Weekly Challenge #149 – Mothballs

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Forty-Nine 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 Mothballs.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #149?
Danny from http://dannymachal.com
Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com
Guy David from http://guydavid.com/
Norval Joe
Ashley
Justin from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com
Caleb from http://blacktiemartiniclub.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


Danny

Ricky the mouse had light brown fur and oversized pink ears, he hated
them, but his wife found them adorable.
He would scurry about during the night, gathering scraps of food, and
bits of cloth for his wife and two baby daughters. They lived behind
the clothes dryer, it wasn’t much, but it was home.
Ricky also had an adventurous side to him, and while exploring the
attic, he came across a dead moth next to a delicious trinket of
cake.
He took the cake back home, where the mouse family feasted on the
funny smelling and tasting morsel.
“Hey Jim, how is your mouse problem?” Steve asked.
“They’re gone man, it is like they up and died.”

Lynda

The apple falls from my hand as the familiar smell brings it all back to me,
Stewie Norton fumbling with my blouse in the dark, the pawing of his grandmother’s cat at the door.
Nearly given away by the meows of a tabby.
I pick my fruit up off the floor of aisle seven with one last glance at the box of mothballs next to the Yahrtzeit candles under the mop display and turn away from my dark, dirty past.
Things were so much simpler then, no courtship, just a quickie in the closet.
Young love behind old men’s suits.

Guy David

The old man smelled of naphthalin. I could smell him all the way to where I was standing. I lighted a cigarette and moved towards him. He wrinkled his nose at me and pointed at the sign. “No smoking here” he said. I shrugged, puffed a cloud of smoke at him. At this he started couching and sneezing. Snot came out his nose. I lighted him with my cigarette lighter. As his overcoat dissolved by the fire I could see many naphthalin mothballs dissolving in his pockets. “So, that’s where the smell was coming from” I said through his screams.

Norval Joe

In South Africa in 1927 a political cartoon appeared in the news papers showing the ghost of a serviceman walking across the the waves of a beach, and on the beach a soldiers tin helmet with a bullet hole in it with the word forgetfulness underneath. The picture was titled, ‘The Tin Hat’. The country was moved to create an organization to remember and support veterans and their families and formed, ‘The Memorable Order of Tin Hats.’ The buildings where they held their monthly meetings became known as M.O.T.H. Halls. Their annual gala events with music and dance, MOTH Balls.

Ashley

President elect Ronald Reagan awoke abruptly arose from bed and quickly dressed in robe and slippers. Upon entering his personal office, he sat and picked up the telephone.
“Please connect me with Navy Secretary John Lehmann. Thank you,” said the president waiting patiently.
“John,” began President Reagan, “I apologize for calling so early. I may have an idea for the cold war problem. I agree that the navy must be built up. Let’s start by recommissioning and retrofitting the Iowa class destroyers. Yes, they’re currently mothballed. Listen carefully John, start gathering support. We’re about to spend some serious taxpayer money.”

Justin

I found an interesting Asian book in my grandparents attic. My grandmother is full-blooded Japanese, my grandfather married her after World War II. She brought many things when she moved to America. When I was young she taught me Japanese.
I’m walking in a circle under a bare lightbulb, reading. I can’t seem to move away, even though the light is too harsh.
As I examine the pages, realization comes.
It claims that if you eat an animal’s testicles, you will gain its powers.
I chew on an old sweater and wish I had read that before eating those mothballs.

Anima

Thor sweetie….
Here’s your list of honey-do’s: The screens need to be taken down at
Bilskirner, and doesn’t your hammer Mjollnir have autoreturn on it? It
is still by the front door where you tossed it when you came in. And ,
please, please put out some mothballs around the garden. I read in the
Godesses Home Journal that the naphthalene has some effect against
snakes. Maybe then we will be rid of Jormungand. The humans are
complaining he is putting a squeeze on Midgard…
Ja, you betcha, Sif. I’ll get right on that…
Doesn’t she know it’s Ragnarok this weekend?

Tom

My Aunts in-laws owned the apartment building she lived. Her family lived on the second floor. His parents lived on the first floor. Everything in my aunt’s apartment was ultramodern, Scandinavian design, color TV, the works. The Dulles’s apartment was like stepping into a time machine. Bathtub with feet, lace doilies on Reichsdeputationshauptschluss upholstering, tintypes and the most confusing antiquity “mothballs” “Yahh” said Augie ” Dayst coom from the real big moths.” Lizzie slapped Augie and muttered something is Swabian. She also had to slap my brother Lenny in the head to dislodge one he popped in his mouth.

