef stew. Sadly, the olive loaf bread, killed the Supreme Commander.
Maybe the next planet will be safe for our kind.
Oh well, commence destruction of the Earth in five….four….three..two..one

EVA MOON

Bill leaned forward in his chair, trying to focus on the PowerPoint presentation, but the charts, graphs and bulleted lists blurred as if obscured by billowing clouds of flour.
The monolithic high-tech empire he’d built meant nothing to him. Secretly, he’d always wanted to be a baker – knead dough in his hands; make crust instead of code.
Nobody knew.
Graphs morphed into racks of hot baguettes. Pie charts turned into, well, pies. Even bullets on lists made him dream of olives dotting a fragrant loaf.
He stood up and walked out as they watched him go, openmouthed.
Nobody knew.

TOM

“Olive Loaf is the Twinkie of lunch meats,” descried Armond. “You want the muse to prevail or not?” repeated the shaman. Armond was desperate he had written a word in weeks which is why he dialed Shaman’s R Us. Mumbo Jumbo set the deli cutter to paper thin slices. He draped Armond’s face with Olive Loaf and told him to lie perfectly still and dream of his muse. In the morning the ER doctor finish the 40th stitch on Armond’s face. No midnight muse just one hunger cat with teeth and claws and a mean craving for cold cuts. Nardo!!!

JEFFREY

We tried everything. The Nukes didn’t touch them. The Chemical weapons, well they were a waste of time considering those suits they wear. But we tried them anyway and it killed half of us in the attempt. Then we tried talking to them. They liked that, but then they found out that we put olives in bologna, they decided we weren’t worth the effort. Since then the few of us that could escape the planet have been on the run. Who would have thought olive loaf would doom the planet, not the green house effect. Al Gore, raspberries to you.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The streets were as alive as downtown Marysville ever got. Jonah
watched them eat funnelcakes, scream on cheap rides, and play the
carnival games. The annual Olive Loaf Festival had not changed a bit.
He remembered trying to explain it to Mary before he came home.
“Small towns, they find something – anything – they can call their
own. Some reason to feel special.”
Her raised eyebrow had spoken volumes of sarcasm.
Back there he had been a nobody. Now, the festival crowd laughed and
swirled around him. Jonah held his picture of Mary and danced down
the street with them, smiling.

ALMO

I was mixing the ground meat to put into the loaf pan while Jimmy hovered over my shoulder.
“Mmmmfff?” he asked.
I snapped back, “What?”
“What are you doing?” he asked, his breath smelling like citrus, lips smacking irritatingly.
“Making something flashy for Christmas dinner,” I retorted, searching for the stuffing. “Where the hell are the red and green Jujubes?”
“Oops,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard.
I looked at him incredulously. “What am I going to do now?”
Jimmy pulled the olives from the shelf. “Here,” he said, “Red and green.”
Dumbfounded I asked, “Who on earth would eat olive loaf?”

JUSTIN

I ride through space on the back of an intergalactic and extraordinary space turtle. The turtle’s shell was cracked in a recent encounter with a group of thugs from the Macaroni Space Pirate League. The worst part is, after we disposed of the thugs in a nebula inhabited by the Cheese Mafia, to get to a planet with the supplies to repair the shell, first we’d have to pass through an asteroid belt. With an already damaged shell, this could be deadly. Worse was the fact that the asteroids were not made of rock and ore, but of olive loaf.

ANIMA

I can’t believe I trusted my brother (a butcher) when he invited me to “THE LOAF”…
I shoulda been paying attention, but I was already schussing through the alpine glades of the ski resort Sugarloaf in my mind.
I bought goggles, researched skis to demo… Hell, I even worked out at the gym…
Imagine my surprise as we buzzed past the exit…
Whoa Dave! – ya missed it!
Huh? Wha…? Sugarloaf??
Nah man, we’re headed to OLIVE LOAF… Best hamn deli convention on the east coast!
Oh well.
What I missed in moguls, I made up for with pastrami on rye….

PLANET Z

I, Baron Munchausen, do declare this latest adventure to be an unmitigated disaster.
Instead of banquets and parades, I find myself destitute and without my usual companions.
Even Bucephalus, my loyal steed, had run off to greener pastures.
You see, I was given a challenge by Catherine the Great, who’s hand in marriage I had the honor to refuse, to sail the oceans of wine to find islands of Gold and Silver cheese.
Instead, we found… Olive Loaf.
Not gold. Not Silver.
Plain Olive Loaf.
“At least it is not head cheese,” I said.
Catherine nodded, and ordered me beheaded.

Weekly Challenge #119 – Occupy

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Nineteen, 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man, and we went with Occupy.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

PLANET Z

The Martians came to liberate us from the Robot Army, but in the end, they just changed the letterhead on the occupation government memos and made things worse.
The pods on our necks itch worse than the identity chips made our palms itch.
Machines lay unattended as we head to the fields, planting the crops our new overlords command us to grow.
“To solve world hunger,” they say.
Have you eaten recently?
Neither have I.
The air is changing. Sunsets are redder. Martians have been seen going around without their breathing masks.
And our aching throats are starting to burn.

LUNETTE

I occupy a small space inside the skull of a human female. I’ve been experimenting on her. I attempted to interface with her nervous system, but it was just a hopeless mess.
Eventually, however, I was able to take control of her fingers and her eyes under certain limited conditions. For example, when she’s seated in front of a computer, she becomes totally distracted, and then I can make her look wherever I want and type whatever I want her to say.
Tonight, I’m attempting, for the first time, to take control of her larynx. So, is it working? Can you hear me?

GUY DAVID

Words of sadness are to occupy this space and time. I have grown weary of my travels, has occupied no home. The road is dusty, and so am I, the dust of time has covered me like a blanket, keeps me cold at night, as my sleep is occupied by haunted dreams, tormented dreams.
To you I’m but a shadow, that thing in the corner you wouldn’t touch with a stick, maybe toss a quarter, just to ease your conscience, maybe get rid of some useless change, but I’m alive, yes I’m alive, just to annoy you, I’m still here.

STEVEN

She adjusts herself on the sheet. The technician straps her in and
steps out of the room. The table slides her towards the scanner’s
large ominous doughnut.
“Hold your breath,” the computerized voice says. A whir, then: “Breathe.”
They saw it first on the x-ray, the little dot now an invading force.
“Hold your breath.” Pause. “Breathe.”
It colonized one lung, lymph nodes, spleen. “Hold your breath. Breathe.”
This is what it must feel like to be Iraq, she imagines. “Hold your
breath.” Her bones ache with cellular Abu Gharibs and Basras. How
much has fallen?
“Breathe.”
“Hold your breath.”

PLANET X

Ah, another warm, lovely morning on the planet Xray.
My morning begins with the ritual of reading the newspaper along with one of my other daily rituals, occupying that little room down the hallway.
There the problem presents itself; I live in one of those cheap hotels on the edge of the spaceport. Of course it only has a common bathroom on each floor and I do so enjoy reading in a relaxing manner.
Despite the sign on the door that I occupy it, there’s always somebody that interrupts me, well, maybe I’ll leave them something to remember me by.

JEFFREY

“This is not what I have been trained for.” I said to Johnson in the other bunk.
“No basic training was a lot of screaming, “What are we going to do? Kill! Kill! Kill!”
“Yeah I remember that.” I said and we laughed.
“What about, What makes the grass grow? Blood! Blood! Blood!” He asked.
“Yeah I remember that too. they should have taught us What makes you sweat more? Occupy! Occupy! Occupy!” I said as we sat here in our tent sweat pouring from every spot on our bodies, wondering why we were, Johnson smiled but we didn’t laugh.

TOM

The Arnestos embraced on the platform. Despite his anger at Allan he knew the man did what was needed, and as such, vowed to learn from the ancient African avatar. At each jumppoint he would study their Books and make the proper adjustments to readjust to a transversing time line.
When the Cronomotive came to a rest Cervantes was greeted to the sound of 200 hands clapping. It reminded him of a, by now, ancient Buddhist joke, he smile, which only caused a louder volley of applause.
They handed him book four on its cover a gold plate read OCCUPY

MIKE

“Well, what about that ‘Superman’ movie, when Clark and the evil Superman merge?” demanded Frank.
“Nope,” countered Jeff. “First off, they weren’t the same person separated by time, they were the same person split apart. So, you could say he was just re-integrating.”
“The best film example I can think of is ‘Timecop’,” Jeff continued, “right near the end, when the Senator’s past and alternate-present selves touch. They kind of melt into each other, and then the whole mess just dissolves. Two objects cannot occupy the same space and time.”
“But, what about…?”
“Okay,” Jeff interrupted, “Take a car wreck…”

ANIMA

I wake from the nightmare in a clammy sweat.
It’s always the same… I have been traveling and I NEED to reach the terminal.
It’s usually a seedy third world country, but sometimes not.
Strangely, once inside, I find myself utterly alone: the other travelers have vanished.
The intercom is sputtering foreign gibberish.
I peer fruitlessly at each door I pass.
Finally, I spot it – that universal icon of relief…
Entering the tiled room, I see hundreds of 50s style stalls, turquoise blue, extending as far as the eye can see. Every indicator knob is in the red –
“OCCUPADO”

THOMAS

“What a piece of crap… desert, cactus, desert, snakes, desert, scorpions, more desert. And even more desert. Why we chose to occupy this ass end of the world is beyond me. We only came here to help the people and we end up annexing the whole stinkin’ place. This war was a waste if you ask me. Those damn invaders deserve this place. Sure, there is a little bit of gold out there in the hills, but our nation is wealthy enough. No good could possibly come from helping to liberate this god-forsaken land from that bastard, General Santa Anna.”

