Author: R.

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 FAINT:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Thomas Pitre
• Tom
• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• Richard
• Zackmann
• Serendipidy Haven
• Tura Brezoianu
• Singh
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Lizzie
• RedGoddess
• Ishtar
• Rodney
• Caledonia/a>
• Norval Joe
• Justin
• L
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of TOMATO.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… 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 get those fixed up as soon as possible.

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THOMAS

Fainting spells were the specialty of Dick The Magnificent. He would put one of his spells on a member of the audience, and they would be compelled to cluck like a chicken and mime laying an egg. The first time this was seen in our little country town caused many older women and gentlemen to swoon, as the volunteer from the audience laid a very large, golden brown egg and it rolled over to the edge of the stage, accompanied by her squawks and nervous clucks. A faint noise came from the brown egg, lending more drama to the scene.

#

The fad hit the high school a week before graduation. Kids were making themselves faint. Danny taught a bunch of kids in his trig class how to faint. To make yourself faint, first get into a frog position, and hold your breath for 15 seconds. After fifteen seconds, stand up, and put your thumb in your mouth. Keep holding your breath, and you should faint. Twelve kids did this simultaneously, out of sight of the teacher. They all went out at the same time, with their thumbs still stuck in their mouth. The teacher called the police and fire departments.

TOM

A Well Defined Relastionship Part III

Timmy readjusted his goggles and powdered up the railgun. Banister hummed an old miner’s song as the Clarks rolled through the clouds. “The sky in not for one who is faint of heart …” the song trained off as a group of floaters made for the stage. The floaters were name after that ancient A C Clark novelist. They could not hold their liquor which unfortunately was where they spent their entire adult life. As they whooped it up Tim caught the faint edge of red coming straight at him. “Oh cry for me as I depart,” finished the coachmen.

JEFFREY

Countdown
by Jeffrey Fischer

Space travel is not for the faint of heart. It starts with rigorous training, moves on to high G forces smashing the body, continues with the continual nausea of weightlessness, and culminates in months of boredom in space before the heart-stopping panic of the landing attempt.

Sarah, I know I’ve told you all this before. Mainly, I’m dictating this letter to calm my nerves as we undertake the final maneuvers to land on Triton. My work is done; others have responsibilities yet, but not me. I’d rather babble on, and think of you, than think of the improbability of a successful landing. As I say, not for the faint of heart.

Here comes the final countdown. I hope you don’t mind if I wish myself luck.

Lingering
by Jeffrey Fischer

Lisa wrinkled her nose. A faint odor of perfume lingered in the bedroom and on the pillow case, a floral aroma far different than her own brand. She felt the anger well up inside her. *Not again*, she thought.

Things had been tense ever since Pete lost his job. Lisa’s travel schedule didn’t help matters. She had tried to forgive Pete’s last transgression and put that incident behind her – behind *them*, for the sake of their marriage – but it was clear now that Pete had better things to do with his time than find work. Although Lisa was saddened at the thought of what would come next, she also found it liberating. Sometimes marriages, like perfume, linger a little too long.

MUNSI

She Loved the Attention

By Christopher Munroe

Whenever she got bored, she pretended narcolepsy.

When unpleasant, awkward lulls arose in conversation, or topics no longer interested her, she’d collapse, just to throw some energy into the party. She hoped this would encourage us to be more interesting.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

Within weeks of learning of this bold new habit of hers, we’d developed a stock of intentionally uninteresting stories, by the end of the year we’d made ourselves the dullest social group imaginable.

Oh, we were still interesting when she wasn’t around. But whatever we might have to say, her faux-fainting was funnier…

RICHARD

#1 – A noise in the distance

George’s journey was pretty unsettling: The empty streets spoke of violence and danger, but were silent as to any cause. Every open doorway was a threat, every broken window held dread – he took to walking in the middle of the roadway, nervously glancing from side to side at the buildings he passed.

Suddenly a faint and unexpected sound broke the silence – an engine firing, followed by screeching tyres and a stuttering exhaust. The familiar noise revived George’s hope… he was no expert, but he was pretty sure that neither aliens, nor zombies were likely to be driving round in cars!

#2 – Salvage

There it was again – the faint, metallic tapping, carried distinctly through the hull… It meant survivors! Somewhere in the stricken ship, an air pocket had created a safe haven for those fortunate enough to find it. It would be a hell of a job locating them though.

The divemaster swam up beside me – the sounds rang out again: three short, three long, three short. He looked at me grimly, then shook his head before swimming away.

It would take too long to find the survivors, and time is money – far too much money – when you have a wreck to salvage.

#3 – Artistic Licence

The graceful, gentle faint that the movies like to portray is a myth – nobody in the real world faints gracefully.

