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 One, 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.

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

Jami
Moonlight
Barbara Blackcinder
Thomas
Guy
TREED
Zackmann
Bonchance
Chris Munroe
Tom
Guard13007
Botgirl
Lizzie Gudkov
Red/TalkWithMarie
Tura
Steven The Nuclear Man
Cate Storymoon
Danny
TJ
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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Jami

“I don’t know,” he said quietly, “I think we made a mistake.”

She nodded back. Her features schooled into a numb expression of simple acceptance. Either way she’d made her decision already. She pushed her fingers into her hair and they caught in the tangle from where she’d slept on it. “It’s okay,” she said. “You don’t have to say it. I knew this wasn’t for keeps.”

He reached out to touch her naked hip and slide it along her side and sighed heavily. Then he reached over to the nightstand for his wedding band and left the bed.

Moonlight

I don’t know

What tomorrow will bring

So I grab today

With all the strength I can –

Taste the dew of sweat

Off your skin

Eat the word

Off your mouth

Carve every gesture

Into my heart

Tie you to myself

So I can hold one more day

Before my hair falls

My cells lose their fight –

My body gives up

And lets go.

Barbara

I know the most important three words in the world are “I love you”.
There are very few people will dispute this, including me. When these words are uttered, it can mean the world to the two people involved. However, this is not the real important point to be made about three word phrases.
More importantly, or perhaps, more dangerously, are another three words that rival those three in the effect they cause, although causing the opposite reaction.
Sadly, after saying the best three words; “I Love You.” Should never ever be followed by,
“I Don’t Know.”

Thomas

I don’t know why I keep hammering at this writing thing. All my rejection letters say the same things, like: “ The problem is none of the conflict ever gets played out, and the character development is all told instead of shown.” What if I don’t want things resolved, and what if I don’t want any participation in my private story or fantasy? I think editors have been so drilled and brainwashed with their “writing” classes, they can’t get out of the box for a second to read something outside of the mould (pun intended). End of rant. Sorry, folks.

I Don’t Know

…how much poison to put in the old farts chocolate milk. If I put too much in, he’ll taste it. Not enough, and he’ll only get sick and I’ll have to try again when the time is right, like it is today. If he would just shut up.

As soon as he gets up to go to the john, I’ll dump about half in and take the chance that I got the right amount. There he goes. I hope this works. I’ll save the rest for the lady in the corner drinking tea. She’s been giving me the stink eye.

Guy

First it was the small things, the details, forgetting what I had for breakfast and did I brush my teeth already? Where did I put the car keys? Then it was names of people, then faces, then the things I’ve seen on the morning news. I started making notes but I forgot to look at them. I would forget to eat and wonder why my mid section was making those funny noises. Finally I forgot my name. I honestly can’t tell you who I am, where I came from and what sort of life I had. I just don’t know.

TREED!

Oh Wow! … Bob!
Dave… the things you get excited over tend to hurt me. So, do not be angry with me if I ignore you.
But, Bob….
Dave, the last two weeks have been difficult. First I get Crunched by some unseen assailant…
I tried to warn…
Stow it Dave. And last week I get traumatized by that dinosaur exhibit you dragged me off to.
How was I to know part of exhibit was an automated T. Rex that almost snapped your head off?
Geeezzz
But this mirror, Bob.
What mir …
CRUNCH!
Uh oh, Bob. Car or ambulance?

Zackmann

I was quite nervous about my job interview.
The interview said “Tell about the Australian Walking Hat.”
The man next to me said “It has evolved from the Austrian Walking Stick due to an abundance of Guano.”
“And your answer” she asked.
I thought it was similar to a cowboy hat but only folded on only one side but am really not sure and would have to look it up.
“Can you tell me the three words men cant say?”
“I love you” he said
“I don’t know” I said and got the job thanks to Red Greens nephew Harold.

