The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three 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 Strike Team Alpha.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Guy David
Zackmann
Thomas
Chris The Nuclear Kid
Serendipity Haven
Tura
Tom
Steven The Nuclear Man
Chris Munroe
Logan Berry
Lizzie Gudkov
Cliff
Sachy and Abernathy
RedGoddess
Danny
Norval Joe
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

(That’s Gray Stripey. He visits us a lot. Bruwyn and Myst get along with him and let him enjoy the catnip piles.)

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

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GUY

The first Bread-and-Butterfly was documented by the good reverent Charles Lutwidge Dodgson in his celebrated book about the origin of the species, titled “Through the Looking Glass”. When his conclusions came out, whole teams of other researchers came out on strike claiming the human race didn’t evolve from some Bread-and-Butterfly alpha. I guess most of them didn’t even read his book. They just confused his with that other Charles, the one who wrote the book about the origin of chess. Or, was it the other way around? Guess I should ask the red queen about it.

ZACKMANN

The teen boy excitedly squeed “Are you Munsis Minions of Team Alpha? It is so exciting to meet you.”
The public relations officer replied “Sorry to get your hopes up kid but Team Alpha and Team Beta are stuck in Alberta. The zombie task force has had some setbacks but don’t worry team Sigma is here and we shall prevail. It’s your lucky day kid. We got a truckload of something from Louisville. The good news is today is Team Sigma Bat Day. The bad news is you’re likely to need it but when we succeed only to play baseball.”

THOMAS

Strike Team Alpha released the earworm virus in midtown Manhattan a few weeks before Christmas when the whole area was already inundated with Xmas music and sales jingles spilling into the street from storefronts. The team’s purpose was to drive the Xmas shoppers mad and to cause them to riot, destroy local landmarks, break windows, throw bricks at the police, and bang tourists on the heads with homemade picket signs. The Strike Team Commander, Wallace Gloatbridge, was a disgruntled ex, government worker, and fiction author from Massachusetts. The virus spread rapidly, and the team fled to their squat in Brooklyn.

##

Strike Team Alpha was a tight-knit group of fiction writers from South Texas. They wrote fiction on spec and contract, selling to magazines and small shopping guides. The team commander, Mary Alfalpha, and her lieutenant, Sarah Dipity made sure all grammar and spelling was correct, and any team member stooping to profanity would have to surrender their membership and privileges. The team met their demise during an particularly brutal attack by a gang of black booted grammar Nazis from the Carolinas that stormed their headquarters wielding dictionaries and thick thesauri. The team fell to overlooked braces, semi-colons, tildes, and em-spaces.

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

It was not that long ago when I made a promise I was unable to keep. I promised to protect the one I loved. But when she needed help most I was not strong enough to save her. I then swore to train myself and become stronger. I joined the military training force for a few years.
A day ago I received an application to the Strike Team Alpha. Now it’s my first day I am slightly worried due to the stories I’ve heard of the place. But its probably worth it. Well I’d better get going before I’m late.

SERENDIPITY

Strike Team Alpha were supposed to be the cream of the crop, but their legendary failure is a textbook example of what happens when you have the wrong tools to get the job done.

Skills honed to perfection, they moved in under cover of darkness – their orders: ‘Light blue touchpaper and retire to a safe distance’.

It should have been simple.

Instead, it was a complete disaster – forty failed attempts later they withdrew; the mission, a disaster.

At the court martial the truth came out: “They sent us out with safety matches… How the hell were we to strike them?”

TURA

Spy-in-the-sky sees Team Alpha coming two miles out. Textbook-perfect manoeuvres but they’re running through it like a replay.

Bam. Landmine. They weren’t expecting that, no landmines there in the videogame. Come on, show some initiative, Alpha! No, they duck for the trees.

I settle behind my sniper scope. First one emerges, right on time. Second. Then mine. Bam. First two panic and run into the rest of Team Delta. I guess we can strike Team Alpha.

There’s one left, hiding in the trees, but we’ll capture him for interrogation, ho ho. The ones with just paintball splashes get it easy.