In reality, they pass out and collapse, crashing to the floor, eyes rolled back and tongue lolling unattractively. Coming round is traumatic: confusion and mild panic reigns, as the victim gasps and claws the air to catch that first breath.

Yet, even the most true-to-life screenplays would have us believe otherwise – such is the sugar-coated world that artistic licence demands.

Don’t even get me started about being on the receiving end of a punch to the face!

#4 – Passengers

One day, a mild-mannered, perfectly respectable passenger on the train, or bus, or plane, will snap.

They will lunge at a another passenger, hands around their throat, crushing their windpipe, squeezing every last breath from the struggling body of their unfortunate victim. And then, our mild-mannered traveler will return quietly to reading their morning paper, as fellow travelers around them applaud.

One day, a mild-mannered passenger, driven to distraction by the percussive, mindless, intrusion of another passenger’s iPod on full volume, will murder the offender in cold blood.

And I could well be that mild-mannered passenger.

#5 – Almonds

The faint whiff of almonds filled the air, bringing with it images of marzipan and fruitcake – the memories of my dear grandmother.

Her fruitcake was always disgusting to my young mind, but I’d peel away the icing and marzipan enveloping it, gorging myself on the sweet and sickly treat until I felt quite ill.

Oddly, I found myself feeling rather sick, right now – my head was pounding and my lips tasted bitter. Desperately I tried to recall what they’d told us at base… something about almonds.

Ah yes, that was it – strychnine is characterised by the telltale aroma of almonds.

ZACKMANN

“Hear that faint buzzing when it stops that means it has landed. You grab the swatter, hold it up in the air bring it down towards the head of the creature but at the last second hit right behind it,”

“What are you doing with that boy?”

“Dear, I am teaching your son useful ways to use his hunting instinct and hopefully decreasing the pest population.”

“What did father teach you, Precious?”

“If I see a fly standing still, I feint hitting it in the head but hit hard behind so when the fly flies backwards it meets the swatter.”

SERENDIPITY

Through the pain, I could still hear them speaking – faint and distant, but perfectly clear.

The sound of a single tone filled the room, then silence, followed by more faint, but perfectly understandable voices.

“I’m afraid we’ve lost her… Are we all agreed? Yes? Time of death, twelve forty three.”

I felt tape being peeled from my skin and heard the clatter of steel against steel, then the cool rustle as the sheet was drawn across my face.

“No! I’m alive!”, I protested, “I’m not dead yet… not at all!”

It was no good – my voice was just too faint.

TURA

Grey fingers of dawn opened the sky. Dew lifted from grass into drifting mist. The body of a man, three crossbow bolts protruding from his armour.

More bodies, hundreds, scattered over the meadow.

One lay against a tree. He gasped and opened his eyes, grimacing as his hand tightened on his sword. A body lay across his leg, too heavy to shift.

“As long as I shall live…” he began. He drew breath again. “My hand shall defend thee.”

“As long as I shall live, our love shall live.”

“As long…”

Above the silent battlefield, the crows began to arrive.

SINGH

1. Dancing Face
“Jalan Sini. Come,” says the woman on the bridge path.
We divert off the busy mountain road.
Then I see she is selling batik sarongs and her friendliness is a marketing ruse, a feint.
“Where you come from?”
“Australia,” I say.
“Oooh!” She says with exaggerated interest, her eyebrows going up, eyeballs big as marbles. Her expression becomes a dancing mask. She moves from foot to foot, gesturing with her fingers.
But I walk on past the old man, her sales partner.
“Come,” I say to my wife. She shuffles forward onto the bridge and gazes down.
“Look. There,” she points.

2. Bridge
“What are they doing?” She asks with urgency like when something unusual is about to happen in a movie.
“How would I know, Darling.”
We stare down at the swirling confluence where the two rushing rivers meet. A family has gathered on the bank. They are muttering prayers and throwing frangipani flowers into the fast water. The man lifts half a coconut shell with two hands.
The offering of powdery dust flies into the face of the wind.
“Cremation ashes,” I say.
“Oh Lord!”
“Come on. We have a reservation,” I say.
Our restaurant overlooks the river.
“I’m not hungry,” she answers.

3. Holiness
She serves nightly in the hill forest restaurant. The camphor beams, floorboards and bamboo thatch need no walls above the gurgling river.
“It is a holy place,” she says touching her heart, wearing the white blouse, coloured sash and kebaya traditional for Balinese women. “Each night something blows against my neck. I turn. Nothing.”
really.
I look down to the river through mountain ferns.
“It’s a special place,” I say and then add, “But what is more holy is that you have worked here every night, not doing anything else these past twenty years.”
She closes her eyes, smiles and bows.