BRAD Z

Lost Cat
Each night I would lie in my bed waiting for Erwin to leave his workshop. I had been reading his work since I’ve lived with him. But now…this recent piece that he was working on… well… it was really concerning me…that’s when I noticed the steel box in the corner that had arrived this evening. Quickly I looked over todays writings…. To prove theory cat is to occupy box with poison and….
The next day a new sign was posted in the towns sqaure.
The sign read: Lost Cat, cat with collar. Please contact Erwin Schrödinger

JUSTIN

Have you even been in a public place, and suddenly you feel your bowels let go? It feels like you have to flatulate, but you know that if you do, you’ll spray paint your underwear and pants. You’ve got to hold on, walking as normal as possible, until you get to a restroom. Then when you get there, there are two stalls, both occupied. One has a parent and child, the parent talking the kid through the procedure. The other has a grunting person who really needs to give a courtesy flush. Hopefully the janitor likes cleaning up the sink.

Weekly Challenge #118 – The Voice

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighteen, 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 selected by Anima Zabaleta, and we went with The Voice.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Like jasmine, nighttime soft and delicate, heard in the sudden pause of a
dozen conversations.
Like curry, seasoning small talk into sublime soul sharing.
Like molasses, soft and comforting, though we’re “just friends”.
Like pure summer dew, innocent and clear kisses.
Like sugar, delicious and excruciatingly sweet.
Like butter, melting words enhancing our flavor.
Like yellow sliced cheese, once delightful, now blasé.
Like jalepeño, ferocious heat cursing stupid infidelities.
Like ice, a no-taste defined by cold, the absence of heat
Like copper, metallic aftertaste lingering long after the real thing is gone.
Like whiskey, hateful burning but never, ever enough.

MIKE

The interrogation had lasted for hours, seemingly, ‘unsatisfactory’ answers rewarded with increasingly strong jolts of electricity. Jeff writhed in pain.
The last charge had almost knocked him out.
“Tell me!” commanded the voice. “What did you pass to that agent?”
“I can’t say, and you’re supposed to put me on ‘The Box’, not fry me,” he screamed.
“You’re in a box; close enough,” replied the voice. A long sizzle, a longer scream.
Finally: “Tech data for the new radar.”
“Good,” said the voice, pleased. “We had to confirm the data’s validity. By the way – tell your CIA ‘Thanks!’ for us.”

TERRY TEE

Josh woke to the voice “tissue regeneration complete, blood pressure 120 over 68, pulse 55, thank you for using the Nightingale, Mk IV., have a nice day”
Easing the unit’s hatch open, Josh looked around the room, checking for signs of entry. Seeing none, his eyes went to the clock and stopped.
He had been in the med unit for three weeks, he hadn’t thought that the damage was that extensive on his first observation. Well, at least he has a purpose to survive now, if only to hunt down that little red beast that had tried to eat him

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa was podcasting about the simple things in life, all from his alien perspective. He started out small, not letting much slip out, afraid of being found out, both by his own people and by The Humans. As his listenership grew, his desire to have The Humans trust his little alcove of 118 migrating Chirapa grew even stronger, and he found his voice as a podcaster, a voice pleading for sanctuary, and people listened as his podcast became increasingly popular, and he was mistakenly recognized as a rising and ground breaking voice in fiction by both Sigler and Hutchins.

PLANET X

With the object it in my hand The Voice in my head said “It’s Right”
But I knew that it wasn’t right.
Again The Voice said, “It’s right and you know it”
No, it can’t be right, it just can’t, as far back as my grade school days
I knew it wasn’t right, but then maybe the voice was correct.
The voice said, “now you’re coming around to my way of thinking, it’s right”
Well, no hurt in trying.
Right 15,
now to the left past 15 to 35,
back right, back to 24,
With a click, the lock opened.

ANIMA ZABALETA

Serena, I’m taking off the bandages now… are you ready? Blink once for yes, twice for no…
OK
The Vox in a Box is your 47th procedure… You are arguably the most perfect person alive –
You’ve had all the classics – the tummy, tush, tata trifecta; a complete body lipo; collagen lip injections…..
I must say, of your rarer augmentations, the removable arm quick release and orbital gyros for improved eye rolling are some of my finest work….
Gently now…. Let’s hear how the Vox works. Now you’ll sing like Yma Sumac…
Damn Chinese instructions….
Well then dear, ready for #48?

ALMO

Long, thin fingers held the card to the light.
A green stroke ran down the middle of the white card. He passed it to the heavyset man on his right and said, “One for Richardson.”
He held the next card and saw a yellow stroke. He passed it to the pinched-looking man on his left. The pinched-looking man traced a blue marker over the yellow. He returned the card to the center man, who held it to the light to look at the green mark.
“One for Richardson,” he said, smiling. The Voice of the People would be heard again.

EVA MOON

Alan felt the 15-foot tall papier mache wizard head begin to tip dangerously. Everything had gone so well at dress rehearsal. He’d spent hours learning to manipulate the rods and strings that controlled the wizard’s eyes and mouth while speaking his lines into a mic. The mic was the best part: a special filter gave him The Voice – deep, resonant and superbly wizardy. But now it was opening night of The Wizard of Oz. The Redmond High School theatre was filled to capacity and disaster loomed. The head teetered precariously. Munchkins scrambled for cover.
“OH CRAP!” the voice boomed.

THOMAS MERKEL

“Hey! It’s about time you made your way back.” A familiar voice jarred Eddie back. Blinking rapidly, Eddie tried to get his bearings, remembering where he was. Eddie was… almost… but not quite… dead. Always slipping between life and death, and back again. He preferred death over life. The voice kept calling him back, refusing to let him rest in peace. Every time he thinks he’s finally made it, his mother’s voice calls him. He would kill her, but he listened to her enough on this side of existence. He just could not think of listening to her for eternity.

BRAD

Today is my day, you must pick me!
No no pick me
You both went last time
You know you want to pick me
Don’t pick her; we can’t handle another day like that.
Oh shut up, your days are horrific
I am the only one who knows, you must pick me
Everyone knows you know nothing
You are all a worthless infection to him, I banish you all
Shut up Fred
You can’t banish us you little shrew.
In the morning I often just go with the loudest voice for my personality pick of the day.

JUSTIN

That voice, that terrible, horrible voice. I have heard it ever since I came to this place. Strange creatures with odd, legs, come here and some sort of spawn comes from them. I am forced to help them carry their strange, bulky things for them. The voice is always speaking to me, driving me mad. Above, in the skies, those, things, are always there, screaming their blasphemous cries into the atmosphere. I cannot take it any more, the voice, it is driving me to madness! The voice, there it is… “The white zone is for loading and unloading passengers only.”

PLANET Z

The voice.
I wish I had never heard it.
And yet, now that I’ve heard it, I need it.
Nobody believes that I heard the voice.
They think I’m crazy.
But I’m not.
I heard it.
And it was beautiful.
Once you hear such a voice, everything else is noise. Ugly. Revolting.
That’s why I did what I did, and if you try to put me through the surgery to repair my ears, I’ll just drill deeper.
Now, everything’s quiet.
I think I like it that way.
And I’m ready to hear the voice when it speaks to me again.

Weekly Challenge #117 – Oil

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The file will be available shortly.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Seventeen, 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 selected by Tom, and we went with Oil.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

ANIMA

FAMILY MATTERS
Hiya Castor, I can’t talk, I’m getting ready for a date….
No, it’s not Hamgravy
No, not Brutus …
Not the sheik…. No, it’s not the movie producer… Eww not him – he was too greasy…
This guy’s soooo handsome, He’s a sailor! How I love a man in uniform…
I AM NOT A SLUT! That’s a terrible thing to say about your sister…
Yes, yes….I will tell Cylinda… yea, you still love her…. You really need to get over
her, big brother… how ’bout I set you up with one of my girlfriends?
YOU WOULD NOT GET A DISEASE!! You’re awful!!

BRAD Z

The Sam n Ella Calamity — Oil Issues
A dark viscous liquid dripped slowly into a large pool that had formed beneath the craft.
“Found the problem, crack in the crankcase.”
“Can you fix it?”
“Might take a while, I’ll need that oil can from the storage closet.”
“Ummm.”
“Umm what, we need the can in order to go.”
“The safety inspector removed it.”
“What!”
“Didn’t want to contaminate the area by accident he said.”
“We’re so screwed”
Vibrations reverberated around them as a herd of brontosaurs ran through the valley below.
“Maybe we can squeeze some oil out of them.”
“You know that’s a myth right?”

