Author: R.

The Shooter

They said peace and love, and they offered me a flower.
I looked to Billy, who was standing behind the peacenik.
We do this a lot: I confront a stranger, Billy scouts behind them, and reports if they’re safe.
I can read lips.
“He’s holding a gun behind his back,” he said.
So, I shot the guy.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” shouted Billy. “I said he was holding nothing behind his back!”
“I thought you said ‘gun,'” I said. “Oops. Sorry.”
We dragged the stranger to the dumpster and threw him in.
I kept the flower.
“You need glasses,” said Billy.

Grepton

The Grepton metabolism cannot handle large amounts of salt.
Nobody told Rufus this. Or told him the fact that Greptons exist.
He fired his rock salt-loaded shotgun at the the “college kids” who were making circles in his crops.
Instead of scaring them off, the salt killed the little bastards.
The Grepton Ambassador demanded Rufus’ extradition so they could charge him for murder.
The Deputy Undersecretary For Alien Affairs said “No.”
“They were my children!”
“No.”
Deeply hurt, the Grepton Ambassador left.
So, when you say Elvis is dead, technically you’re right.
But to Elvis, Earth is dead to him.

Weekly Challenge #435 – Load

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic: LOAD

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of ACE…

The Tinny

JOHN

Load Off My Back
by John Musico

Every nightmare I’ve had always had a large rabbit in the background, just standing there. Why?!
The rabbit made me dread sleeping. I had to end this. One Easter, it did when I had a simple insight. One night per year a rabbit leaves several baskets of candy.
He must be quite large, and, skilled at break-ins. Why was there, say, no money left for him? Regardless, people feed animals, not vice versa. This subconscious struggle manifested in my nightmares- a terrifying, mysterious, manlike, large rabbit.
Ever since I realized who the rabbit was; he never returned to my nightmares.

JEFFREY

The Wisdom of Confucius
by Jeffrey Fischer

I took Metro to the Chinatown stop. As I swiped my fare card at the gate, I saw that my card balance was low, so I detoured to the fare machines. Instead of English, the instructions were in Chinese characters. Oh well, I thought, how difficult could this be? I placed my card on the reader, kept the amount on the default $20, swiped a credit card, and touched the card to the reader again. Done.

When I later tried to go through the gate, instead of a fare balance, the machine read, “You will lead a long, prosperous life.” The second time it said, “You will inherit money.” The third time the display showed, “You have a winning personality.”

Frustrated, I showed the card to the station manager. He chuckled. “Sir, you loaded your card at the Chinese Fortunes machine. You now have another $19.70 of fortunes left on the card, but you still ain’t getting on the train that way.”

The Sum of All Knowledge
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Loading…loading…please wait” scrolled across the monitor. Sol drummed his fingers across his desk as he waited. He checked his Twitter feed and looked to see if any new pictures had been uploaded to his favorite soft-core site. When he returned his attention to the first window, it still displayed the “Loading” message.

Sol was more than a little anxious. He wanted to get rich, so he had written a program that would funnel all human knowledge throughout history into his computer. Surely with all that information sitting in storage, figuring out how to make a crap load of money would be easy.

After an interminable wait, the program spit out a message indicating it was finished. Sol puzzled at the instruction to build a robot, but he followed those instructions to the letter.

The robot killed Sol, then set out to kill as many humans as possible. Filled with the sum of all human knowledge, the computer recognized that humanity was a lost cause.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 66: Hollywood

Dizzy and dazed, George concluded movie scenarios were a load of rubbish. Relying on Hollywood for survival tips inevitably lead to a whole load of trouble – like his current predicament.

Considering what his favourite movie hero might do, he now resolved to do the complete opposite.

He backed up the battered vehicle, and searched for another exit – as opposed to heroically jumping out, attempting to open the gates with sheer brute strength, whilst manfully fending off marauding lions.