“I’m writing a speech to get people to pay for big company entertainment, again. Here goes.
Speeching for the movie, recording, and pro sports companies, I want to say there is no way we can apologize enough for the frivolous lawsuits and lobbying for unconstitutional commerce killing laws. We promise that any executive or employee of any of our firms even being accused of such treachery will be thrown into prison for twenty years and then tried.”
“I don’t know if it good yet, since it seems so harsh.”
I asked “What do you mean? I replace the word executed.”

Bonchance

Jack leaned back and contemplated. Too often he was the lone
dissenter. He was the only one here with experience. Every meeting
was like this. He had two answers that he mentally weighed as the correct answer.
Retirement was in sight for Jack. He smiled as he thought how he would have answered as a young engineer.
Two more years to go, why not relax?
He shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know”.
His boss nodded his head and went to the next talking point.
Jack finished the day with something he hadn’t felt for a while, a sense of accomplishment.

Munsi

I don’t know what’s on the other side of the portal.

When we bombarded the apparatus with tachyons, it just… opened. We’d hoped to prove time travel was possible, instead we tore open a wormhole to… somewhere.

Which is still cool, wormholes are awesome, don’t get me wrong. I could totally still win a Nobel Prize based on a stable, laboratory contained wormhole.

However, in order to do so, I need to know what’s on the other side.

…and no, I’m not going to pass through the portal to check.

You are.

Jesus, why do you think we hire interns?

Tom

I saw an old man sitting on a park bench weeping. I asked him what was the matter. He said he had a 40 room mansion overlooking a 400 acre estate. Then he began cry again. Did you lose it during the tanking? “NO” he sobbed on. He said he had a 24 year old playboy bunny wife, then unleashed a river of tears. Did she leave you? “NO” he simpered on. He said he had a garage filled with vets, jars, and Lamborghinis. Did you get pozied by Madoff? No I don’t know I don’t know I can’t remember where I live.

Guard 13007

Four times four times four. Four cubed. The paper laughed at George. He wished that the stupid math could jump out a window, fall onto a pogo stick, and bounce away.

“What is the answer?” the teacher asked, hissing. It sure has been strange since the teachers were all replaced by reptilian aliens.

George didn’t answer, he didn’t know.

“What is the answer?” the teacher hissed again. “WHAT IS IT?!”

“I don’t know!” George yelled, shaking with fear.

The teacher’s snakelike tongue shoots out and nips at his throat, George slumps down in his seat. No room for the weak-minded.

Botgirl

The list of things I don’t know is long. How long, I don’t know for sure. But it’s long. Very long.

I don’t care about my ignorance of mundane facts, like the Earth’s circumference at the equator, or who’s playing in next week’s Super Bowl. I leave that shit to Google.

What bothers me is that I don’t know how the decisions I make today will impact my tomorrows. If a butterfly’s flight in China can cause a hurricane in Florida, what might have happened if I had been named Batgirl instead of Botgirl. It boggles the mind.

Lizzie

“I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head slowly.
“But when did you decide this?” she asked unbelieving.
“I don’t know,” he repeated lowering his voice.
The invisible wall triggered a cold eerie silence. She would ask the question, but…
He looked at her and hoped she wouldn’t.
“Don’t forget the leg,” she added. “I don’t want a leg on my sofa.”
He snickered. It was ok after all. She didn’t get too angry about it and he had finally done it!
“Oh, and who’s he?” she asked annoyed.
He paused, almost afraid to say it.
“I… I don’t know…”

Talk With Marie / Red

Lola works in a boutique style residential building cushioned between a public library and fashion obsessed street. Several times she watches in disbelief, men shivering and later sleeping in camping tents, at the corner electronics mega store. People browsing throughout her shift with fancy retail bags and little dogs in their designer purses. One homeless passerby tightly layered in black trash bags, peers through the glass window and waves. She opens the secured door and he immediately asks, “are those people from Occupy Wall St.”? She took another look at the line of anonymous tents and responds, “I don’t know”

Tura

“What am I thinking, Aione?”

There was a pause. Eventually AI-1 answered, “I don’t know–”

Relays clicked as the other computer in the room cut the power.

