T.S. Eliot said “Immature poets imitate, mature poets steal.”
Me, I steal, demand ransom, and threaten to cut off toes and fingers if my demands aren’t met!
He’s been tied to a chair in my kitchen for 3 days.
“My life is measured out with coffee spoons,” he says, and smiles.
I dump out the silverware drawer over his head.
“Let’s not be narrow, nasty, and negative!” He whines.
“Time’s up,” I say, pulling out my gun… and…
The damn thing misfires.
So, I pull a knife from the butcher’s block and I killed him.
Boy, did he did whimper.
Author: R.
Knowing
Whenever GI Joe used to say “Knowing is half the battle,” I wondered what the other half of the battle was.
My friends didn’t know.
“But knowing is half the battle!” I said.
“Yes, the other half,” said Ricky, the kid who ate paste. “Perhaps the other half is not knowing?”
“Just like that Socrates guy!” said Sue. “He knew that he didn’t know, so not knowing is… knowing you don’t know!”
“Maybe we just need to buy lots of their toys?” I asked.
We agreed, and played GI Joes in the sandbox.
Except for Sue; she played with matches.
That Shit Burns
I made the mistake of watching the news.
Our embassies were being attacked
Because while incinerating garbage
At a military base
Worn-out Korans had also been burnt
And this pissed Muslims off.
And our president
The leader of the free world
Apologized
Fucking apologized
Instead of telling them
Why don’t you take some of those
Billions in oil profits
Billions in foreign aid
Call up NASA
And buy the heat-shield tiles
That can survive re-entry from orbit
From the retired space shuttle fleet
And write your prophet’s words on them
Because when you put them on paper
That shit burns.
Dead Switch
Roger found a service called DeadSwitch that would let him address a note to be sent after his death.
If he didn’t log in once a week, the service would assume he had died and release the note.
The problem was, he didn’t have very much to say to anyone, let alone anybody to say it to.
So, he wrote a joke note to the president, saying he wouldn’t have to pardon him for all his brutal and horrific crimes now.
A week later, the site got hacked, and all the notes were sent.
Roger never did get a pardon.
Sonnet 18
I see him, wrestling through would-be Plaths, Frosts and Burkowskis at the coffeeshop:
It’s Open Mike Night, and, like a schoolchild, he’ll recite Shakespeare’s Sonnet 18 from memory.
Dreadful.
From the stage’s barstool, he’s downright singsongy, ruining the verse, digging up Shakespeare’s grave, skullfucking the corpse…
Enough! I shout. I would rather be beaten across the face and chest with a volume of Shakespeare’s work than hear you open it and read from it!
The crowd is stunned. Shakespeare’s torturer stares blankly.
Reciting from memory, he has no volume to beat me with.
But he’s got the barstool.
I run.
Kolaches For Cats
While heading to work, I stop by the park and give treats to the feral cats who live in a maintenance shed under a bridge.
Other people give them food, too, but they really like the treats. They’ll stop eating from their plates and come out to grab treats.
I feel bad when I forget the treats, so I stop by the donut shop and pick up a kolache, tear out the rolled-up strip of turkey from it, and toss pieces to the cats.
They chase down the bits of meat and eat happily.
And then I head into work.
Weekly Challenge #376 – Yellow
WARNING: My audio quality sucks this week. I used a Logitech H540 USB headset because my H530 broke. The H540 sounds muddy and awful. I’m heading to Micro Center to pick up an H530 if they have one, or a Plantronics if they don’t. (Anyone need a free crappy Logitech H540 headset?)
Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
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.
The topic this week was YELLOW:
And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:
- Tom
- Jeffrey
- Lizzie
- Richard
- Munsi
- Tura Brezoianu
- Steven the Nuclear Man
- Serendipidy Haven
- Singh
- Justin
- Zackmann
- Cliff – Uncle Monster
- June – Way Too Fantqsy
- Norval Joe
- Danny
- RedGoddess
- Planet Z
The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of ANONYMOUS.
Use the Share buttons at the end of the post to spam your social networks. This obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:
Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.
TOM
A Well Defined Relationship Part 5
Denman is the 5th rook from the sun. Your average M1 planet secondarily
known for Agro-mining, but primarily and singularly known for its D
classification. Denman was a Deity planet. Any signal act of sufficient
devotion could and often did manifest the god of your choosing. Timmy
hadn’t chosen the Flying Spaghetti Monster currently silhouetted in the
twin moon of Denman. “Look like were about to become the blue plate
special” “Not today” cried Timmy point at his Zauberlehrling creation.
