The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Charlie
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Jeffrey
• Tura
• Norval Joe
• Duane
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

“The bicycle ride is too expensive, he said. He wanted it for free. The nerve! He even questioned my ability to make decisions about my own business. Who does he think he is? Never again! I will sell everything and go to the big city.” And Ronnie continued to grumble until the client came back and smiled.
“I’ll give you one million dollars for the bike business. Accept?”
“Hell, yeah!”
The next day, Ronnie saw on the news that an oil company had found oil in his old property. And Ronnie continued to grumble for the rest of his life.

RICHARD

Kale

Want to shed a few pounds? Lose some of that spare tyre and get fit again – and all without the hassle of exercising or joining a gym?

Well, it’s your lucky day!

Try my curly kale diet for just three months, and you’ll never look back.

It’s simple – just eat kale and nothing else for every meal: Boiled, stewed, baked or grilled, and discover a new, slim, healthy you!

Try it. Today!

(Not recommended for the old, young, pregnant, infirm, healthy, or image conscious. Results may vary. May cause drowsiness, incontinence and dangerous side effects. Use with caution!)

CHARLIE

The ZipLoc bag held my kale and wolfs bane. I blended them with water and carrots. I poured a glass of the concoction for my odious houseguest.

Joe had overstayed his visit, and I wanted him to leave. After we finished breakfast, I invited him for a swim in the river, nearby. The cold water didn’t numb the burning and severe side effects. In minutes he was nauseous, vomiting, and unable to move. A few more minutes, and his paralyzed body was swept away by the current.

I went back to my apartment and washed the blender and his glass.

#2

After the heavy rains, the guest shed balanced precariously on the slope above the beach. The shed was constructed offsite, and delivered by truck.

Guests were told that the shed had a gorgeous view of the surf, but to take care putting too much weight on the South side of the building.

My cousin and her family visited, bringing their trunks, cooking pots, big screen TV and several cases of Fiji water. Well, you know what happened.

The rain washed the earth and gravel from under the floor joists, and the shed slid down the cliff, carrying the guests away.

TOM

Pretty Pictures
Brother Rancor had rose through the ranks of the illuminator at St Leibowitz. His fanciful interplay of animals in the most compromising interactions had amused the purchasers of the works of the Abby, thus increasing the same Abby’s coffers. As chief illuminator Rancor could have left the preparation of the vellum to a newly arrived brother, but Rancor’s had developed a unique application of ink that demanded a surface of extraordinarily smoothness, but at the same time biting resistance. This singleness of mind led to a long-standing resentfulness amongst his brother, and in the end led to Brother Rancor’s demise.

Going Green

The bane of Billy’s existence was Kale. Try as he may the evil leaf perused him like the horseman of the Apocalypse. It didn’t help his insane parents had doomed him to the commune from hell, deep in the Californian mountains. The vegi-Nazis who ran the show were hell bent to leather their young charges would be health in spite of themselves. No one took notice of Billy’s sudden and enthusiastic request to join the salad crew. When the Med-i-vac choppers had airlift the last of the member out, Billy below him could see paradise by the golden arches.

SERENDIPITY

“Isn’t it wonderful?” gushed Otto, “I’ve kept it safe all my life, but I could never bring myself to put it on sale”.

The old bookseller gazed at me through rheumy eyes; “Just look at the quality of the vellum!”

I smiled, humouring him – if the old fool wanted to believe that, then I wouldn’t argue with him, and I wasn’t about to haggle over the price either.

I named my figure.

His eyes bulged in shock, then clutching his chest, he collapsed to the floor, dead.

Reverently, I stroked the pages: Not vellum, of course, but human skin.

JEFFREY

The Green Revolution
by Jeffrey Fischer

My doctor said I needed more greens in my diet. I took advantage of a sale on some kale to make a smoothie. It came out the color of radioactive algae. My wife applauded my effort at improving my health. Still, I noticed she didn’t offer to drink any.

One sip was all I needed to realize that a kale smoothie might be the worst thing ever to consume, subject to the constraint that it didn’t actually kill you. I only wanted to die.

The next day, in anticipation that my wife would nag me about another smoothie, I stopped at 7-11 and bought a Mountain Dew Slurpee. Same radioactive green color, much better taste. Being health-conscious wasn’t so tough after all!

TURA

Kale; Shed
———
A peasant was brought before a local magistrate accused of sedition. He had been overheard to grumble in local taverns against his lord. Considering the gravity of the matter, the magistrate referred it upwards, and so it came before General Wei.

