Author: R.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Eight, 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 I don’t know what it is.

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

InertialVoom
Bonchance
Logan Berry
Tura
Lizzie Gudkov
Tom
Chris Munroe
Serendipidy Haven
Zackmann
Steven The Nuclear Man
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Cliff
Buttermilk
Guy David
Abernathy and Sachy
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Norval Joe
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

Myst says “Listen!”

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Inertial Voom

The Ataturk Curse:

We were in the trenches at Tripoli. The Turks fired their cannons at us.

I saw a figure that looked like Buddha floating above the struggle. Bullets did not affect his calm appearance.

The Turks scrambled over the trench and I drew my knife. I noticed my enemy had my face, I dropped my knife and ran, and so did my enemy.

Miles away, I looked in the water to see my reflection while I quenched my thirst in a small stream. I had the uniform of a Turk, and had a face I did not know.

Bonchance

The Drive

I don’t know what it is, appointments are always on Monday.
Heavy traffic with long drives and still no time to talk.
Tom could see her friend in the back seat texting.

In the passenger seat, Kristen was watching the miles pass through the window, listening
to music on her headphones.

He smiled as he heard the music. Remembering how he used to scold her for having
it up too loud. He laid his hand on her hand.

She squeezed his hand tight and smiled still looking out the window.
Tom returned his attention to driving, thinking, talking’s over rated.

Trebble Stew

What is it, bones?

I don’t know what it is Jim, but I know I didn’t put it in here.
Scotty leaned his head down to the pot and smelled it, saying,
” I don’t know what it is Cap’n but it don’t smell right”.

Jim nodded his head and said let’s give it to the Vulcan, he can eat anything.
If he gets sick from it we’ll just say it must be too much garlic, like last time.

Spock always did say that humans had a rather bland taste in food.
Which explains why he had so few human friends.

Logan Berry

It was round and shiny. Droplets of dew slithered down its skin. It hung heavy among the leaves. She had never seen anything like it. She encircled it with trembling fingers and pulled until it came away. Ravenous, she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled sweet but tart, too. Sour but tantalizingly ripe. She bit.

“I don’t know what it is,” she whispered, “but it’s good.”

“Let me taste!” her companion cried. She ignored him, her eyes closed in heavenly bliss. “Dad says we have to share,” Adam muttered sulkily. She considered his words, and generously relented.

Tura

There is a secret that all make semblance to know, yet none speak. It is whispered in the darkest corners of the fitful night; for one day it appeared as a graffito scrawled in the stifling summer heat of a derelict alley in Montmartre; it is written in a book that does not permit itself to be read.

It is the secret that God told to the serpent, the serpent told to Eve, and Eve told to Adam.

But I think that the true secret is that the secret has been lost, and none any more knows what it was.

Lizzie

I run frantically. A dead-end is ahead, and yet another. I run and turn and run again. Stopping for a moment, I look up. All the windows are closed, the doors locked. Fearful, people are hiding. But he is out there, lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, he appears from nowhere, confident. I can feel him right behind me. I turn around slowly. It is time. I grab my sword and slash him dead. I smirk and walk back to the central plaza, to the light. This strange force, I don’t know what it is, but the city is still mine!

Tom

“I don’t know what that is,” said Tommy. Most ads in McCall’s and Red Book were highly identifiable. Even objects he had never actually come in contact with held enough temporal form to not cause question. But this ad was weird. A single blue box smack dap at the edge of the page. Where most ads were peppered with claims, description, and testimonials this one had one single word upon that small blue box. Tommy asked mom “ What is M-O-D-E-S-S ?” She blushed, then laughed “Because.” He didn’t get the joke, figured it was just some unfathomable adult mystery

Munsi

It’s an improv rule: Once something’s said out loud it becomes a fact.

No matter how foolish the idea sounds, it’s what’s happening and you have to commit to it 100%.

After a number of years doing improv, I started applying this rule to my day-to-day life.

Anything suggested, if even remotely feasible, I’ll agree to.

It’s gotten me into my share of trouble, to be sure, but it’s also led to some of the weirdest, wildest times of my life.

So I’m sticking with my improv rule. When opportunities come up, I’ll always accept them.

Because I don’t no.

Serendipidy Haven

There it is, on the mantelpiece – rescued from the gutter. I don’t know what it is.

Curiosity got the better of me, and now it sits there, intriguingly organic and fibrous – a mystery waiting to be solved.

I like to think it might be one of those desert flowers: its dry husk ready to burst into bloom for one magical moment, like a chrysalis springing briefly into life… it’s probably not. More likely a simple piece of street flotsam; somebody’s thrown away fruit peel, or the skeleton of an old leather purse.

