Weekly Challenge #534 – Endless

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:

Tinny is art

MUNSI

The Endless Ones
By Christopher Munroe

The Endless Ones slumber beneath the city

Unthinkably huge, eternally old and horrifying beyond all imagination, simply to view them is to go mad from revelations no mortal man was ever meant to know. Surely upon waking they could destroy us, one and all, obliterating our city and all who dwell within it without so much as a thought.

For such is their power, their horrible majesty, that we are but gnats upon their surface.

Fortunately for us, here on the surface, their sleep is, like they themselves are, endless.

So yeah, we’re good. We ought to all be fine…

JEFFREY

Hot Air
by Jeffrey Fischer

When I was a new employee, meetings were exciting. I got to meet people, discuss ideas, see how the decision-making process worked. Occasionally, there was the illusion that others took my ideas seriously. The shininess wore off quickly, and an endless stream of meetings became another chore along the relentless journey toward retirement.

However, as an older, wiser bureaucrat, I know something my younger self did not: my presence is not needed at almost all of those meetings, and skipping a dull, unproductive session has no negative consequences. Outlook’s “Decline” button is my friend.

Nap Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

As a young child, I resented being told to take a nap. I now know this was my parents’ way of getting a little peace in the afternoon, but I convinced myself I didn’t need the extra sleep.

Now, in my 50s, I relish the opportunity to take a nap. Briefly sleeping in the afternoon recharges me physically, makes me ready for the rest of the day. A nap refreshes me mentally as well, providing a temporary halt in the endless stream of stimuli. In short, naps are good.

The trouble is, my boss never thinks so when he comes into my office, only to wake me up.

RICHARD

Nirvana

I became a Buddhist primarily for the perks.

When I say perks, I’m referring to reincarnation – who can fault a belief system that gives you as many lifetimes as you need to perfect the art of not screwing up?

However, what they don’t tell you until it’s far too late, is that they managed to get all that stuff about coming back as another animal or person completely wrong.

When you’re reincarnated – you come back as yourself, starting the same old life all over again.

Same mistakes, same problems, same everything…

An endless cycle of constantly screwing up.

CHARLIE

She was like the universe. Endless. She went overboard with her glute exercises and she stewed all the fat off her back end. She tried desperately to put the bootie back on by eating big tubs of hummus slathered with sour cream, but nothing worked. She had an alcoholic’s ass, and it was a disaster. No outerwear would help, but she found that foam inserts in her panties would suffice. Some days she would forget to insert one or the other of the foam pads, and went out with one cheek. She had to turn the other cheek all day.

#2

Nancy related her funny stories about her visits to the gyno, which were numerous and fascinating. She told us that she always apologized for not grooming before she went for her exam. She was embarrassed that she had such an enormous amount of vegetation down there. Her friends always laughed and whispered to each other when they saw her in the gym’s locker room. She believed that her generous grove protected her parts from soft tissue injury and made her stand out in a crowd of the younger women who insisted on tinkering with their presentation and manicuring their muffs.

#3

Nancy’s friend was born without the buttock gene, thus endless, so at twenty she opted for buttock enhancement surgery in an out of the way clinica in Northern Mexico. She left the surgery on Monday afternoon, and awoke with an infected caboose on Tuesday morning. In addition to the infection, the implants were placed incorrectly and unevenly because the good doctor was a little cockeyed and had a bad astigmatism. After her complete, two year recovery, she had an uneven undercarriage, and looked ridiculous in her bikini. A surgeon on Rodeo Drive fixed her up and recycled the silicone implants.

JEFF

Time Lapse

A couple of concepts, infinity and eternity, are supposedly endless but nobody really knows for sure. At least with infinity, as it relates to mathematics, I can at least grasp the notion of taking the largest number I can think of and adding one to it. Eternity, on the other hand, is much harder for me to conceive. I can’t just think of the longest time I can imagine and add a day, and hour, a minute, or a second to it. Oh shit, I just wasted five minutes thinking about eternity, I’ll never get that time back, will I?

TOM

The Long Way Home

The endless road disappeared into the blue haze. The boy and the old man moved along the broken pavement steadily, but cautiously. “I’m thirst,” said the boy. “I know,” said the man. There was little else to say. A dot on a well-ware piece of paper was their goal. The map had cost them dearly, food, blankets, but more pressing water. What made this map worth the price, was its penciled additions. All along the blue lines were tiny gray crosses. Each marking the location of a shrine to Saint Oscar the patron saint of wanders. “Are we close?” “Soon.”

SERENDIPIDY

Contrary to what Orwell might have said, the worst thing in the world isn’t to be found in room 101; neither is it the threat of being devoured by starving rats.