General Wei said, “The gossip of the kaleyard is to be judged in the woodshed.” He required the first magistrate to have the accused executed for sedition. His informer was executed for disturbing the public order. The magistrates who had passed the case upward were executed for involving persons of superior class in matters beneath their dignity to notice.
———

NORVAL JOE

In Axel’s four months in the Organization he had never shed blood intentionally. Sure, recently he had defended himself twice and those two guys are dead.

Now, to stay in the Organ, or get out, he had to kill his girlfriend.

He didn’t have a choice. If he didn’t kill her, they would kill him, eventually.

He had a thumb-stun up his sleeve. He only needed to zip it out and pop it in her face. Minutes later, she’d be dead.

Ursseanna entered the room. Her eyes lit up when she saw Axel. With a smile she hurried to him.

DUANE

Zip Vellum

When you get mad you can zip off an angry text in two seconds. It wasn’t always so easy.

In the distant past it was a safe bet you were illiterate. You had to trudge for three days and stand in front of your tormentors hut and stamp your feet and yell.

Later came writing and vellum, but that meant you needed to skin a calf. For that you might have to wait till spring. By then you had probably forgotten what had made you so mad or the offender had died from the plague. Either way, you felt better.

PLANET Z

Kale. To some, it’s the bane of their existence.
To me, it’s a delicacy.
I love kale chips.
I’ll clear out the grocery store’s stock every time I go.
It’s rather expensive, though. Even when they’re on sale.
People say it’s so easy to make kale chips yourself.
I’ve tried to make them on my own, and I didn’t do so well.
I always end up making a mess in the kitchen and then burning them in the oven.
What good is cheaper when the end result is nothing?
So, I’ve gone back to buying kale chips at the store.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• Richard
• Charlie
• Serendipity
• Tura
• Jeffrey
• Norval Joe
• Tom
• Duane
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

There used to be a place where cats roamed freely. It had lots of hidden corners where the sun shone in late afternoons. And they lingered lazily, stretching their lean furriness.
There used to be a place where the birds chirped a song and water was a magical backdrop.
There used to be a place with butterflies and pelicans, and lions and ferrets, dogs and roosters, chickens and bears.
And I used to go for a walk amongst the strangeness of the mixture of animals and the familiarity of their peacefulness.
There used to be a place I called home.

RICHARD

Kitchen Rivalry

The ‘Most Excellent Order of Whiskers, Beaters and Meringue Whippers’ – usually shortened to the diminutive, ‘Whiskers’, for convenience – is a little-known and exclusive society reserved solely for the most influential of pastry chefs.

Not only is competition fierce for the few highly desirable memberships made available to those eligible to join, but jealously is rife amongst the other kitchen professions denied entrance.

So much so, that rival factions fight fiercely for dominance. The most notable of which is the ‘Venerable Society of Salad Washers, Spinners and Dressers’.

Since that’s such a mouthful, we call them ‘Tossers’, for convenience!

CHARLIE

Whiskers was a small, underweight kitten, but grew quickly to become a twenty-seven pound whopper. I learned later that Whisker’s parents were Chausies, whose ancestry is ancient Egypt.

Whiskers wore the pants in my house. I had two, medium-sized dogs who gave Whiskers the run and rule of the home.

She was a danger to the bird population on the property, but after some demanding training, she never bothered my feathered friends again.

Whiskers lived a long and happy life, surviving well into her twenties, on a diet of balanced and nutrient dense kibble and expensive, moisture rich canned foods.

#2

Whiskers and Cups is the go-to coffee shop in town. Owned by sisters, Kathie and Karie Maplethorpe, W&C opened last month.

Serving house roasted coffee, the shop features rescue cats from the local rescue organization and nearby pound.

Customers can enjoy their coffee and tasty pastries, while cats leap onto their tables and heads, after lounging in the nearby litter boxes. Patrons bring in rodents and birds for the cats if they tidy up after the entertainment.

Fortunately, many of the larger, aggressive cats are adopted, and no contamination has yet been the cause of any discomfort to shop clientele.

#3

The cat whisker, made from a safety pin and a pencil lead, in contact with a single-edged razor blade was at the heart of my crystal radio. Some magnet or coated wire, an oatmeal box, and piezo earphones completed the unit.

The reception was good, after attaching the set to the feed pipe of the radiator, I used as ground. I had a twenty foot, homemade antenna on the roof of the garage.