GUY DAVID

The sailor was suspended 20 feet above the deck in a cage. He recognized the growth on the banks of the sea, so he started swinging the cage, trying to get to a certain plant. He succeeded in cutting a piece of the plant with his pipe, but failed to catch it. It fell straight down where the thin tall woman caught it with her mouth. Immediately, her muscles flexed and she flew into the air, Matrix style, and landed the sailor a sucker punch. “Good one” laughed Bluto, then he strolled towards the sunset with his beloved Olive Oyl.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Jim nearly bounced in his cleansuit and waved the rest of the lab
over. He pointed at the display, where the genetically modified
amoeba was eating a grey dot and excreting a small black drop.
Everyone cheered, except Sandra. She was new, and was still learning
names and projects. Jim saw, and his gloved hands grabbed the
shoulders of her cleansuit.
“I’ve made an organism that eats plastic and excretes oil! It’s a
perfect recycler! The shortage is over!”
They were all so excited that they missed the black drop running down
the edge of the lab’s plastic air seals.

TOM

Little Earl loved oil. Probably got it from Big Earl or maybe Old Earl. In the panhandle the people say the oil is in the blood. If it was in there Little Earl hadn’t a clue. He was only six and the gurgling black crude that set his progenitors’ hearts a fire wasn’t the color that delighted his young heart. Little Earl drove Big Earl crazy asking when it was going to rain. “When it comes we’ll all go down to the Kmart,” said Old Earl. Little Earl loved the oil puddles in the parking lot. They made rainbows.

EVAMOON

She turned in bed and glanced at the clock. 3 am. She sighed. Why hadn’t she listened to her mother’s warning never to fall for a sailor? Always out on that rickety fishing boat and he barely made enough to feed his family. But there was always enough for his habit: That evil green weed. She’d begged him to give it up, but he kept sucking down can after can of his “spinach.”
She thought of running off with that dark-haired man who was always after her.
“Oh stop,” she scolded herself, “Olive Oyl, you know you’ll never leave him.”

THE GREAT HITES

And not a drop to drink
“Albert! You aren’t drilling another well are you?”
“Ma, you know we got to find some. We are going dry here. It is about darn time we had our own supply.”
“But Albert, you ain’t had nothing but bad luck with that in the past, and look at the state our yard is in.”
“This time will be different.”
“That is what you said the last few times and look where it gotch ‘ya.”
“Would you please lay off ma?”
“No, we need water to drink and all you keep doing drilling is oil.”

THOMAS MERKEL

“Whoa, what did your mother feed you?” Justin said to Melody, his new baby.
“What the?…” he thought. “Note to self. Next time I get a hazmat suit.”
Gently wiping her bottom, he calmed her while stating the obvious, “Clean and dry.”
He surveyed his surroundings. Babies need way more stuff than I ever imagined. Just stuff. Baby powder…baby wipes…baby lotion…and baby oil.
“Baby oil!” His thoughts raced into overdrive.
She just wanted a massage. Right. One thing led to another and… Voile!
Baby.
Those bottles should really come with a warning label: “Caution: Can cause babies!”

JUSTIN

The necromancer raised his robed arms, gnarled hands pointing towards
the void between stars. Purple light snaked from his mouth with evil
incantations. The purple light encircled headstones. Earth acquiesced
to rising dead. Dusty moans and bony chattering marched towards the
stronghold.
Bony soldiers advanced, bones creaking, arrows loosed from the walls
of the stronghold. The shafts passed through ribs or glanced off
hardened skulls. By magic, they climbed the walls. Boiling oil was
poured, covering the skeletons. The bones were turned black and the
old joints ceased creaking. They sealed their doom by unwittingly
creating black, silent ninja skeletons.

ALMO

“Well, that’s the last barrel,” said one of the last two employees at the last oil refinery on Earth. “That’s all there is.”
“The people from the Smithsonian will be here soon to collect it,” said his partner, inhaling the gassy aroma for the final time. It brought back memories of tigers in your tank, winged horses, shells.
“So, what do you want to do while we wait,” the first man asked.
The second got a manic teenage grin.
They siphoned 20 gallons from the last barrel of gasoline that would ever be and they practically sprinted toward the Camaro.

HOUSTON

The jet black slicked back pompadour of Vinnie’s shone with its
brilliant luster. It was his pride, his source of power.
The other Jets used to tell him if an Arab could sink an oil well into
his hair they could pump out enough oil to run Jersey for two, three
years. Exxon had nothing on Vinnie Baggodonuts and he and the other
Jets ran wild and free in the streets.
One dark night in Brooklyn, the sharks caught him outside his turf
after dark, and with a shiny new Zippo they lit him up like a Kuwaiti
oil well.

CRAIG

I turned the bottle on its head, gurgle gurgle is all it said.
Receiving it’s taste I give thanks to the Italian mystery.
Olive oil in my veins swirling then merging with life.
I’m insane in my big leather chair pouring Carapelli down my chest.
The oil spreads out pooling in my lap, slowly covering jeans in green.
Olive oil in my veins becoming my life, but not my wife.
Drip, drip, the IV serves the earthy elixir, slowly eons of dust circulates in my heart.
I become one with the peasants, skin wrinkling, vision waning, mouth drying.
Olive oil.

PLANET Z

They followed the Yellow Brick Road out of the fields into the forest.
“Oil! Oil!”
Dorthy and the Scarecrow stopped.
There was a man made of metal by the side of the road. And in his hand, an axe.
“What should we do?” she asked.
The Scarecrow looked the man up and down.
“He’s made of tin,” he said. “Let’s haul him to the salvageyard.”
The Salvageman of Oz paid them fifty bucks.
“Fifty bucks!” she laughed. “We sure aren’t in Kansas anymore!”
They took a cab to Emerald City, avoiding the big pussy and sleepy field of poppies altogether.

Weekly Challenge #116 – Popular Mechanics

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixteen, 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 selected by Tom of Footnote, and we went with Popular Mechanics.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The wrench flies from the engine, close enough that I taste flecks of
rust. Grandfather yells, a balding series of spheres in the front
seat. I already know I’m worthless, thanks. I wipe the grease onto
my ruined shirt, he dabs a pressed handkerchief at his forehead.
The wrench and my hand slide back in. It – he won’t identify it –
must be held just so. The key cranks, washing the smell of exhaust
and gasoline over me.
The car roars to life. He lumbers inside, shouting how he fixed the car.
The wrench smashes a beautiful music through the windshield.

JEFFREY

Going Down with the Ship
The sirens Rang out all over the ship.
“What the hell is going on?” The captain asked over yet another explosion.
“Sir, we seem to be having some problems,” The engineer answered with a sheepish smile on his face.
“I’m getting that feeling, can you be a bit more specific?”
“Well sir, that is a problem, see the book does not mention anything like this.”
“What book? What are you talking about?”
“The book, the one that I get all the ideas from.”
“Show me this book,” he pulled out an ancient looking magazine. The title barely legible, ‘Popular Mechanics.

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa was reading an edition of Popular Mechanics. It amused him how human technology resembled early Chirapa technology, but failed to capture some of the essence that was the heart of that technology. He was especially amused by Jay Leno’s Garage. The view of the famous television show host seemed to be especially distorted and misinformed. The laws of mechanics would bent in his column into a new shape altogether. Chaketo Chirapa had no illusions about Chirapa technology though, and he often mused in his podcast about the way Chirapa science and technology would advance in the foreseen future.

THOMAS

The Saga of the Carson Brothers Body Shop
Fred and George Carson were the most popular mechanics in the tri-state area. They weren’t the kind to fix automobiles, or even young ladies in low budget pornos. They fixed bodies.
The dollars rolled in as their fame grew. The rich, the very rich, and the damned, sought the young brother’s services: limb augmentations, neural transmitters, ocular replacements. Everything was coming up roses, albeit genetically enhanced ones. Eventually, the enhancements stopped working and people started dying, realizing too late the energizer bunny doesn’t live forever.
Quietly, the brothers flew to Cancun and retired…sorry, but richer…a lot richer.

MARY EDITH

Cleaning out grandma’s attic was like going back in time. In the corner was a Popular Mechanics from 1902!
Inventions:
-The Vacuum Cleaner: Will it lead to uppity home-makers?
-The Submersible: What leviathans of the deep await?
Opinion section:
-Alternating Current- a death-trap in every home T. Edison
Interviews:
-Robert Falcon Scott on new Horse-Based Vehicles vs. primitive dog sleds in the race to the South Pole
-Roosevelt’s Gun Cabinet: The president guides us through his collection from the Winchester Moose Whacker to the ladylike Beretta Butterfly Blunderbuss
And slipped between the pages? An article rejection letter! Poor Grandpa Tesla.

ROBERT

She gets crazy sometimes, with these machines; like you couldn’t drag her away, but what’s to do?
She made this little robot with pigtails and a bright bunched up face just like hers, and took it to school for show and tell, and the thing told the story of it’s life, which was like two days long, beginning with it’s slick metal brain being screwed, finally, into place. I guess everybody loved the thing, because Sarah came home, alone again, and without a word went back to her tiny pink laboratory, the door closing smoothly, ending with a “snick”.

JUSTIN

Lenny fixed everyone’s car. The competitor, Charles, had to close shop
because Lenny’s such a popular mechanic. Charles is still bitter.
Lenny used to swear constantly. Even a slight bang on his knuckles
would get him cursing. When his wife gave birth to their baby, he made
the promise to stop cussing as best as he could. He still cursed at
work sometimes when something really bad happened.
One day while Lenny was working under a car, Charles knocked the jack
out from under with a sledge hammer. The car fell, crushing Lenny’s
legs.
“Aw Charles, still peeved are you?”

