Weekly Challenge #619 – Generally

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:

Fence Tinny

RICHARD

Generally

So, here I am, Sat in the pub, enjoying my pint, phone in hand, pondering what to write for this week’s story.

And, literally at the moment I tap out the heading, ‘Generally’, the chap across the bar loudly says the exact same word to his companion.

I’m a little freaked out…

Am I being watched? Under covert surveillance by who knows what shady organisation? Is some bizarre experiment in thought control taking place here?

I take another draught from my glass.

Maybe it was just a freaky coincidence… But, if nothing else, I’ve got a story out of it!

SERENDIPITY

I find that generalisations are, generally pretty useful.

They can cover a multitude of sins and can allow you – quite literally sometimes – to get away with murder.

They’re handy for providing alibis, without actually being deceptive…

“Where were you on the night in question?”

“Well generally, I’m at church on a Sunday at that time of the evening, so I suppose that must have been the case.”

“And, as a rule, I generally go straight home afterwards, to a mug of cocoa, and a good night’s sleep.”

And the best of it is that I, generally, get away with it!

PLANET Z

“Generally speaking…”
When the boss started off with those words, you knew you were in for an hour of boredom.
Not that you could show it, mind you.
If you closed your eyes or crossed your arms, he was right there in your face, asking if there was a problem.
And then he’d start back over again with those words:
“Generally speaking…”
There were only two ways to get out of that.
Lunch and quitting time.
You get home, you have your dinner, you put your feet up, and…
When you go to sleep, and dream of those words again.

TURA

Generally
———
The bronckle is an old folk instrument traditionally made, and played, by shepherds. It consists of a long, stout, hollow staff with a mouthpiece and finger holes. The opposite end is terminated by a large hollow wooden ball that provides percussion accompaniment when swung against a tree. Thus did shepherds amuse themselves in former times.

The bronckle has never found favour in the salon, but the composer Marin Marais once accepted a challenge to create a piece for bronckle consort, performed by shepherds on the King’s estates. It was generally agreed that the effect resembled a stampede of confused cows.

TOM

The river rose all day–The river rose all night

Generally speaking Dean was the last person I’d have thought would be capable of such a selfless act of kindness. It not that he is some kind of self-center asshole, it more he has the heart and soul of an accountant. One to weight the cost benefits of any given interaction. But there he was knee deep in the river with the tiny girl riding on his shoulders. And he didn’t stop there. Dean return to the river a dozen time. The water rising to hip, then chest. He didn’t make it back from the last trip. Well done Dean.

JON

Why I Am Not As Good As Lovecraft

By

Jon DeCles

Generally speaking, I always try to be specific. Generalities are sometimes useful, like statistics, but they usually present a false, or at least inadequate, image of something that would be better served with a precise and specific representation. Specificity allows for the possible communication of precise information. Generality, at best, allows for the communication of a warm fuzzy feeling or a cold chill of horror.

Lovecraft used non-specific information more effectively than anyone in achieving a precise reaction of horror in his readers. Through non-specificity he became, generally, one of the greatest writers of horror stories in all of literature.

CHARLIE

Generally, I do not fly Airlingis. The last time I called them, I misdialed. A woman answered, and when I asked for comfortable, Airlingis accommodations, she gasped and slammed the phone down. I do this sort of thing often.

As I get older, I make more mistakes, and make them more often.

As I near my final days, I plan to get my head removed and stored at an Alcor, cryogenic facility. My executors will handle everything, including reanimation.

Some day, my ancestors will fetch me from the walk-in, and we can sit down to catch up on the news.

LIZZIE

The lighthouse keeper stared at the horizon. Five lines. The sea was unusually calm and it was bitter cold. His mind wandered back to that day. The sea wasn’t calm then and it wasn’t cold but he felt it at the back of his neck like a knife. The body was out there. He knew exactly where. Five years ago. Each year, on that day, he would stand up there. He didn’t know how. He never noticed when. But he knew she came from the sea to carve another line on his arm, a reminder of what he had done.

