Once upon a Tim, there was a happy colony of bacteria.
I can’t tell you where that colony was on Tim, but wherever it was, the bacteria were happy.
Tim, on the other hand, was not happy.
The bacteria were flesh-eating bacteria, and since Tim was the closest flesh to them, the bacteria were eating Tim.
Tim lay in the hospital, nurses pumping antibiotics into his body while doctors prepared for emergency radical amputation.
The bacteria lived happily ever after in a petri dish at the CDC.
Tim, or what was left of him, didn’t.
(Who cares, right?)
The end.
Author: R.
How Do You Write 100 Word Stories #48
Many folk lossed on Jeporde when the final question was how do you Tom write a 100 word story
When I write I like to put at least one word with the letter Q on the page. Word disruptions in English writing dictates that occurrence. I think it is my duty to help that process along. I am very fond of the letter Q. I have one in my name so I have developed a close affinity to everything Qness and am always on the look out for Q everywhere. I have a small house in city with a Q on an island with a Q. I was raise on Ave Q not the play the street in Washington.
Weekly Challenge #254 – “Consternation” and “Floor Wax” and “Firewood” and “Deadly Marshmallows”
Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Fifty-Four, 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 “Consternation” and “Floor Wax” and “Firewood” and “Deadly Marshmallows”
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
[polldaddy poll=4668372]
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Tom
I dropped floor wax onto firewood it created deadly marshmallows.
I consternationed for some time whether to give Timmy marshmallows.
They glistened in the sun like caramelized candy cotton clouds.
Timmy was a dick one less Timmy one less dick.
I put the marshmallows next to the white kindergarten paste.
“Poison Marshmallows, don’t eat,” read the sign atop the Marshmallows.
Timmy read the sign and popped two into his mouth.
It wasn’t long before Timmy was rolling on the floor.
His eyes glazed and turned a lovely shade of white.
Come to think of it Jimmy is a dick too.
Zackmann
Lit the firewood wanting to relax after a long day of house cleaning about read The Deadly
Marshmallows a Harry Potter farce. Just as I sat down the neighbor knocked on my backdoor.
“Hi, I saw the use the back door sign. I think you may have used too much floor wax on the front
deck. That will take days to dry.”
“I am hoping it will cause the zombies some consternation also hoping they can’t read.”
“Really, aren’t zombies always consternated?”
“Good point but it might be fun to watch if they fall for the waxed deck.”
Luke Poplin
I wake up on the cold floor of an underground tunnel, a piece of firewood and a bloody grocery bag scattered around me. I rub my head then use the blood covered hand to swat away cogs floating around my head.
A janitor, slowly spreading floor wax at the tunnel entrance, turns its head slowly toward me as I approach.
“Catherine”, I gasp jumping back in consternation, gazing into cold zombie-like eyes.
Her head burns and swells like a flaming marshmallow. It swells and swells until…
I wake up in a cold sweat and run to the mirror.
Still Luke.
Chris
It started when my friend and I were at camp (in the woods), hanging out.
“Kalobe, I’m going down to the river, want to come?”
“No thanks Joe.” I said.
“Okay.” Walking down with some marshmallows, he turned the corner and
was out of sight. A moment later there was a ear splitting scream. I
ran to the creek. The ground was covered in marshmallows! As I
watched, they moved together growing bigger and combining. They
followed me as I ran. And, just in time, got inside the car.
Right now I wish I’d taken driving lessons.
Steven
“Consternation!” Grandpa yelled. “Colonel Mustard in the library with
the marshmallows!”
I smiled, cold in my army uniform. Grandpa’s fireplace couldn’t even
heat the room. He rose shakily, and I frowned. Richer than Midas,
but has no heater, won’t get his hip replaced, wouldn’t even pay for
Sue’s hospital bills…
I clamped that thought down.
His liver-spotted hand landed on my shoulder, then tapped where my
nametag read Ketchup. “It’s funny, you making colonel. Too bad Sue
didn’t get to see it.”
I just pushed him onto the freshly waxed floor. The sound of his hip
shattering sounded like vengeance.
David
I wanted to run, consternation filled my heart. Deadly marshmallows flew past my head. Missing their mark by inches. I regained my senses and did run like hell, as a volley from the firewood bazooka smashed against the wall where I stood, not a moment ago. My socks slipped as I tried to cross the freshly waxed floor. The cinders from the firewood blast lit our home aflame. Mobile homes are not flame retarded. In the midst of reloading, her booze soaked frock burst into a fiery inferno. In an instant she and our divorce proceedings went up in smoke.
Danny
Much to my consternation, some idiot (me) poured Floor Wax all over the Firewood. I was told it would get the fire to burn hotter. Now, after lighting the fire ablaze, we’re trying to Roast Marshmallows over the toxic flames. All of the toxic fumes from the floor wax are getting into the Marshmallows, giving them a toxic yet very tasty hint of wax in the soft center of the marshmallow. I bite into the gooey center, and much to my consternation, I fall absolutely in love with this pile of toxic gooey goodness. Now my doctor tells me I have cancer.
TJ
Some little girls are described as having an inner light. Not Susie.
Little Susie had more of an inner dark. When she overheard her
family’s hushed tones planning a trip to Yellowstone National Park,
she suspected with consternation they were planning to leave her in the
woods. Well the best defense, as they say, is a good offense. So she
merrily went along with it. And while her father was out gathering
firewood for their campfire, Little Susie carefully shaped and powdered
some floorwax into the form of marshmallows. Those deadly s’mores
were the last thing any of them tasted.