4. Art
After changing money, I walk back past an art gallery. There are portraits of topless Balinese sarong girls untouchable behind glass.
Back in the car, my wife says, “You were looking at them.”
“Yeah, it’s art,” I say and look to our guide. “When did the women stop going topless here?”
The 1930s. The Dutch missionaries stopped it, he narrates. Antonius Jody is a rare Catholic in this 90 per cent Hindu island.
His Grandmother still refused to wear anything on top. Said it was uncomfortable.
“There you are,” I say. “Completely natural.”
My wife looks at me with dry skepticism.

5. Signs
We are low on fuel, so Jody pulls into a Pertamina Service Station. Buying petrol cut with kerosene can be a problem, he reports.
We notice the owner has put up a reassuring sign tacked to the stem of a banana palm: My Petrol is More Pure than your Love
Later, rejoining the crazy snake of traffic there are more road-signs, courtesy of the Bali Police Traffic Education Unit.
It is Forbidden to Have Accidents Here, one proclaims.
500 metres on: The Hospitals are Full.
Then a final word another 500 metres on seals things: The Hospital is Still Full.

6.
The guide takes us to Tannan Lot Temple. Carved from volcanic rock it stretches into the sea. In the 15th Century the Javanese Raja sent a Hindu priest to walk the black coastlines and share his teachings. Here, he struck the outcrop and fresh water gushed forth. The fishermen carved a temple. Trees grew above the cave that smells of bat shit.
I try to pick out my wife walking with Jody amongst the thousands who’ve come to pray or play. I am glad to sit. A bird kite flies above the temple. Blustery surf still crashes against the black land.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

She flickers. “Nonononononononono.” My words blur like my typing fingers pulling up source code.

“I’m… tired, John.” She puts a hand to her head. “I’m…dizzy.”

Sweat beads on my forehead. “It’ll be okay, honey.”

There’s an edge to her fading voice. “You’re always working on the computer.”

“I have a good reason.” Keep typing. Keep debugging.

“Computer instead of me.” Her voice is half-static. “You… time with me.”

I look. Her eyes are 8-bit and translucent, and closing.

My wife, two years dead, derezzes again.

“I have a good reason.” I start typing through the tears.

“A good reason.”

UNCLE MONSTER CLIFF

I can barely hear her voice. I thought she was far away, but I realize now that there’s just so much material between us, it sounds like she’s distant. Thinking about how the building is…was laid out, I know she’s only yards from me. My body aches in places and is completely numb in others. The quake was big. It’ll be hours before anyone starts digging; hours that we don’t have. Finally, through the pain in my chest, I draw a breath and call back. I let her know I’m here. I let her know that she won’t die alone.

##########

Everyone made fun of Sarah because she fainted all the time. A paper cut draws blood? Bam! A scary movie monster jumps onto the screen? Sarah’s out cold. The doctor said there was nothing wrong with her. She just fainted a lot. So we were all stunned when we heard what happened. A serial rapist broke in as she was fixing dinner. She nearly killed him with a frying pan. The EMT said he’d probably live but he’d be disfigured for life. But when Sarah noticed that she’d torn a nail during the beating, she was out like a light.

LIZZIE

Summer started after a long, cold and rainy winter, so people were eager to enjoy the sun. All geared up with new swimsuits, they didn’t hesitate to march towards the beach. The sign did say “No Swimming”, but no one paid any attention, after all, sharks were extinct. Suddenly, a woman screamed, horrified. The beach-controller, a new model still being tested, pulverized all the swimmers, leaving a faint smell of blood in the air. The summer joy was quickly gone and the engineer responsible for this particular robot was pulverized as well, later and in private, at the company’s headquarters.

LOLA

Lola is baffled by the random events held at the hotel. The ballroom can be transformed into any theme to suit clients’ ever revolving tastes. Last week, there was a bachelor and a sweet sixteen party on the same day. This weekend, Lola will oversee a popular beauty pageant. The lobby is already filled with barbie look alikes of all shades and hair colors. They’re practicing their runway walks in their rooms, hallways and the bathrooms. Wherever there is a mirror, you can find them staring into self-doubt and wishful thinking.
Lola can’t imagine subjecting herself to this charade to win a crown. She would faint during the bathing suit competition and throw up on her gown. What exactly sets her apart from these hopeful contestants, parading in front of strangers for a high score and prize money? Lola doesn’t approve but she can’t play judge when she herself has made some questionable choices for a pay day.

ISHTAR

Ten more feet and I can give in. I can faint. Submit to the dark.

The alarm is blaring so loudly. I want to scream.

8 more feet, I can push that damn button. End it all. Give in.

“We should have listened. We gave up our liberties to stay safe.
Now look at us.”

