Author: R.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Two, 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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
I’d like to take a moment to that Guy David for having been a part of this podcast over the years. He’s let me know that this will be his last story. You’ve made my life that much more surreal, and I’ve come to embrace the principle that life’s too short to listen to bad music with your wisdom.
VOTING
No voting this week. Listen to the podcast for the reason why and leave a comment if you’d like to see it come back.

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Stephen

Before, there was screaming.
The screams were in my head. It was all too much. Keeping up the
house. Having the newest car. The stupid forms at work. Her
marathon shopping sprees. The kids deciding their new hobby was too
boring after we’d rearranged our schedules. Working twelve hour days
to afford it all.
Even the dog growled at me.
Then the bum bit me. Twelve hours later, and I’m infected like him.
It’s simple now. I hunger for human flesh, and I kill. And I eat.
The screams are outside my head now.
But my mind is at peace.

Lynda

I was told I might die.
Might.
Everyone dies, what’s the big deal? Not everyone finds peace. That thought scared me all the way to this mountain.
Forty minutes into the climb my muscles hurt so bad I almost believed everyone who told me I couldn’t do this, and I wanted to hate them but I was too busy. After my lungs stopped burning I started to feel hungry. Eventually that passed, too.
When I reached the top, an old man greeted me.
“What took you so long?”
Too tired to do anything but laugh, we sat watching the sunset.

Jeffrey 1

At the end of world war one, it was thought that peace for at least a life time was inevitable. There was no way that anyone would want to fight a war again after such carnage and destruction of the first world war, and so it was named the war to end all wars. Then the great depression happened, and countries struggled to make ends meet. When you have ten starving people in a room and there is only six sandwiches they are going to fight over them, and so we have world war two. They should have read history.

Jeffrey 2

You know what it is supposed to be like in church. Everyone is quite listening to the preacher, praying. If you are old enough to remember the days before Mass was in english, you probably say the rosary instead of listening. But, if you have little kids with you it is a totally different experience. You spend time getting them to be quiet, not play with the kneelers, not chew on the books, and not make airplanes out of the bulletin. When the sign of peace comes it means something totally different to you. Peace and quiet be with you.

Anima

I have seen many spectacular things; with my favored nephew these thoughts I share:
There are two things required of a friend:
The ability to laugh, and the ability to laugh at oneself.
There are four thoughts that oft occupy the mind, only three that I will share:
An ice cold drink after mowing the lawn, the commitment to reach the summit, and a tender kiss; that is enough.
And there are three things that man says, that are not taken seriously:
I come in peace;
Do you want a piece of me?
And Man, I really have to piss.

Justin

I have no idea how Major Ricks got his rank, because he’s a complete moron, dangerously so. He wont allow our sniper to relocate to counter the enemy sniper. I’ve lost five men because of this. The only sense I’ve ever seen in him is that he removed his rank insignias so the sniper wont know who he is the few times he’s in the open. Here he comes now crouched, and scowling like always. I tell him my thoughts of him. He stands, red faced. I also stand, then salute. His scowling face explodes. Rest in peace, Major Ricks.

JRadimus

The war began instantly. The fighting had been intense, the losses devastating. Across the battlefield, amongst the mangled weaponry and war machines, lay the bloody, dismembered corpses of the lucky, the maimed, moaning bodies of the unlucky, and the scattered pieces of the rest.
The aggressor was merciless. He ordered maneuvers without regard for his own casualties, only how much it would destroy his enemy. It was a carnal bloodlust.
Suddenly, the commander instantly ceased his rampage with as little warning as he had begun.
“Matthew, dinner!” the young warlord’s father called.
“Yes! Spaghetti!”
This peace would only be temporary.

Basrai

She likes the sound of it, but hesitates still. She knows her baby is coming; its head is lower, protruding into her pelvic bone, and causing discomfort. Still she hesitates. She turns her thought many times over inside her head, like choosing a pumpkin; but as soon as her decision was made, she again put it back, again indecisive.
She loves to name it Shanti, Sanskrit for Peace. But a name defines, insists. Shanti weighs, almost a burden. She vacillates until the delivery.
Now, as she caresses Shanti’s pink toes, she no longer fears, for tiny Shanti needs her protection.

Zacmann

Brad ran fast. Brad was terrified. Brad was being chased by big birds with snakelike heads. They wanted to eat him. He grabbed an ax and chopped the through a bird’s snakelike neck. Two heads grew back. Brad remembered that his neighbor from the UK said he always kept a torch in his workshop. It worked for Hercules Brad thought but only found a flashlight. Luckily, Brad soon found the snakebirds did not like light from LED bulbs in their eyes. The snakebirds returned to their space ship. Although Brad feared someday they might return, for now he had peace.

TJ

A hole in the ice is an eerie, uneasy peace. Silence echoes from distant hills and a vast new acoustic takes hold, at once outlandish yet familiar to North Country denizens. Is it evidence of an ice fisherman since headed on homeward with a string full of supper, or something more sinister … a brave yet foolhardy early season lake-walker … one less snowmobiler … a seaplane landing that ended badly. Is it mere open water, a lake not yet frozen over? Vital clues remain hidden by the freshly fallen snow: Namely, how many tracks lead there … and back?

Norval Joe

“You expect me to believe you want peace?” Amy spat at the old man.
Derrick walked around the chair where she sat, and stood in front of her. “You can believe it or stay locked in this room,” he said.
Dominick Lorrantelle smiled over his grandson’s shoulder. “Enough of that. There is more than your personal comfort at stake, here. There are many who seek freedom.”
She struggled in her bonds. “Freedom from you.” She glared.
“With domination will come peace,” he said and turned his back on her. “That is more freedom than most have enjoyed for many years.”