TerrazaByte
I came home early to create the perfect romantic evening for our first anniversary.
I cleaned the house, waxed the floors and prepared the finest of meals.
When she came home, she was so surprised and loved being pampered.
The grand finale was to be roasting marshmallows by the fire as we snuggled together.
As I came back in from getting the firewood and roasting skewers, I slipped on the freshly waxed floor…
fell over the couch…
hit her in the head with the firewood…
and stabbed the cat with the skewers.
Imagine my consternation as they both lay motionless.
Norval Joe
Mr. Parker was a veteran Boy Scout leader and thought he had seen it all, from lighting firewood with a blowtorch to blowing up the out house. “Johnny,” he asked with a sheepish smile of consternation. “What are you putting on your marshmallow?” “My Dad developed it,” he said. “It’s a mixture of edible polymers from floor wax and walnut shells. It will allow me to toast marshmallows without catching them on fire.” Pop rocks are candies that make small crackling sounds when it contacts saliva. It doesn’t compare to what happened when Johnny touched the marshmallow to his tongue.
Planet Z
To our consternation, Aunt Edith had applied a liberal amount of floor wax to the bucket of firewood in the living room
She wanted to make them shiny and look good.
So when It was time for dessert, Uncle Morty put marshmallows on the prongs and started up the fireplace.
The logs caught quickly, releasing a toxic cloud.
Deadly marshmallows, they were.
Aunt Edith. Judy. The twins.
If it weren’t for the fact I’m in an environment suit, I’d be dead with them.
Bubble boy, immunodeficiency disorder.
Call it whatever, but it saved my life.
So, how about some marshmallows?
How Do You Write 100 Word Stories #47
Many folk are teaching their singing dog how do you Tom write a 100 word story
I like fragments. I think they show good faith in your reader to maintain a trail of thought. Does every thought contain an action? Personally I think a state of being verb is rubbish. Just leave it out people know what your saying. And as for those bibliophile grammatical effete finger wagers I got a second amendment solution for you. And while we’re on the subject I’m getting way bent every time the spell check throws up a squiggle green line and points out my words are a fragment. Bit me grammar check and the dictionary you rode in on.
Bodyguard
Many years ago I was rich, but how I got rich did not sit well with those I got rich off of, so I hired a bodyguard.
My bodyguard turned out to be one of the people I had gotten rich off of, so I hired a bodyguard to protect me from my bodyguard.
But that bodyguard had gotten rich off of my original bodyguard, so he was loyal to that man and not me, so I hired another bodyguard.
All these bodyguards bankrupted me.
My former bodyguard, who had gotten rich off of me, hired me… as a bodyguard.
How Do You Write 100 Word Stories #46
Many folk who are bank robbers are adding the following to their withdraw demand how do you tom write a 100 word story
Is bad sex better then a good book? That’s a stupid question. I bet you don’t get out much. Mother still choosing your clothes for the day. Think about it sex —- books, that’s like debating whose stronger superman or might mouse. Or who is funnier Donald duck or Duffy duck. Neapolitan ice cream or rocky road. Post deconstruction angst or Victorian sensibility You could say its in the eye of the beholder, different strokes for different folks. But my Greek chores will always go with sex over a book any day of the week. Unless, does it have pictures?
The Sleep Till Noon Gene
My friend Mikey hates waking up early every day.
He wishes he had the Sleep Till Noon gene.
What he doesn’t know is that such a gene exists, and a well-known bioengineering firm has recently sequenced it.
Most of their research is still in the lab, but they have applied for a patent with a genetically-modified corn with the gene.
It’s corn that sleeps till noon.
The idea behind it is that the corn will sleep till noon, so the farmer can harvest it while it sleeps.
Cruelty-free corn harvesting!
(Unlike normal genetically-modified corn, which screams really loud when harvested.)
How Do You Write 100 Word Stories #45
Many folk have entered into lengthy psychotherapy to rid themselves of how would Tom write a 100 word story
I write to make my mom happy. Well that’s not quiet right. I write to hear my mom say “ That’s nice.” There is no better feeling in the world then hearing those words. Pure acceptance. I don’t write for my dad he does much care for reading. I think its the metal plate in his head it picks up random radio stations. He still says “That’s nice” when the station signs off for the night, but I don’t believe him. One day I’ll write for myself, but for now parental acceptance is enough weather it is sincere or not.
That Pumpkin
Back in college, we had pumpkin carving contests.
All of the pumpkins were sent to the children’s ward of a nearby hospital.
Well, almost all.
Everybody else made your typical not-very-scary faces and outlines of flying witches.
I made a screaming face and stuck a saw through the top.
Then I mixed ketchup and quickdrying paint to add the effect of dripping blood.
“Don’t you know this is for kids in the hospital?” they asked.
“Yes,” I said. “Wait… it’s not a mental hospital?”
Oops. My mistake.
Really, I figured the saw could be handy for cutting through the bars.
How Do You Write 100 Word Stories #44
Many folk have been working on combining six degrees of Kevin Bacon with how do you tom write a 100 word story
surprisingly the common thread is North Dakota
I have finished it. It is done. It is the first prefect 100-word story. I showed it to my College professor. He wept. I sent it to a prestigious British publishing house. They wept. When it ended up on the pope’s night table and he wept I knew I had arrived. What do I do now? Life is no longer bright and full of endless possibilities. It’s merely gray and formless. I am goalless and unfulfilled. I could move on to 200 word stories, but what’s the point. So I sit in a chair on the porch watch the cats.