TOM

The 5th of June 1943 Strike Team Alpha crosses the Potomac under the cover of night. Lt. Bronski hands each member of the team the battered dispatch from HQ. In large black letters it reads as follows: The president of the United States is named Shiklegrubber. Execute Plan Omega. “Smoke Em if you got em,” whispered Sergeant Rock. Little Joe lights up a Luck Strike, which given the circumstances seemed a bit ironic. “We’re not come back are we Sarg?” “We got to get the Spaniard inside the White House and his infernal contraption. That’s the mission private.” Arnesto paces.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The team deployed from their chopper. Strike Team Alpha looked like any other crack military unit…. except for two things. Their unit patches simply had a Greek letter alpha, and they were completely unarmed.

They went from home to home, offering free hugs, and were met with bullets, knives, and shrapnel.

As the final member of Alpha breathed his last, the Old Man turned off the monitor and gestured to his XO. “Send in Strike Team Omega,” he said.

The XO nodded. He reached into the lead locker and started handing suitcase nukes to the members of the final team.

Munsi!

What’s your favorite book?

No, don’t tell me. I wouldn’t be able to hear you, podcasts are a one-way form of communication.

Instead, open word on your computer, write the title of the book, the name of it’s author, and how and why it changed your life.

Write a love letter to the book.

When you’re done, print the page, fold it and put it in an envelope.

Now: Head to your local library or bookstore, find a copy of the book, tuck the envelope inside and return it to the shelf.

Congratulations, you’ve just connected meaningfully with a stranger.

Logan Berry

Capitalism sucks.

Not on paper. It looks like a good system on paper. May the brightest minds prosper. In the real world, capitalism has become a conglomerate of faceless corporations who strive to deprive us of the basics of health and happiness so they can charge us money for manufactured, second hand, sub-standard and unnatural versions of the things we need to function with dignity.

So when my partner has a heart attack, as he did this week, I have as much faith in the system as I would a shark in a swimming pool. Hospitals underfunded and drug companies overfunded mean that someone profits obscenely, and someone suffers.

I need Strike Team Alpha to overthrow this most unethical and soul-destroying system; or, if possible, to sit by my partner’s bed, and hold his hand.

LIZZIE

After years of attacks, the authorities called in the big guns. They were tough, they were dangerous. They were the reason children played in the streets now and women walked home from work late at night. Thieves, drug dealers, murderers and serial killers didn’t stand a chance. Tenacious and all geared up, they would roam the streets hunting predators down. Their motto was KISS. KISS them and KISS them again. They were Kimberly, Ivy, Suzy and Samantha, the Strike Team Alpha of the neighborhood. “Can I have an ice-cream, Granny?” asked 5 year old Peter. “No,” replied KISS in unison.

######

“Not good,” Strike said peaking through the window.

Team nodded.

“What are you talking about?!” Alpha was angry.

“You go first, Strike.”

“First?!”

“Yes, explain what we mean,” replied Team.

“Ah!” said Strike with a sigh of relief.

“This is a covert operation. What’s the problem?” asked Alpha annoyed.

Strike and Team looked anxious.

“Let’s go,” commanded Alpha.

Suddenly there was a loud noise, a shot.

“Uh-oh…” said Strike.

Team nodded.

“See, I told him. His wife wouldn’t like the surprise. This Strike Team Alpha anniversary gift was a bad idea. Too kinky…”

Strike nodded.

“Coffee?”

“And cream,” replied Team.

Cliff

“You are part of this Strike Team Alpha.”
He wasn’t very imposing. His three goons were, however.
“Strike Team what?”
“Don’t play stupid.”
“Who’s playing?”
Actually, I was. As the new guy, I’d gotten to play bait. I’d sat in this café for three days waiting for the Literature Purity League to notice me. They were self appointed censors. They censored writers, not words. People had disappeared. In response, Strike Team Alpha was born.
From where I sat, I could see Munsi and Treed blocking the exit. These fools were about to see what writers could really do.

SACHY AND ABERNATHY

and now a word from our sponsors…

This is Captain Arctic here to tell you about my new ice cream; Strike Team Alpha. If you have ever wanted to be a superhero like me, you need Strike Team Alpha. This is a supernatural cold blast chalk full of American Pride with red, white and blue candy tidbits that will make your taste buds soar to new heights.