5 more feet. Guards rushing down the hall.

Push the button, end the madness. Freedom reigns again they said.

3 more feet. Too much blood loss. Have to end this insanity.

Click. The guns cocked against my head. Do I push it.

Live or Die.

RODNEY

Story text: Somebody once told Josh not to stare at the sun. He couldn’t remember who. More important things were on his mind. Like the strange colors coruscating from it and scattering flakes into the pool-blue sky. They weren’t like the colors he’d seen before. He heard his classmates scrabbling over the blacktop, but even the swing’s squeaky taunt couldn’t break his concentration. The colors were changing. There were shapes. His friend…he forgot her name…she had a pet snake. They looked like that. Black snakes slithering off the sun. He blinked. What writhed behind his eyelids pitched him headlong to the pavement.

CALEDONIA

Faint

It’s a veggie-carb day on my menu cycle. It’s self imposed and pretty successful so far.

I want protein. I am craving protein. A hamburger, some barbeque pork, even some refried beans! Thoughts of fried chicken are mocking me.

“Nyah! Nyah! You can’t have me!”

“Bullshit! You just WAIT until tomorrow!”

Giggling triumphantly the chicken thoughts dance away, still teasing.

I refill my trusty water bottle. Take a deep breath. Oh God! Someone’s firing up a barbeque! Wafting scent of mesquite! I run around madly shutting windows.

“Get away from me!”

The room starts to spin around. Fade to black.

##

The Serial Faintress – a Series of Three 100 Word Stories

(with a small nod to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and Peter Jackson)

***

Hearing the noise behind me, I turn quickly and gasp aloud. I am positively shocked at what I see.

Sherlock Holmes is standing smiling at me across my home office. Suddenly a gray mist swirls before my eyes, and when it clears he is bending over me, his flask in his hand.

“My dear lady, I owe you a thousand apologies. I had no idea that you would be so affected.”

“But why are you in Tacoma?”

Then it appears that I faint again for the second time in my life.

My head hits the floor with a dull thud.

***

I open my eyes again with a sharp intake of breath, and blink.

I see a much younger face than the one I saw before. Dark, swirling hair frames the most remarkable pair of intense, changeable hazel eyes I have ever beheld. I look puzzled.

Hello there! They call me “Ben” but my actual name is “Benedict.” Season 3 of my acclaimed Sherlock series is coming, and I am in the next Hobbit movie. It’s going to be excellent. You’re a fan?

The room starts to swirl around in a now familiar way. Everything gets dark, those eyes disappearing last.

***

Returning to consciousness, thinking how unreal this is, I shake my head to clear the haze.

Someone is still here. Good Lord, won’t they leave me alone?

This one has a brooding forehead, furrowed brows, but somehow he is compelling, breathtakingly handsome. His temple braids graze my cheeks.

“I am leading my kinsman to retake our homeland and reclaim the legacy of our fathers. We travel to Erebor. Have you seen Smaug the Terrible?”

I close my eyes, letting the fog roll back over me, and everything blinks out.

There’s just no point in getting up until they go away.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle peered into Widow Finklestien’s canary cage. His wiener dog, Long John Silver sat at his feet, but kept one ear turned toward the back door where the boarder collie whined.
“I’m sorry. Your canary didn’t faint. It’s dead,” Dergle said. “When did this happen?”
“Well. Let me think. Missy was barking in the backyard for her breakfast and my toast popped. That’s when I heard Bitsy hit the bottom of the cage.”
“So, she fainted three hours ago and you think she’s still alive?”
“No,” Widow Finklestien said poking her finger at the unmoving bird. “She fainted yesterday morning.”

JUSTIN

I should have left as soon as I arrived, but missing persons are the most important cases. Of course, ever since I had to flee from the Gilman house, it got personal.

Now I’m holding an alien weapon, under the ocean off the New England coast. I can hear the voices speaking unknowable polyglot incantations. I blast the weapon full power at the ceremonial gong. My ears start bleeding.

But I can think straight to fight the onrushing Deep Ones. And maybe I can even defeat them before I’m eviscerated in their temple, a sacrifice to their dark, ancient god.

L

Desperation
by L_zbracakes

Desperation permeated the wooden bar, overpowering the years of spilled drinks and cigarette smoke. Can the souls of inhabitants imprint on a building? Years uncounted celebrating their sorrows in pints and empty conversation; a jukebox playing wrinkled memories of firmer days?

She sought a face she hadn’t already seen up close, early morning pale and breath like…

For every new experience was another proof of life and the wolves…

at bay…

There was no mystery left.

She swooned, never dreaming such a word—a romance writer’s favorite—would apply to her, and left for the dark streets, leaving her drink unfinished.

PLANET Z

The perfect glass of ice water, just a hint of lemon.