I don’t really care.

It’s my little mystery!

Zackmann

“You have a disorder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because you download all those ebooks, most of which you never read. Just because they are free, doesn’t mean you have to download them.”
“But some on Digital Ink spot are only free for a limited time. Gotta catchem all.”
“See what I mean and your Internet friends like DAVe Avila and Jeremy Shipp are just enablers.”
“If I have a disorder then just what is this said disorder called?”
“Just because I don’t know or no one has of yet coined a name for it doesn,t mean it isnt a disorder.“

Steven the Nuclear Man

It is layered deep.

Black words shift, sliding in interlocking shields, serifs sculpting sinister glyphs.

They guard it. They keep it from me.

My shears of punctuation and logic (pieced together with loci of syllogisms) puncture words, play havoc with layered defenses.

The words scream non sequitur shouts of agony and rage. I press on. “You should have!” Snip. “Immature ass!” Snip. “You didn’t!” Snip. “You never!” Snip.

The last word screams “I’m leaving,” but I snip snip snip it away.

I reach into the center of the fallen fortress to claim my prize.

I don’t know why I’m alone.

RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie

The weatherman predicted record breaking temperatures. No sun in sight but traffic is already backed up. Everyone is in a hurried state to grab something before reaching work. By 11:12 am, a nearby hotel bursts into flames as commuters run for cover inside various businesses. Within minutes, flashing red and blue lights blanketed the city streets. Firetrucks and ambulance vans dispatched to the affected neighborhood. At exactly 11:21 am, the whole city went pitch black. An old lady covered in ash asks the officer directing traffic, do you know what’s floating in the air? He mumbles,”I don’t know what it is”

Cliff/UncleMonster

Who knows

I don’t know what it is. It just sits there staring at me with its dark probing eyes. Three feet tall and covered in rust colored fur, it watches me as I go about my day. I never see it move but it shows up wherever I go. No one else has seen it or at least, no one will admit to it. I’ve stopped asking.

I can’t touch it. I can’t bring myself to try. I just ignore it, pretending it isn’t there, that I’m not crazy. I can’t help but wonder, though. Does it know what I am?

Butter Milk

Hey, check this out…
What is it?
Look. have you ever seen anything like it?
whoa, what’s it called?
poke it
no! it looks all spiky
feel right here
oh wow! weird!
look what happens
when you do this…
wow, cool! let me try!
can you smell it?
kinda smells like grass
doesn’t it look weird?
totally weird, it’s all spirally.
don’t drop it
ok, don’t worry. I won’t.
I found it out in the field
i want one!
look, look at this here
hehehe it’s so cool!
i think so too
Sorry, what did you say it was called?

Guy David

I entered the building, the microphone hidden in my shirt. Everyone was already there, blending in. The mall was full of people, shopping, talking, arguing, living their lives. I headed for the second floor. The mall speakers started playing the music. I started singing, my voice also coming through the speakers. People stopped in confusion, wondering what’s going on. A woman on the first floor joined in, then another woman on the second floor. We exchanged looks and winked. As the final singer, another man on the first floor joined In, I knew our lives would never be the same.

Abernathy and Sachy

Barnabus had always wanted to be a contestant on Guess What It Is, finally his day is here, his dream has come true and he was ready. He wore his favorite purple cardigan and didn’t change his socks from the night before.

Barnabus was wedged between a professor and cryptozoologist, if he wasn’t nervous before, Barnabus was now.

It was the third round and he had no score, sweating his hand hovered over the buzzer as the display item was rolled out for everyone to guess. Barnabus knew what it was. With a quick reaction his buzzer sounded. “It’s a…”

Norval Joe

Spleen crouched behind the wood pile and watched as the woman and boy approached. The axe handle felt comfortable in his sweaty palm. His forked tongue slipped between his scaled lips and tasted the scent of their blood.
They couldn’t see him in the shadows under the eves of the woodshed, yet they strode directly toward the half-goblin.
“I don’t know what it is about goblins,” the woman said. “They think they’re invisible when they’re in plain sight.”
“What do you mean, Shareeka?” The boy asked.
Spleen laughed and launched himself over the wood pile to answer the boy’s question.

Planet Z

It used to be that there were just plain and peanut M&Ms.

You could tell which was which by the shape.

Now they have all different kinds: pretzel, peanut butter, coconut, dark chocolate, and even mint.

Oh, and white chocolate. And the peanut with peanut butter.

And instead of the usual boring colors, all kinds of crazy colors, too.

