Author: R.

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: CRANBERRIES

We’ve got stories by:

• John Musico
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Chelsea
• Tom
• Tura Brezoianu
• Anima Zabaleta
• Spate – TEXT ONLY
• Serendipity
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Dionysis Clowes
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of SHOE. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

JOHN MUSICO

Cranberries
by John Musico

I moved from Massachusetts where cranberries grow wild to a job in Alaska.
Back home, I was famous for my cranberry pie. I picked the berries myself.
When I moved, I was anxious to be accepted by my new neighbors. I knew just how to do it. I went out berry picking.
I threw a yard party and urged everyone to have yet another slice of my prize pie.
What I didn’t know is that in Alaska grows the baneberry much resembling the cranberry. Baneberries contain protoanemonin causing GI symptoms followed by hallucinations and even cardiac arrest. I left town.

MUNSI

Assumptions Based on the Prompt “Cranberries”

By Christopher Munroe

American Thanksgiving!

Right?

I assume that’s what the prompt means.

I don’t understand how American holidays are structured, honestly. Our thanksgiving is your Columbus Day? I think?

Your football’s different than ours too, and it’s nearly impossible to get a proper Ceaser down there…

…and don’t get me started on baseball. If you want to watch a sport where a thing gets hit with a stick, watch hockey like normal people!

Ah well, at least your “hit-thing-with-stick” sport isn’t Cricket. I have zero idea how Cricket works…

But I digress.

My point is, it’s American Thanksgiving! Probably!

So: Thanks, Americans!

JEFFREY

Cranberries
by Jeffrey Fischer

Devon grew up in a devout, conservative household. Among the many taboos she learned was a prohibition on swearing, which was uncouth at best and blasphemous at worst. As a child, she never found this to be a problem; she never encountered a situation that could be improved with a timely epithet. If she ever needed one, however, she decided her all-purpose word would be “cranberries.”

Then Devon grew up and started working with lawyers, and learned their devious ways. Her colleagues found her to be polite and hard-working, but they could never understand her obsession with cranberries.

Trainer Drink
by Jeffrey Fischer

College kids learning to drink liquor often don’t like the taste of alcohol, so they like to ease into the process with trainer drinks: alcoholic beverages that taste more like candy than booze.

One legend has it that the marketing department at Ocean Spray invented the Cosmopolitan. One part vodka to two parts lime juice and three parts cranberry juice, the drink appealed to women because of its pink color and fruity taste. It was an alcoholic beverage that didn’t taste like one, a true trainer drink. And yet the primary benefit was to keep the cash registers at Ocean Spray very busy.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 81: Zombie

By the time George returned to the camera, night was drawing in and he was feeling distinctly jumpy roaming the darkened hospital. He caught himself involuntarily singing the Cranberries song, ‘Zombie’ under his breath – despite any supporting evidence, his mind was still convinced the zombie apocalypse had come.

He angrily dismissed the thoughts and changed the soundtrack in his head.

Unfortunately, whistling a happy tune only served to make him more afraid, particularly when he discovered a locked door bearing the legend: ‘Beta project – no unauthorised access’.

He charged the door, remembering – too late – such moves only work in films!

#2 – Sauce

I was told that cranberries are harvested by flooding the fields and letting the fruits float to the surface, where they are skimmed off.

It struck me as a brilliant idea – one that I could apply to a whole variety of crops… sadly, it hasn’t quite worked out.

Potatoes don’t float, neither do carrots, and mushrooms just went slimy in the water.

So I thought I’d give the tried and tested cranberries a go – but that didn’t work out either.

Foolishly, I harvested too soon after fertilising, and what floated to the surface wasn’t cranberries!

Slurry sauce anyone?

CHELSEA

Cranberries

They’re a staple in most houses around this time of year. Showing up on holiday tables between the first of October and the first of January.

You know what I’m talking about. You have all probably seen them, whether on your own holiday table or at a friend or relative’s house.

No matter how they are served, what they are served in, or how much someone tried to hide it, they always look vaguely like the can they came in and they just sit there.