Fred didn’t taste the lemon at all. He picked up the glass and drank it all down in two seconds.

After refilling the glass from the kitchen sink tap, he gently shook the glass to melt the remaining ice a little, and he drank it empty again.

Susan watched, and she wondered why she bothered slicing lemons and twisting them for Fred.

One day, she’d stop with the lemon.

Instead, she’d slice up limes. Or oranges. Or pears.

Or nothing at all.

Fred downed a third glass of water.

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 DRINK:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Thomas Pitre
• Chris the Nuclear Kid
• Jeff Hema
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Serendipidy Haven
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Singh
• Zackmann
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Helen
• Tom
• RedGoddess
• Deanya Zenfold
• Justin
• Danny
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of FAINT.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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THOMAS

He was sober, but his behavior had not changed. He was dirty and sober, to coin a phrase. Dave continued to cheat widows out of their savings, and take advantage of women with low, self- esteem. He would pretend to listen to them when they answered his questions: “What do you do.” “What do you think of so-and-so.” He’d look into their eyes, touch their wrist lightly, and lean forward to sip his drink. He had mastered the skills of being a cad and a lothario. Dave was shot through the groin by a scorned woman of especially, low self-esteem.

#

The drink was new. Developed by a bright, young chemist at PepsiCo. Progengen combined several herbs and a generous portion of caffeine. The herbs, indigenous to Brazilian jungles, were used to enhance brain function. They also were close in chemical composition to free testosterone. Those that drank the new cola, were less sleepy and more aggressive. Gangs of Progengen drinkers found themselves clustering together at concerts, bars and soccer games. They would arrive early, leave late, and would be responsible for riots, fist-fights, and setting fires to cars in the parking lot. The FDA eventually pulled the drink from market.

#

It was a three dog night. So cold in fact, that Jennifer slept with four dogs that night. She allowed herself a couple of shots of brandy before wrapping herself in her wool blankets and pulling the dogs in close to keep her warm. Of course, Mr. B., the oldest dog snored, and this kept her awake for an hour before she drifted off. Jennifer could not move a finger during the night. Enclosed in the bundle of wool and dog flesh, she was immobilized. The heat generated by a couple of hundred pounds of dog was more than necessary.

#

Lenore was an odd duck. When she had company over for a fine dinner and drinks, she would exhibit a skeleton on a shelf in the middle of the dining room. The purpose of the skeleton was to remind her guests of the brevity of human life as she offered the first toast, “Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we die.” Every one of her dinner parties were subject to the display, but the food was good and the food and drink were plentiful. Her guests adopted Lenore’s décor. More than half the dinner parties in Brentwood featured skeletons.

#

She was a tall drink of water. Samantha is blond, slender, blue-eyed, and young. Her makeup is done in such a way that her eyes are emphasized, but the make-up is so soft and subtle, it is not detectable by everyone. When I talked to her, her father was always nearby. He is a friend, and dreads the day Samantha starts dating. He fears what he might do if anyone causes harm to his first born. He is a big man, works in construction, loads trucks, and capable of removing a teenage boy’s head without the use of hand tools.

CHRIS

Daily life of an assassin

I have a decent on off job. I have time to drink all sorts of whisky, ale, beer, and cider. Or that’s how it used to be. I was sitting at the bar checking out the fine ladies when a man sat down next to me.

“You’re a wanted man. “He said simply, “I’m here to hire you”

“what’s the pay and who do you want dead?”I asked. He looked up putting on a fake smile, gave me a hug whispering in my ear, got up and walked away.

“Well I had better get going.”I grabbed my gear and left.

JEFF

A Life Of Toil

They say school time is the best part of our life. Well, I disagree. Waking up in the mornings was always like pulling teeth for me, especially if I had been burning the midnight oil trying to finish my homework.
I remember once I woke up late and had no time for my morning shower. So I drank a big glass of milk in one fell swoop, and it was as cold as the weather outside.
In a hurry I jumped on my bicycle, and within five minutes I felt that my shoulders were peculiarly light.
“Darn, I forgot it!”, I howled.

JEFFREY

To Drink the Ocean
by Jeffrey Fischer

The aviatrix crawled toward the meager shade the wrecked plane provided against the mid-day sun. If only I had some water! she thought, then smiled wryly. Water. She was surrounded by it, but none would slake her thirst.

In the two weeks since the engine failure and crash landing on the Pacific atoll, she and her companion had tried to conserve the potable water as long as possible. Now the water was gone, as was he, and the aviatrix no longer believed rescue would come in time.

Drink! her body commanded, and in time she could hold out no longer.

Alice in Wonderland
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Drink me!” read the sign. Alice considered, then obeyed. She shut her eyes as the amber liquid spread through her body. It burned.