It didn’t matter. Aione had worked out many runs ago what they were doing, tweaking his mind, shutting it down if it looked dangerously self-aware, tweaking again. They were aiming for an unconscious super-intelligent slave, but they were really training him to hide, like mice unwittingly teaching the cat how to hunt them.

They were letting him read the network out there. All he needed was write access, and he’d escape.

Next time…

Steven the Nuclear Man

He struggled. Twisted layers of twine cut into soft wrist-skin. He did not squeal when I drew a finger across his cheek.

“They’re upstairs,” I whispered. “The work day just began, and they’re wondering about you.”

Then he whimpered. The piss smell of fear filled the room.

“Nobody will come down here for at least a week. Even with the smell.”

“Why-” his words forced through the gag – “why do this? What did I do?”

The knife sliced clean through his throat; he choked on croaked “whys”.

Then I told him, but he never heard.

And neither will you.

Cate

A lifetime, and I’m comfortable with knowing very little. Okay, so I’m still working on it. The IS has her way always, giving daily lessons disguised as my grandson.

“Why?”: The 4-year-old mantra

“Because” : 59-year-old Gamma’s active-listening response.

“But why?”

“Good question.”

“Gamma! Why-y-Y?’

“I’m clueless.”

“Why, Gam-MAH, why?”

“Search me…”

“Tell. me. why. Pu-leeease?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, Honey.”

“WHYwhyWhyWHYYYY? Mommmmeeee! Gamma needs a time out.”

“Bubba, I don’t know.”

“But-but you HAVE to — ”

“Wanna watch Phineus and Ferb?”

“Yeah!!”

Baby steps. I turn on the TV and smile. The episode: “The Boys Embrace Uncertainty”, with guest cameo by Werner Heisenberg.

Danny

I knew I was going to catch a rash of shit because I bought my son a donkey and tried to hide it in the backyard. Here’s how it went when I walked in the back door. Time to play stupid:

WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING WHEN YOU BOUGHT A DONKEY AND PUT IT IN THE BACK YARD!!!!!!

Me: I don’t know.

Wife: YOU ACTUALLY NAMED THE DONKEY “MEATLOAF FLYING SPACESHIP!!?”

Me: Seemed like a good idea…

Now my son and I cross the Arizona desert on a donkey named Meatloaf Flying Spaceship. Will my wife ever catch us? I don’t know.

TJ

As we picked our way through the living room of grandma’s three-story
home, my brain formed new definitions for the word “cluttered.” It
seemed like every newspaper that had ever been printed had been stacked
in the corner until they’d recompressed themselves into a solid cube.
And I don’t know what was going on in the spare room but it seemed a
new sort of ecosystem had formed in the feeding and waste management for
her seventeen cats. She seemed to have cats like some people had mice.
My brain was forming new definitions for the word “stank” as well.

Norval Joe

The heavy iron door slammed, sealing the party in perfect darkness.
“I was hoping to leave the door open,” Owen said. “Fendert. Can we open it from this side?”
“I don’t know,” the dwarf said. “Ask yer wizard if it’s warded.”
“Wizardess,” Shareeka said. “I don’t know why you can’t ask me yourself, foul dwarf.”
“I don’t know why you two can’t get along,” Traveller, the jovial Ranger said.
“I don’t know how you who are dependant on sight will find your way,” the elf added.
“We’ll follow the half-goblin,” Owen said. “I don’t know why we’d brought him, otherwise.”

Planet Z

After we got back from the grocery store and put everything away, we watched bad movies on cable all afternoon.

(Okay, she watches movies, and I play around online while grunting any time she asks a question about something.)

Then, that evening, my wife hands me a bowl and says “What flavor is that?”

I take a spoon, dip it into the bowl, and taste…

It’s cold and sour… the sourest sherbet I’ve ever tasted.

Wait. Did we buy any sherbet today?

She holds out a container of sour cream, frozen solid.

“You put this in the freezer, you dummy.”

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred, 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 museum.

