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:

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

JEFFREY

Health Kick
by Jeffrey Fischer

Gary’s doctor gave him a stern look. “You need to lose weight. A LOT of weight. I want you to eat at least one salad a day. Field greens, kale, beets, whatever makes it taste good, but salad. No pizzas, no big ribeye steaks, no grande burritos. Do you understand?”

Gary mentally ticked off the items that his doctor listed. “I hear you, doc. I’ll try,” he said glumly.

The next night he brought home a bag of field greens, a bag of kale, and several beets that he cut up and added to the salad. Then he foraged in his refrigerator. Leftover steak, crumbled nacho chips, a cup of cheese, and a handful of soft candies all went on top, along with a generous dollop of French dressing. He ate the toppings, threw away the greens, and decided that salads were pretty tasty.

Battlefield
by Jeffrey Fischer

The artillery barrage rained down destruction for several hours, explosions killing or maiming anything nearby. When the battlefield was silent again, the two armies advanced toward one another. The inevitable clash occurred and it was a bloodbath on both sides. Men shot one another and, at closer rage, stabbed with bayonets or even knives. After it was over, the dead and dying were so thick on the ground that each side could walk back to its trenches barely touching the bloody earth.

Shawn switched off the television. “Same time tomorrow?” Anthony nodded. Now it was beer o’clock.

RICHARD

The Gospel according to Norman: The parable of the sower

There was a farmer who desired to plant his fields with wheat, and as he sowed some of the seed fell upon the path, some amongst the weeds and some on stony ground.

When it came to the harvest, only the seed which had fallen on good soil had cropped, and the farmer was driven to poverty.

“Good teacher, what are we to learn from this parable”, asked his followers.

“How am I supposed to know”, he replied; “I’m a teacher, not an agricultural specialist! Why is it that you lot always seem to think I have all the answers!”

MUNSI

The Gospel according to Norman: The parable of the sower

There was a farmer who desired to plant his fields with wheat, and as he sowed some of the seed fell upon the path, some amongst the weeds and some on stony ground.

When it came to the harvest, only the seed which had fallen on good soil had cropped, and the farmer was driven to poverty.

“Good teacher, what are we to learn from this parable”, asked his followers.

“How am I supposed to know”, he replied; “I’m a teacher, not an agricultural specialist! Why is it that you lot always seem to think I have all the answers!”

SERENDIPITY

Welcome to the field of human conflict.

It seems a pretty ordinary field, but look closer and amongst the mud and grass and meadow flowers are the reminders of mankind’s harsh manner of reconciling differences.

Here you will find the bones and blood and broken bodies; the last stands and the heroic deeds; here you will find the dead and wounded, the souls who never found peace in their quest to secure peace.

And yet, faced with this carnage, still you wage your wars.

Idiots!

And, if you think that’s fighting talk, I’ll take you on.

Right here, right now!

TOM

Two Early by Half

I have always been amused by St. Martins in the Field. If your tastes in music run towards the classics you have heard of the place intoned by some baritone DJ in the mid Frequency Modulation Spectrum. I picture a guy who should be the first mate in The Rime of the Ancient Mariner conducting a string section knee deep in waves of flowing wheat. In 1542 Henry the eighth less than pleased with a rabble of plague victims trooping through Whitehall built a church literally in the field between Westminster and London. Not a field to be seen today.

LIZZIE

After a day’s work in the fields, Ronnie would say “Turn right”. Mike complied in silence. The path took them back to town. But there was also a path to the left.
“What’s over there?” asked Mike one day, pointing to the left.
Ronnie shrugged.
“Never felt curious?”
Ronnie shook his head.
However, Mike went back to the crossroads and, taking a deep breath, took the path to the left.
He never came back. He went to the big city. He became rich. And he never stopped being curious, especially about all the “paths to the left” he came across.

TURA

Field
———
A gun can fire 20,000 rounds on the range, smooth as hot butter, but the first time in the field it’s nothing but jams and misfires. New designs need field testing, and you don’t get real field stress short of an actual war zone.

So they drop me in with the kit and a mission to kill everyone I see on the way to the pickup point. No leftover ammo unless the equipment fails.

I don’t care where I am or who I’m shooting at. If I asked questions, on my next mission I’d be some other field tester’s target.
———

NORVAL JOE

Mickey paced in his cell, waiting for Dr. West and Salt to return with some shorts, and wondered how he might escape. Eventually, he lay on the cot, his back toward the cell door, and it came to him.
“We brought your fuzzy chonies,” Salt laughed.
Mickey didn’t move.
“Monkey boy. Here’s your underwear,” Salt said.
Mickey snored.
“Wake up you stupid kid.” Salt opened the door and stomping to the cot.
A flash, and Mickey in monkey form shot past Salt, grabbing the shorts and dashed toward the exit.
Outside, he raced across an open field to a forest.

PLANET Z

I bought an ultra-high definition television, and when you watch baseball, you can see the individual blades of grass out in center field.
You can also see the bulge that the envelope full of cash makes in the umpire’s back pocket.
And the needle marks from the batter’s recent injection of human growth hormone.
Not to mention the Vaseline that the pitcher smeared on the ball, the flecks of cocaine under the nose of the first baseman, and the guy in the stands relaying signs to the batter.
The picture is so real, even though the game’s fake as hell.

