Author: R.

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:

• Danny
• Richard
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Jon
• Planet Z

JON

The Economics of Architecture

By

Jon DeCles

It was such a wonderful invention, thought Giles as he turned the ratchet just a notch and listened to Geoffrey’s screams. Before some clever torturer had invented the rack, this kind of pain could only be inflicted on a prisoner by hanging him by his wrists from the ceiling and slowly adding weights to his ankles. That, in turn, required a pretty high ceiling from which to do the hanging, and that meant you had to build a dungeon with a vault as high as the average great hall, which was a very wasteful use of stone, wood, and mortar.

NORVAL JOE

Bilbert took the plastic grocery bag and cut two holes in the bottom. He pushed his legs through the holes and carefully pulled it up.

“Only a homeless person would wear a grocery bag,” he said as he walked to the back yard.

He knew he must look completely ghetto, or ratchet, as his cousin from New Orleans used to say.

Not wanting to hit his head on the ceiling, he stepped outside and looked up into the branches of the maple tree above him.

Next thing he knew, he was hovering among the leaves, twenty feet above the ground.

TOM

Rat Chet

Chet had no honor. Everyone who had taken him into their confidence were soon betrayed. When maximum density was reached in his small village he was strapped to a pillory and the letters R-A-T were branded on his forehead with a red hot iron. His last remaining friend gave him money for passage to France. Settling- in in Paris he took up the profession of rodent exterminator. If paid well, he became rich, and soon a member of the French court. Marquis Rongeur never lost his tendency to rat folk out, thus, an early victim of the reign of terror.

SERENDIPITY

Few people appreciate the difficulties those of us in the hurting and killing professions face daily.

It’s not just the constant hiding of evidence and running from the cops that make it such a stressful occupation: Blood soaked clothing means sky high laundry bills, for a start; and you’d be amazed at how prevalent repetitive strain injury is, as a result of constantly hacking away at bodies for easy disposal.

That’s why I invented the ‘Ratchet Hatchet’™ – a labour saving device that takes the strain out of removing limbs.

Not coming to a home shopping channel any time soon!

CHARLIE

When I grew up in New Orleans, everyone thought I was a ratchet, and that I would never make anything of myself.

Today, in my early twenties, I am a Certified Arch Support Technician for the largest woman’s shoe emporium in town. When a customer comes to my kiosk in the back of the store, I can see their problem before they say a thing. Most of those that have bad feet are a hundred pounds over weight.

I ask them to sit, and then I slather on hand sanitizer up to my armpits, and under my watch and bracelets.

#2

I had to borrow a ratchet to tighten the main universal on my dildonic device. It had loosened way outside of spec after the bachelorette party with the ladies.

I torqued the base, arms, grippers to spec, and plugged it in. Next, I called the main sex hub and asked them to run a test series on the device. It whirred, spun, then, when warmed up it went into full operation.

Myrna was at the house for the day, insisting on testing it. She had me wait in the other room. A minute passed and I heard a frenzied scream.

JEFFREY

Suspense
by Jeffrey Fischer

“It was night.”

No, you need the opening to be punchier, more suspenseful. Give it another try.

“It was a dark and stormy night.”

Better, but maybe ratchet up the suspense even a little more.

“It was a really, really dark and especially stormy night.”

That’s not exactly what I…

“As soon as it got dark, the frustrated author killed the annoying editor with his pen.”

Better, better. How about changing “killed” to “stabbed” – or even “slaughtered”? Wait, we can talk this over… “killed” is just fine… what are you -”

RICHARD

Slow and sure

Growing old and slowing down never suited grandpa – especially the slowing down bit.

He used to grumble constantly that his stair lift was too slow, and that he had a good mind to make his own modifications to speed it up. I told him to leave it be, but he never took any notice.

I’ve no idea what he used to replace the old ratchet mechanism, but I do know it was way too powerful, and that somehow he got the gearing all wrong.

Last we heard of him, he was headed for the earth’s core, at breakneck speed!

LIZZIE

Rest assured. This will not happen again, you said.
Aim for the future and don’t look back, hey? May those sorrows stay in the past, you said. Bury them deep. What you did cannot be undone, can it?
Time will tell, of course. Time will tell.
Call upon the meek, you must. Their sorrowful, all-forgiving smiles will free you.
Haul and cry if you must. Haul and cry. They’ll forgive you.
Each new day will bring new hope, we hope. You hope.
Then, it’ll be the end. Where? Right there. Find the place. Rest assured. This will not happen again.

PLANET Z

She picked up the ratchet off of the garage workbench, walked up behind Bobby, and smacked him in the back of the head.
He fell to the ground, dead.
She washed off the ratchet and put it back in the set,
Then, she called the police.
By the time they got there, she was gone.
The police took photographs and measurements, collected things to check for fingerprints.
But they found nothing. No sign of her.
Bobby got zipped up in a body bag and hauled into the back of a van.
The house went on the market, are you interested?