John Wayne and the whole F! US cavalry slammed into the FSM. Banister
triumphantly whistled,” She wore a Yellow Ribbon.”
JEFFREY
On the Road
by Jeffrey Fischer
The yellow car turned the corner and accelerated on the broad highway, only to be stopped again by a traffic light. The car looked like something Big Bird might drive. Melvin assumed the buyer had lost a bet. The driver appeared nervous. He wore dark sunglasses and his hair was close cropped. When a police car pulled up behind, the driver of the yellow car looked in the rear-view mirror and reached across the passenger seat, perhaps to open the glove compartment.
The cop fiddled with his computer – maybe running the yellow car’s plates? – as the light turned. Both cars rolled through the intersection, and Melvin was left to wonder how the drama, if any, would unfold.
The Crossing
by Jeffrey Fischer
In the third week, our caravan began to run short of water. The yellow sun hung huge in the sky and beat down mercilessly. We had underestimated the amount of time to cross the desert, and found no oasis to restock.
Rain was an unlikely wish, and the intense heat of the day meant we had to stop and take shelter under the canopies until the heat began to break for the evening.
We traveled as far as possible at night, driving the horses to exhaustion. Two collapsed, and we had no choice but to leave them behind. At our current rate, we would be lucky to reach the edge of the desert alive. Still, this route was the only way to get the child to court in time for the coronation.
Yellow
by Jeffrey Fischer
“You callin’ me yellow?” the cowboy said, glaring at Sam. Sam, a bespectacled man of slight build, took a step back.
“Er, no, sir. I just said you appeared jaundiced, that your skin has a yellowish tone.”
That didn’t mollify the cowboy, who shouted to no one in particular, “You heard that – he thinks I’m a coward.” To Sam, he said, “Draw, or I’m gonna gun you down anyway.”
Sam thought quickly. He didn’t want to die in a disreputable bar in a nothing town, merely because a cowboy had more aggression than vocabulary.
“No, sir. I said you’re a mighty fine fellow.”
LIZZIE
Yellow Future
A yellow line divided the town in two. On one side lived the blue-eyed, on the other the brown-eyed. No one remembered why this division was implemented, yet everyone remembered who had used the yellow paint to draw the line, McAllister. His descendants retouched that line every year, perpetuating its forgotten meaning. One day, yellow was banned from the market due to a toxic component of the color. McAllister’s descendants tried a red line that year, but the result was disastrous. Blue-eyed and brown-eyed crossed the line defiantly, back and forth. The town completely forgot the line. The McAllisters didn’t…
RICHARD
#1 – Yellow
Fairly quickly, George learned that carrying forty tins of tomatoes was not conducive to rapid progress and, struggling with his load, it soon struck him that he’d been a complete idiot.
Why walk when there were abandoned vehicles everywhere he passed?
Not just any car would do though: he wanted something with a bit of muscle that he could rely on in a crisis – speed was out too; the streets were littered with debris and would likely be a death trap.
Passing a building site, the brutal yellow bulk of a large bulldozer caught his eye.
Now, that would do nicely!
#2 – Custard
Yellow is definitely not my favourite colour – it may well be the colour of sunshine and happiness, but it’s also the colour of custard – in my mind, a substance more vile and repulsive than any other.
Whether the cloying, sticky ooze, sandwiched between the pastry of the confectioner’s creation, or the pale, thin dribble of nastiness, clinging to your rhubarb crumble desert, there is nothing more disgusting than a dollop of custardly gloop.
By all means, surround me with hues of red, green and blue, they’re just fine by me – but keep your custard yellow to yourself, if you please.
#3 – Volcano
Scientists tell us that lurking deep beneath Yellowstone National Park there is huge super-volcano that will, one day, be the death of us all.
It’s cataclysmic eruption will annihilate much of North America and plunge the unprepared world into another ice age: we will all perish in the dark, cold fury of the endless volcanic winter.
So, what are the scientists doing about it?
Well, they’re investing their time and energy researching the geology and mechanics of Yellowstone.
No, scientists! Stop researching geology and how we’re going to die… and start inventing anti-volcanic disaster safety domes, or something!
MUNSI
Black and Yellow
By Christopher Munroe
Yup.
