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:

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

TOM

When I was young I was enamored by lightening bugs. Being young and totally self-absorbed I thought it was my right to capture the lightening. So in a baby food jar ventilated with holes I filled it with flashing bugs. I wasn’t a total bastard, I put grass in the jar, but somehow that wasn’t enough. In the morning all the bugs were dead. Mom said they had a short life span. It’s funny how guilt will chase you through the years. My Mom keep that jar and repurposed it for spices. I toss the killing jar into the trash.

LIZZIE

To Old Jack, Jack Fenton Moore

Sometimes, there’s someone who believes in you.
Sometimes, that person calls you Dreamer and everything seems possible.
And you dream and you create.
Then, suddenly, you close your eyes and you can’t understand.
That hug was too short…
The echo is still there though, reverberating in your memory, pushing you forward.
A word of encouragement was enough for you not to give up back then.
So, you look up and smile. The old owl is somewhere, up there perhaps, reading your stories. He’s nodding, happy that one single word made you believe.
“Dreamer, write. Don’t stop. Write.”
One word.
Dreamer.

MUNSI

The Lovers
By Christopher Munroe

They were star-crossed; but no matter what tragedy the world threw at them their love persevered.

When he asked for her hand she wept, when he saw her in her gown he did, for he knew in that moment that no force in heaven or earth could tear them asunder.

Then the sun went nova.

Both were slain, as was every other thing on the planet. The sterile, charred world hurtled through space, tomb and testament to a simple lesion that’s just as true today as it was back then.

Don’t cross the stars.

Stars, once crossed, will ruin you…

CHARLIE

I saw stars when the meteorite hit me on the top of my head. Since the incident, I’ve been able to read minds and foretell events. I have seen the future, and it looks pretty good, excepting the results of the forthcoming election. I’ve made a few dollars for private consults, and was invited to appear on the Ellen show. I told Ellen that her wife was cheating on her, and if she snuck around and busted into the greenroom, she would catch her lover in flagrante delicto with three of the Spice Girls, who were booked for the show.

#2

I saw stars when I stepped off the curb, hoping to get entangled in a bicycle so my girlfriend would have pity on me and that the accident would be bizarre and surreal enough to make the weekly papers. Not having done this before, I misjudged everything, and was killed…along with the tandem cyclists and the driver that swerved and hit a wall avoiding the bike, the riders, and my dead body. The bike’s fancy, brass horn was embedded in my clacker. When they flipped my body to examine my wounds, I tooted a warning, but it was too late.

JEFFREY

Celluloid Heroes
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Kinks sang that you can see all the stars as you walk down Hollywood Boulevard, so that’s where I went. On one corner, Macauley Culkin sat slumped against a wall, nodding off in his heroin stupor. In the next block I saw Cher, face completely rigid from plastic surgery yet red with rage. She was screaming about George Bush. I hurried on, past Gwyneth Paltrow, hawking goop. I did have a nice chat with a guy named Bob Lankowski. Nice guy. When I asked him what movies I might have seen him in, he laughed. “I’m not an actor. I’m a CPA from Des Moines, here on vacation.”

I spent the rest of my stay in L.A. at the Getty Museum, where I was unlikely to run into anyone from the film industry.

Presidential Ticket
by Jeffrey Fischer

A friend said he was so disgusted with both major party candidates that he’d prefer a third party. “Gary Johnson?” I guessed. “The guy who thinks a Jewish baker should be forced to bake cakes with Nazi images? Not much of a Libertarian. Or that Green Party woman, who’s to the left of Bernie Sanders?” He shook his head. “Neither of them. Han Solo is my candidate. He’s a man of action with experience in defeating evil.”

I considered pointing out that the Star Wars universe was fictional, and that it took place in a “galaxy far, far away,” so neither Solo nor Chewbacca was likely to be a U.S. citizen. Rather than sound like a birther, though, I said, “Haven’t seen The Force Awakens yet, have you?”

RICHARD

Classic

When Kubrick sprang “2001: A Space Odyssey” upon an unsuspecting world, although a prolific and well respected director, his film was not a success amongst the critics.

Criticisms of impenetrable plot, lack of dialogue and slow pace may have sounded the death knell of a lesser movie, however, despite everything, it has become a classic, possibly one of the greatest movies of all time.