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:

• Danny
• Richard
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Danny
• Norval Joe
• Jon
• Planet Z

RICHARD

Bad Advice

“Take a tip from me”, my father would say. “Never get involved with women, drugs, gambling or booze, and you’ll live a long, healthy and happy life, just like me.”

Unfortunately, it seems you can take advice too literally…

My mother threw me out on the streets when I refused to have anything to do with her; I refused medication when I contracted pneumonia; and when consequently admitted, unconscious to hospital, my lack of health insurance – which you’ll agree, is gambling – saw me back on the streets almost immediately.

And I can’t even drown my sorrows.

Thanks dad!

CHARLIE

I’ve got a tip for the warden that will be in charge of the imprisonment of Weinstein, Cosby and Freeman. “Above all, avoid letting anyone near the three named prisoners. Don’t let anyone pump them full of meth, steroids, sildenafil, and B-12. After a few days pass, they will be at each other like Spanish Pirates on native women in the Caribbean.”

This, of course, would be a very cruel deed, and the staff would have to keep things on the down low.

The female officers could be trusted to be discrete, and would have access to professionally produced DVDs.

LIZZIE

What should I do? The green is fading away. The red is taking over. A man is hanging from the big oak, swinging horribly. His blood is pooling on the ground. And I don’t know what to do. I just hide in this tree. The magic is gone. The magic is gone… The man has been there for a while. I didn’t see who did it. I was hiding, hiding in this tree. And I hid for so long that I am now the tree. I am not hanging, but I am dead too. Tell me, what should I do?

JEFFREY

At the Track
by Jeffrey Fischer

Alan leaned over the rail, urging his horse to victory. The horse finished dead last, and Alan tore his betting ticket in two. So much for the great tip he had gotten from the old guy who looked as though he spent his days at the track, studying each race with great intensity. This was the fifth race in a row the old guy had whispered a name to Alan, and the fifth race in a row where that name had finished out of the money. A Magic 8 Ball would have been just as helpful.

A second old man materialized at the rail, next to Alan. “Let me guess,” Alan said, “you have a tip for me.”

“Yeah,” the old man said, “I do. Don’t take betting advice from strangers.“

SERENDIPITY

I like to keep the cops on their toes – give them a little something to keep them occupied; nothing of much consequence, but a steady stream of minor crime to tie up their resources and embroil them in paperwork. Because whilst they’re distracted by the small things, it keeps them off my back, and me off the radar.

So I lower myself to the occasional break in, the odd burglary and casual mugging, tying up police resources, time and energy.

They never realise that it’s only the tip of the iceberg.

Below which lies blackmail, extortion, torture and murder!

TOM

A 100 years ago my grandfather attached to the 2nd division was fighting in the Belleau Woods. His division met up with the 5th Marines. They moved on Hill 142. In the middle of this a jarhead from NY starts talking about what he’s going to do when he gets home. Pretty normal practice. “Hey Kosick, got a tip for you. ATnT.” A Year later my grandfather’s a junior accountant in the ATT Chicago office buying ATT stocks pennies on the dollar. Didn’t work out a well for my other grandfather, who lost his shirt trying to corner the wheat market.

DANNY

Dad flinches as the tip of the dialysis needles are placed in his arm. “Get me out of here,” he laments, not understanding he still has over 2 hours left on the dialysis machine. The fidget monster sits restless, irritable, and discontent in a persistent state of wide awake stupid, not knowing the date or where he is. I sit with him for the full duration of treatment to prevent him from getting up and tearing the needles out his arm. When Dialysis is over, I take a content Dad home, because he is unable to remember where he has been.

NORVAL JOE

Linoliamanda ran and hugged her scowling father.
When she looked back, Billbert tipped his head and said, “See ya Friday.”
On his way home, he pictured the shreds of plastic in his pocket and said, “Fly.”
Nothing happened.
Standing in his kitchen, he held the shreds in his hand and said, “Fly.”
The plastic only settled to the floor.
He threw the remains of the bag into the garbage beneath the sink.
“Fly in there,” he muttered.
To his surprise, something behind the garbage can buzzed.
“Fly?” he asked.
The exposed tip of a white plastic grocery bag fluttered wildly.

JON

A Titanic Romance

By

Jon DeCles

The trouble with the tip was that it was going to tip the balance of what was in his wallet in favor of his not being able to afford the ride home. He could walk her from the restaurant to her house, and walk from there to the subway, but he could not walk to Germantown where he was living, a distance practicably reachable only by train.

If he didn’t tip the waitress he would be a schmuck, which would tip Mary off to the fact that he was out of work. Hope punctured by the tip of the iceberg.

PLANET Z

Back in college, I had a summer job delivering pizzas.
I could have been a pizza maker, but it was summertime in a building with one wall unit air conditioner and a huge pizza oven.
Better to risk getting attacked or robbed.
Besides, that’s how you got the tips, right?
The store had a computer to track customers and orders.
And if they were good tippers or not.
The owner didn’t like it when we tracked tips, so we disguised them in the fax number field.
Nobody ever faxed in an order. Heck, we didn’t even have a fax machine.