When I pick up an M&M now, I have no idea what it is.

Or if it’s an M&M at all.

These sleeping pills look like M&Ms.

And Rich Uncle Fred loves ‘em.

They’ll rule it suicide.

Better doublecheck the will.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Seven, 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 Fingers.

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

Bonchance
Tura
Taralyn
Buttermilk
Lizzie Gudkov
InertialVoom
Chris Munroe
Zackmann
Guy
Tom
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Cliff
Steven The Nuclear Man
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Danny Dwyer
Norval Joe
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.

The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.

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Bonchance

Lucky Haskins was an amiable person who always had a good word to say about a mate.
There isn’t a soul who knows him that doesn’t smile when someone mentions his name.

Lucky has done a lot of time in the joint. He built up a phenomenal list of friends in law enforcement agencies to
compliment his contacts on the other side of the law. Lucky never had a bit of good luck even before the accident,
back when he was known as Fingers Haskins.

No one was surprised when Lucky decided to give up trying to be a thief.

Tura

You know how, if you repeat a word over and over, the meaning drains away? And if you stare at a faint star, it disappears? My girlfriend was into Zen meditation. She stared at her self until it dissolved.

Afterwards, I stared at my fingers a lot. Where do they end and the palm begins? If they’re made of atoms, do they really exist? Isn’t it all just emptiness?

So how could I have strangled a non-existent person with non-existent fingers? The jury didn’t buy that, so here I am, staring at four walls all day. Staring until they disappear.

Taralyn

Fingers, little extensions from your hand, but when do you feel them? For me, it is when it is freezing outside and I have to go out and scrape my windows before my drive to work. While scrapping I start to feel them, but oddly enough it isn’t till I’m done and back in the warm car that they just ache, and I’m sooo aware of them it hurts. I can literally feel the bone piercing up through my flesh, I almost want to cut them off in that moment it hurts so much, but then they warm up, ahhhh.

Buttermilk

16 ladyfingers,
strong brewed coffee, room temperature. Maple syrup, cream cheese, soft. Sour cream, frozen whipped topping, thawed, unsweetened cocoa powder, for dusting, and 16 ladyfingers. They’re the pivotal main ingredient. Damn, where am I going to find 16 ladyfingers at this late hour? Even if I could find one lady to take them from, that would only be ten fingers. And I wanted to double the recipe, so now we’re up to four ladies’ fingers. She said she really wanted Tiramisu for dessert, but I just don’t see how i can possibly manage it now without all those fingers.

Lizzie

His fingers typed fast. The keyboard was steaming. The processor was going as quickly as it could. He was relentless. Clic clic clic. He had to write 5000 words within the next 7 minutes and he was running out of time. “The police found a strange object….” clic clic clic “… for no good reason, the neighbors…” clic clic clic “… thus creating a huge misunderstanding…” and he typed furiously. Suddenly, the phone rang. A shot. Puzzled he looked at his wet shirt. Blood… Clic… 5000 words deleted, clic. One journalist down. The cursor blinked alone on the white page.

Inertial Voom

Loving Hands

He was an old black man who had lived in the Congo during King Leopold II of Belgium’s reign. He opposed the government, and he knew what they would do to him. I watched him eat, deftly quiet, with the clicking of metal fingers.

He was lucky, he had friends who rushed him to a hospital in another country, while bandaging his wounds. I did not need to ask him if he needed any help. He seemed so capable, and he had a hearty laugh. I did find it awkward shaking his metal fingers on his prosthetic hand.

Munsi

It’s an old expression, but a true one: Feed a cold, starve a finger.

That’s not right.

If you have a cold, feed yourself finger food. If you have no fingers, you’ll starve.

Feed yourself cold fingers when you’re feverish?

Wait, I’ll figure it out, just give me a minute!

Chop off your fingers and leave them out ‘til they get cold?

That’s not it either.

This isn’t going well, I admit that.

Still, you knew I wasn’t a doctor when you asked me for advice about your cold.

Now: Let’s start cutting off fingers and see where it leads!

Zackmann

“I wish I ate before we started cleaning this building.” said Sara
“I will buy you some lunch after we are done cleaning,” replied Jan the lead housekeeper.
“Look this box has lady fingers written on it, I think they will not mind if I only take one.”
Jan said “I read in the newspaper that Mulligan Smith and Thomas Blackhall get packages here at Skinner Co so don’t even touch that box.”
Sara opened the box and said “I feel sick” then held up a mason jar.
Jan said “What do you know, this box’s label says Lady’s fingers ”

Guy David

“How many fingers do you see?” the doctor asked. “What?” I asked, still dazed. “six” I added. “Close enough” the doctor cheerfully announced “now take off your coat”. I wasn’t wearing my coat and I quickly pointed it out to him. “That’s odd” he said, “here, have another drink” which was strange since I didn’t have a first one yet. Even stranger was that I didn’t recall getting there at all. “How did I get here” I asked. “Never mind that” he answered getting his big plastic hammer, “let’s see what happens after I bang this on your other head”.