Side effects may include; Jumping over buildings in a single bound, shooting webs out of your wrists, laser and/or x-ray vision, invisibility, turning green, super human strength and explosive diarrhea.

RED GODDESS

There is a undying war being waged on low wage workers and the working poor. During new employee’s orientation, there is high optimism and promise to solve problems together. Human resources department really exists to protect the rights of companies not to ensure the employees are treated fairly. Then, who can employees turn to for grievances and better treatment in the workplace? There is only one group that can come to the rescue, “Strike Team Alpha.” Since this team is action oriented and militaristic, they will go in there, unlike mediators, and solve all the problems with one permanent move.

DANNY

“Target has been spotted!” the Captain screamed into his headset, command control responded, “Mission is a go!” “OK, Go, Go, Go!,” the captain screamed, as Strike Team Alpha jumped from the B21 bomber, plummeting to their target below. Parachutes deployed at 500 feet, the strike team quietly descended on their target, the buildng below. The door was kicked in, weapons fully drawn, the team was confronted by, an unarmed 4 year old child surrounded by 10 other toddlers. The 4 year old quickly responded, “Thhhpppppp!!!!” “Uh, command control, you just had us raid the Tiny Tots Pre-School.” The laughter from command control was deafening.

NORVAL JOE

The targets stood like ancient warriors, tall and silent, awaiting the attack. Fearless and stoic they stared back at the champion chosen to lead the assault.
Unassuming, almost pitiful in his weakness, like David of old facing Goliath, the first in the band of competitors stared across the field of battle. He took the projectile in his hand, stepped forward and hurled it toward the phalanx. With a crash they flew about knocking one another down.
“Strike, Team Alpha,” the announced called.
The first player of Team Bravo dried his hand, retrieved his bowling ball and stepped onto the lane.

The dwarf sat on his stool and stared at the ground.
“How long must we wait for an answer?” Owen asked.
The ranger replied, “dwarves live much longer than humans and therefore take much longer to make decisions.”
“Yes, but,” Owen said, “he’s sat all morning without movement or word. We only have so much time to get the princess. Do we really need him?”
“Ours will be the first group to enter the caverns since the goblins overran them,” Shareeka said. “Though he was a child when he escaped, his memory of the caves will be invaluable to us.”

PLANET Z

My company designs shoulder sleeve insignia for military uniforms.

Those are the patches you see on a soldier’s arm that says what service unit they’re a part of.

The strangest request came from the Army for their elite Strike Team Alpha unit.

Not only did this clandestine group not wear uniforms, but they were not supposed to ever identify themselves.

Due to regulations and bureaucracy, though, they had to have a patch.

So, they had a solid black patch made.

Their first mission was to kill the idiot in the Pentagon who ordered them to wear the patches.

Mission accomplished.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three 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 hotel.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tom
Dann Russo Archive of live performances
Thomas
Tura
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Guy David
Logan Berry
Zackmann
Lizzie Gudkov
Steven Saus
Buttermilk!
Cliff
Danny
Norval Joe
TJ
RedGoddess
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…

Obligatory cat photo:

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

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Tom

The flat black hat rimmed the edge of the horizon obscuring a piercing glaze. Slowly a rough-hewn match makes contact with a pencil thin cigar. The high plane drifter sends a vale of tobacco smoke upward, setting the rains to the left, the pallid horse beneath him descends into the valley below. He has come to smoke out a soul hiding under the mantel of propriety a pillar of the community. He knew better. Puffs on the cigar sets glow to the end sparking the wick of twin sticks of dynamite. Looping end over end dropping death through the window.

Dann

New Hampshire December froze our sweat to our skin. The windows HAD to be down. Had to be down. We took quick shallow breaths in a feeble attempt to stay warm. Only twenty more minutes. Fifteen. Ten.
Bolt out of the car.
Sprint up the stairs.
Who has the keys? Where did you put the keys?
Tear off every piece of clothing we had on.
There was nothing sensual, nothing fun.
Our heads were already starting to revert to long-lost craving mode.
Coat. Shirt. Pants. Turn the shower on. Throw them in the wash. Rid ourselves of the smoke.