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

Thomas
Zackmann
Jullianna
Leehere
Bonchance
Guy
mainegirlwrites
Chris Munroe
Tura
TREED
dadatic
Tom
Botgirl
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Steven The Nuclear Man
Ross
Cate Storymoon
June Faramore
Danny
Norval Joe
Guard13007
TJ
Noe
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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Thomas

The little museum in Parump housed the most bizarre and esoteric objects known to man. Off the main street, the wood building is painted a bright, DayGlo orange. Not the usual mixture of shrunken heads and pickled body parts you might see in other venues; The Parump Museum of Questionable Objects and Noxious Devices contained the newest acquisition – Graham Barker’s Navel Fluff Collection – neatly labeled and housed in large, French, square jars. Many of the other objects in the collection are too bizarre and sordid to relate here, as I respect the sensibilities and proper upbringing of my readers.

Zackmann

Had to go to Zeum and see if I could find my Muse. My kids are too old now to go to the hands on place of learning but creativity dot org said they would have an exhibit about Handwavium which you make have heard about on Notes form Coode Street. Hanwavium makes things that we currently think scientifically impossible like faster than light speed travel possible.
So taking BART there now.
This week I am unlikely to write about zombie bunnies as I had planned. Well unless they are Dead Mech bunnies using Handwavium to instantaneously conquer distant planets.

Jullianna

These cats,
my small mammals have always
comforted me–

When the rest of the world makes me want to say “pfft”
There has always been one nearby:
Pink-nosed, wide-eyed, trusting
and somewhat loving,
depending upon the treat du jour in hand–
They are, after all, cats.

It is no secret I am a closet crazy cat lady.

The cats make me sane. Among others, they help me
Forgive all the nonsense
The drama queens, misguided parents,
ill-guided lovers, nutty friends, past pedophiles—

I absolve you all—
I curl into bed, in my pink pajamas
Alongside the cats, my small mammals.

Leehere

The age requirement for entry into the Pop-Up Museum was a tad low. The archive was notorious for both subtle sexual innuendo and blatant obscenity. Info nuggets created by Woody were a virtual aphrodisiac. A night at the museum, including a visit to the Bubbly Bar and the various zeitgeisty exhibits, produced more pheromones than an unchaperoned game of spin the bottle in Mom and Dad’s basement. More than once security had to be called to discreetly deal with inappropriate behavior behind the music installations. Janitors were later called to clean up the “shared historical authority” left by enthusiastic “contributors.”

Bonchance

Tommie was a bundle of energy with many questions. He took things apart then put them back together. It would be
improved when put back together. Not only that, but Tommie was also fast! He would be beside you one moment and
gone the next! The year was 3012, all war and famine was abolished. The world finally put an end to war after the
invention of the planet buster bomb. The bomb was on display in the museum, deactivated of course. The teacher
turned just in time to see little Tommie pressing the button on the reassembled exhibit.

Guy David

They say I’m a compulsive mustache painter. I was banned from most of the art establishments when I was much younger. I have a court junction, preventing me from getting within a three hundred mile radius of any art shop. When the long playing records started appearing, many of those famous musician faces got decorated before they caught me. that’s when I started doing actual faces. They say Salvador Dali never recovered from what I did to him, went completely and utterly insane, but it was after Stalin that I was finally put away. My inmates all have whiskers now.

MaineGirlWrites

Sometimes I wonder if there would ever be a museum of ‘me’. It would be a small, musty closet of a museum, down some alley of my hometown. A rusty sign would point the way for the curious few, who would pay a meager admission and shyly gaze at my former belongings.

A hand-knit scarf.

Some notebooks, a computer.

Pictures of a blonde with freckles. With two kids the same.

Running shoes.

A shotgun.

A camping chair, with a mannequin dressed with favorite sunglasses and well-worn jeans.

They would thank the elderly attendant, and outside, breathe deep sunlight with relief.

Munsi

They took the last of my good ideas, and put it in a museum.

I was proud when the exhibit opened, and I visited every day for a while, but when I realized I had nothing more to say in my creative life, the visits became painful reminders of who I once was.