JEFFREY

Common Sense
by Jeffrey Fischer

Generally, the sound of a police siren and the sight of flashing lights invokes the following reactions: pulling over, handing license and registration to the officer, and responding politely to questions and instructions from the officer. He’s armed and the driver is usually not. Confrontations generally work out poorly for the driver. This is common sense.

It’s annoying to read the self-righteous accounts of black parents lecturing their male children of driving age to take the above steps in a respectful manner. The implication is that young black males have trouble with these simple concepts. Be a man, kid, and respect the law. You’ll live longer that way.

LAIEANNA

Waltzing

I shaded more red into my canvas, working while the crowds shuffled
around. My subject squirmed and whined before settling on command. I
hastened to finish my latest masterpiece, turning it for parental
approval.

They squawked and shouted offending words I dare not repeat, insisting
I did not capture their child, but in reviewing my sketch, taking note
of horns, gnashing teeth, and evil glint, I assured them my
interpretation was accurate. It was how I generally saw all of them
in the park.

I don’t remember much more after the mouse came up and punched me in the head.

NORVAL JOE

Being a boy in middle school is generally a negative thing.

For the few boys with confidence and maturity beyond their years it’s an opportunity to control hundreds of others. Like fish in a barrel, the less mature and more insecure rise to the surface with hopes for acceptance and inclusion, only to get a bullet through the head.

So it was that Billbert fell victim to Roderick’s prank. Though, now, he had something none of the other boys had: a super power.

True. He wore a plastic bag for a loin cloth, which, generally was not a positive thing.

DUANE

Generally

Hollywood is remaking The Dukes of Hazard. The story is generally the same. Uncle Jesse is the same old curmudgeon, but running a recycling center. Daisy runs a tech firm. “Mayor” Hogg is a philanthropist who loves helping others and playing Santa at Christmas.

And don’t forget that iconic car. It’s now a bright green Prius, with a yellow peace sign on the roof. They use it to deliver meals on wheels or sometimes as a Lyft service and hilarity ensues. They call it “The Generally.” So how much trouble will those Duke boys be in this week? Not much…

Colonial

Colonial Williamsburg is where actors and roleplayers in the Historical District of the city make candles, milk cows, and live life in the same way as people did in the colonial days of this country.
Tourists appear to love the experience. However, there’s anachronisms and inconsistencies that annoy true historians.
Doctor Odd flew his time machine back four hundred years to experience the real Williamsburg in colonial times.
Sure enough, there was a Future District where fat and lazy tourists watched television and surfed for porn on their smartphones.
Doctor Odd bought a candle and peanut brittle before heading back.

Wet Myst

Myst likes to go outside.
Especially when it’s raining.
She comes back in soaking wet, and we take her into the kitchen to dry her off with paper towels.
She purrs while we towel her off. She likes it.
Then, she goes back outside, and after a while, comes back in soaking wet.
We do this over and over again.
Is she the stupid one for getting wet over and over again?
Or are we, for letting her go outside in the rain?
I think we are the stupid ones.
Because paper towels are wasteful. Use a cloth towel instead.

War Rages On

Back in World War 2, American forces recruited Navajo speakers to act as messengers.
The Japanese couldn’t crack the code.
A similar strategy was used in the Vietnam War, but with Hebrew speakers.
The problem was, the rabbis at either end of the conversation mistook the coded messages for an actual discussion of the Talmud, and they broke out into a heated argument.
The chain of command broke down quickly.
Mess halls served chicken soup. Airstrikes were called everywhere.
Snipers threw down their rifles and opened shoe repair shops.
Ending the war was easy… it’s ending the argument that’s hard!