This gelatinous substance that we all know so well is, of course, canned cranberry sauce.

TOM

That’s not Jell-O

My Aunt’s Thanksgiving Dinner was a wonder to behold. Soup to nuts it was. Possibly the most exotic offering on that table was the disk of gelatinous red. It occupied the area of the plate normally heaped with apple sauce. A density thrice Jell-O with a tenth its wiggle. Where adults got away with a nibble or a nosh, children were expected to down the whole serving. Further it was bad form to mix that with any other portion of food on the plate, which seem odd because everything else did get mixed together. Personally I really hate the stuff.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 73
“DOOM”
The Duke knew this love fest wasn’t going to suit the task at hand. “I got to bum these guys out.” Drawing in the great part of the remaining Tachyons the Duke bellowed out “DOOM” The stage filled with wailing, gnashing, and Lamentations. “Good,” said the Duke. Sparky cried “Why oh Lord are you getting medieval on our asses.” “Get over it Kid.” “Doctor what’s the plan?” The Doctor felt a light glow in his heart. “Stealth.” The bandit fell back into a less then helpful mood. He mumbles Doom Doom to himself. The sky shifted from green to red.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 74
“X”
As Banister crossed over into the Board land the first of EL Cid’s defenses was triggered. Waves of UV fog reduced visibility to 3 meters. “Oh I forgot to divulge that one,” said the bandit. “Why don’t I just drop you out the air lock,” said Smith. “Because I’m the only one who know how to …” “Direct a stream of Ortron particles at the parabolic mirror array to engage the tracking lights on the landing pad,” completed Sparky. El Cid stopped short. Spark aligned the Ortons. The landing pad lite up like a Christmas tree. The stage touched down on X marks the spot.

TURA

Cranberries
——–
The word “cranberry” derives from “cran”, a basket used to carry herring, and also used as a measure. “Cran” itself comes from the Old French “cragne”, a skull, but that in turn is a figurative meaning based on an older meaning of “bowl”. A skull is like a bowl, you see, a bowl of brains.

“Berry” can be traced back to the Proto-Germanic “bazja”, to chew, and then to the Sanskrit “babhasti”, to devour or destroy.

So symbolically, “cranberry” means “to feast on a bucket of brains”, which is why cranberry sauce proves that Thanksgiving is actually a zombie festival.

ANIMA

100 Years of Happiness

It sits, quivering on the table.

Joe passes, heading directly for the mashed potatoes.

Dianna goes by as well, staking a claim on the carrots and celery– “No corn sugar for me, it’s not on my diet”.

Uncle Harry thinks about it for a moment; but as his plate is about to avalanche onto the carpet, he opts to settle in at the last spot at the grownups table.

So I take the first jewel toned slice of perfect, smooth, sweet tang. Also a second, and a third. Fools! They know not what they have missed. I am in bliss.

SPATE

If I knew how to record on my phone… but shit, it’s hard enough to type never mind that I have to count my damned words by hand.

It wasn’t a huge storm but the snow was wet and heavy. We lost power at six-thirty on Wednesday evening.

The locals all have generators. Not us. Nor do we have a turkey or stuffing or pumpkin pie.

We do have a gallon of vodka infused with fresh cranberries and I’m drinking a big glass as I type.

Mom said to make the best of things.

Hey, I can see my breath!

SERENDIPITY

Dammit! Blue light’s flickered in my rearview mirror and I pulled over to the side of the road. Just my luck.

The officer poked around in the rear of the pickup.

“What’s in the sack ma’am?”

I blurted out, “Nothing, officer – just fruit”

“And that?”, he asked, pointing to the sticky red fluid oozing from the sack.

“Juice”

“Let’s see you taste it then, ma’am”

I scooped some on to my finger and licked it clean.

“Look… just cranberries”

As he drove away, I heaved, spitting the blood from my mouth – it had been a very close call!

LIZZIE

Peter hated cranberries and he simply couldn’t eat anything with the darn things in it. Thanksgiving was, as a result, a bit of a tricky time, especially because of his mother’s explosive temper. Anyone refusing to have her special cranberry sauce was an insult to her over-sized ego.