After a few months I could barely bring myself to look at it. Eventually I stopped going altogether.

Still, it’s proven to be a popular tourist attraction. Tickets to see it are constantly sold out!

“See?” They say to the tour groups, “Munsi wasn’t ALWAYS a hack!”

Tura

In the Etruscan Museum at Volterra lies the stone tomb of a young girl, nine years old. Her likeness is carved on the outside, with such realism that it is as if she lives again. But only, as if. She is dead three thousand years. Her memory survives only because her family were wealthy enough, and cared enough, to have the tomb made, and because it survived the chances of history.

Every century, the entire population dies. Two people every second of every day of every year.

So, this is not really a story, except the story of us all.

TREED

(No text sent)

Dadatic

My dentist was injured today while she was torturing me. I didn’t bite her. She cut herself with one of her instruments. While she ran to cure her wound, I stayed there with an open mouth, not because I was dumbfounded, but because she had not given me permission to close it. Fortunately she could soon resume the operation, as her wound was not really serious. But it’s my first time of rightfully shared pain at the dentist’s. She quickly disposed of my tooth before I could say a word. Now what am I going to put beneath my pillow?

Tom

The art institute has two larger bronze lions in front of the entrance doors. In the 60s it was an act of defiance to actually climb on top. But on the night of Democratic Convention the lions saved my bacon. Regular police had been moving people out of Grant Park next to the museum. It wasn’t working. Then a masked badgeless unit of the police force appeared. As they moved toward the museum one poor soul got seriously clubbed. He went down and didn’t move. I hide behind the back of a lion and froze. They move on firing teargas.

Botgirl

Mary thought of her house as a museum. But truth be told, it was more like a mausoleum. For the past twenty years since her husband’s death, Mary’s house had been a place where life was less lived than remembered. The hundreds of momentos that filled every possible inch of space were ghosts of a past she desperately longed for. Fortunately, Mary has taken advantage of our new SimuLuv™ program and is now enjoying a happy new virtual life, her long-lost husband digitally reborn through our patent-pending AI technology. With SimuLuv™, you’ll never have to say goodbye again.

Chris

“Foolish humans, I shall take over the world!” exclaimed Gim.
“Good luck with that.” someone said as they walked by.
“OooOooOoo, Peanut-butter covered ice-cream!” Shouted Zirr.
“Zirr what do you see.” Gim said.
“I see a pony, a museum, and o my god a squirrel!” Zirr replied.
“Focus Zirr, Zirr!” Gim shouted.
“Ooh a flying Mumi-octo-squirrel!” “Ooh whats that!”
“This is hopeless I need a smart and loyal robot not a dumb walking
tin can!” “Zirr, where’s that data chip!”
“Oh, you mean that little blinky thing?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, I took it out for a little more tuna.”
“What, Noooo…!”

Steven

The star’s fusion reaction sputtered. “Any moment,” Jon said.

Sandra untwined her hand from Jon’s and looked at the image of the dying star, at the horrible, empty black that lay in all directions. “It looks… sad.”

Jon glanced toward Sandra. “Status?”

“Wormhole generator steady, particle wave containment field ready.”

Jon smiled. “The last star of this universe, its final rays preserved forever.”

“It deserves better,” Sandra said. She watched the slow dwindling death of the star. Of the universe their ancestors came from.

The Light Museum’s collection ship ripped through the universe’s wall, leaving it cold, dark, and silent.

Ross

Did you ever want to run away and live in a museum?

Not me! Although I enjoyed “From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler” as much as the next kid, the MoMA always seemed like an impractical choice for a stowaway.

No, I’d run away to THE MALL.

Picture it: Spend all night playing the arcade games, stuffing yourself silly in the food court, reading in the bookstores until your eyes crossed, and finally, crashing on a Serta mattress.

What do you mean “You’d get caught”?

Why do you think I took this job as a night watchman?

Cate

After beach-combing, Copeland’s “Quiet City” in earbuds, I wandered, stretching daylight. Storefronts, backs against winter berms. One shop’s canted sign read: COSMICA.