Alright.
You know what it is.
Black and yellow.
Black and yellow.
Black and yellow.
Black and yellow…
And thus, Wiz Kaleefa sang my very favorite song about bees.
Or maybe it’s about Pittsburgh.
Maybe it’s about that time Pittsburgh was infested with angry bees?
Did that happen? Was it a movie? Because I’d watch that!
Anyway, my second favorite song about bees is by Coldplay.
Look at the stars, see how they shine for you?
And all the things that you do.
And they were all…
…black and yellow.
Black and yellow.
Black and yellow.
Black and yellow…
TURA
Did your school physics teacher ever set the question, if the sun’s yellow, why does everything seem to be lit up by white light? That one’s easy: it’s because the rest of the sky’s blue. With yellow that makes white.
But try this one. The Moon shines by reflecting the Sun’s light. So why isn’t it yellow?
It’s because the Moon itself is blue! It’s made of blue cheese, not green! That’s why we’ve not been back since Apollo. The Swiss bankers don’t want competition for the Swiss cheese industry.
UN-altered REPRODUCTION and DISSEMINATION of this IMPORTANT information is ENCOURAGED.
STEVEN
We were placid calm blues and violets, the predawn still, bodies
wrapped around each other, radiating warmth against the slight summer
morning chill.
The dark still night is the place where busyness and activity and
words cannot hide you from yourself. Cannot save her from her fears.
She wakes with the first slivers of sunlight, and once it’s safe
enough, busy enough to start the day, the jealousy begins with demands
and screams and shouting loud enough to save her from her own
insecurity.
She is backlit, yelling, by the morning sun. Her words smear the
colors of our relationship.
SERENDIPITY
Jack Knife knew fortune was smiling on him when the swing of his pickaxe striking the rocky surface revealed the flash and sparkle of a rich vein of gleaming yellow… he’d struck the motherload.
Later that day, his triumph turned to woe, as he ran from the assay office, the laughter of his fellow prospectors ringing in his ears:
“That’s fool’s gold, you darned idiot! Nothing but iron ore!”
Now, thirty years later, he gazed through the window of his plush office at the huge operation that was ‘Jack Knife Mining Industries’. He smiled.
“Who’s the fool now?”, he murmured.
SINGH
(The text will be available eventually… he’s entering this piece into a writing competition.)
JUSTIN
Parents dead, killed by a mafia hit on the wrong house. Growing up on the hard streets, alone. He learned to live by the way of shadows. Then one day he met a washed up hobo drinking a bottle of tainted whisky, and he watched him transform into a monster, right before his eyes. Evil had gone too far, crime had overstepped the line of tolerance! He donned the mask, slipped into the spandex, and alighted a fedora upon his head and became
THE SLY DRIFTER!
Then he learned to use a sword after punching evil made his knuckles sore.
ZACK
There is a crash and someone screams “Aray. Hielo”. That was his contact.
She continues “I bet someone emptied that ice chest here intentionally. Why did I agree to meet that yellow journalist?”
Frank offers a hand to help lady up saying “I’m not a yellow journalist, I had jaundice.Do you have it?”
“Why could you not have gotten this yourself” she says handing him the Cap’n Crunch box.
“My wife doesn’t allow sugary cereal in our house but I have to see if there’s any truth in Dan Brown’s conspiracy theory. Starting why Cap’n wears a Commander’s uniform.”
CLIFF
Hello? Yes, I’m still holding. Yes, the bomb is still ticking.
When’s the bomb squad going to be here?
Why not? Retirement party? Well, yes, forty years is a long time to defuse bombs.
So what am I supposed to do?
Nail clippers? Yes, but…
ME?
Well, ok. Yes, I see the wires.
Red, yellow, blue, and green.
Really? In the movies, they always cut the red wire.
Ok, cutting the yellow wire.
What? The red wire? But you said the yellow one.
Just how long HAVE you been an intern there?
Yeah, well, the first day’s always the toughest.
JUNE
Yellow
by June Faramore
Yellow filters down to a tree not yet touched with dew as Cerwin ducks behind it for cover. The chase is on, and constant awareness is necessary, even in these quiet morning hours. The tealans squack, announcing the approach of the hunt, and with every wet sound he prays for the rain to return to cover his scent.
Cerwin did not realize filching a lemon cake would cause this much chaos. Leanna wanted it, and he wanted her, wanted up her short-skirt and whatever else hid behind the long-jacket worn by all girls not yet betrothed.