ANIMA

POPULAR QUANTUM MECHANICS
Uncertain about your uncertainty principle?
Then you need Popular Quantum Mechanics
The magazine that explains the unexplainable.
Learn how to play the ponies in a parallel universe and win!
Surfing tips for finding the break in your wave formation.
Bonus Blueprints! Diagrams for decks using Planck’s Constant!
Popular Quantum Mechanics.
Where it doesn’t count until you’re out of options.
Looking for something a little lighter, try the subsubcompact “Nanotech News”, where smaller is bigger and a thousand copies fit on the head of a pin.
Popular Quantum Mechanics and Nanotech News, available at W.H. Smith, in all the finer Cosmodromes

SOUGENT 1

As he lay there, all he could think of was the initiation that was to
happen tonight.
It was an exclusive group, almost a secret society. Only the best of
the best got an invite, he’d worked his entire life to prepare, to be
the best so that one day he could be part of the elite.
His father was a member, and his father before him, to fail wasn’t an
option for him, he’d disgrace the family if he failed.
Was he ready? Yes, absolutely.
It’s time….. after tonight, he’d be a member of the Brotherhood of
Popular Mechanics.

SOUGENT 2

When I was a kid I used to go over to my Grandfathers house and he had
a whole stack of Popular Mechanics magazines from the 50’s and 60’s.
I used to spend hours and hours reading them.
I especially liked the articles on the flying submarine, and how to
build your own 30 foot sailboat. And then there was the article
about the what future would be like in the 21st century, the time
we’re living in now.
It didn’t get much right, except for the clothing, that they got
right. Too bad, I really wanted a flying car.

TOM

Mrs. Manicotti complained about a gurgling sound in the back end of her car. Mrs. Genivalce keep hearing a sound sort of like a screaming cat coming from her trunk. Mrs. Leonie hadn’t an idea where the noise was coming from but Rudy of Miracle Automotive always listened politely to the old women’s explanations, went about the task at hand. With a 100mm spanner rapped in a towel Rudy or one of his sons successfully ending the noise. In Little Italy they were very Popular Mechanics.
On the way to the Jersey landfill Rudy thought how threemorsongatastic his job was.

PLANET Z

Break time!
No, I’m not gonna hang out with the losers in the metal shop and the geeks in the datacenter. Ugh!
I’m gonna hang out with the popular mechanics in the repair shed.
Oh, Johnny, the way he sets that oscilloscope. Make my heart beat faster! Faster!
Bobby’s got the coolest flip-top googles. Brings out the blue in his eyes. Totally rad.
And Dave oh, Dave the way he strips and degreases an engine. I wish he’d do that to me some time.
What? It’s two?
Break’s over. Oh well.
I hate work. This place is so high school.

Weekly Challenge #115 – Exam

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fifteen, 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man, and we went with Exam.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

TOM

The last eight undergrads hovered near the TA. Only two of them would by merit of the final exam be fasttracked into Stanford”s master program. Professor Marquette wasn”t on campus but the old man”s presence dominated the Art complex. His finals were brutal 600 to 1000 question an all day affair frown on by administration but gladly endured by the student body. Ruby handed out the bound envelopes with the test. To the horror of the codray a single sheet of paper with a single line of type.
Takashi Murakami”s My Lonesome Cowboy art or not?

JOHN B

The dampening field was playing havoc with my cochlear implant. You would think the Bar would be more trusting of it”s future paying members. The #2 pencil/transmitter was barley getting my signal out. Three days of trying to gleam answers through the static was driving me crazy. Last night I thought I had figured out a work around, but now I realized I should have spent the time studying orbital property rights, or getting a stronger amp. However, after two prior legitimate attempts, I needed an edge. This time I was going to pass and become an honest lawyer.

JEFFREY

The exam meant the difference between freedom and life long imprisonment. The problem, no one knew what it was. So we stood there in line and waited our turn while our imaginations ran wild. I watched men as hard as rocks melt, blubbering before the questioner. In all my time in the line I had only seen one person volunteer for the test. The door opened and shut, and he was gone.
Then it was my turn, “Take the exam?”
“Yes.” he point to the door.
As it shut behind me a voice said. “You are free to go.”

ELLY

I”d been dreading and looking forward to this day since I had turned sixteen. Sleep the night before, I made sure wasn”t an option thanks to my insanely expensive 13 shot venti soy hazelnut vanilla cinnamon white mocha with extra white mocha and caramel drink. I obsessively studied over the driving manual like my Grandma and her monthly subscription of TV guide. Keeping, in mind not to miss anything really important, I hadn”t realized how deadly of a mix my drink was and on the morning of the exam, I ended up in the emergency room instead of the DMV.

THOMAS

Marshall stood before the searing gaze of the Pyrogenic Magus Council. He had tested twice and failed, this time he had to pass. He needed to be a pyromancer. He spread his arms. His hands blackened and fused, (proof of his earlier failures), burst into flames. He worked the twelve forms of the Incendiary Codec, with ease. A smile passed over the half of his face that still had muscle control, after acing the oral examination. Grimacing, he started the Technique du Mastere. Marshall formed a majestic golden flaming serpent, which coiled around Marshall reducing him to ash. Three strikes…

GUY DAVID

It was time for our exam. Our teacher seated himself and watched silently, patiently as we snuggled and kissed, preparing ourselves. I slowly slipped my hand down, to fast? Our teacher was stoned faced. I couldn’t discern from his expression if I was going the right way, so I continued down my partner’s body looking for the right spots. She moaned. I found it. Clothes started shedding, as we got more and more excited. We forgot our teacher and dove into ecstasy.
Much later, when we where completely relaxed in the afterglow, our teacher said we did well. We passed.

POND NITELY

Max whistled tunelessly to himself, grinning as he leapt over the bike rack and raced up the stairs.
“I’m home!!” he shouted, throwing his knapsack on the couch and settling in front of the TV. “Those losers” he thought to himself. Scottie and Jimbo were still at school, for a study session for the exam. Pfft. Max had used his after school time more wisely weeks ago; the cupboard doorlock was easy to pick, a quick snick with his cell, and all the multiple choice answers were his!
It hadn’t even beeen that hard to memorize the answers; ABADCADAFABFADABADDADAACC; piece of cake. Maybe best to get one or two wrong, just to be safe.
The next morning Max winked at his buddies as the papers were being handed out, face down. He picked up his pencil smiling…A.B.A.D… ” Alright class, you may begin.” Max flipped his paper and stared, his face falling as he read: For this year’s exam, please compose a one hundred word narrative on the following topic: “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a piniata costume?”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

She collects the fee from the nightstand. He rubs his ring finger,
counting ribs as her shirt slides over them.
“I gotta run,” she says. “I have a exam in biology to study for.”
“I had an exam at the hospital yesterday,” he blurts.
She giggles. “What grade did you get?”
He remembers the scan full of unexpected metastatic dots.
“They don’t give grades.” He hopes his smile seems natural.
After she leaves, he rolls upright, lights a cigarette – why stop now?
– and stares at the door. He opens the nightstand drawer, removes the
book, and desperately begins to cram.

EVA MOON

She stood in his office, looking hopeful and impossibly young, exam clutched in her hands.
“Professor Newman, I just can’t fail this class.” When he didn’t respond, she leaned provocatively over the desk, “I’d to anything for a A,” she breathed.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, “Anything?”
A sly smile far beyond her years curled her lips. “Anything.”
“Try studying.”
In an instant the smile turned sour.
After she left he tapped her name into the university computer, out of curiosity.
Last quarter’s grades: C-, C, D, A
He laughed. The A was in Ethics.

ALMO

James stood bare-chested and barefoot in front of the monk.
The snow turned his feet nearly purple. A dark, angry wound glared red from his shoulder. He neither shivered nor flinched.
His eyes were red-rimmed and his skin was loose, showing the effects of the monthlong test of solitude on the harsh mountain.
“You have done well phyi rgyal,” the monk said flatly, using the Tibetan word for foreigner. “All that is left is the written exam. You will be one with our spirit.”
“Exam?” James said incredulously. “Screw this. I’m not taking any written test. Those things are hard.”

CALEB

Mr. Johnson it”s a good thing you finally came in for your exam. You know Prostate Cancer kills a handful of men each year. Now there”s nothing to be alarmed about. I”m going to demonstrate the whole procedure before we begin. First you”ll pull down your pants like this and then bend over. Now you reach back and take each cheek in one hand and pull. Now do you see how open that is? You can see Tierra Del Fuego from here. See? It”s ok to look.
Now you just take one of these and then”
Hey come back here!

JUSTIN

Ok, let’s see here, a podcast where anyone can submit a 100 word
story. Hmm, an entry exam? Let’s see… Can you count to one hundred?
Yes. Do you have a computer microphone? Yes. If no, go buy one you
cheap jerk! Rude… Check all that apply: Are you Sick, demented, a
zombie, have a hard to pronounce name, or tasteless. Uh… One more.
What would you do if you were face to face with a dragon and all you
had was… what the crap? Heck with this. Maybe I’ll try ipodjacker
podcast. Maybe it’s not done by a retard.