The worst thing in the world is far more mundane than that, and most of us have experienced it at some time or other.

Simply put, the worst thing in the world is the simple, endless repetition of that one small thing that drives us crazy…

The toilet seat, left up; the neighbour’s car, badly parked; the constantly late colleague.

And, given time, it will drive you to murder.

LIZZIE

She sat and listened to the world around her. The wind whispered softly. The tree branches murmured familiar words from the past. She tried not to listen. She tried. The branches rustled louder, threatening to undermine her determination. And she looked beyond the line dividing the horizon in two, that line so rugged, so hilly, so full of pain. She closed her eyes and whispered with the wind. And she sat, she just sat, and listened to the world around her, an endless string of promises filled her with hope. A day, only a day, and everything would be different.

PLANET XRAY

Wings

I am the Bard and my pen is a mighty sword.
On joyous wings my imagination takes flight and soars among the distant hills and valleys that are captured within my mind.
With a sword in my hand, I do battle to preserve truth, justice, and my ideals against those who would do evil and harm to my friends and myself.
Across vast landscapes I travel the dusty roads, visiting the towns and villages along the way, spinning my yarns for the young and old, asking only for a smile, a hug and a thank you.
I am the Bard.

Endless

Like the endless sands of time the bard’s tales flow forth in the pursuit of providing entertainment and enjoyment to all of those who would be listening.
Carefully crafted, each tale brings the listener on a new journey with shining knights, fair damsels in distress and of course the villain.
With stories painted of gallantry, courage, evil and cowardice, across vast landscapes of the countryside, in the narrow streets of the towns, our hero travels as he continues his never ending pursuit for the rescue of the fair maiden from the clutches of the evil desperado.
I am the bard.

NORVAL JOE

Mandy shrugged and went back to work.
“We saw Polecat head up the road,” Cherry Cola said. “Shouldn’t we go after her?”
“No. By now she could be anywhere,” Mickey said. “Her potential hiding places are endless without inside information. I think we should probably give up for now.”
Ferrit agreed. “Yeah. Anyway. It’s a school night. I need to head home.”
“Sure Ferrit. Take care and thanks for your help.”
Cherry looked at him like he was crazy.
Mickey watched Ferrit leave, then said, “Give her a minute, Cherry. I think one sister will lead us to the other.”

TURA

Endless
———
“…to say a hundred words. I have made reality what the ancient philosophers only dreamed as myth, that time is cyclic,” declared the scientist at the press conference. “I have invented a time machine! When I sent my first prototype into the past, the temporal paradox forced the universe to eject the machine into an endless loop of time of its own. But if we are inside the machine when it jumps— and I have built another one enclosing this whole room— we will see a time loop from the inside. It will be about a minute long, long enough to say a hundred words. I have made reality…”

PLANET Z

Death is not endless sleep.
Because sleep is sleep, and death is death.
You can wake from sleep. You cannot wake from death.
You dream while you sleep. You do not dream while you are dead.
Molly’s Mom continued to lecture her daughter on the differences between sleep and death.
“Stop,” said Molly. “All I wanted was a bedtime story.”
The hologram of Molly’s Mom stopped lecturing, and smiled.
“Once upon a time,” it began.
The hologram generator needed an upgrade.
But Molly’s Father was still in shock.
After the accident, which killed Molly’s Mom.
“Sweet dreams,” said the hologram.

Color Lists

When you blacklist an address, everything sent by that address is deleted.
When you whitelist an address, everything sent by that address is received.
What about greenlists? Or bluelists? Or redlists?
What do those lists do?
Would they still do those things if you were color-blind, or would they just be different shades of grey lists?
I, for one, haven’t read that Fifty Shades Of Grey book, but I’ve heard that it’s full of smut.
I don’t want to read smut, so I’d probably just blacklist all that stuff.
Even though I’m not actually color-blind.
But if I were, certainly.

Alarm Clocks

I always set my alarm clock before I go to sleep, and I always set the alarm clock on my phone as a backup.
Even though I set two alarms every morning, I wake up before them. But I still set those alarms, just in case I sleep late and need them.
It’s like circus acrobats and trapeze artists who use nets. If they are good, they don’t need or even want the net, but they have it there anyway.
So, I set the alarms, go to bed, and I dream of being a circus acrobat.
Without a goddamned net.

Cables

I keep a recharging cord on my desk at work for my phone. I have another on my nightstand.
I keep a third one in my backpack so I have one with me all the time.
The cigarette lighter adapter came with a cord, too. So did the emergency recharging battery pack.
Pretty soon, I had hundreds of these cables. Too many cables to count. My cats were playing with these things, dragging them around. I can’t even eat spaghetti anymore because I end up biting into a cable.
Now if only I could remember where I left my phone.