It was a triumph for Kubrick too – earning him his only personal Academy Award.

Rumour has it that on arrival at the Oscars ceremony, he took one look and exclaimed: “My God, it’s full of stars!”

SERENDIPITY

I once heard a story about a man whose mistake turned satellites into a thousand shooting stars… “Make a wish!” his daughter prompted him.

If I had a wish, it would be to legalise shooting stars – especially those third rate, C-lister, reality TV ‘stars’ with their enormous egos, undeserved fame and complete lack of talent.

Just line them up against a wall, and shoot the lot of them.

Twice – if necessary – just to make sure.

Coming to think of it, without all those crappy reality TV shows, we’re not going to be needing all those satellites either…

Make a wish!

TURA

Stars
———
It is called the Angler.

It begins when a young prince rides out in search of adventure. He comes to a tower, at the top of which stands a beautiful princess. She has stars in her hair and her face shines like the sun, and her voice is as the sweetest birdsong. She tells of being imprisoned by her wicked uncle, or her incestuous father, or a lecherous sorceror.

She lets down her long, impossibly long, impossibly thick hair to the ground, and the prince takes hold of it. The Angler reels in its tongue and swallows the prince whole.

NORVAL JOE

From the rapid pounding of the approaching boots, Mickey knew descending the stairs was useless. Before he could turn away and search for an alternate escape, a sharp pain split across the back of his monkey head, a flash of stars filled his vision, and then everything went black.
When he came to himself, his furry arms were strapped to his body with duct tape, his head throbbed, and his blurred vision hinted that he was in the back seat of a car. Which direction they headed, or if the car moved at all, he was too dizzy to tell.

PLANET Z

According to legend, the Olympian Gods would raise exceptional heroes into the heavens, and the stars formed pictures of them.
However, the truth is that constellations made up of stars in three-dimensional space are completely arbitrary, and from any other vantage point in the universe the sky you will see is completely different.
From Earth, you see The Big Dipper, The Little Dipper, and Orion’s Belt.
But from Rigel Seven, you see King Gadnaz, Bleen the Mighty, and Pogdar glittering at night.
Literally, mind you. The Rigelians have a tradition of gluing mirrors to heroes and launching them into space.

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:

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

TOM

You cannot petition the Lord with prayer.

“Teacher now that we have eaten how may we best pray?” “Do you pray at all, but if you must say this:”

Our toothpaste who art in the medicine cabinet
Hollowed be Thy tube
Thy sonic run,
Thy flossing be done
On molars as it is on bicuspids
Give us this day our daily menthol
And forgive us our root cannels
As we forgive those who root cannel against us;
And lead us not into Gingivitis
Bur deliver us from drilling
For thine is the oral care, the power brush
And the bridge work for ever and ever
Amen

LIZZIE

“What do you keep in that jar, Bernie?”
“Lard.”
Connor got closer to the shelf.
“That doesn’t look like lard.”
“Oh, right. That’s an eye.”
“Human?”
“Of course, human.”
“Whose eye is it?!” asked Connor, shocked.
“It’s Parker’s.”
Connor took a step back.
“Why?”
“My wife was having an affair with him.”
“Shouldn’t you have plucked your wife’s eye instead…?”
The second Connor uttered these words, he regretted it bitterly.
“I did, both of them, and ate them too.”
Horrified, Connor watched Bernie flip a piece of meat on the grill and realized he hadn’t seen Bernie’s wife in weeks.

CHARLIE

Pete had a mission. He set out to grow a new johnson in a lab jar, as his was lost in a motorcycle accident. He failed three times, spending thousands of dollars, so he decided to go overseas and shop in Southeast Asia. He found some deals in Malaysia and Vietnam, but prices were beyond his budget. He finally settled for a deal in Jakarta. The broker was a un-licensed Urologist, and together they worked out the details and the price. There were three, poor students who owed a lot of money for college tuition that were willing to negotiate.

#2

Pete completed his transaction in Jakarta, carrying the refrigerated item home in a vacuum jar and nitrogen coolant. The baggage handlers checked the item through with no problems, as the package was labeled lab specimen, insured, and sealed in a wax bolus. He caught a cab back to the lab on his way home and left the jar in the cab. In a desperate rush he called the cab company to get his package. In describing the contents to the dispatcher, she hung up on him twice. The dispatcher called the police and got them, the FBI and FDA involved.