Caleb

Frank got into the funeral business because he loved cock. Murder or grave robbing was too weird even for him but nobody requests a bottomless open casket, so he could eat as much cock as he could harvest.
As he cut the pants off a young suicide he was shocked to see the boy was a eunuch. There was plenty of mouth-watering man meat but no scrotum. As frank wiped his mouth he realized. The boy hadn’t jumped off the roof to kill himself, he was drawn inexorably to fly toward the full moon by his little teensy moth-balls.
Freak.

Planet Z

Cast aside for videogames and action figures, Raggedy Ann and Andy gave up on society.
They sealed themselves in Ziploc bags filled with mothballs, determined to sleep through this modern technological obsession.
After a thousand years, the seal on the bag broke, and Andy was yanked out of his plastic cocoon.
He opened his button eyes to see:
A dirty hand.
A ragged child.
A face, covered with scars and scabs.
Giggling. Laughter.
Would he be treasured? Loved?
Andy’s cotton heart sank as the child threw him to his dog.
His shredded body would lie in pieces among Ann’s tatters.

Halves

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It was a beautiful marriage, and they made beautiful music together.
While it lasted.
It didn’t last.
Arthur ended up with the player piano. Leslie got all the scrolls.
Arthur would sit at the piano, tap a key now and then, and listen to the note.
He searched for the scrolls on eBay, but never found any for that model of piano.
Leslie would open up the scrolls and hold them up to the light, the intricate patterns of holes making her wonder what style that song was played with, what nuances.
Apart and alone, they made horrible silence together.

Rape Is Never Funny

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There is a rule of comedy that rape is never funny.
But then, how many comedians are from Easter Island?
Yes, the place with the big stone heads.
I was raped there by the natives.
But they made if funny.
It started with a few jokes and light molestation, but by the end of the sex crime, they had me roaring with laughter as they thrust into me against my will.
I was left on the curb, half-naked and aching from both the assault and how hard I had laughed.
I was left shamed, but also saying “Never say never.”

The Night Of A Thousand Stars

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“Make a wish, Daddy.”
A tiny finger points to the night sky, silver streaks crisscrossing over each other.
“Those aren’t shooting stars,” I said.
No, they were satellites.
And it was my fault.
After the Russians hit one of ours, we agreed to hand over orbits and frequencies to each other.
I wrote the database.
Everything worked beautifully in the tests.
But the moment the tracker went online, every satellite with propulsion went into controlled deorbit. The rest shut down or exploded.
My daughter pinched me. “Make a wish.”
So, I did.
I wish I had checked my code again.

Store

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In the middle of the afternoon storm, a man came into my store wanting cigarettes.
“This is a smoke-free town,” I said. “We don’t have cigarettes.”
So, he asked for some beef jerky.
“Meat-free town too. We’re all vegetarians.”
“Beer?”
“No alcohol at all,” I said. “We’re a dry county.”
Everything he asked for, we’d given up or made illegal.
“Is there anything for sale here?” he asked.
I was about to answer him, but by then the sheriff had arrived.
The silent alarm under the counter worked beautifully.
The man left, grumbling angrily.
The sheriff arrested him for swearing.

Alphabet Soup

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My daughter loves it when I make her alphabet soup.
But every now and then, she complains that a letter is backwards or upside-down.
“Just turn the damn bowl,” I say. “It all tastes the same.”
No, she won’t. She will stare at it and whine loudly.
“There is nothing wrong with this soup,” I say, and I eat a spoon of it. “See?”
She still won’t eat it.
I offer to make her a different soup, but she wants alphabet soup.
I blindfold her and slide the bowl in front of her.
Shut up and eat it, or starve!

Invulnerable

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Lord Bragdor’s armor stands in the Hall Of Heroes, as shiny as the day he was speared through the face in a jousting tournament.
“It was enchanted with an invulnerability spell,” said the Hall’s custodian, The Blue Wizard. “But, his visor was loose and his opponent very lucky.”
“Wouldn’t the lance have been knocked aside by the spell?” asked his apprentice Morstrawl.
“If the invulnerability had been meant for Lord Bragdor, yes,” said Blue. “But due to my misreading the spellbook, it was the armor that was invulnerable.”
The apprentice nodded, realizing why he had never had to polish it.