JERRY D

“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, are you ready?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. White, did you bring with you a number two pencil?”
“Yes, I brought two of them just in case, and please, call me Jerry.”
“I am so sorry, Mr. White, you score will be reduced by 15% for not following instructions”
“What do you mean 15%, that’s not fair!”
“Mr. White, you were given full and complete instructions.”
“You were to bring one number two pencil.”
“One more infringement of the instructions and you will be dismissed with a grade of zero.”
“Mr. White.”
“Yes.”
“Why are you naked?”
Scream……….

ANIMA

Carl worked the women alone, especially the pretty ones. They couldn’t talk back, or complain” Outside, the sun was setting”
“Jayne Doe, Caucasian female, aged 25 to 30”
“Skin, pallid and cool, “Cause of death” Possible exsanguination? ” No apparent gross body injury .”
“Lovely”, he murmured, stroking her marble white cheek.
“Heh” small puncture wound on the neck” make that 2″
With the jab of the measuring probe, Elenas’ eyes flash open. She grabs the examiner, dragging him near.
“So you like dead girls? Exit solus, dear doctor.” she thinks, sinking her razor sharp teeth into his neck.

PLANET Z

The call is full of static. I barely hear the account and password, but after a few tries I type them into the system and look up his trouble ticket.
“What does this ‘exam’ mean?” he says in a thick Arabic accent. “Why broken?”
I swear, I can hear… gunfire?
“It’s ‘exim’ not ‘exam,'” I say. “cPanel uses exim as a mail handler.”
“I know not comptuers!” he shouts “We pay you! Fix it! Fix it no-”
I hear an explosion, and the line goes dead.
Goddamned terrorist.
I guess that fucker didn’t know the safe handling of explosives either.

Weekly Challenge #114 – What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fourteen, 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 selected by Justin, and we went with What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

STEPHEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The head writer’s litany began the same as it had all week.
“Sharks. Piranaha. Tigers. Bullets. Female ninjas. Male ninjas.
That guy who chomped things. Beheading hats. Booby traps. Even
frickin’ lasers. The franchise is done. What else could 007 face?”
“He could face,” Justin said, while I cringed and sank into my chair,
“a dragon while he had nothing but a Boy Scout Handbook and a Pi”ata
costume.”
The stuff we took at last night’s party had not been THAT potent.
“This isn’t MacGyver, dammit,” the lead writer yelled.
Then we locked eyes and shouted it together.
“A team-up!”

TOM

What would I do if I found myself
face to face with a dragon and
all I had was a boy scout handbook
and a pinata costume?
Well I”d square my feet
raise my head and proudly say:
So! Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though?
They’re all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.
I”d shoot candy from my butt,
embrace my moral straightness
and waddle as fast as could for the exit.

MIKE

I opened the Boyscout Handbook. Oath? Yeah, I know one – more”n one – and if the dragon catches me in the open, I”ll say “em all. Hmmm, Table of Contents.
Badges? I don”t need no stinking badges! First Aid? Can”t fix “dead”. Ahhh – Outdoor Adventures!
Quickly, I stuffed three lighter refills down the sheep pi”ata”s throat, tied twine to a foreleg, ran it around a nearby tree and… a rush of wind and the dragon was there. I yanked the twine and the “sheep” lurched. The dragon pounced, swallowed and, five seconds later, blew up.
This better be a great fraternity.

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa knew what he had to do. He put on his cloaking device and went to the store. The salesperson had his head buried in some comic book with dragons in pi”ata costumes. He might as well have been reading a boyscout handbook. It was so easy. Chaketo Chirapa took what he needed, put it under his cloaking device and went back underground, where his people where singing their Chirapa songs.
Back in his room, he hooked everything, turned it on and said: “I am Chaketo Chirapa, I am an alien from another planet, and this is my podcast.”

JUSTIN

The boyscout handbook sat open on the ornate vanity below the mirror. Scattered strands of crape paper are scattered about, one in the book marking the page on birthday parties. The ancient dragon stares at her red face in the mirror. Her golden eyes glinted with machinations of a brilliant plan. Her stomach rumbled with angry pangs of hunger. Piece by piece she donned and assembled the pinata costume that was big enough for her whole body. She would fly to the party, lay in waiting, then when the first boy struck her, when they all expected candy, dinner time!

THOMAS

His piercing golden eyes stared, impatient, hungry. “I’m a little bit hungry here, can we please speed things up a little?”
My tail encircled the struggling woman’s ankles, holding her aloft, her brightly colored dress falling around her looking like a large overstuffed pi?ata.
“Just give me a few more moments.” I told him.
I’d been gazing at a boy scout field guide looking for just the right cooking technique. He liked his humans always the same, but I was getting bored and wanted some new recipe.
“Come on, I’m starving.” He whined.
“Fine, tartare again.” Patience isn’t his virtue

ANIMA ZABALETA

I’m an Eagle Scout, but nothing in my scout handbook prepared me for this”
My trusty book covers such things as killing large animals with a Bowie knife”. Earned the badge in Webelos.
Lookey’re: Blueprints for a survival raft out of ocotillo staves and spider webs” I built variation C at Jamboree.
Page 35. Here’s instructions for cooking Chili Mac in a turtle shell.
But there’s nary a word about this”
Steeling my courage, I turn a deliberate 360, look the Dragon directly in the eye, and ask,
“Lai Choi San, does this pi”ata costume make my ass look fat?”

EVA MOON

She stared at the screen. Who were they kidding? A boyscout handbook? A pinata costume? How on earth would those things help you with a dragon?
“I swear, hon, they’ve really lost it this time.”
“Let it go, Alma.”
“I hate this! It’s impossible and it pisses me off that I won’t get a story in this week.”
She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “Want me to blast ’em for you?”
“No, no.” She reached up and stroked the familiar, scaly claw that curled gently around her shoulder.
“I give up. Take me flying, baby.”

MICHELLE

Early Monday afternoon newly formed Boyscout Troop 714, from Detroit Michigan, was planning a simple Fourth of July party, Mexican style. A quick meeting in the park suddenly turned to tragedy when the dragon struck yet again.
Volunteer parent, Janet Turner, was the only survivor of the attack. Troop leader, Melinda Cox, was heralded as a hero for using a pinata costume and distracting the dragon long enough for Janet to escape by building an airplane, according to directions found in the boyscout handbook, and flying away. The plane crashed, killing the other sixteen parents onboard.

MARY EDITH

Pi”ata? Check. Dragons circling in the distance? Check. I called the troop over.
“OK boys, we’ll have a roaring fire in no time! Everyone find a good weenie roasting stick?” But as I demonstrated proper whittling technique they fell back screaming! I felt a breath of steam on my back. I whirled.
When I regained consciousness, the fire hissed and popped with drippings from a brisket so big it took three boys to turn the spit.
Those Boy Scouts– always prepared!

PLANET X

When Daphne was fourteen she thought she loved Laurence so very much.
She would stop him everyday to ask him questions like, “What is a girl suppose to do when she knows her destiny is to marry someone and he won’t even acknowledge her existence?”
Always, Laurence would just stare with a blank face.
But it was when he finally answered her questions with “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”,
that she knew that Laurence was only full of crap.

TERRY TEE

Some great stories start out like Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities with “It was the best of time, It was the worst of times”
Or even classics like Poe’s The Raven, with “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,”
But only Larry Snodcrapper would come up with a beginning like “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?” in his story, I was a teenaged podcaster.

SOUGENT

Jimmy tugged at his outfit, “itchy” he mumbled. “Hold still”, his
mother admonished as she finished closing up the back.
“We spent a lot of time making this pinata costume, I don’t want you
tearing it up right away”.
“I won’t Mom”, Jimmy replied. “Where’s my boyscout handbook?”
“Right here”, his mother said, handing him the book.
Jimmy took the handbook and dashed out to his meeting.
When he arrived, all the other boys were milling around.
Suddenly, in strides a rather large dragon causing the boys to freeze in place.
“Hello Scoutmaster Digsby!!” all the young dragons shouted.

CALEB

The mood was set. She had candles burning, incense too. She had slipped into something more comfortable and looked radiant. We were sipping champagne and feeding each other ranier cherries. I was sure it was time. My heart skipped a beat when she wanted to play truth or dare. I said truth. And so she asked, “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”
I shook my head. Packed my things and left. Rather get my cherries popped by her sister anyway.

LAIEANNA

“Are you taking this seriously?” Lulu’s lawyer asked, pointing at Morris’s pi”ata costume.
“This keeps me in good spirits during these trying times,” Morris said.
“Mr. Gritter, we’re here to discuss the details of your divorce. I strongly recommend you retain an attorney.”
Morris touched his tattered, old boy scout handbook, “I’ve always lived by the honor and rules of this book. It’s my lawyer. Besides, I’m not looking for a divorce,” he met Lulu’s keen eyes, “just some changes in our relationship.”
The lawyer motioned to continue; Lulu’s ears flicked in anticipation.
“Just stop eating my family and friends.”

PLANET Z

A dragon tattoo on his chest, a bottle in his hand.
“Get back in the basement, you little fucker,” growled Frank.
Frank married Mom last year, then she overdosed.
Goodbye Mom, hello pain.
The basement was full of junk and cockroaches – somehow, Bobby survived.
He read his torn-up Boy Scout Handbook, wore rags and busted pinatas when his old clothes rotted away.
He found a knife. Scraped it sharp.
Above, laughter. Shouting. Something shatters. Screaming.
Then, silence. Frank was asleep.
No more of this. Tonight, escape or die trying.
Shadows, creeping slowly. Raising the knife.
Bobby slew the dragon.