St. Nardo’s Day

My old buddy Nardo died on February 28th.
I call it St. Nardo’s Day.
To mark the anniversary of his passing.
I go to the local Cajun restaurant.
And get a bucket of crawdads.
Nardo loved the smell of crawdads on my fingers.
And whatever I couldn’t eat.
I’d peel and bring home in a cup.
He’d snap them up and beg for more.
“All gone, all gone.” I’d say.
He still wanted more.
Myst and Tinny doesn’t like crawdads.
So whatever leftovers I have this time.
I’ll toss in the grass.
For the strays to enjoy.
In his memory.

Superblood

Normal blood wasn’t good enough for some athletes, so a research lab quietly developed SuperBlood.
It transported oxygen and hormones more efficiently than regular blood.
When they tried to test for SuperBlood, it showed up as normal blood.
Instead of banning SuperBlood, the leagues licensed it.
Athletes signed sponsorship deals.
High school kids got back-alley transfusions, and some bled out or got contaminated or fake batches and died.
There was an AIDS and Hepatitis D scare there, too.
Eventually, Yamaha developed artificial muscles that performed great regardless of blood.
If only scientists spent so much effort making people less stupid.

Dog Park

There’s a dog park across the street.
People who live in apartments bring their dogs to the dog park.
They walk with their dogs, play with their dogs, and let their dogs meet other dogs.
There are rules for the owners and their dogs.
Play nice, or go home. No unattended dogs.
Some people abandon their dogs at the park.
They’re bad with children. Or they can’t afford them. Or keep them because they lost their home, or are too old to care for them.
We collect them.
Not for adoption.
With a little teriyaki sauce, they make excellent jerky.

Weekly Challenge #618 – PICK TWO

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:

Stripey spoiled rotten

RICHARD

Big Brother

I’ve had a dicky ticker for some time. Weirdly, it’s a good thing in some ways – I grant you it will, literally, be the death of me, but on the bright side, it’s brought Harold and me back together.

As brothers go, we never had that close relationship we should have, but since the bad news, he’d do anything he can to help his little brother.

More fool him! I still can’t stand him.

It’s handy having him around though, especially since I’ve been steadily poisoning him for the last few months!

And, when he dies… I’m having his heart!

JEFFREY

My Brother, The Idiot
by Jeffrey Fischer

My brother was so dumb he rounded pi to three. “Easier to remember,” he said. Somehow he passed engineering school, and somehow he ended up with a job designing a building – a round tower in the center of the city. He got fed up with my riling him about his math skills, so, to prove me wrong, he said he would use no computers on the job.

As the mayor used the ceremonial scissors for the ribbon-cutting, the rumbling began. The building started to break into pieces. I ran for my life, but couldn’t help but notice that every chunk that fell resembled a slice of pizza.

SERENDIPITY

Another slice of pie?

No, really, there’s no need to be polite – if you’re hungry, please tuck in, and if you’re enjoying it, then please help yourself to another slice.

There’s no need to apologise for your brother. I’m sure he’d have joined us if he could. I know that we haven’t exactly seen eye to eye in the past, but I’m the first person to admit that I’m by no means perfect, so in a way, I suppose you could call this a slice of humble pie on my part.

Although, your brother is rather tasty, don’t you think?

LIZZIE

The Brothers, the Tower and No Elephant

The brothers had a reputation that preceded them wherever they went. The day they decided to steal the gold statue of an elephant, they came up with a plan and managed to sneak inside the king’s tower. The problem was, they couldn’t find the damn elephant anywhere. They climbed all the way to the top in pitch black darkness. Exhausted, they sat down for a few seconds. No elephant, but the view was magnificent. They decided to watch the sunrise before resuming the search. Suddenly, evil laughter interrupted the dreamy moment. Watching the sunrise was lovely. Free flying was not.

NORVAL JOE

Wearing his grocery bag loincloth, Billbert crept to the edge of the roof, looking like an insane albino native American. He spied his clothes at the base of the tree, towering above the school grounds.