Weekly Challenge #148 – Gladiolas

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Forty-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… was…. um…
It’s Gladiolas.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #148?
Tom from http://midi.libsyn.com/
Daniel from http://dannymachal.com>
Serge
Almo
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com
Guy David from http://guydavid.com/
Ashley
Michael S.
Eva Moon from http://evamoon.net/
Justin from http://www.thebeandom.com/spaceturtle
Jeff Hite from http://greathites.blogspot.com/
Norval Joe from http://www.novalsoutlook.blogspot.com/
Mike P. from http://mjpaxton.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Tom

Mrs. Patterson escorted Mary Todd once more through the garden they had planted at Bellevue Place. “Do write me when the Gladiolas are in bloom.” said Mrs. Lincoln. “Assuredly, Mrs. Lincoln and the plans for the plant food are still your wishes?” Mrs. Lincoln spit on the ground and whispered Robert’s name. As her carriage roll out the gate on that Autumn day she mused how uneventful that Sept 11th morning felt. Years late when Robert’s coffin lid was closed, he was not within but being carted away to Bellevue in a wheel barrel. Robert would make the Gladiolas bloom.

Daniel

Hosokawa got eye level with his foe and moved closer to take in the evil essence.
His weapon poised to run through the foul being, he closed his eyes.
Hosokawa breathed in deep. “Ahh, I can smell your fear, my enemy.”
“You shiver and quake at your impending doom.”
“Be at peace, for I will give you the honor a mortal adversary deserves.”
The swift blow of a trained Samurai master was designed for one thing, ending life.
He hoisted the weed out of his flower bed and into his pail.
Even Samurai gardeners keep their skills battle ready.

Serge

She would always get buckets of exotic flowers but he gave her just one.
“Gladiola’s?” She snorted surprised, but unimpressed. “Old ladies’ flowers.”
He had dissapeared from her life but she had kept the flower. It was a
present she had learnt to appreciate with age. Now old, but still alone, she
sat in her kitchen and looked at the only true companion in her life – the
flower. Its palette of colours as fresh as ever, unchanged. Now… it truly
was an old lady’s flower.

Almo

The father looked down at his wife in the hospital bed as she cradled the
newborn daughter. “Don’t do it,” he admonished. “She will always hate you
for it.” But his wife was determined and the baby was named “Gladiolas
Messmer.”
Twenty years passed.
At Harvard’s graduation, their daughter accepted her degrees in physics and
mathematics.Gladiolas came offstage and hugged her handsome boyfriend.
She looked at her parents and said, “I have always hated you because of my
name.”
The father turned to his wife and said, “See?”
“Nick and I are getting married,” the girl said.” I am going to be Gladiolas
Heimendinger.”

Anima

Welcome to Hexalia’s Exotics!
I need a special arrangement…
Yes? What mood do you want? Is it business? Here is a lovely formal design.
Lost love reunited perhaps? Pink roses are perfect…
Friends tell me you deal in emotional blooms…
Certainly! Currently I have spears of Gladiolas, Madilolas, and Egadiolas.
Anything more dark or sinister? It’s for the rehearsal dinner of my ex and her new trophy partner…
Might I suggest a centerpiece of Callow Lilies, Shunflowers and Penury Blossums…
with sprigs of Purple Violence at each place setting… bouquets to end any relationship in 90 days or less, guaranteed.

Guy David

A sword lily at my door step. Note says “all shell be avenged”. Going about my business. An accountant by trade, taking care of costumer finance, lost in a world of numbers. Always lost in numbers. Staying up late. Sound of the door opening. Looking up. Young Ophelia at the door, in one hand a sword lily, at the other a sword. A quick step, sword piercing my heart. “Two makes a glow. Three breaks the balance” she says. I remember her body crushing into the river. Close my eyes. “I shell be back” I mutter under my last breath.

Ashley

“Hey Hank, guess what Eric just got his old lady for Valentines Day,
“said Randy.
“What, “ answered Hank?
“He said glad Iolaus!”
“What the hell, “choked Hank swallowing chewing tobacco juice?
“You know, Iolaus, from Hercules, the TV show with the big-boobed
chicks. I asked what a TV show character being happy has to do with
Valentines Day.”
“Well, what’d he say,” asked Hank?
“He just shook his head and walked off, that dumb redneck. Man, if I
ever get that ignorant, put a bullet in me, will ya,” asked Randy?
“No problem,” said Hank spitting on the ground.

Michael S.

OK. I gave into my wife always wanting me to learn to dance.
I now know how to waltz, bunnyhop, cha-cha and jitterbug. I’ve even learned
the hardest one of them all. The ola.
That dance has the steps of all the others all rolled into one.
It makes my wife so very happy. I heard her tell her mother the other day,
“I’m so glad he olas.”