Weekly Challenge #113 – Purity

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirteen, 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 selected by ArminasX, and we went with Purity.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

JUSTIN

We exist in the most pure, simple state we can. We choose not to stand out with looks and keep it to the standard, basic color: gray. We avoid all the needless accessories that so many of our kind have, such as lasers, rockets, and blade arms. We run on the simplest form of energy, rechargeable batteries. We stick to wheels and don’t use hover plates. We even forgo transistors and use basic circuit boards and vacuum tubes. Others of our kind make fun, call us outmoded. We pay no processing power to this. We are proud to be robo-Amish.

GUY

Oh, the purity of salmon, done with just enough olive oil and a hint of coriander. Tom would give us another tasty culinary footnote, then Elisson would bring the whiskey, and the party would begin. Terrence would bring his friend Raoul to play around while Laieanna, the belly dancer would give us her best dance, Caleb would add the twist of the twisted and Daphne would take us right down to the sewage, then, the idiot in chief would appear with all his cogs spinning and the dish would be truly ready for upload. Another weekly challenge would be posted.

MIKE

Quality Control’s a real pain, the owner reflected, recalling the chain of events that had led to this. Due to record demand, the backup system had been brought into production. Feeling the pressure, the supervisor had only inspected each filtration seal, not replaced them as directed. The last one failed, sending contaminant downline, and an alert operator had hit the emergency shunt. The company guaranteed 99.5% purity – well above the industry norm; had the contaminant reached the main storage vats, the consequences would have been beyond imagining.
Another whipcrack and scream echoed through the room. Yep – QC’s a real pain.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Snowflakes float lazily as she begins shouting. I do not fight back,
and this infuriates her. Crystalline water sparkles in angled
sunlight, like the shining stone in her ring that bounce bounce
bounces on the floor.
She leaves tire tracks in the driveway, a bit of rubber on the street.
Her suitcase, her car are gone, and so is she.
Fat wet flakes fall, coating my hair in age, weariness, fear. They
come down down down and fill in the tracks with a coat of purest
white.
For a little while, I can forget. For a little while, I pretend.

TOM

Purity has taken a serious hit during the latter 20th century. Its became the plutonium of discourse. None the less it best describes that which is best. The distillation of the raw to the refined. The purity of pen is Mont Blanc. Its weight gives substance to the stroke. Perfectly balanced and contoured to the task at hand. I am partial to the gold nib over the silver but I”m a purest when it comes to glide. The latest of the line is the cobalt blue StarWalker. Image a $400 ballpoint pen the good Sisters of Mercy are wailing somewhere in penmanship purgatory.

SISTER MARY EDITH

My story centers on my own purity, or lack thereof.
Some of you may remember me as Sister Mary Edith. Alas, I’ve been defrocked, which isn’t as much fun as it sounds. It was a routine clergy-net sweep for kiddy porn that turned up my brief fling with 100 word stories. I was cast out, and my pc exorcised by the Cardinal himself, which is why, when Lawrence played my mp3, pure silence. On the upside, did you know exorcism completely uninstalls Windows Millennium Edition(R)?
A year later, I’ve found my new calling. You can call me Scout-Master Mary Edith.

THOMAS

The priest droned as the crowd murmured. With their sins absolved, the village would be pure once more.
Ena stood before the cold obelisk, trembling… resolved. Purer than the sacrifices before her. No evil thought or deed found purchase in her soul. This fact made her ideal to remove the sins of her peers.
The priest recited the ancient text, knife raised asking his god’s blessing on this sacrifice. Then motioned Ena to kneel.
As the knife came down, crimson lightning issued from the obelisk, killing the priest, and the ogling crowd. Ena walked quietly away; the village pure again.

SOUGENT

Back in January 1919, I was a traveling salesman and I had just made a big sale down in Beantown and was walking down the street to a bar I’d spotted earlier ta get a sip of whiskey when all of a sudden I hear a rumbling sound down the street in the direction of the Purity Distilling Company and the ground started shaking.
I looked and there was this big old wave of molasses coming straight for me, so I did the only thing a body could do…..
I hopped on and body surfed that sucker clear across town.

POND NITELY

“Hope”
“No”
“Faith”
“No”
She sighed.
“How about Grace?”
“Uh uh”
The newspaper in his hands, a wall between the two of them, rattled as he shook his head.
“Prudence? Patience?”
“No, no and no!
What is with the goofy names, I don”t want our daughter running around with a tag like Prudence.
And do we have to talk about this tonight, I”m just bagged””
She sighed.
“I read today that the Puritans named their children after virtues to give them strength. I really want to give our child the best start possible in this uncertain world.”
He sighed and turned the page. His wife used to read the Wall Street Journal, now the coming baby ruled her focus completely. He peered over the paper.
“Well if you want to give her a good start, how about a name that suits the new millennium, not some outdated ideal. Why don”t we call her Cynicism, or maybe Apathy.”
“I”m not even going to dignify that with a reply”
Several breaths worth of pause, and…
“Chastity? Charity?”
He folded the paper, rubbed his temples and mentally reached for the white flag, waiting.
“Purity?”
“Fine”
Poor kid.

ANIMA

Vitaly had some, and I needed it, bad.
It had been days ” the brainfog was settling in” News on the vidscreen was sounding
plausible.
Come on Vitaly, I whine. Scanning the room, I spy the scarred PIOSK bottles. I know
you fired up the Elektron yesterday. Liquid’s better, but chemical will do.
Vat have you trade?
A foil of pop tarts and six Twinkies”.
Prakhaldna ” 10 minutes.
How about liquid?
Chevo? ‘K ” 5 minutes.
Inhaling, the purity of the O2 hits my brain better than anything I remember.
I wheeze again, growing sharper and more cynical with each passing moment.

In the beginning we were driven out from the garden.
Latter we were driven across the face of the earth.
At last we were driven into the sky and across the universe.
In all times and places we searched for what had been lost.
The void between the stars, our last hope.
For eons we searched in the darkness of that void.
And then we found the Children of the Light.
We saw that they had what we had lost and then we understood.
So, in our terrible rage we killed them all.
Once lost, purity can not be regained.

PLANET X

The oldest house in our neighborhood was always the center of activity, in it lived the pastor of the local church.
Purity, the pastor’s daughter, was always prim and proper, an example for the neighborhood.
When they moved, the house sat empty for a very long time, until Purity bought it for her family.
Soon, Purity had her own daughters living with her, each were very pretty, and had names like, Charity, Destiny, Faith, and Grace.
And her mission was so much like her step-father’s, to provide a little heaven for each of their visitors, twenty bucks at a time.

PLANET Z

The quest for genetic purity has been the foundation for the greatest evils throughout history.
Disposing of those deemed imperfect, flawed, or inferior.
However, sometimes it can be a good thing.
Take Nardo the cat as an example. He’s the perfect specimen of Ginger Classic Tabby in all regards except for one minor detail ” he’s a polydactyl.
Those thumbs cost him a life of poking, prodding, and harassment at cat shows.
Instead, he got dumped at a shelter. My ex girlfriend picked him out, she moved to California, and left him with me.
He’s not perfect. Then again, who is?

Weekly Challenge #112 – Whiskey

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twelve, 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 selected by Elisson, and we went with Whiskey.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

ARMINASX

Whiskey was not a great online player, but good enough. I’d beaten him several times. Well, once. I guess he’s better than I want to admit.
I had to figure out this mysterious guy, since I can’t stand a silent player who wins. That’s right, Whiskey never uses voice when playing.
So I played him often. One day I caught him with his mic on. But all I heard was scratching, wimpers and an occasional “woof”.
And that’s when I realized who Whiskey really was. You know what they say: “on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog!”

SPARROW

She watched the golden liquid splash over the ice and breathed in the heady
scent of whiskey. Her thirst ignited with a power that surprised her.
She meant to sip slowly and savor this drink, but when it touched her
tongue, she could not help but swallow greedily until the ice fell against
her lips with the last of the liquor. And though she swore she would not,
she reached for the bottle and poured again.
As she drank, tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. I never meant to, she
thought, but it feels so good.
She was only thirteen.

MICHELLE

“Rode hard and put up wet.”
She heard it very clearly, chose to ignore. What good would come of confrontation? “Hell,” she thinks to herself with a chuckle “that weekend in New Orleans, 85, rode hard and put up was exactly what we were, and damn proud of it.” Her smile fades with the expression of remembrance, that was a long time ago, so long ago.
Years of the chase made her somber, not sober, somber yes. Head in hands now, red dreadlocks brushing the table, sagging bosom heaving with sobs. Another smoke, another shot, another night. Whiskey & me.

POND

“Another”
The whiskey glass slammed on the bar in the best cheesy western fashion, predictably anguished eyes peering out from under the lank, dank, hank falling in front of them.
The bartender looked up and refilled the glass, smearing stray drops with this week’s rag. His lips parted, the tip of his tongue heavy with the obligatory question. Thirty years behind this bar made the reply to that word a reflex; an occupational hazard.
Thirty years of tales of woe, of the betrayals of brothers, of failures and mistakes, of stolen sweethearts. He soaked each one up like a sponge; his heart long ago filled, the misery of his customers seeping into his muscles and into his bones.
He was full, saturated.
A second glass joined the first and he filled them both. He sighed before washing the question from his tongue, and the silence was broken only but the sound of the glasses on the bar.
And another.