Inconspicuous on the roof, he would stand out like an elephant at a tea party if he flew down there to grab them, now. Too bad his new super power wasn’t like spider man.
Spidey could just shoot a web down to his clothes and snag them.

Once class started Billbert could fly down, snag clothes, and shoot into the locker room to get dressed.

TOM

Out of the Dark

The Brotherhood of Pi came to my village one day. Dressed in the pi-ionic red took their place under a tree said to be the exact spot that Dar Laktor had drawn his proof. The brothers were here to find inquiring souls who were capable of serious mathematic heavy lifting. Boy Who Runs With Elephant and his brother Zin Bok sat at the edge of first ring each morning the good brothers spoke. On the day of departing Boy handed the Brothers a leaf showing his work on a new irrational called Q.

So he left with the brothers.

JON

The Brothers Oyinlola
By
Jon DeCles

The Brothers Oyinlola had a drumroll announce the appearance of any native wildlife, so the tourists atop the tower they owned would not miss anything. They would serve you a slice of iyeye pie while you were waiting, and just in case nothing showed all day, you could have more than once slice. They also had a medical kit, and occasionally a doctor on call, in case some elderly visitor’s ticker conked out when an elephant got upset and charged and shook the tall wooden tower. Lack of funds meant they only advertised their safari on the world wide web.

LAST WEEK
Grab Bag
By
Jon DeCles
The sign said I could grab a bag and fill it with whatever I wanted for only five dollars, but I only had five minutes. I could see what a bargain that would be. I grabbed the bag and started to stuff things in, running up and down the aisles, and I finished on time.
Now I have a pound of walnuts, a pair of red-sequined slippers, a new jock strap, a Thing “As Advertised on TV” (I don’t know what it does), bicycle goggles, ten daffodil bulbs, a really bad hardback novel: but Wait! There’s More! A VCR tape…

DUANE

Pick Two – Tower & Drumroll

I was raised on fairy tales about the brave knight saving the beautiful princess from the tower. There was always an evil stepmother or fearful king keeping the princess hidden away. At eighteen I ventured off to find my fair princess. I heard her one day, singing like an angel from her castle tower. I scaled the wall that night and climbed onto the ledge. The beautiful maiden turned from the across the room and our eyes met… the silence soon broken as she screamed and screamed. The last sounds I heard were the drumroll and the falling of the guillotine.

PLANET Z

Simple Simon was a pieman.
So was his younger brother Saul.
Father left the bakery to Simon.
Even though Saul was the better pieman.
Simon renamed the shop Simon’s Pies.
Saul became very angry.
He started his own bakery, right across the street. Saul’s Pies.
And he tried to drive his brother out of business.
He nearly succeeded.
Instead of going bankrupt, Simon made a deal with some people.
And Saul’s Pies burned to the ground.
Saul was ruined.
Then, Simon’s Pies burned to the ground, too.
Simon’s new partners collected the insurance money.
The brothers manage a McDonalds now.

Overthrow

It took years, but we overthrew the dictator.
Then, we overthrew the dictator that replaced him.
Another dictator took over, but we overthrew him.
The first dictator came back to power, but we overthrew him.
The next dictator was overthrown by the second dictator, who was then overthrown by the first.
After that, the dictators kept popping up and overthrowing each other.
Pretty soon, it was a daily event. You could set your watch by it.
We stopped paying attention, and got along just fine.
I couldn’t tell you who the current dictator is if you asked.
Maybe, it’s me.

A true masterpiece

You see a painting. I see so much more.
I can appreciate the chemical research and experimentation that resulted in the pigments.
The shadows, the light, the vibrant colors in between.
Mixed and layered with absolute precision.
I can recognize the quality of the canvas, and the intricacy of the frame.
The foundation upon which a work is built.
I can admire the skill and patience of each brushstroke.
The angle, the weight.
I can study the genius of the proportion and composition.
Each element in balance with every other.
A true masterpiece.
Even if the painting is utter shit.