Eventually, he discovered a service entrance which barely resisted a nudge from his vehicle – less spectacular, but definitely more effective, by far!

#2 – 19 Seconds

I learned that trick where you assemble a gun blindfolded, in no time at all. With practice, I finally broke the twenty second mark. It was just a personal challenge though… I never thought it might come in handy one day.

Until the night armed burglars broke into my house.

Knowing I only had seconds to act, I rolled out of bed and – in complete darkness – reached for the disassembled weapon, my fingers going through the well-rehearsed routine.

The burglars burst in: and I realised the one thing I’d never practiced – I’d never thought to load the damn thing!

SERENDIPITY

He always managed to belittle me… his favourite was stumbling home after a day at the pub, to a clean home, hot dinner and exhausted wife, collapsed on the sofa: “That’s right”, he’d say, “Relax… have a seat and take the load off your feet!”; and then the abuse would start.

Eventually, I’d had more than enough, which is how, returning to consciousness, he found himself balanced precariously on the dockside, ‘wearing’ a pair of ‘concrete boots’.

“That’s right”, I said, “Relax, and take the load off your feet… oh, you can’t?”, I giggled, before pushing him off the edge.

MUNSI

At Work

By Christopher Munroe

I think I might have meant to say “Lock and Load”.

I mean, I must have, it’s the only thing that makes any sense to me. I was asked if I was pumped up to start work for the day, and I wanted something to express the mix of energy and grim determination I planned to bring to my place of employ.

“Lock and Load” is an actual English phrase, at very least. It would have made sense if that had been what I’d said…

Instead, I said “Pop and Lock”.

Long story short, everybody at my workplace breakdances now.

ZACKMANN

I feared when my daughter left the farm for college in the big city she would bring home a city guy with no practical bone in his body. Yesterday as I was mucking out the barn my daughter up and brings home a boyfriend. He asked me what was in the trailer. So I told him that was the certified best organic fertilizer a person can get. He tells me he is sorry but it looks like a load of shit to him. I gave him a big hug because there seems to be some horse sense in this one.

LIZZIE

The truck slid sideways on the ice-covered highway, the load at the back hindering the anguished attempts to stabilize the heavy vehicle.

When the police arrived, it was difficult to tell the truck from the pile of contorted multicolored metal. The rescue services tried their best to see where the victims were.

They all sat by the side of the road, the victims, amazed that no one could see them.

“Is that the light we are supposed to see, Dad?” asked thirteen year old Tommy, pointing at the fire engine. His Dad nodded. Tommy always wanted to be a firefighter.

TURA

Load
——–
There was a shipowner whose cargo ships never capsized at sea. His rivals wanted to know his secret. He told them, “Do you see that line on the side? I never let my ships be loaded so heavily the line goes under water.”

“How is the paint made?” they demanded. “What is the ritual for painting the line?”

He replied, “You must determine the safe level and paint the line there,” and he showed them how to do this.

“It is a trick against us,” they said, “to stop us carrying so much cargo.”

Thus has truth always been welcomed.

TOM

Boy You’re Going to Carry That Load

In my you’t my first real job, a union job, was as an assistant Shipping and Receiving Clerk. One serious kickass union that was. Basically I loaded and unloaded trucks while the SRC sat on at his desk marking off 10/15, 11/15, 11/15. At the time I thought I was doing all the heavy lifting here. Until one day the Shipping and Receiving Clerk got sacked for missing 37 out of 75. A loss of over $600. That how I became the new Shipping and Receiving. Well until I missed 24 of 40. Next job loading brick on to flatcars.

What’s A Cassette Player?

Way back in the Neolithic days of home computing, before disk drives and just after punch cards, to execute a program one had to load it into the compute with a Radio Shack Cassette player. Not the easiest of tasks, pretty much in the same league as retarding the spark on your Model T. As I recall this skill set had the same life expectancy as the Pony Express, put to rest by the arrival of the 8in Floppy. Now mere mortals could run their Tandy, Commodore, Eagle, and Atari. Odd the term still lives on in same computing circles.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 64

After a few words between Rev Morehouse and Senator Smith, the good senator went in search of Mrs. Parsons. Their brief exchange ended with a less then amiable secretary bookkeeper affect, in fact the widow was quit fired up by the time she found the Doc, already in deep planning with both Banister and Dino Mod.