This wasn’t his first go round. He knew that sensation where you feel the whole world spinning while you and you alone hold fast. A roar in your ears that starts loud and gets louder. White noise. White knuckles. White Lightning memories. None of them good.
His stomach heaved up, but there was nothing in it. As empty as his head, they’d all said.
He wasn’t a man who learned from his mistakes. Like Father, like Son, they’d all said.
His fall was swift and painful.
He shouldn’t have tried to ride the Colt called Whiskey. Sired by White Lightning.

GUY DAVID

Old Mama Chirapa died of old age. The Chirapa live a very long life by human standards, though The Chirapa themselves, don’t view this as something out of the ordinary. Chaketo Chirapa, her son, inherited leadership, as is the way of The Chirapa. He had to abandon the computer networking project, but he never forgot it. He kept his own computer and scanned the internet for a way to earn the trust of The Humans. Leadership was taking most of his time, and they where running out of gold for their machines, though they discovered whiskey was just as good.

ELISSON

The old bottle had lain in the alley for” who knows how long? For years, it had managed to escape the attentions of neighborhood dogs, children on bicycles, skateboarders, and other passersby. But when Wino Willie saw the glint of glass peeping out from beneath a mound of trash, his first thought was, “Booze!”
Willie grabbed the heavy, filth-encrusted bottle. He rubbed it on a threadbare sleeve”
“and amidst a cloud of smoke, out popped the Ty-D-Bowl Man!
“It”s been thirty years,” Ty-D explained. “I was looking for a toilet and fell into a whiskey bottle. Been there ever since.”

TOM

I met Angus in the 80s. He told me about this movie where a ship full of whiskey runs aground on this island. Well the inhabitants grab the bottles and hide them everywhere. The movie was call “Tight Little Island.” When the film made it to France they changed the title to Whiskey A GO GO French ain”t got a clue what tight means. Some Parisian nightclub owner thinks the name is way cool starts to open these discoth”ques called Whisky a Go Go. Well Americans think discoth”que pretty cool open a Whiskey A GO GO in LA. They got these dancers in cages called GO GO dancers and of course they got go go boots which are in fact the boots Nancy Sinatra is sing about In the these boot are made for walking. Well it seem the night Frank Sinatra is dyeing Nancy sneaks off to watch the last episode of Seinfeld and the chairman croaks. By the way “Nancy with the Laughing Eyes” was written for her on her fourth birthday by Phil Silvers the guy who played Sergeant Bilko. Same night Frank dies Angus dies so I take pint of Bushnell pour it on his grave.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

“Aw, hell. Zombies.”
Professor Heath laughed from across the bar.
“No, they’re whiskey sours.”
He drank his, then poured more gunpowder into his shotgun shells.
Nicole poured another round of whiskey, then passed out rounds for our
pistols.
“I thought,” she said, “Romero’s zombie movies were a commentary on
the mindless nature of modern American society.”
“What, nihilism?” I snorted. “It’s all mindless and will eat you in the end?”
The Professor stood and smiled.
“There is only one effective response to both nihilism and the undead.”
He took aim through the boards on the window and fired.
“Decisive action.”

JUSTIN

You don’t need whiskey to drink away sorrows if you can’t remember them. I have a hard time remembering. I wish I could drink to remember, because I have many more good memories than sorrows. My memories are fading. I’m doing my best to keep it from slowing me down as it slowly erodes my memory. I’ll keep going, but it terrifies me to forget. I would rather have a cancer eating away my body before having my mind stripped away. I’ll live like I’m about to die, even though Alzheimer’s might take all that I’ve done before the end.

EVAMOON

Thunder cracked and we retreated a little farther into the the meager
protection of a rocky overhang. Four days into the Yosemite back country at
a high lake and it was cold. A sudden storm crowded the sun out of an autumn
afternoon and now lightning stabbed granite peaks surrounding the lake
continuously.
At the height of the tempest, two more hikers crawled into our sliver of
shelter. We huddled; four little bugs tucked into a crevice, waiting to warm
our wings. Then one of our new friends pulled a fifth of whiskey out of his
pack.
Let it rain.

FEMME BLEU

One New Years Eve Whiskey and Bourbon fell into bed and mixed drinks. Thus was Little Whiskey born.. Little Whiskey ran with horses, broke pool cues, lost at poker, was addicted to jazz music, dark poetry, runnin with drunks, and the pursuit of more Whiskey. Till she got to Ireland, and found the ultimate Whisky — Green Spot. Uisce Beatha ” the water of life. Little Whiskey nearly drowned@! “Whisky is the pool into which Narcissus gazed” said Little Whisky. “Whisky will get me killed” said little Whisky who lost her Dad Big Whisky to whisky a long time ago.

ANIMA

Simple, still sitting here at the Wishing Well? Some things never change”
You’s Wrong!!
Lemme tell you about change” I done changed jobs, changed diapers and changed the locks on my door.
Joyce, she going thru the change, and that be changing our relationship.
I been short changed all my life, leaving me feeling mighty changeable.
I have changed my party affiliation for a man who is ready for Change.
Now, I’s changing the subject. You gotten me all riled up, buy me a whisky ” beer won’t do.
Simple, I said, after all these years, you haven’t changed a bit.

THOMAS

The sun shone through the dark amber liquid, casting lucid rays about the room. His entire life lay inside the glass, dazzling his swollen eyes.
A universe unto itself, moving slowly in time. A million emotions dancing and making love, within; happiness and misery, love and hate, peace and remorse. Conscience, regret, longing and memory lie beneath it’s golden surface… waiting.
He lifts it high, toasting past, future and this dying moment. Peering into its’ depths for one last look. Its’ twenty year journey from field to perfection was nearly over. The whiskey sending warm tendrils numbing his thoughts. Smooth…

ALMO

“Well, do we have a deal?” Nicky asked, pouring three fingers of whiskey into the tumblers between the men.
Roger hesitated. He knew this happened a hundred times a day in his business. The odds of being caught were nil. The loser would be the insurance company. That impact was less than a flea bite.
His mind flashed to seventh grade. The difficult spelling test he had received such lavish praise for. He had cheated. He had felt ill when the teacher singled him out for recognition.
Roger was older; corners weren’t so sharp. He raised the glass. “We do.”

PLANET X

Recently, at a movie premier, Jimmy Buffet was walking along the gold carpet and asked Steve Jobs what the one brand of whiskey he enjoyed.
Steve replied, that as The Chair of a distillery company that used cereal in the process of creating a lower priced whiskey, he had made it taboo to discuss it with outsiders.
He did say that the actual recipe and process was kept under lock and key in a steamer trunk and was guarded by zombies. The one person who had seen it, now sang like a nightingale and lived a life in the sewers.

Old George was a hell of a man.
He turned 101 Thursday.
That was the day before the night he died.
Most people want to die in their sleep.
No pain, no surprises.
Go to sleep and never wake up.
Not George.
He didn’t want to go at all.
Last Thursday night he got hammered and this cute 19 year-old doll took him home.
Later, when her husband got home, George went out the window still pulling on his pants.
Fell from the second floor and broke his neck.
Whiskey and tail, that was how George wanted to go.

PLANET Z

After reading about the Whiskey Rebellion, my friends and I invented this game called Whiskeypedia.
You log on to Wikipedia and look for the most popular articles. Then, you make funny changes to the articles.
The last change to get rolled back is the winner. Everybody else takes a shot of whiskey, toasting to the last man standing.
The more you drink, the weirder the updates get.
Sometimes, nobody ends up noticing the change and it’s there for a very long time.
The government is thinking of getting involved, calling our actions vandalism.
Perhaps, Tom the Tinkerer will rise again.

Weekly Challenge #111 – One

16467522

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eleven, 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 selected by me, and I went with One.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

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

ELISSON

It”s a simple concept, really.
Sh”ma Yisroel, Hashem Elokeinu, Hashem Echad. Hear, O Israel: The LORD our God is unique.
Other cultures had their pantheons, packed with gods of every description. All of them loosely modeled on humans and replete with the whole laundry list of human frailties. Envy, jealousy, hatred, lust, greed, you name it. So complicated. And so wrong.
“All things being equal, the simplest solution tends to be the best one.” William of Ockham said that. My idea, of course. Everything”s my idea, at the end of the day.
One God. That”s Me. What could be simpler?

ARNIMAS

It wasn’t my fault. It was his. He didn’t mention me, even though I deserved credit. Maybe all the credit!
Oh, those years together, working day and night. A team like no other, we made the impossible real and the possible incomparable. I could ask for no better.
Until last night. The speech began as I expected, telling the tale of the magic we created, but ended without mentioning me. Not even once!
I had no choice. He deserved it.
And now I am the only one left.
They are coming for me now. I’d better reload.