Thomas

Jenny knew where there is smoke there is fire, so she spent the day looking for smoke, since she had five pounds of ribs and needed to barbeque them before they went bad. She walked around the neighborhood, peering over fences looking for smoke, until she found an elderly couple throwing some burgers on a kettle barbeque. She inquired, telling the couple her plight, and they agreed to let her cook her ribs when they were finished. She cooked and shared them with the couple. In this way, Jenny was able to dispose of the grisly remains of her crime.

##

Her singing voice was a smoky, throaty, and whiskey, mellow alto. She took the stage, sitting at the piano, ready to play one of her own tunes. The trio that backed her up were magnificent, and the audience moved to the edge of their seats with their cell phones and digital cameras high in the air. Ms. Darlene Apple was the hit of the Seattle jazz scene. Her beauty was shadowed by her lyrics, original compositions, and nudity. A chilling breeze came through a door off stage, and Ms. Apple picked up the tempo, to the delight of the audience.

Tura

“New car smell. New home smell. Gen-fem — generic feminine — used a lot in low-end clothing stores. Commercial stuff.” She shrugged.

“High-class ambients, they’re something else. But…times change. Here’s a classic. They don’t even make the ingredients any more.”

She showed me a small bottle, a quarter full of a deep amber liquid, labelled “OLD SMOKE”.

“You’ve never experienced anything like this before.” She took the stopper out for just a few seconds. Suddenly the room was redolent of old cigars, well-worn leather upholstery, brandy glasses, and — oh! — the subtlest grace notes of a beautiful woman glimpsed unattainably far off.

Serendipity

The fragrance drifting through the doorway as I passed by unlocked a forgotten wealth of fond memories.

Malacca, 1963… bartering for supper in the night market – the babble and hubbub, the sweaty, prickly heat of summer and the press of the excited crowd as they jostled at the market stalls, all came flooding back.

Then, an unexpected respite.

The temple, quiet and serene – a welcome escape from the tumult outside. The somnolent monotone of a Buddhist chant, drawing me in. And everywhere, the smouldering tapers of rising incense.

Wonderful memories, rekindled by the simple fragrance of that blesséd, holy smoke.

Munsi

Yes, I do still smoke.

I know I shouldn’t. I know that it’s expensive, and I know what it’ll do to my teeth and the lines around my eyes.

I also know that cigarettes are the only product that, used as directed, kills 100% of it’s customers. Cancer, heart disease, I know what smoking does.

But I also know that twice a day, at work, regardless of how long my scheduled shift is, I will hear a manager say, in essence: Smokers, take a five minute break. Non-smokers, shut up and get back to work.

So yeah, I still smoke.

Guy David

A man, or a mere impression of a men. He rises from the chimney of some factory or another, taking shape from the smoke. He hovers above the city, an illusion perhaps, more likely a secret project. Eyes are cameras, ears are microphones, recording silently. No door can hold him. He just blows underneath like the smoke he’s made of. His brain has the computing power built into the latest in nanotechnology. The results are being sent for processing at a secret facility. He is just the prototype. More are being created. Watch out for the fog, it’s coming alive.

Logan Berry

Until that moment, panic had turned me to ice. But the touch of his
hand on my skin was the lick of a blowtorch and I felt its heat,
suddenly, shockingly. Something stirred in a place I thought had died.
I felt, as if for the first time, my own breathing, sharp and hot.

Smoke curled out of his nose and drifted towards the ceiling fan like
the ghosts of small birds.

The fan spun slowly, each rotation clicking softly, the only sound in
a deathly silence.

He inhaled again in the darkness, silhouetted against a grey window.
He thought I was still dead as he leaned over me, pressing his lips
against mine and forcing the ghostly birds into my mouth. When I felt
his tongue scorch the back of my throat, I bit down, hard.

As his screams broke the silence, I floated to the window, spread my
wings, and flew away.

Zackmann

“I never saw your shop before. Do you sell anything in addition to tobacco like loose leaf tea or tee shirts?”
“I don’t think you understand that is a smoke shop, the only thing we sell is smoke. Except election years than we also sell mirrors.” answered shopkeeper
“Do you mean like liquid smoke for cooking?”
“Liquid smoke is one product we sell. We currently have a sale on smoke from 1980s rock concerts.”
“Too bad,I was looking for tobacco because I read a gardening article that touted its uses.”
“Come back when they write an article about smoke.”