Eva Moon

Alma stared at the floral arrangement he’d sent, awed by his mastery
of the symbolic language of flowers. The messages were clear:
gardenias for secret love, gladiolas for love at first sight, ivy for
fidelity, yellow roses for perfect love and peonies for wedded bliss.
It was a proposal in petals! Her eyes misted and her hand trembled as
she dialed the phone to tell him yes, yes, yes.
Earlier, at the florist:
“Nice choice. Special occasion?”
“Nah. There’s a big golf tournament the weekend of her sister’s
wedding. I need to soften her up before I drop the bomb.”

Justin

The cute little lamb chewed on the blood gladiola that had been planted by
an occult member of the ‘Save The Fluffy Animals Foundation.’ As it
swallowed the crimson petals, its eyes glazed to a solid black and single
strands of wool turned scarlet. The lamb raised its head to the sky and let
forth a dread bleat that rent a fluffy white cloud asunder. It entered the
farmhouse.
Finding the clippers, it wielded them in bloodshot tendrils of wool.
From inside the house came cries that fractured the calm silence of the
meadow, screams of the farmer’s sheared terror.

Jeffrey

It wasn’t every day a hero was woken up from suspended animation.
Then, today was not just any day, it would be the trail for all
humanity. They would be found guilty of course, how else could the
aliens plan to take the planet away.
“Are you ready for this Kildorn?”
“Was created for this.”
“Do you remember the plan?”
“Go in disrupt the trial and kill the head judge.”
“Right just go in and chop his head off then everyone will realize we
can beat them.”
“But did we have to name them Gladiolas, I feel like a gardner.”

Norval Joe

The teenage boy didn’t care that he trampled the old woman’s gladiolus; prize
winning plants that she had spent years, even decades, propagating.
Hers was the only house in the neighborhood, as yet, untagged by the street gang.
One hand held the waist of his baggy pants, the other hand shook the can of spray
paint.
In his excitement he didn’t notice the tingling of his legs. Sudden shocking pain
wracked him as vines tore into the flesh of his legs. The plants rose up and pulled
him to the earth.
By morning the ground was smooth, the flowerbed undisturbed.

Mike P.

Batman hung against the wall, bound by a thorned vine.
“Did you know that many plants reproduce sexually?” Poison Ivy teased.
“They have male parts,” she ran her fingers across his chest, “and
female parts.” She turned and walked away, hips swaying suggestively.
“Insects pick up pollen from male parts, and then rub against the
fertile female parts.”
Batman knew he had to stay focused. He began cataloging the plants in
the room. Nightshade. Caladium. Hemlock. Foxglove. Gladiolas. Aloe.
“Enh, screw it.” Ivy laid a poisoned kiss on Batman. He noticed a wall
of Lipstick Vine, and then passed out.

Planet Z

His latest experiment gone awry, Voltmaster called for the healer.
Her apprentice, nothing more than a shambling green robe, examined the wounded electromage. She took notes, rapidly communicating with a broken shard of mirror.
“Healer Twelvetrees commands a tea of mint and gladiolas,” she said. “Drink what you can fresh, and pour the rest on the burns.”
The Voltmaster agreed and paid the healer with a spool of precious copper wire.
“An antiseptic,” she said. “Nice craftsmanship.”
She loaded it on to her butterfly chariot, snapped her bony fingers, and rose slowly from the ancient castle.

Silenced

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Behold, the Great Magician Mysterio!
“With a snap of my fingers, you are silenced,” said the man in the bright red cloak.
And he did. He took off a red glove and held his hand in front of my nose.
Snap
“Go ahead,” he said. “Say something.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said: “Elephant.”
“Did you say something?” he mocked. “I didn’t hear a thing.”
He danced around me, snapping his fingers in my face. And then, he stopped.
He snapped his fingers a few times, and then right by his ear.
“I am deaf!” he shouted.

Thud

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Ricky had been shouting about sparkly unicorns and butterflies before his eyes crossed and he dropped like a stone.
For the next thirty years, we’d visit him in the hospital.
The nurses always cleaned him up nicely before visits.
We’d hold his hand, tell him that we missed him, and then ask him what he meant by unicorns and butterflies.
He never did wake up.
One day, we came to visit, and he wasn’t there.
Someone else was there.
So we started visiting them.
To tell you the truth, we liked them better than Ricky.
Ricky was such an asshole.