“HES NOT GOING” railed Mother Parsons

“Agreed” said the Doc.

“W e l l t h e n . . . good.”

When Timmy caught wind of this it was his turn to burn.

“Do you know where we’re going, Son?”

“nope”

“The MotherLoad.”

DIONYSIUS

Loss

She awoke slowly, not moving. Her dark eyes were obscure in her black face.

It was just as well. There was nothing to do in the small cage but to sleep.

A few were protesting loudly. She had given up puzzling over their impatience and lack of discipline.

She drifted into sleep again, dreaming this time of the smells blowing through the bluestem and the shrub cedar. There were goats to work yonder. Lying at his feet, ready. As she had that day until they came.

She heard his command, Load up, but she couldn’t get to the pickup.

Alien Consciousness

That morning in the lab D pulled me aside. Despite his typical detachment I sensed his excitement. I know how, he said.

To make the entity conscious? I asked.

He whispered, Obscurities.

Fully conscious?

Blind spots. Blanks.

I glanced at the spare box at the end of the workbench. D merely stared at me with a steady expectation. Of what?

There seem to be plenty of those, I remarked.

We don’t load them in it, he said. We load them in us.

We didn’t ask the entity what it thought, because it’s reasons are obscure, and how could we have understood them anyway?

What Are You Saying?

It’s the workload, said the shimmering voice from out of the burning bush. The bush was not consumed.

In the roar of eternally rolling seas was heard, The more I do, the more there is to do!

Delegate! said a gusting voice from out of a swelling whirlwind.

As if that could help! said the daughter of a voice from nowhere.

Inunununmaleptostumbleillthumbinbumplimplumpthumpbafcoarudlitlenicelessnessclumlyleastsnestubornaful!

It was a small, still voice that said, Everybody still looks for me when there’s a problem.

Silence spoke in an echo.

I need to get away, said a tired voice from on high.

At the Beach

Such a huge load to dump in the ocean, without a second thought. If everyone did it, he thought, how would it all fit? There were people up and down the sand, as far as he could see. Where would the water go?

The waves grabbed at the beach relentlessly. He realized with alarm how many people were already in the water. Only the heads of some were visible. How many are already underneath? How do they live? Do they live?

His reverie was broken by his mother’s gentle tug on his hand. Come on, she said softly. Everybody poops.

CHELSEA

Moving Day

Moving is always the same, whether you are three or thirty-three.

Take possessions, load into boxes

Take boxes, load into vehicle,

Wave goodbye, if applicable.

Drive.

Arrive.

Take boxes, load into new home

Eat pizza, from place around the corner, there is always a place around the corner, and drink beer also from place around the corner, with helpers, if applicable.

Kick everyone out on the pretext of unpacking.

Find, sheets, pillows and blanket. Make bed, bed frame not required.

Find either, TV or books.

Flop down on bed and relax.

The unloading will keep for the next day.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle Van Dunk had a full load; An Oscar Meyer Bonus Pack in the wiener gun and an air compressor and gas powered generator on the castor cart he pulled behind him to power the gun. He had questioned the effectiveness of the technology, both in the rounds the gun fired and how they were propelled. In the end, he realized the gun matched his ‘Wiener Dog Man’ persona so well, he couldn’t turn it down.
The cart suddenly became harder to pull.
“Get off there, Long John,” Dergle moaned. “My load is heavy enough to pull as it is.”

CALEDONIA

Tomorrow he starts college. No more using all his Mom’s blankets, cushions and chairs to build forts. No more “Mr Baloony” stories, using three prompts from the young master himself.