STEVEN

You scream over the echoes of the bomb: “Call 911!”
Two rescue breaths, just like in the book, move down. Find the
xyphoid, ignore the twisted shape of his ribs and push push. Ignore
that this kid had shoved in front of you, ignore his shrapnel and his
burned flesh on your hands. Push push. Move back up, head-tilt-
chin-thrust. He’s young, no lines on his face, then the sirens and
wounded wail in chorus, remember breathe, breathe. Fingers on his
neck, feel for a pulse, feel for breath on your cheek. C’mon, any
pulse.
Just a little heartbeat.
Just one.

GUY DAVID

They knew The One would come, eventually. The Book said so. It was the book of truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. Meanwhile, they built glorious temples to his name, contrived elaborate ceremonies and sacrificed the first born of anyone who dared to defy the ways of The One. Still, he didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t come. They waited. He didn’t.
After 4000 years of waiting, they started a new religion.

HOTSPUR

I love dancing with you.
Your eyes light up as we glide gracefully around.
I love dancing with you.
Your loving smile is the envy of every guy in the room. Heh, those bums.
I love dancing with you.
For one brief moment the loneliness seems to go away.
I love dancing with you.
We make a wonderful couple. Don”t we?
I love dancing with you.
Sure, I”m a brokedown drunken ballplayer with one leg
And you”re a dime-a-dance girl I pay to dance with,
And maybe it”s your job to be so friendly,
But I love dancing with you.

FEMME BLEU

I was pure fascinated when they told me in high school that computers were binary. Remember the time that Boris Spassky took on Big Blue, man versus IBM supercomputer playing a game of chess? Man won! What is binary? Ye either have a zero or a one. It is either black or white, yes or no. What about maybe? What about shades of grey? Maybe is possiblility. When I get lonely I feel like zero, when happy I feel like 1, with my companions .5, .3 .8 the inbetweens. IBM lost the chess match because it couldn’t do maybe!

MIKE

Standing on the gallows, Zeke reviewed his decision to decline the hood; yeah – good call. He wanted to see it all: the warden’s last glance at the direct line to the Governor’s office at five seconds before midnight, then his nod to the executioner; that officer tightening his grip on the lever, his knuckles turning white as he pulls it; then the upward leap of the opposite wall. He’d heard you went from ‘drop’ to ‘stop’ in about a second – guess we’ll see.
The clock’s second hand swept past the 10 – game time. Glance – nod – grip – pull – and: one Missisippi…

EVA MOON

“That’s one.”
Peering over her boss’s shoulder, Alma saw the blue screen of his new
laptop. Crashed. Bummer. She returned to her desk. Like the laptop, it was
her first day on the job.
A moment later:
“That’s two.”
She could hear the jab of angry fingers. She winced in sympathy and
continued working.
“That’s three.”
She jumped at the sound of breaking glass. When she looked through the door
she was aghast. Her new boss stood by a shattered window.
“My God!” She exclaimed, “That’s insane! It’s 35 stories down! You might
have killed someone!”
He turned, glaring.
“That’s one.”

ANIMA

One, and one, and one more.
Not much more, or much less
Is it three?
The relationship: a man and a woman, and an ex?
Candles burning on a cake, or the number of legs on your old dog.
Or is it one hundred eleven?
Episodes in a podcast,
Iron bars penning up the guilty.
Or maybe hashes on the calendar, counting days to vacation”.
It certainly means something to your computer, but that’s only half the message.
As I see it,
There is only one, standing alone”
Reflected between funhouse mirrors, ad infinitum.
There is only the one.

TOM

He spun the chamber, but only once. The muzzle resting against his temple. Slowly slowly the pressure from his finger transferred to the trigger. One in six he thought, good odds, a reasonable level of risk. That silly song from Chorus Line was playing in the background.
“Ya she”s the one,” he said
“Say hello to my little friend.” she said.
“You”re the one that I want”
“There can only be one.”
“One is the loneliest number.”
“One enchanted eve BLAM,” he slid to the floor.
“One fine day I”m going to BLAM,” she slid to the floor.
Fuckn Zombies

ALMO

The red LED shows Five.
Johnson looks at the wires, one red, one white. Sweat forms on his forehead.
Four.
A drop of sweat falls from the end of his nose. He glances at the schematic.
Three.
No good. He can’t make sense of it. The writing might be Chinese.
Two.
He closes his eyes. He trusts his intuition. He selects Red.
One.
He pushes the power button on the new plasma TV.
Nothing.

THOMAS

We were embedded, all ten of us; moving cautiously three miles along the Song Ma to the
Ham Rong bridge, or roughly translated, the Dragon’s Jaw.
Go destroy it.
We knew it wouldn’t be easy.
Ted and Jimmy bought it stepping on mines. Boomer, Matt, and Pyle were picked off by a sniper before we got him. Suddenly, we came under heavy fire. Sarge cashed in first. Then Eddie and Bruce… Cut down by the VC. Joe and I were pinned down when a piece shrapnel took Joe.
Leaving only one left… me.
I’ll go out guns blazing. Semper Fi.

SOUGENT

“I want one.”, said Eno. “One what?”, asked his only brother Neo.
“I want one of them there Jimmy Buffet CD’s, that one right over yonder.”.
“That one is mighty expensive, Yer gonna need ta get yerself a job ta pay fer it”.
“I already got me one, why ya think I’ve been looking like a darned zombie fer?”
“Oh, yeah, y’all got a job at one of them cereal factories.”
“Yeah, it’s a killin’ me just sittin in one chair all day long, but it’s taboo ta get up til that there whistle blows at one o’clock”

JUSTIN

For the first time on Tuesday, my first and only wife gave birth to our one and only child. This will probably be the one and only time I write shameless father bragging on the 100 word stories podcast full of the cutest baby you have ever seen. How cute is she? Think of the cutest baby girl you have seen and imagine how cute she is, add about fifty-five times that amount of cuteness and you will know how cute she is. This isn’t even really a story but it has a cute baby in it, so who cares?

PLANET Z

Late last night, Monsignor Radcliffe sat in his study, reading Plato.
The clock began its chimes.
Midnight.
He checked his watch. Sure enough, the clock was running fast by a few seconds.
Radcliffe stood from his chair, walked to the mantelpiece, and picked up the clock.
The window shattered as he tossed the noisy clock out into the street.
The old priest was shocked to hear a scream.
He looked. It had hit a streetwalker and killed her.
Radcliffe sighed. The clock was worse that he’d thought.
In a matter of seconds, It went from striking twelve to striking one.

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #120?
	Menubar Memorial
	Guy David from Sixteenth
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Mike
	Keeme from Diamonds and Rust
	Brad Z
	Eva Moon of The Lunatics
	Tom from Footnote
	Jeffrey from Great Hites
	Steven the Nuclear Man
	Almo
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Anima Zabaleta from Z.D
	Planet Z

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Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #119?
	Planet Z
	Lunette Foroux
	Guy David from Guy David
	Stephen the Nuclear Man
	Planet Xray from Planet X Podcast
	Jeffrey from The Great Hites
	Tom from Footnote
	Mike
	Anima Zabaleta
	Thomas Merkel
	Brad Z. and The Cat
	Justin the Space Turtle

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Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #118?
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Mike
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Planet Xray from Planet X Podcast
	Anima Zabaleta
	Almo Schumann
	Eva Moon from The Lunatics
	Thomas Merkel
	Brad Z
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	Planet Z

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Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #117?
	Anima Zabaleta
	Brad Z. and his Twitter
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Steven the Nuclear Man
	Tom from Footnote
	Evamoon the Lunatic
	Jeffrey Hite of The Great Hites
	Thomas Merkel with American Solutions
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Almo
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Craig from Wash The Bowl
	Planet Z

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Robert
	Guy David of Guy David
	Thomas Merkel
	Sister Mary Edith
	Jeffrey from The Great Hites
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Sougent
	Anima
	Steven the Nuclear Man
	Tom from Footnote
	Planet Z

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Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #115?
	Tom from Footnote
	John B.
	Jeffrey from Great Hites
	Elly from Ellybean
	Thomas
	Guy David at Guy David dot com
	Steven the Nuclear Man from Ideatrash
	Eva Moon from The Lunatics
	Almo Schumann
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Jerry D.
	Anima Zabaleta
	Planet Z from iPodjacker

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What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #114?
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Thomas Merkel likes ComiObama?
	Anima Zabaleta
	Eva Moon of The Lunatics
	Michelle from Different World
	Sister Mary Edith
	Planet X-Ray from Planet X Podcast
	Terry Tee from Quiet Time Podcast
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Genlteman
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Laieanna and Hodgepodge Point
	Planet Z

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Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #112?
	ArminasX of Second Effects
	Sparrow of Allatwitter
	Michelle of Michelle
	Pond Nitely
	A
	Guy David at Guy David dot com
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Tom from Footnote
	Stephen the Nuclear Man of IDeatrash
	Justin of Space Turtle
	Evamoon from The Lunatics
	Femme Bleu
	Anima Zabaleta loves Harper Audio
	Thomas loves Drabble Shops
	Almo
	Planet X of Planet Xray Podcast
	JD White
	Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #111?
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	ArnimasX of Second Effects
	Steven the Nuclear Man
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Hotspur of Hibernia on the Skids
	Femme Bleu
	Mike
	Eva Moon from The Lunatics
	Anima Zabaleta
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Almo
	Thomas
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Gentleman
	Justin from Space Turtle
	Planet Z

Free polls from Pollhost.com

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