Lizzie

“Smoke them out, smoke them out!” one soldier barked throwing a smoke grenade in the hole.

“They are coming!” another yelled.

They thought dozens of enemies had been hiding in a trench for more than a week. No food and no water left.

“Come out of there!” the first soldier barked again. “We’ll go in, if you don’t come out, right now!”

They were the winners. The losers would have to obey.

“Yeah!” they all yelled.

The thick heavy smoke was unbearable.

In the end, the hundreds were five teenage soldiers scared to death.

Soldiers and kids, no winners there…

Steven the Nuclear Man

Sullivan lights his and Murphy’s cigarettes, then shakes out the match. Night floods back as the flame dies.

Thompson’s eyebrows arch. “What about me?”

Murphy laughs as Sullivan strikes another match. “Thompson, you weren’t military?”

Thompson draws on the cigarette, lighting it from Sullivan’s match. Treetrunks loom until Sullivan shakes the flame out. “Nope.”

Murphy takes a drag. “You light two ’cause it’s too short for a sniper to aim.”

Thompson’s brow furrows. “We’re hunting demons, not snipers.”

Sullivan tosses his cigarette at the other men’s feet. “Demons that see heat,” he says as his horned master enters the clearing.

Buttermilk

From the very moment when we first met, there was just something about her,
something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She is intoxicating.
Attractive doesn’t begin to explain it. I’d say it was chemical, maybe even
phermonal, if that was possible. I can’t explain the way she has
captured my attention. There is an ephemeral quality about her that absolutely
captivates me. From that first moment on, she has dominated my thoughts,
my dreams, and my fantasies alike. I have spent countless hours trying to define it, to describe it,
to understand it. It eludes me…. like smoke.

Cliff

The reporters and the faithful stood in the courtyard waiting. The College of Cardinals had been in the Sistine Chapel for several days trying to elect the new pope. The previous leader of the church had been one of the most popular popes in decades. He had helped the church grow and find new members the world over. When intelligent life had been discovered in the tunnels of Mars, missionaries had been dispatched and the Martians had converted in droves. There were even native Martian bishops now.

Still, everyone was surprised when the smoke rising from the Chapel was green.

Norval Joe

His lungs burned as he raced across the meadow to her grandfather’s cottage.
Smoke billowed from the windows and door. Fire danced up the thatched roof.
He grabbed a bucket at the well and dumped it on a sheet of canvas that covered firewood by the door.
Crouched under the canvas he crawled to her bedroom, wrapped her in the wet sheet and dragged her to safety.
Her eyes fluttered open, “You came back for me.”
“I’ll always come for you,” he promised.
Sitting with the company in the smoky common room, the memory came back to Owen with force.

TJ

“Can you help me?” she pleaded. “My daughter is missing.”

Although the suites were nonsmoking, a blue haze hung in the air behind
her. She waved off my glance. “She went missing… six hours ago. The
computer moved all our rooms around and… she’s probably lost.” Her
eyes worried about more sinister possibilities.

“How old is she?” I asked. “Does she have her cell with her?”

“She’s 15. It goes directly to voicemail. I called the police but
I’m out of my mind here!”

Well, I’m just a locksmith, myself, but I figured I could at least try
to help.

RedGoddess

Lola wears many hats as part of her job on the hotel’s guest services team. She’s not a magician but expected to make problems vanish in thin air. She’s not a superhero but have been known to leap out of harm’s way. Most notably, she’s no firefighter but can smell smoke from miles away. Last week, one of her guests decided to bake a special batch of biscuits for her fiancee who’s visiting from London. She has never turned the oven on since moving into the penthouse suite. Within minutes, the fire alarm was set off and triggered the sprinklers.

Planet Z

I like the smell of incense.

I have incense burners in the living room, office, and the bathroom so I don’t have to move them around.

But then, I keep the incense on a single shelf in the hallway. Kinda defeats the purpose of a convenient burner in every room if I have to get up to get more.

There’s also a smoke alarm in each room, but the smoke from the incense doesn’t set it off.

The smoke from burning something on the stove does, though.

Why did I take a bath while soup was on?

I’m a moron.