He bequeathed me his Disneyland Play Set – figures, slides, trains, things that spin. A tiny drawer contains the surviving figures. Not all of them made it through the many years of joy. Princesses lost their heads, as they often do. The flying elephant ride is missing one car. As my wee boy departs for halls of higher learning I am emotionally and functionally one Dumbo shy of a full load.

PLANET Z

A long time ago, my physics teacher built a demonstration of pressure that used wood, nails, and dolls.

The first was “Happy Hindu” who slept on a bed of nails. His weight was distributed across all of the nails, so the pressure from an individual nail didn’t hurt.

The second was “Sad Hindu” who rested on a bed of nail. His weight rested on a single nail, and it hurt like hell.

A Hindu student in the class was deeply offended by the stereotype.

The teacher apologized, played his flute, and climbed a rope into the ceiling where he vanished.

Boing

I wasn’t responsible enough for a dog or cat, let alone a pet rock.
“You’d throw it through a window,” said my mother. And then she’d tighten the straps and buckles on my harness.
As I sobbed, I noticed a glimmer on the wall.
A sunbeam reflected off of a buckle.
I named it “Boing.”
He followed me everywhere.
At night, I turned on the lights, and Boing danced on the walls.
Over the phone, the psychologist told my mother to bring me in.
Boing felt threatened, and he leapt into her eyes while she drove us to the hospital.

Jars

As we sat on the floor of the dorm room and passed a joint around, one chick said “What if we were brains in jars in some science lab imagining all this?”
I laughed and said “Then I imagine I’d like to do this.”
And we kissed.
Later that night, as we held each other in bed, the scientists read the voltage meters attached to our jars and watched the needles twitch.
“Five units of red,” said a researcher.
A technician stuck a syringe into a brain and administered the formula.
I woke up alone, and never saw her again.

Contractor

The general watched the wall of his headquarters shake apart and collapse.
The contractor smiled and said “This will give us an opportunity to learn from our mistakes and rebuild better.”
He was the first to die.
A year later, investigators found the contractor criminally negligent, and they imposed a heavy fine on his company.
Which was already bankrupt and out of business.
The fine would have barely paid the cost of the investigation and prosecution. Or the burial and death benefits of the soldiers who died during the attack.
At least nobody survived. Medical costs would have been astronomical.

Drinks

Some folks call it pop.
Other folks call it soda.
And there’s people in the South who call it coke, even if it’s Pepsi or some other brand.
Around here, we call it The Forbidden Elixir, although even saying that will get you hauled before Mayor’s Council for questioning.
Yes. Forbidden.
It wasn’t enough to warn people of the risks of tooth decay and obesity. Not that we miss it much, what, with the fountains of vodka and bourbon at every street corner.
Still, it would be nice to have mixers. Besides orange juice, limes and bitters.
Oh well. Cheers.

Spiterella or Swallowerella?

The prince held the glass slipper in his hands and smiled.
Sure, he could roam the kingdom, letting women try it on, but feet can be so disgusting.
Instead, what if it were something else that would identify the mystery woman?
Something he actually enjoyed.
The next day, he announced that a mystery woman at the ball had given him the best blowjob ever, and he’d marry the woman who could prove she was the one who did it.
Among the thousands was a scullery maid.
Pretty, but really… a prince with a commoner?
“Swallow and leave,” he said, laughing.

Itsy Bitsy

I’ve spent the last ten years trying to breed itsy and bitsy spiders together to make an itsy bitsy spider.
The problem is that itsy spiders don’t want to breed with bitsy ones, and bitsy spiders will have nothing to do with the itsy ones.
I’d use artificial insemination, but have you ever tried to artificially inseminate a spider?
You have?
Well, dang! You know how hard it is.
Imagine how hard it is when their bits are itsy!
Teeny-weeny… literally!
Once, I thought I had an itsy-bitsy spider, but down came the rain, and…
Well, you know the rest.