Guy David

Father Peace stood at the seaside mourning. “My children, why have you forsaken me” he whispered. An old sea captain swaggered to him and offered him a drink. “At my time, I have seen many a treasures” he said, “but the biggest treasure of all was friendship. I have seen much cruelty and misdeeds, but human nature always comes up on the right side at the end. Don’t weep for your children father peace, for peace is what they seek, and peace is what they would find.” With that, the sea captain went back to sea, looking for Father Time.

Planet Z

When I was young, the preacher said you won’t find peace in a saloon, a bottle of pills, in packs of cigarettes, at the end of a needle, between women’s legs, or all the filth Hollywood smears on the screen.
So, I drank. I popped pills. I smoke. I shot up heroin. I fucked every woman from Los Angeles to Boston and back again.
The preacher, he shouted and yelled and thumped his Bible and stayed up nights writing sermons till the day he died. Never a moment of peace.
Me, I’ve had a good ride. No regrets at all.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Two, 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… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories of the week?
	Lynda
	Stephen
	Anima
	Zackmann
	J Radimus
	Jim
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Guy David
	Jeffrey
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Lynda

Dearest Eliza,
As I’m sure you recall, our cousin Jack has been undertaking the peculiar task of collecting bits of thread for the past seven years, and I am grateful to you for your contribution of the clippings from your pantaloons, however I must report the tragic news that our dear cousin was crushed beneath his great ball of fibers this past Thursday.
Do not grieve, as Jack prized your threads above all others and had little interest in anything save that hideous tangle. Had he not rejected my advances I would have happier news for you.
Regretfully yours,
Gertrude

Stephen

I loved Sally, though I couldn’t understand why a model like her would
be with a nerd like me. I told myself I would do anything to get a
girl like her.
That’s why I didn’t object when she squished the bug during sex.
“It’s what gets me off,” she said.
It had been so long, I didn’t care. And at first, it was a little exciting.
Then it was spiders. Centipedes. Mice. Birds. A hamster.
When it was finally my own head squeezed under her stilleto heel, I
realized I didn’t really love her.
It was only a crush.

Anima

“Once there was a little girl that did not like to go to bed. She’d do anything to stay up past her bedtime, even if it was only a few minutes extra.
She’d turn the clocks forward, just a minute or two each day, so by the end of the week she would have a whole quarter of an hour more, all the sweeter because the time was stolen.
Slowly the minutes accumulated into hours, the hours became days, and in the end, the little girl was crushed by all the time she had on her hands.
Good night, sweetie”

Zackmann

Like the mailbox under the snowplow, like the Balikbayan Box marked Fragile, like the shellfish the bird hit with the rock, like rocks into cement, like the peanuts for my sandwich, like the bug under foot, like the corn under the grinding stone, like the grapes for the wine, like the oranges in the juice, like the flowers in the pages of the dictionary, like the olives for oil, like the garlic in the press, like the aloe vera for ointment, like the Mercedes in the bailer, like the acorn under the steamroller, like the whiskey rebellion, I am crushed.

J Radimus

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Jim

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Norval Joe

The disco ball continued to spin; spots of colored light whirled around the dance floor. Abba sang “Dancing Queen”. Kevin lay, supine on the empty gymanasium floor. His midnight blue, crushed corduroy, three piece, suit soaked the blood as it poured from the bullet hole in his chest.
The crowd rushed away from the sound of the gun to reveal the pistol where it was dropped among the confetti and crushed carnation corsages.
Kevin’s date rushed back to his side and knelt, crushed. All her hopes and plans were just destroyed. The after dance party would have to be canceled.

TJ

It could be a part of the wing in a 747. It could provide a key element in the housing for a lightweight, life-saving nanotechnology. It could just become another beer can, the materials for which we didn’t need to first invest the energy to dig up and refine. It’s a crushed, very old Pabst Blue Ribbon can at the side of the road. You can see where it used to be one of those pull-tab jobbers. It could still be any of those things, however. All that’s missing is for you to pick it up and turn it in.

Guy David

The crush test dummy looked pissed. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked indignantly. The tester just looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “You are not real” he said, “you can’t be real.” The dummy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should teach you a little lesson” He said. Soon the tester found himself in a test car running at 150 MPH towards a wall. As he screamed the car crushed into the wall and two air bags opened, saving his life. “Oh – that looks like fun, let’s do this again” said the crush test dummy.

Jeffrey

Being crushed is no fun, ask Clark Kent. He was crushed by evil superman in Superman three. But really being crushed doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart crushed. If you’re really crushed, unless you a Clark Kent, there’s an end in sight. If you get your heart crushed that’s a different Story. Remember in junior high when you asked that girl to the dance and she dumped you right there. Had to explain where you date was to your dad. Then she had the gall to invite you to her birthday, expecting a good gift. Too much sharing

Planet Z

Crushed in a hydraulic press, the evil robot from the future reached out at his assassination target time and time again, barely missing her with each thrust of his powerful arm.
“Must… terminate… you…” said the robot.
Then, he stopped reaching, and his scary red eyes faded to darkness.
His target, a bloodied and battered woman who would be the mother of the future resistance movement, sighed with relief.
As she got up, the robot’s arm grabbed her by the neck.
“Fooled ya,” it said.
Its fingers crushed her throat, and then tossed her corpse to the ground.