JEFFREY

Night Train
by Jeffrey Fischer

A jarring stop woke me from an uneasy sleep. I looked out the window. The train was between stations, with nothing but wheat fields illuminated by moonlight to see. Angry voices came ever closer, the tone suggesting the speakers were used to obedience. I had a reasonably good idea that the visitors who had stopped the train were state security, and they were looking for me. I sighed. The train was fast and comfortable, but it looked as though the rest of my journey to the border would be on foot.

Collecting
by Jeffrey Fischer

When we first came to Earth, we observed the culture carefully. Much of the culture was aimed at creating something the humans called “fun.” For example, we noticed that, on hot summer nights, children enjoyed chasing and catching luminescent flying insects and putting them in jars. Sometimes the jar would have holes punched in the top, sometimes not. This was considered fun.

When the humans arrived on our planet, we extended them the same courtesy. On hot nights – which, given the proximity of our planet to our sun, was all year – we let our children chase humans and put them in jars. Sometimes the jars had holes punched in the top, but most of the time we didn’t bother. Like those creatures on Earth called lightning bugs, there were always more humans to replace the ones who suffocated. The humans were right: this was fun.

RICHARD

#1 – Civilisation!

After tramping wearily through the forest for hours, Boggins heard faint sounds of laughter in the distance. Cautiously he struck out towards them, until – to his utter delight – he stumbled from the trees onto a roadway, at the side of which stood the incredibly welcoming sight of an inn.

Without hesitation, he pushed open the door and strode to the bar.

“Landlord! A jar of your finest foaming ale, and as much food as you can heap upon a plate!”

The landlord looked appraisingly at Boggins.

“Food’s off”, he muttered, “And no booze without proof of age, shortarse!”

SERENDIPITY

My husband was far too possessive – always demanding to know where I was, what I was up to, and with whom. If I was late home, there was hell to pay if I was unable to explain myself.

Friends were vetted, activities had to have his seal of approval, and spur of the moment nights out simply didn’t happen.

It couldn’t last, of course – you can be pushed too far… But, despite everything, I like to think he’s happy now.

That’s why I keep his head in a jar… That way, he can watch me all the time!

MUNSI

The Jar
By Christopher Munroe

I keep an old jar in my bedroom.

It’s the sort of thing you’d assume was antique if you found it in a rustic farmhouse, but which you realize seeing it in my downtown apartment is almost certainly a replica.

It’s actually antique. One-hundred-thirty years old, in fact…

I keep it by my bed so as to grab it, first thing when I wake up.

I whisper my hopes and dreams into that jar.

And then I seal it, tight, locking them away.

And that way they won’t trouble me during my day, while I’m off working my day job…

TURA

Jar
———
Bill gets weird ideas, but that’s what he’s for. “Have you ever wondered if you’re really a brain in a jar, living in a simulation?”

I replied, “If it’s perfect, by definition you can’t tell.”

“Miracles would be a clue,” he responded. “But the simulators patch them. Enlightenment experiences, maybe. Maybe we should study meditation.”

I took off my immersion rig and let the simulation handle the conversation, as I contemplated Bill’s brain in the jar.

We were pretty sure we *were* in a simulation, and we desperately needed ideas for breaking out. How better than to simulate a simulation?
———

NORVAL JOE

Mickey knew he’d been seen and that Ferret would be looking for him at every turn. He couldn’t switch back to human form. His clothes were back at the restaurant. If he changed now he would be wearing only his fuzzy monkey shorts. With the change in size, they might as well be fuzzy bikini shorts.
He needed to switch things up, maybe double back somehow.
The door to the stairwell stood ajar. He could descend a few floors and sneak out a window.
Opening the door he was greeted by the sound of many feet climbing the stairs quickly.

PLANET Z

Once upon a time, there was a man who wasn’t there anymore.

By the time you noticed him, he was gone.

Did you see his worn leather jacket?
Did you see his faded jeans?
Why was he wearing a Viking helmet?
What was he doing here?

You could ask him, but he’s already gone.
He’s never anywhere long.
Just long enough to notice that he’s not there anymore.

One day, you might see him.
You might even catch him.
Will you know what to say to a man who isn’t there anymore?

I don’t know. And you probably don’t either.