When Peter volunteered to cook this year’s meal by himself, his mother sneered. “You can’t cook!”

One thing is for sure, next year’s meal will not include cranberry sauce.

Peter made it a point of having cranberries decorating his mother’s grave and a nice shiny plaque saying “I’m not grateful for cranberries.”

NORVAL JOE

“Let’s go,” Superconductor said, pulling out a handgun and waving it toward the door.
“Me too?” The Crazy Old Cat Lady asked.
“Yeah. Come on.”
Dergle followed the old woman down a hallway beneath bare fluorescent tubes. Her hair, obviously dyed, glowed bright red in a shade somewhere between crimson and cranberry.
“Did you ever watch the ‘I Love Lucy’ show?” He asked her.
“Are you commenting on my hair?” she asked, obviously flattered.
“They say she used to dye her hair with human blood,” Superconductor said.
“You’re making that up,” Dergle said.
“Well, maybe. Okay, I did,” Superconductor admitted.
Suggested prompt. . . . . Chopped

DIONYSIUS

The First Thanksgiving

This pemmican is making me thirsty! said Ousamequin to allay the tension.

Annawan merely glared at Squanto, who smiled back in a way that enraged the the war-counselor of the Wampanoag. These illegal immigrants use salt not bearberries for flavor, he muttered.

Be nice! whispered Squanto, They’ll assimilate in time!

Their colloquy was interrupted by Captain Standish, who invited them to join in games such as Pin-the-Ninny, Hide the Frog in the Hopper, House, There’s a Draft for Annie (Who Feels a Draft?), Knots, Saltpeter Blowing Bubbles, Dick Drunk Drink, and Who Gets the Ball?

Kill them all, muttered Annawan.

PLANET Z

When I was young, we had big family Thanksgiving feasts, and everything was on the table. It was amazing.

But as I got older, I stopped going home for Thanksgiving.

Then, I stopped accepting the pity-dinner invitations from friends.

After I got married, we did smaller dinners. Turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and cranberry sauce. But she had to work later on holidays, and I just copped out with a cheap microwave turkey meal. And vodka.

What about the cranberries and pie.

Fine. Add them to the vodka, and you have a Cape Cod. Then light a pumpkin pie scented candle.

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: COMMUNITY

We’ve got stories by:

• Lady Blue
• John Musico
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Chelsea
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Anima Zabaleta
• Spate
• Dionysis Clowes
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of CRANBERRIES. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

LADY BLUE

Listen to your higher selves. They know more than brothers.
by Blue sky

“We’re a learning community.”

“How so?”

“Every morning, Brother Mountebank preaches by the river, and we gather to sit and listen to his words.”

“So, what you’re saying, is that one assumed knowledgeable person passes their knowledge to a commune of ignorant people.”

“Basically, yes. We learn how to live based on the teachings of Brother.”

“I see. My understanding is that a learning community learns from each other as equals, sharing individual experience.”

“Brother hears voices from the higher self.”

“Well I do, too. And my higher self is telling me that I won’t be part of the audience.”

JOHN MUSICO

Community
by John Musico

When I first bought a house, I looked forward to living in a neighborhood like when I was a kid.
I remember those days fondly. I had been at just about every neighbor’s house countless times.
What I found instead; was that I’m at work all day and never stop off at anyone’s house.
Is it just this neighborhood? Then it dawned on me. The experience of a neighborhood I had as a kid was as a kid.
I was at that neighbor’s house playing with their children etc. while my parents were at work just as I am now.

MUNSI

Our Community

By Christopher Munroe

I’m proud of the community we’ve created.

We built replicants, from scratch, then programmed them to believe they were actual people, before dropping them into a perfect recreation of an early twenty-first century town.

In this recreation, they work, strive and live, believing themselves to be real human beings, believing their actions to matter in the grand scheme…

Believing nobody’s watching, taking notes.