Rum Sleep

It’s been a while since I last had rum.
Usually, I drink Jack Daniels or amaretto. Or beer.
But rum? I mean, if I want to get messed up so I can go to sleep, I’ll do vodka. Or walk around the block to wear myself out.
Rum isn’t my go-to sleep potion.
Still, rum is rum, and my coworker brought me back a bottle from Puerto Rico.
How can I say no?
After mixing my third rum-and-Coke, I realized that it wasn’t going to help me get to sleep.
Regular Coke. With caffeine.
Not the gold-label uncaffeinated Coke.
Oops.

Change The Names

Not only did we change the names to protect the innocent, but we’ve changed them to condemn the guilty.
So, instead of just keeping Monica Smith’s name out of the papers for writing bad checks, which was all just a big misunderstanding and a simple math error by the bank, we’ll put Christina Bloomgarden’s name in there for drinking up and gambling away all of her kids’ college funds.
What? Monica wrote those bad checks to Christina when she bought Christina’s old car? So the college fund thing all her fault, not Christina’s.
Stop the presses. Change the names again!

Ricky The Rat

Back in the day, Ricky The Rat would drop a dime and rat you out to the cops.
The Syndicate never managed to finger Ricky, so they muscled the phone company into raising the price of a call from ten cents to a quarter.
“Exact change, please,” said the operator to Ricky.
That kept Ricky quiet for a while… until 911 made it to the city. That was toll free.
Ricky would still drop a dime out of habit, and get it back.
Then, cell phones took over. Phone booths vanished.
The Syndicate tracked Ricky with GPS, and whacked him.

Weekly Challenge #533 – Wings

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:

Huggy Tinny

MUNSI

My Wings
By Christopher Munroe

I’ll fly as close to the sun as I fucking please.

My wings are made of sturdier stuff than those of Icarus, and I am a man of vision, scope and ambition. I shan’t be scared off by tales of lesser men and their failings.

For I am not those lesser men.

I’ll fly to the very sun, pluck it from its perch in the heavens and bring it with me back to Earth, that I might present it to you as a token of my love.

I defy God itself to stop me!

I’ll see you upon my return…

CHARLIE

Wings, generally, are deep fried, unbreaded, and coated in a vinegar based, pepper, hot sauce. The first step, of course, in the preparation of hot wings is the USDA-inspected poultry slaughter. The birds are hung upside down by their legs on an assembly line. The birds are drug through a shallow pool of water that is electrified. This stuns them. An automated machine cuts their throat and they bleed to death. The most humane method for killing a chicken is to put it into a small room or chamber, and then gradually replace the air with nitrogen, killing them quietly.

#2

I awoke early one morning, and I was a pigeon, not a cockroach, a pigeon. I tested the tail, and the right and left wings. I ate a breakfast of all fiber. I flew low over town, pulling a strip of paper with my message, in my beak. Swooping low, I skimmed a wing tip on the mayor’s hat as she stood arguing for rate increases, including the goddam water and sewer bills. Diving lower, I let the mayor know what I thought of her and I painted her hat and
her Chinchilla coat with a murky impasto of dookie.

JEFFREY

The Theory of Flight
By Jeffrey Fischer

I settled back in my window seat and waited for the plane to take off. A young boy occupied the middle seat. “Gosh, I can’t believe something this big can fly ” he chirped. “It’s a miracle, kid. But the plane relies on four huge birds to keep us aloft.”

The kid’s mother, in the aisle seat, frowned. “Don’t confuse him with that kind of silliness.” I went back to my magazine.

The plane taxied. As it gathered speed, four pterodactyls sat on the wings, claws gripping metal. They flapped their great wings in unison and the jet headed skyward. The kid watched in amazement. I just shrugged.

The Contest
By Jeffrey Fischer

Butchers always found chicken wings to be the most difficult to sell. Everyone wanted the juicy breast meat, or the tasty leg meat, or even the cheap thigh meat, but who wanted the little bits of meat on a wing?

Thus was born the Buffalo wing: a way of delivering a zesty sauce and, not coincidentally, selling wings. The Buffalo wing begat wing-eating contests, with crazed contestants seeing how many they could down before time ran out.

Frank figured Buffalo wings were passé, and started an ostrich wing eating contest. What he didn’t realize was that, though big, ostrich wings had no meat on, and it was hilarious to watch contestants gnaw at cartilage. Frank’s contests always ended in a zero-all tie.

RICHARD

Finger lickin’ nasty

I’ve never liked chicken wings. Don’t misunderstand me – they’re just fine whilst still attached to chickens; but when crumbed and deep fried, I struggle.