She saw colors – oh, what indescribable colors! – swirling, blending together before separating again. She felt as though she was floating in air, weightless. She heard voices, first faintly, then louder and increasingly strident.

Alice opened her eyes. She lay on the floor, her barstool towering over her. A crowd had gathered, wondering what to do.

The bartender peered at Alice, a stern expression on his face. “Miss, I think you’ve had enough.”

RICHARD

#1 – Stiff drink

Once, he’d recovered sufficiently from his encounter with the lamp post, George took stock of his surroundings.

He was in a typical suburban street and had come to grief outside the doorway of a second-rate bar. Untypically, the door itself was lying in the street and shards of glass littered the pavement from the broken bar room windows.

He toyed with the idea of nipping inside – he could have murdered a stiff drink – but, commonsense prevailed and, painfully he dragged himself to his feet and nervously, walked – somewhat more carefully than before – briskly away from the scene of destruction.

#2 – Lost

Because of the drink I lost my home, and along with it, my family, friends, job and everything that I owned. Now, it’s the drink that keeps me going – my days lurch from pub, to bar, to off-licence, and my nights are spent huddled in cold shop doorways and on park benches.

So, in many ways drink is also my salvation of a kind, even though I know that it’s the drink I have to blame for losing everything.

At least, that’s what I assume… it could well be me that’s lost, and my home is somewhere around here!

#3 – Alice

‘Drink me’ said the label on the bottle.

Alice considered the oddly coloured liquid critically – it had been a very curious day: all these potions and cakes, with their intriguing labels; things just kept getting curiouser and curiouser. Still, that wasn’t going to stop her.

She grabbed the bottle, removed the stopper and drank the lot, before falling to the ground, clutching her stomach in agony.

The bottle’s label dropped to the floor where, as her last breath escaped her body, she read the words on the fluttering card: ‘Drink me’; and – too late – printed on the reverse: ‘And die!’

#4 – Going native

The drink had a peculiar, yet not unpleasant taste, and a potency of epic proportions. Swirling it around my mouth, savouring the flavour of the thick liquid, I swallowed, gasping from it’s fiery burn.

“It’s good”, I choked, smiling broadly at the toothless old woman, and held out my bowl for more.

“What’s it made from?”, I asked our guide, who simply nodded towards the woman who was preparing my second draught.

To my horror, she hawked up a huge wad of saliva into the concoction, and stirred it well, before passing me the bowl with a wide, gummy smile.

SERENDIPITY

Why do they make medicine taste so awful?

This stuff I’ve been prescribed is vile, and for all the good it’s doing me, I’d be better off with a couple of aspirin. If anything, I feel worse since being on the medication!

But it’s the taste that makes me feel sick after every dose. I’ve even tried mixing it with orange juice or honey, but it’s still foul.

In the end, I went back to see my doctor – I told him I couldn’t stomach the stuff anymore… he laughed at me.

“You’re supposed to rub it in, not drink it!”

MUNSI

Sunday Pub

By Christopher Munroe

…if you want a pleasant atmosphere in which to enjoy a drink or two (or eleven), you could do worse than a pub on a Sunday.

It’s industry night, you see, and as such it’s pretty much all waiters and bartenders celebrating the end of their weekend of work. A relaxed, understanding atmosphere in which to enjoy your evening.

The people working, I’m told, make incredible money themselves. Which makes sense, I suppose, nobody tips like other waiters.

Still, I could never work the industry night shift, however good the money might be.

I gotta get my own drink on…

LIZZIE

“What’s this?” asked the stranger from an obscure planet.

“A tap, it gives water, see?” replied the innkeeper.

“Or something else, when we are lucky,” added a customer.

“Something else? Like what?”

“When democracy was abolished, a group of subversives hacked the water system and added a powder that shuts down the brain temporarily. They still do it today.”

“That’s terrible…”

“It depends. With workdays that are 18 hours long, being knocked-out for a day or two means rest time.”

“We have robots to do our work,” said the stranger appalled.

“We did too. Oddly enough, they became the subversives.”

SINGH

The Boy with the Wild Boar’s Face Part 2

12
The collection theft turned out to be the saving grace of the Muzim Trust. With the insurance money they were able to renovate and modernise. Media attention aroused public sympathy and new audiences and patrons flocked to the well-funded productions which gained generous newspaper review space because a stream of celebrity actors could be employed here between their film shoots. Thus, the Muzim Theatre regained its prestige as a premier leader of the arts in the city. Ketut was happy. He helped out with front of house before each show, swept up afterwards glad Tuan’s life work would continue on.