There’s more conflict than we predicted, but they manage it among themselves, and to date the results we’ve gotten back have been… useful.

We’ve learned a lot, through their simulated lives, about how people lived back then…

JEFFREY

Community
by Jeffrey Fischer

Hello, children. I hope you’ve been well since we last talked. Now listen, I want to create a sense of community. You guys are spending a lot of time together, and it would be nice if you could get along, look out for one another, and so on. Honestly, nothing would warm my heart more than seeing some genuine friendships come out of this little group.

I know the shackles and locked doors don’t help, and mysterious disappearances of your roommates and neighbors may make you suspicious of each other, but, I implore you, don’t let that unpleasantness come between you. And believe me when I tell you that any screams you may hear are just screams of pleasure, I assure you…

Community Property
by Jeffrey Fischer

I explained the downsides of Communism to my Econ 101 students, but I saw a number of blank looks. I searched for an analogy they could relate to.

“How many of you have roommates?” Almost every hand shot up. “And how many have a common kitchen, refrigerator, and bathroom?” Nearly the same number of hands. “Ever had a roommate eat your food? Leave dirty dishes left in the sink? Make the bathroom so disgusting you think about waiting until you get to Starbucks?” Many vigorous nods.

“Then you’ve seen the wonders of community property in action: other people take your food and leave the place a mess, figuring someone else will deal with the problem. Eventually everyone goes dirty and hungry.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 80: Sixteen times

Finding the ‘Beta’ labelled security cameras was one thing, working out where exactly in the hospital they might be located was another thing entirely.

Sighing heavily, George picked up his roll of surgical tape and resumed his tour of the corridors, carefully taping over each security camera he came to, returning to the booth after each to identify which camera he’d found.

Sixteen weary trips back and forth later, he ruefully mused that he probably knew his way around the Park End Community Hospital better than its employees, but – more importantly – his determination had managed to locate camera ‘Beta 2’.

#2 – The Community Centre

The local community centre closed down last week. It was no surprise – after years of council spending on boarding-up windows, cleaning away graffiti and funding extra police patrols to deal with the druggies and layabouts that hung around outside, it was bound to happen.

It was the place we’d meet to argue about local projects; at times the community council almost came to blows over where to spend what little cash we had.

Most of the time we just disagreed, voting against each other and generally falling out.

Looking for community spirit?

At the community centre? No chance!

#3 – A real sense of community

Back in the good old days, they say, neighbours looked out for each other.

Grandma would leave her front door open and neighbours would pop in for a cup of sugar and maybe stop for a chat.

There was a real sense of community.

Personally, I think there still is – although just a little different now.

These days granny locks her front door.

The neighbours still pop in – they just kick the door in – help themselves to the sugar and anything else they can lay their hands on… Nothing’s changed.

Although they don’t stop to chat any more.

LIZZIE

From the breakfast table to the green garden and back, silence was part of life.

One day, a member of this community of a few dozen people thought “no more”. She felt like singing and that’s exactly what she did.

By nightfall, she had been expelled.

By the end of the week, the community had only two members left, its founders.

One turned to the other and said somberly “Words cannot express how disappointed I am…”

The other laughed. “That’s what you said, remember, when we started this thirty years ago. I guess we’re the only ones who hate words.”

CHELSEA

Community

It is said that our evolution as a spices is based on the fact that we gather together, forming units for support and protection.

It is very interesting and more than a little terrifying to see that as we develop more technology, technology that by its very nature makes it so that we no longer need to connect to each other in the same way for our mutual support and protection, that our society is more and more threatened. That there is more and more violence.

Maybe we should all put down the tech and connect with our community again.

SERENDIPITY

I live in a gated community: It’s a very exclusive address – we don’t let just anybody make their home here, you know.

We have a stringent vetting process and if you don’t fit our criteria, then I’m afraid you simply won’t make the grade – there are other places more suited to your sort.

It’s a very safe community too – security is tight, and once you’re in we expect you to abide by the rules, and the same goes for your visitors… We have very, very high standards.

Furnishings are pretty sparse though… especially here on death row.