Cerwin runs from yellow.
NORVAL JOE
Dan shovelled a mouthful of his breakfast cereal into his mouth, savoring the crunchy sweetness. He knew from experience if he didn’t eat quickly the trademarked crunch would soon become mush.
With shock he looked to the box before him and gasped, “The primary colors.”
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. There, before him on the box, yellow, red and blue. He turned the box sideways reading in blind disbelief, “Corn Flour, Sugar, Oat Flour, Brown Sugar, Coconut Oil.”
An image of the smiling Quaker Oat man loomed in his head as he whispered, “The Captain Crunch Conspiracy.”
DANNY
The expert went on describing his qualifications as an expert. It goes as follows: After I received my bachelor’s degree in Yellow Lunch Box Technology and DNA collection, I was then somehow hired by the State of Florida, in a demented state, then underwent extensive training packaging sandwiches wrapped in wax paper put into yellow lunchboxes, followed by a six month apprenticeship. The State Attorney continued, Your honor, I would like to submit Mr. ChingChingChuCiWApromiseI’mnotaracistjustsoundlikeone as an expert on packaging sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and placing them into a yellow lunch box. Any objections, Mr. Weiss? YES! I object to the term Yellow.
REDGODDESS
It’s wedding season! The hotel Manager announces gleefully as she walks through the lobby to her office. I guess, “good morning to staff” is not worth the same effort. Lola has too much on her plate, so she ignores her and focuses on the guests checking in. Violet, the Hotel Interior designer is getting married on Independence Day and she wants Lola’s opinion on the color scheme. Violet’s favorite color is saffron yellow. So she decided, everything except her gown will have a touch of yellow. The bridesmaids would have to find matching shoes. The men must wear the exact shade of yellow tie or they’ll come face to face with a bridezilla.
Lola nods and smiles as she shows her the wedding plan, guest list, cake choice and the piece the resistance, her massive yellow diamond ring. This is all too consuming for Lola without caffeine or a cocktail. Wedding talk is like asking a new guest about their day and they derail into details about their whole trip, including what they ate on the plane. All of a sudden, Lola says, “oh wow, look at the time.” I have a meeting with the Manager, as she slides away from the counter. Lola wishes her luck on her big colorful Independence day bash and trapped herself into the dragon lady’s office.
PLANET Z
When she was a kitten, her eyes were yellow.
But after she lost her mate, her eyes turned green.
Then, when we got her a kitten to keep her company, her eyes would change from yellow to green, depending on her mood. They were usually a muddy yellow. Never were the same again.
I hear her howl from the bedroom. I know she is carrying around a toy ball and searching for her mate to give it to.
She will never find him.
Green. Yellow.
These are merely colors. What matters is that you see what you want to see.
Chew on it
There’s a folder on my desk.
I open it, and there’s a stick of gum in there.
So, I unwrap it, pop it in my mouth, and chew.
Charts. Graphs. Tables.
They hit me all at once.
My boss knocks on my door. “Ah, you’re chewing on the Peterson Account. Think the fourth quarter numbers are good.”
I chew some more, shift the gum around my mouth, and it all adds up.
“Yes,” I say with confidence. “Maybe even better.”
“Excellent,” he says, and pops his bubble and leaves.
I spit out the gum and file it under my desk.
Drive Swap
I trusted you with my life.
I gave you the backup drive, and what did you do?
You got drunk, and did a restore with mine instead of a backup of yours.
Now you’re me. And you don’t want me to restore you with the right drive and files.
You know I’m afraid to be overwritten. You’re me, after all.
Well, sorta.
There was some corruption. Because you were drunk.
I’m sorry about the broken arm, but you broke my nose.
You wiped your drive, but unlike you, I can be trusted to keep your spare safe.
Sit still, stupid.
Gene
Every time I read about a road fatality, I check to see if the people in the car were wearing seatbelts or the motorcyclist was wearing a helmet.
Oh, and if they were drinking.
Despite decades of education and laws, people still do shit like that, and they die or occasionally kill people.
I wonder if it’s a set of genes. The “Don’t Wear Seatbelts” gene or the “Drink While Driving” gene.
Sadly, they’re not linked, so sometimes a drunk driver wears a seatbelt, crashes, and lives.
It’ll take a few more generations to weed those genes out, I think.