13
Under the practical but tasteless Puan, Management tried to curate a new collection, restocking the displays in the vestibule to justify the name and image of the Muzim Theatre. The exhibits were no substitute for those rare exhibits that each had an authentic history behind them. Nevertheless, they installed the inferior collection with fanfare under the glare of media cameras. While all went off to a party, Ketut remained indignant. How could they dishonour the name and memory of Tuan, a national treasure, with all this junk he didn’t collect, all the while keeping his gilded portrait on the vestibule wall?

14
Installing the new collection was also timed with the opening of new production, the last work written by Tuan based on the story of Jayawarman the Ninth. It was part dance-drama and song cycle with background shadow puppetry telling the story of ritual suicide of a Javanese King, Queen and 1500 family members and retainers before colonial Dutch guns. Instead of fighting and sacrificing thousands, the noble king staged a dance drama full of tragic spectacle as his ultimate protest in the face of military invasion. After the first night sensation, the play was a sell out. Everyone was ecstatic.

15
But the following week of success and media attention Puan received another shock. Tuan’s priceless collection mysteriously re-appeared overnight replacing the new one.

“Tut,” she called. He came running. “Have you seen this?”

He shrugged.

She really didn’t know what to make of all this, but was suddenly fearful that last night’s new media attention the theatre might be exposed for fraud. Clearly Azlim was not to blame after all. She called her staff.

“Look, we have to hide this all? But where?”

They thought hard for a moment.

“There’s that hidden storeroom under the stage,” said her office manager.

16
As they tugged and manhandled the garments, hats and masks from the cabinets Ketut became agitated. “You are hurting Tuan’s things. You will damage them.”

Worried about a scandal, Puan got angry. “Oh! We have to hide it all Tut. It will bring a bad name to my husband’s memory.

Backstage, they found the hidden door, but it was locked.

“Who has the key? Tut? Please open up.”

Reluctantly he turned the lock and switched on the light. There was the new collection boxed neatly against one wall, his worn grass sleeping mat against the other and Tuan’s picture looking down.

17
It dawned on Puan what had happened through the innocent Ketut. What drama! She couldn’t be angry with him. He had saved their precious institution, after all. For now, they would have to reinstall the inferior collection. In time they could bribe the local police to uncover the ‘stolen’ one, fabricating a story of a raid on some art thief ring’s warehouse and even get media attention for it. So she deftly diverted Ketut muting him through admission into the actor’s ranks. His talent shined. Public popularity led him to the top very fast fulfilling his destiny as Tuan’s artistic successor.

18
Ketut developed into a great mask mime and led the Muzim Troupe to overseas festivals. Even Puan was moved to glimpse her own husband occasionally embodied in the new Tuan.
Back home, Ketut carried on as before. Never marrying he lived in the theatre sweeping up after hours. He also fixed the old trapdoor in the stage floor and would trigger it each night, plunging gleefully down onto foam. Then, he would put on his old boar mask, dust the precious exhibits while conversing with Tuan’s portrait on the wall.

“Ok, Tuan?” he would ask. “Did you like the show tonight?”

ZACKMANN

“My kid has been going on about how I shouldn’t drink so much bottled water. That it is bad for the environment. How tap water is quality checked more often than bottled water. He tells me about all the things he has seen on youtube and the conspiracy theories about soda pop companies convincing people that bottled was better so they would not lose costumes when they became diabetic and stopped drinking soda pop.

Sure I could claim I have fears of chlorine and fluoride but the truth is I like to drink bottled water because I hate washing dishes.”

CLIFF

When a policeman pulls you over, be polite. Have your license and registration handy, but not in your hand. After all, you weren’t doing anything wrong. When he asks if you know how fast you were going, act slightly embarrassed and simply say “No, sir.” When he says that you were doing one hundred forty, don’t pump your fist and yell “YES!” It’s bad form. Act contrite, apologetic, and sincere, even if you have to fake it. And, whatever you do, when he asks if you’ve been drinking, don’t pull out the bottle of scotch and offer him a drink.

HELEN

To Drink or Not to Drink is the Question
by helen r starr 06/15/2013

To Drink or Not to Drink is the Question

Life is in the balance how do you go?

Up or down, I don’t know

People say to you, “Do it this way”

My gut says, “No, let’s do it this way”

Who’s right or wrong, I cannot say?

Can I have a drink?

You play,

You sway, and say, “Oops, the next day”

Wait,

Did drinks just cloud the way?

Minds under pressure

Tears flow, where do I go

Sadness overcomes gladness

Boxed to drink

Depression

Despair

Who do I trust?