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:

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

SERENDIPITY

The cops were getting annoyed. They knew I’d killed him, and they knew that I’d disposed of the body, but without it, they had nothing on me and I was going to walk free.

I was having fun, and the more questions they asked me, the more I led them on a wild goose chase.

I let slip a few details, confident that without the incriminating evidence the worst they could do me for was wasting police time.

They knew I’d left the body in a basement in the city somewhere.

But what I wouldn’t tell them was, under where!

MUNSI

This story was co-written by a five year old!
By Christopher Munroe

What do loggers have on under their pants?

Lumberwear.

What about Thor?

God-of-Thunderwear.

Pirates?

Plunderwear. Which is gross if you think about it, stolen underwear. I get that pirates aren’t the most hygienic people, but seriously. I mean, laundry facilities on old-timey pirate ships can’t be all that great, are they seriously going around in used undergarments stolen from ships they loot? It’s pretty disgusting. Indefensable.

For that reason, even if there were no others, I could never be a pirate.

Anywho…

What about 80s hitmakers Men at Work? What do they have on under their pants?

Land Down Underwear…

RICHARD

Underwear

As a young child, my parent’s nickname for me was ‘Clark Kent’ – I was far too young at the time to attach any significance to this, and it was a good few years later that I learned about Superman.

Needless to say, I was pleased that my parents had seen such potential in me.

The name stuck, and even today I’m known as Clark to my friends. And it always makes me smile.

Until this week’s family get together, when I mentioned it to my mother.

She laughed…

“We called you that because your underwear was always on display!”

JEFFREY

Summer Breeze
by Jeffrey Fischer

The summer was hot and humid. Larry was tired of having his underwear stick to him. His nether regions were constantly bathed in sweat, and the damp shorts chafed when he walked. He decided to go commando.

As he strode to his office, he felt good. No more sweat! No more chafing! Larry wished he had done this years ago. He received some strange looks – was it obvious he lacked underwear? He glanced down. Yes, apparently it was obvious, because his fly was down and his penis was flapping in the breeze.

Industrial Safety
by Jeffrey Fischer

Stockton was ready for the overseas visitors to the factory. His boss had said that a small group would be taking a tour and spending the day on the factory floor, and that Stockton was responsible for seeing to the safety and comfort of the visitors. To that end, he had sent ahead some safety instructions: hard hats needed to be worn at all times, along with steel-toed shoes, no jewelry, and, in case the group included women, no skirts or dresses – pants only, to prevent loose-fitting clothing from getting caught in the machinery.

The group arrived. Stockton watched in amazement as they walked into his office, three men and two women, clad in hard hats, chambray shirts, work boots… and bikini underwear. “Bloody hell, mate,” one of the guests said, “you Yanks really take safety seriously. Never been told to show up in me pants before.”

TOM

French Underwear

It was Montmartre day five. The last piece of underwear had been worn. It was at that very moment that the seminal wisdom of traveling was reduced to its subatomic singularity. When you are out of underwear it’s time to come home. My traveling compatriot had circumvented this reality by successfully working through the 3rd level mystery of the Paris auto-laundromat. I chose the way of the Gallery Lafayette no less mysterious and fraught with peril. No Small, Med, LG labeling just weird numbers and letters. What I ended up purchasing made the 7 hour flight home in a word: challenging.

LIZZIE

The light was on and no one answered. The police found her in her bedroom, sprawled on the bed. She had been stabbed 16 times. A lover, a stalker, her dealer? An intruder, perhaps? Then, they arrested him because he waltzed into the precinct and confessed. “I killed her with the kitchen knife. It’s still there.” Simple, right? Nope. The police searched the house. They couldn’t find the knife. Circumstantial evidence. Not enough. He was released. At her funeral, he wrapped the knife in her panties and stuffed it in the coffin, under the froufrou laces, and walked away.

TURA

Underwear
———
Once upon a time, there was a boy so clever that he could think things that no adult ever would, like “who makes the elves’ underwear?” There were still elves in the world then, beings so beautiful that one could hardly imagine their underwear, or their toilets, or their drains.

It became his life’s ambition to study them and spy out their everyday lives. But the more he discovered, the more tenuous their existence became, for they were always creatures as much of myth as of reality.

And that is why there are no longer any elves in the world.

NORVAL JOE

Dr. West pushed his assistant, Salt, aside and said, “Where he works is unimportant. We’re here to determine the source of his transformative ability.”
Harold Salt shrugged and backed away.
“Boy,” Dr. West said. “Transform for us.”
“I can’t,” Mickey said. “I need my monkey shorts.”
“You can’t transform without your underwear?” Salt laughed.
“I can, but then I’d be naked. I may look like a monkey, but I can still be embarassed,” Mickey said, folding his arms.
“If we find you some monkey underwear, will you change for us?” West asked.
Mickey hesitated, but finally nodded. “Okay,” he said.

PLANET Z

They say that the road to Hell is also the road to Heaven.
At one end of the road is Hell, while at the other end of the road is Heaven.
But the truth is, I’ve been walking on this road for what feels like an eternity, and I haven’t seen either Hell or Heaven.
I’ve gone in both directions. Made chalk marks in the road, and never come across them again, so it’s not a loop.
Maybe one side is Hell, and the other side is Heaven.
Which explains all of the chickens crossing the road.
While on fire.