Tom

A tuff tale to tell
She was so tiny. I could nearly wrap my fingers around her. She vibrated as I held her. Somehow this six week old cat had been flung into the middle of the road. The Vet told us the kitten had major nerve damage in the shoulder. She suggested removing the leg. We opted out for hope. The leg never recovered it remain curled up at her side. As cats grew up on our property they learn how to sit with their paw curl up. Even cats who hate Emur lifted their paw. She was my cat for 18 years.

Chris the Nuclear Kid

There was a time when darkness didn’t cover the earth. Then there came there came a mystical stone called the Gladiator. Many Platonians, a race of Goblins, Would have given anything to get their fingers on the Gladiator. The power of the Gadiator was more powerful than any thing any one had ever dreamed of. However, like most powerful things, it had an Achilles Heel. Anyone with possession of the stone could do anything including destroying worlds. Long ago the very first receiver used the stone and used for evil. And now, darkness covers the planets to this very day.

Uncle Monster

At thirteen, I lost my left pinky mowing the lawn. Yeah, it hurt like hell but I got my first robot finger.

Then an index finger got chomped by a horse. They’re right. Never look.
I lost two fingers to the blade of a band saw in shop class. A pinky got caught in the door of a Ford. A cheap pawn shop ring cost me my left ring finger.
The last two I lost in Vegas. Don’t ask.

Then I lost my job.

Yesterday, the prosthetics got repossessed. So, who’s got two thumbs and not much else? This guy!

Steven the Nuclear Man

“They don’t sound like twigs,” I say, snapping its pinkie. “don’t you agree?”

The sociopath screams, and for a moment I think I made a mistake. But it’s charming and superficial – one of them. No conscience. No empathy. No remorse.

“Brian,” it shrieks, “let me -”

I silence it with a smack to the mouth.

“They say,” I tell it as I apply the brand, sizzling flesh, “torturing a person can make you a sociopath. Without empathy. Without feelings.”

I lean close as the light goes out of its eyes. “So tell me, when do the emotions leave?”

RodGoddess/talkwithmarie

Lola hated her bony alien-like fingers. At age 11, she broke two of them, playing hide and seek in her parent’s basement.The pain was unbearable and she had stitches to prove it. Till this day she can still see the fading scars. She had hoped to accomplish more with them than the usual daily tasks. Every time she hears her favorite musicians perform on stage, she wishes she could play the guitar like Tukso, Shannon or Mic. She longs to wiggle those fingers on a piano like Alicia Keys or John Legend but her fingers are just scarred childhood memories.

Danny Dwyer

“Fingers.”

Only 10 years old, I was “playing” with a blender, when I dropped the middle portion of the blender lid into the running blender. In a panic, I reached into the blender to pull out the plastic piece. My left index finger now was hanging on my body by just a small flap of skin. Dad rushed me to the hospital to have my finger sown back on, while my mom was returning from the airport with my Aunt Ruth, only to find my blood dripping from the kitchen ceiling. Aunt Ruth’s new nickname for me from that point on was “Fingers.”

Norval Joe

Owen whined at the wizardess, “Why do I have to be in charge?”
A smile of pained patience wrinkled Shareeka’s unblemished brow.
“Because you are to be king,” she said. “And it’s your queen who is captive.”
“I know,” Owen grumbled and counted on his fingers, “But, we have Traveller, the ranger to guide us. Findert, the dwarf from the mines of Grool. We have Elbowner, a royal elf, and Spleen. Well, no. A half goblin wouldn’t do. But what about you?”
“Me,” the wizardess laughed. “No. The others in the party know me too well to accept my leadership.”

Planet Z

I have a horrible case of the hiccups.

I’ve tried every remedy I know:

A spoonful of sugar to disrupt the swallow mechanism
Breathing into a paper bag to reset blood gases
And even one I saw in an online trivia site: sticking my finger up my asshole

Yes, the finger trick actually works. Because you can’t swallow while you shit. It’s a disruptive neural signal.

A friend of mine suggested a spoonful of peanut butter.

I tried it, and it worked, but It’s a lot messier than sticking just my finger up there.

And a waste of peanut butter.