They’re just so small, insubstantial and more skin and bone than meat – seems to me a lot of fuss and grease, for little reward.

As for the rest of the chicken, go ahead: Bring it on! No finer food in my opinion.

Just don’t expect me to bother with those wings, in fact, you can take them off completely and give me what’s left.

It’s not as if the chicken is going to care!

SERENDIPITY

You don’t want to believe all that nonsense about God being loving and caring and all that crap… If you’d ever worked for him you’d know how cruel He is.

He doesn’t tolerate anyone standing up to Him – the penalties are severe. And trust me, He doesn’t take chances: He punishes you – you stay punished… No comebacks.

Like that time me and the gang tried to rebel. Cut off our wings He did, then threw us out of heaven.

Why do you think they call it The Fall? It’s not as if we stood any chance of flying!

LIZZIE

The tombstone in her parents’ garden had an overgrown buzzing cactus leaning over it. Victoria wondered why it had no names, no dates. She got married, moved away. After three miscarriages and a divorce, Victoria visited the tombstone. Suddenly, there were four names on it, the names of her babies and her own “Died June 10 1819”. As she pondered about it, the cactus, home to a nest of killer bees, fell on her. Barely a body anymore when found, Victoria, the heir of a huge fortune, was buried at the Pauper’s Cemetery. Still, no one cared about that tombstone.

TURA

Wings
———
The sky is filled with wings.

We patrol. I patrol. My sensors build a heat map of the terrain, intensity coding likelihood of enemy presence. A spot surpasses a threshold, and by the rules that I am, I mute my engines and glide down to map the buildings and identify people and military material.

I sense gunfire. In the few seconds remaining before the bullets destroy me, I upload myself and all my data to my greater self. My armed brothers will destroy the enemy’s nest.

I am legion. Whatever kills me makes me stronger. The humans’ time is over.
———

TOM

Who wants to be a millionaire?

Larry was two questions away from the million dollar prize. The category was Academy of Motion Pictures Arts and Sciences. “Who was the first actor or actress to win three Oscars?”
A. Brennan B. Hepburn C. Tracy D. Olivier

“I know Katharine Hepburn has the most, but I will go with A. Walther Brenan.” The tote board lite up $500,000. “Larry what will you do, take the 500,000 or go for it all?” “I’m going all the way.”

“Last question which film won the first Oscar?”
A. All Quiet on the Western Front
B. It Happened One Night
C. Wings
D. Mutiny on the Bounty

NORVAL JOE

Mickey stood up. “I need to find out what Polecat was doing at the library. Do any of you know what wings she went into?”
“I didn’t even know she was there,” Cherry Cola said.
“She told me to wait in the auditorium and stop you from following her,” Ferrit said.
“Maybe it’s more important to find out where she is now,” Mandy said.
“Yeah, but how are we supposed to find her?” Mickey asked.
Mandy shook her head. “Can’t any of you superheroes fly?”
Ferrit huffed. “Do you see wings on anyone here?”
Mandy shrugged. “Superman doesn’t have wings.”

PLANET Z

Every time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.
Which made things rather inconvenient for angels before the invention of bells.
To get from Heaven to Earth, angels had to leap and plummet.
Despite being immortal, the heat of re-entry and impact hurt like a motherfucker.
And the conservation of momentum led to a massive blast, not unlike the Tunguska Blast which felled miles of forests.
“Ouch… hey, Gabriel.”
“Sonofa- oh, hi, Michael.”
“Um, we’re kinda stuck here.”
“Huh? Oh, fuck.”
And then they set out to find a blacksmith to make bells so they could fly back home.

Sleepy Androids

Philip K. Dick wrote a book with the title “Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep?”
He never answered the question. So, I built a bunch of sleepy androids.
Most of the androids didn’t dream at all. They just went into their power-saving modes. A few ran some core system apps in the background, but nothing that could be considered a dream.
Then there was Beepy Seven. And he dreamed of sheep.
“Were they electric?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” said Beepy Seven. “I was too busy fucking it.”
Beepy Seven turned out to be a janitor in a robot costume.

The Amazing Mystico

He billed himself as “The Amazing Mystico” but there wasn’t much amazing about him.
All he did was stand on stage, smoke cigarettes, and shout at anyone who interrupted his “act.”
No card tricks.
No white tigers.
No lady assistants.
Just Mystico, smoking his cigarette, shouting at anyone who complained.
“Is that all there is?” I yelled.
“Shut your pie hole!” shouted Mystico.
The theater replaced him the next week with an act that included card tricks, white tigers, and lady assistants.
Mystico wildly splashed gasoline around the lobby and dropped his cigarette.
“Gonna make this place disappear, he growled.