My first foxhole, crystal radio was used in Germany during the Second World War. I could pull in German language stations as well as stations in England.

SERENDIPITY

The old cat woman at the corner house was a complete stereotype – living alone with her many cats, she was rarely seen by the outside world.

Then the neighbours noticed an offensive smell – somewhat worse than the aroma of twenty cats and their excrement – emanating from the house.

When the police broke in, they found the mouldering remains of the old woman, half-eaten by the starving animals, almost all of whom were now just skin and bone.

Only poor little Whiskers survived, so we took him on.

Little realising he’d acquired such a taste for human flesh!

TURA

Whisker
———
“There’s nothing like a cat’s whisker receiver and the human ear.” he said. “Modern electronics can’t come close. Even valves aren’t good enough. You have to adjust the whisker just so, you see? Sometimes it takes me an hour… do you hear that? All those clicks and beeps? Aliens! Talking to each other somewhere above us. I’m trying to decode their language…”

I subvocalised a command to the nearest ship, and presently the familiar grip of a tractor beam drew us up.

We always abduct the smartest, curious ones. They improve our hive brains, and it keeps the Earthlings docile.

JEFFREY

A Close Shave
by Jeffrey Fischer

After changing jobs, a long-time colleague told me my boss hated facial hair. I was surprised I got the job. My beard dated back to high school, and I was unreasonably proud of its neat appearance, so I kept it. The other new hire was a skinny millennial with a hip goatee who kept it as well.

The day before my review, I thought I didn’t want to sit before the boss flaunting my beard so, somewhat wistfully, I shaved it completely. As it turned out, the year hadn’t gone well for the firm. The boss planned to fire one of his new hires. Mr. Goatee was gone and I survived – by a whisker, you might say.

NORVAL JOE

This is Movember. That means that men are supposed to grow a moustache to bring awareness for mens health.
One out of eight women will be affected by breast cancer. One out of nine men will have to worry about their prostate.
With the women, we can all appreciate, “Save the Tata’s”.
However, no one wants to chant, “Save my butt”.
So, I’m growing a moustache.
Nearly a month into it, it’s sad to say that my best friend from my childhood had a better mustache as a senior in high school than I do, now, as a senior citizen.

TOM

I Want Out

Mr. Whiskers sat patiently by the front door. Ben did not call Mr. Whiskers, Mr. Whiskers, he called him Fred. “Fred is no name for a cat,” his girlfriend Amber said. Neither is Mr. Whiskers, but he wasn’t about to get into a fight over a 25 pound ball of fur. Ben opened the door just wide enough for the cat to wedge his head out. “You’re not going to like it.” After three seconds, Mr. Whiskers look up at Ben with a kitty incriminating glare. “Yup I made it Cold and Wet, just for you.” Mr. Whiskers was not amused.

I’m just a hair guy

One of my favorite George Carlin riffs goes as follow: “The word ‘beard’ shook a lot of people up. BEARD! It’s not American sounding. BEARD! Lenin had a BEARD! Gabby Hayes had ‘whiskers’. Monty Woolley had whiskers.” Yup despite five presidents sport one and a dapper C Everett Koop. Look what happen when Al Gore grew his, to bad about that Bin Laden thing. Tom Hanks could get away with his because he was shipwrecked on a desert island. Personally I don’t see myself as someone with a beard. I see myself as someone who just doesn’t shave. Seriously lazy.

DUANE

Whiskers

“Whiskers” Manetti had it out for me. He told “One Thumb” Tony that I was to blame for his men being pinched in the hotel robbery. He was right. Word on the street was that he called in “The Shovel” to take care of things. Micky “Squint” was my inside man with Whiskers. He had kept me one step ahead of the gang so far. It was getting more dangerous relying on Squint and One Thumb for information. Even Pete “Tips” O’Hanlan down on the docks couldn’t be trusted. If I was gonna survive I was gonna need a nickname.

Z

Old Man Peterson stroked his white beard and looked over the chessboard.
“Checkmate on five moves,” he said.
To nobody.
He was sitting alone in the park, with no pieces on the board.
Peterson stroked his beard again.
“I may need to swap some of my tiles,” he said.
Once again, to nobody.
He reached down to the board, let his hand shake for a moment, and withdrew it back to his lap.
This continued for the rest of the day.
When the sun was low in the sky, Peterson stood up, picked up the board, and shuffled back home.