TOM

Intentional Community

Frank grew up in a huge family, seven brothers and sisters, nine uncles, cousins beyond count. Oddly he had little contact with any family member after he made his way to the west coast. Frank would say “You’re stuck with family. You chose your friends.” Truth be told his intentional community was his family. Five couples had jointly purchased and 10 acres. Five little homes in a row. One by one Frank’s friends burn their mortgages. The community set up an emergency account to insure if any one person came to ruin they would not lost everything. That’s a community

ANIMA

PSA

We interrupt this normally scheduled program for an important Public Service Announcement…

Alert – Alert

There are people in your area that assemble coherent independent ideas, and should be considered dangerous.

Do not, I repeat, do not allow them to influence you into turning off your television.

They will encourage you to read books or spend time in contemplative thought.

Report anyone who would rather have a conversation in close physical proximity, rather than send a text or email. This is an early sign of deviant behaviour.

This has been a Group Think Community Alert, brought to you by The Hive.

SPATE

From Out of the Woods

Giving up the sophistication of city life when I relocated to this small
rural community was an adjustment tolerably made but still I have the
occasional moment.

As was the day a man emerged from the woods behind my house carrying a
shovel and a half-full lumpy burlap bag dripping some sort of dark red goo
that looked like burnt cranberry sauce.

I didn’t say a word but my look must have questioned him.

He squinted, put on his best local friendly smirk and offered, “Hunting
chipmunks, want some?”

“No thanks,” I said, “I get mine at the grocery store.”

(music: “City Slickers” by Brian Boyko / curator: freepd.com / Creative
Commons Public Domain)

DIONYSIUS

Flee from Me, Devil Fleas

In the beginning, contrary to what you’ve been told, the Devil created a mess. Billet and Doux were fleas on the Devil’s ass.

It’s hot down here, said Billet.

And smelly, said Doux.

Perfect! they said and took a big bite together.

Now the Devil, in his imperfect omniscience, overheard their laughter, and waxed even more wroth than was his wont. Perfection!? he roared. Get thee from behind Me, Satan!

Bite my puny red ass, muttered Doux, and see how you like it.

The Devil heard of course, didn’t like it, and cast them both out, where their friendship became the infinite community of us all.

NORVAL JOE

Superconductor flipped the lights on and Garbage Man followed into the room.
“Just what are you trying to prove to us with these video images?” The Crazy Old Cat Lady asked.
“A fairly extensive collection of memories, wouldn’t you say?”
“I understand that Superheroes would want a sense of community, but this is excessive,” Dergle said.
“Are you admitting you’re actually a hero?” Superconductor asked. “You just said Superheroes.”
“No I didn’t. I said, ‘Supervillains’.”
“No. You said, ‘Superheroes’.”
“I didn’t,” Dergle protested.
“Cat Lady. You heard him, didn’t you? He said, ‘Superheroes’.”
The Crazy Old Cat Lady only shrugged.

TURA

Community
——–
Do YOU know someone who is anti-community?

They don’t all live on their own, like in the movies, hiding behind closed doors, thinking their private thoughts. You could be talking to them every day. Do you ever notice that someone seems to be… elsewhere? Not participating fully? WITHHOLDING their thoughts from the community? They could be thinking ANYTHING AT ALL!!

Do them a favour. Report them to your local community officer. He will know how to safely deal with them, and when they’re eventually returned to your community, they’ll be sure to confess to everyone the error of their ways.

PLANET Z

Old Man Parsons was your typical “Get offa my lawn!” kind of geezer.
Old Man Williams, who lived next door, was the opposite.
“Come on over!” he’d shout. “The grass is lush and soft. And you’re welcome to the lemons on my lemon tree!”
So, the neighborhood kids would come over and play, and they’d pick the lemons and squeeze them into their waterbottles and drink.
And get sleepy. So sleepy.
“Come rest inside,” said Williams.
So, they came inside.
The kids were found the next day on Parson’s lawn, naked and confused.
And Parsons blasted them with his shotgun.