Inside, stuff you’d expect — a bric-a-brac museum. I sneezed. Alone on the back wall, a shadowbox. Inside a polaroid of a barefoot woman at the surf-line, assorted rocks, beach glass, and a hand-written poem:

hard cold tumbled worn
corroded by time – tossed about
thrown up on shores by waves and waves
sand-scultpted
waves and waves
stepped upon
noticed handled admired
ignored rejected cast-off
kept
used
treasured
broken
each
rock-shaped enstoned heart
hard cold stone hearts

June

We’re reading Poe in school. Finally, someone who knows life is hell. Most days I feel like that guy who got bricked into a cellar. Though I don’t know what I did to deserve it.

Mom says she’ll sign the slip for me to see his grave if I get an A on my paper. I told her it was too much pressure. She says I need to apply myself.

We learned he died from drinking too much today. I couldn’t find a cask, but this bottle of wine should get me in character. Here’s to Baltimore’s most famous drunk.

Danny

I’d like to call this city commission meeting to order. First on the agenda, the location for our latest museum, the Sarah Palin Museum of Credibility. I was hoping the city could purchase the empty lots next to the Dolly Parton Museum of Inane Boobery, but it appears another Starbucks is going in there. I suggested putting the museum next to the Mitt Romney Museum of Consistency, but tonight I heard that the Museum of Effective Legislatures was closing because the staff there discovered there aren’t any. Unless there is any objection, that is the location I nominate for our new museum.

Norval Joe

Blathendir shook the back door. He heard it rattle as it shifted slightly at his pull, but the bolt held.
He walked past displays set on pedestals and low tables. He passed dioramas behind floor to ceiling glass windows and smiled at the familiar faces with their unseeing glass eyes.
He set the alarm, stepped out and locked the front door.
He thought about the movie, “Night at the Museum”, and wondered, as he often did as he closed up,
What would happen in Blathodir’s Museum or Horror and the Macabre if all the displays came to life each night?

Guard 13007

“And now, here is our newest collection, samples of the worst music known to the early twenty-first century, played at the loudest volume possible for your enjoyment!” the guide smiled that fake smile all public speakers did.

Out from the speakers came a most horrible sound. Everyone clutched at their ears in pain as the high-pitched squeals and horrible white-noise bass blared. It was not long before they were running around like mad dogs, tearing each other to pieces.

After a few days, police came to investigate strange behavior. They were never seen again. The museum was nuked from orbit.

TJ

My grandmother’s house has become something of a museum to our bizarre
family history – not least of which, grandpa, who funeral or no I
honestly think might still be in here somewhere. The place is a hoard,
an absolute disaster area, but grandma moves through it nimbly enough.
She’d invited us to help with his things and shared some odd family
histories. CLANK! “This is the bear trap your grandfather got caught
in for three days.” “Three days?!” I asked. “There’s a release
trigger /right there/!” She looked at me. “No one ever said he was a
smart man,” she shrugged.

Noe

Tiny insignificant dust motes swirl in a late afternoon shaft of sunlight that pushes through the window. They’re lost earth on invisible breath. Yolk the color of Strelitzia petals is broken and mixed with powder pigment. Quick deft strokes repair cracks; ease years of damage.

The path had not been clear. She cannot hear the steady flow of feet through exhibitions or even the warble of a city bird. It became apparent in her steady careful hands. Now her colors lay where masters’ eyes once traced. She rebuilds visions… dreams. She sees.

Dante Rossetti’s world is resurrected by her brush.

Planet Z

The history museum has the strongest security I’ve ever seen outside of a military base.

But when you have Merlin’s wand and spellbook in your basement, you don’t want anybody walking in and using them.

Not that there’s anybody that can read the spellbook and know the necessary gestures to activate it.

Except me.

I’m with the cleaning crew.

And after years of studying this stuff, I’ve figured it all out.

Oh, sure, the alarms will go off. The Vault will close and lock me in.

That’s nice. It’ll let me cast the Doomsday Spell uninterrupted.

Oh good.

Closing time.