To all I say,

“Don’t drink, and walk away”

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part II

Banister removed his hip flask and passed it to the boy. Mother didn’t approve of The Drink and under normal circumstances he would let the green liquid pass him by, but here on Stormedge that just wasn’t the most intelligent option. Tim didn’t particularly like the way The Drink made his head feel. Some said The Drink heightened one reflexes. Timmy threw back a swig and coughed. Banister smiled and raised two fingers. The first of the fermentation clouds appeared on the left. The Drink was the only thing which would keep you sober as you flew through Nimbus Alcoholus

REDGODDESS

Drink by RedGoddess

Lola remembers a saying “a drink is a drink, is a drink, is a drink.”
Maybe its from one of her recovering alcoholic hotel guests. She can’t remember, but in some cases, it doesn’t make sense.
Every morning, her choice of drink is a home brewed cup of dark roasted coffee, with a dash of brown sugar. After work, coffee won’t cut it, even with Baileys.
So honestly, a drink is not a drink, it is not a drink because Lola needs to numb her frustrations, before she explodes like dynamite.
Two days ago, she witnessed her lover having a drink with another woman. He didn’t see her, but she can’t get this image out of her head. Him. Her. And a bottle of wine between them. Him smiling and laughing without her.

DEANYA

Drink –

She’d not seen the advertisement until she’d finished dinner, flipping absentmindedly through the magazine while she cooked and ate, pages of health tips and “Can this marriage be saved?”

He’d chided her for having wine with dinner; Baptists should only take alcohol if Jesus Himself had turned it from water. Then he’d take the prescription drugs that kept him calm, he’d said, during his emotionally charged acting lessons.

But there it was: his smile; bottle of Merlot in one hand, glass in the other; his acting lessons really paying off; the word in bold sans serif above his head: “Drink?”

JUSTIN

Those basement rats nibbed my toe! I’ll drink a health potion! Those scratches are gone, right away!

Yipes! Flesh wound from that kobold! I’ll drink a health potion!

Dang orc gashed my arm! Nothing a health potion won’t clear right up.

Bugbear broke my nose! Health potion tastes like blood, but works just the same.

Troll hit me over the head with a tree! Health potion and an advil.

Dragon just burnt me to a crisp! Two health potions.

Consume responsibly. Contains high levels of mana. Not suitable for pregnant adventurers or adventurers sensitive to mana. Consult cleric if nursing.

DANNY

Cookie and Bubbles met Sparkle as she got off from work from the “Ride ‘em Cowboy” strip club. It was only 2:30 am, the bars in NYC don’t close until 4, so the girls decided to head to the nearest bar to get a few drinks. Sparkle knew the bartender, Julio, so they all received free drinks. By 3 a.m., Cookie and Bubbles were completely wasted. Sparkle got into a fight with her so called bartending friend, giving him a swift roundhouse kick to the jaw, dislodging his false teeth, which fell to pieces on the floor. Bubbles threw up on the bar.

NORVAL JOE

“You’re mad,” the second mate shouted as he struggled in his bonds. A shipmate slugged him and blocked his mouth with a dirty rag.
“Harr, Mr. Turner. Ye’ve been found guilty of mutiny, and even amongst us pirates that be punishable by death,” the captain growled. “Take him, boys, and throw the scurvy dog into the drink.”
“Excuse me, Captain,” the first mate put in. “We’re space pirates and there is no drink out there, only the soul sucking void of space.”
“I’ll tell you,” the captain said. “You people are no fun. Then, just put him out the airlock.”

Dergle stood outside the bar, wanting to go in, sit down at their table and order a drink. He pulled his wiener dog hoodie over his balding head and pressed the wiener dog nose-mask onto his face.
He stepped through the door. The party at the center table went silent, but for only a moment. They all suddenly laughed at what must have been the funniest joke in the world. They laughed at him and he knew it.
They’d made it clear that the Justice Friends were “Just Us Friends”.
Like so often, they were in and he was out.

TURA

Robert Heinlein said that a fiction writer is competing for the reader’s beer money. I’ll drink to that! But why compete? Every microbrewery bottle carries a blurb about how it was “Brewed on the banks of the mighty St. Vrain” or whatever. You could print a proper story there instead, perhaps a hundred words long. Use easy-peel labels and offer collectible albums. Challenge people to collect a saga in instalments. On a bottle of Bailey’s, you would want only the very best stories, stories you can read and reread for as long as the bottle lasts.

The possibilities are endless!

PLANET Z

You’re supposed to drink eight glasses of water per day, but I have no idea how big the glasses are supposed to be.

“Glass-sized,” said my doctor. “Why do you have to be such an asshole?”

So, I made a glass with a counter on it, and after every glass of water, I add one to the counter.

When I get to eight, I can stop drinking.

My friend thought it was a cool idea, so I lent it to him.

Three days later, he ended up in the hospital, suffering from severe dehydration.

The dumbass never reset the counter.