Author: R.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Fourteen, 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 selected by Justin, and we went with What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #114?
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Thomas Merkel likes ComiObama?
	Anima Zabaleta
	Eva Moon of The Lunatics
	Michelle from Different World
	Sister Mary Edith
	Planet X-Ray from Planet X Podcast
	Terry Tee from Quiet Time Podcast
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Genlteman
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Laieanna and Hodgepodge Point
	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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STEPHEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The head writer’s litany began the same as it had all week.
“Sharks. Piranaha. Tigers. Bullets. Female ninjas. Male ninjas.
That guy who chomped things. Beheading hats. Booby traps. Even
frickin’ lasers. The franchise is done. What else could 007 face?”
“He could face,” Justin said, while I cringed and sank into my chair,
“a dragon while he had nothing but a Boy Scout Handbook and a Pi”ata
costume.”
The stuff we took at last night’s party had not been THAT potent.
“This isn’t MacGyver, dammit,” the lead writer yelled.
Then we locked eyes and shouted it together.
“A team-up!”

TOM

What would I do if I found myself
face to face with a dragon and
all I had was a boy scout handbook
and a pinata costume?
Well I”d square my feet
raise my head and proudly say:
So! Where the hell was Biggles
when you needed him last Saturday?
And where were all the sportsmen
who always pulled you though?
They’re all resting down in Cornwall
writing up their memoirs
for a paper-back edition
of the Boy Scout Manual.
I”d shoot candy from my butt,
embrace my moral straightness
and waddle as fast as could for the exit.

MIKE

I opened the Boyscout Handbook. Oath? Yeah, I know one – more”n one – and if the dragon catches me in the open, I”ll say “em all. Hmmm, Table of Contents.
Badges? I don”t need no stinking badges! First Aid? Can”t fix “dead”. Ahhh – Outdoor Adventures!
Quickly, I stuffed three lighter refills down the sheep pi”ata”s throat, tied twine to a foreleg, ran it around a nearby tree and… a rush of wind and the dragon was there. I yanked the twine and the “sheep” lurched. The dragon pounced, swallowed and, five seconds later, blew up.
This better be a great fraternity.

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa knew what he had to do. He put on his cloaking device and went to the store. The salesperson had his head buried in some comic book with dragons in pi”ata costumes. He might as well have been reading a boyscout handbook. It was so easy. Chaketo Chirapa took what he needed, put it under his cloaking device and went back underground, where his people where singing their Chirapa songs.
Back in his room, he hooked everything, turned it on and said: “I am Chaketo Chirapa, I am an alien from another planet, and this is my podcast.”

JUSTIN

The boyscout handbook sat open on the ornate vanity below the mirror. Scattered strands of crape paper are scattered about, one in the book marking the page on birthday parties. The ancient dragon stares at her red face in the mirror. Her golden eyes glinted with machinations of a brilliant plan. Her stomach rumbled with angry pangs of hunger. Piece by piece she donned and assembled the pinata costume that was big enough for her whole body. She would fly to the party, lay in waiting, then when the first boy struck her, when they all expected candy, dinner time!

THOMAS

His piercing golden eyes stared, impatient, hungry. “I’m a little bit hungry here, can we please speed things up a little?”
My tail encircled the struggling woman’s ankles, holding her aloft, her brightly colored dress falling around her looking like a large overstuffed pi?ata.
“Just give me a few more moments.” I told him.
I’d been gazing at a boy scout field guide looking for just the right cooking technique. He liked his humans always the same, but I was getting bored and wanted some new recipe.
“Come on, I’m starving.” He whined.
“Fine, tartare again.” Patience isn’t his virtue

ANIMA ZABALETA

I’m an Eagle Scout, but nothing in my scout handbook prepared me for this”
My trusty book covers such things as killing large animals with a Bowie knife”. Earned the badge in Webelos.
Lookey’re: Blueprints for a survival raft out of ocotillo staves and spider webs” I built variation C at Jamboree.
Page 35. Here’s instructions for cooking Chili Mac in a turtle shell.
But there’s nary a word about this”
Steeling my courage, I turn a deliberate 360, look the Dragon directly in the eye, and ask,
“Lai Choi San, does this pi”ata costume make my ass look fat?”

EVA MOON

She stared at the screen. Who were they kidding? A boyscout handbook? A pinata costume? How on earth would those things help you with a dragon?
“I swear, hon, they’ve really lost it this time.”
“Let it go, Alma.”
“I hate this! It’s impossible and it pisses me off that I won’t get a story in this week.”
She felt his hot breath on the back of her neck. “Want me to blast ’em for you?”
“No, no.” She reached up and stroked the familiar, scaly claw that curled gently around her shoulder.
“I give up. Take me flying, baby.”

MICHELLE

Early Monday afternoon newly formed Boyscout Troop 714, from Detroit Michigan, was planning a simple Fourth of July party, Mexican style. A quick meeting in the park suddenly turned to tragedy when the dragon struck yet again.
Volunteer parent, Janet Turner, was the only survivor of the attack. Troop leader, Melinda Cox, was heralded as a hero for using a pinata costume and distracting the dragon long enough for Janet to escape by building an airplane, according to directions found in the boyscout handbook, and flying away. The plane crashed, killing the other sixteen parents onboard.

MARY EDITH

Pi”ata? Check. Dragons circling in the distance? Check. I called the troop over.
“OK boys, we’ll have a roaring fire in no time! Everyone find a good weenie roasting stick?” But as I demonstrated proper whittling technique they fell back screaming! I felt a breath of steam on my back. I whirled.
When I regained consciousness, the fire hissed and popped with drippings from a brisket so big it took three boys to turn the spit.
Those Boy Scouts– always prepared!

PLANET X

When Daphne was fourteen she thought she loved Laurence so very much.
She would stop him everyday to ask him questions like, “What is a girl suppose to do when she knows her destiny is to marry someone and he won’t even acknowledge her existence?”
Always, Laurence would just stare with a blank face.
But it was when he finally answered her questions with “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”,
that she knew that Laurence was only full of crap.

TERRY TEE

Some great stories start out like Charles Dickens A Tale of Two Cities with “It was the best of time, It was the worst of times”
Or even classics like Poe’s The Raven, with “Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,”
But only Larry Snodcrapper would come up with a beginning like “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?” in his story, I was a teenaged podcaster.

SOUGENT

Jimmy tugged at his outfit, “itchy” he mumbled. “Hold still”, his
mother admonished as she finished closing up the back.
“We spent a lot of time making this pinata costume, I don’t want you
tearing it up right away”.
“I won’t Mom”, Jimmy replied. “Where’s my boyscout handbook?”
“Right here”, his mother said, handing him the book.
Jimmy took the handbook and dashed out to his meeting.
When he arrived, all the other boys were milling around.
Suddenly, in strides a rather large dragon causing the boys to freeze in place.
“Hello Scoutmaster Digsby!!” all the young dragons shouted.

CALEB

The mood was set. She had candles burning, incense too. She had slipped into something more comfortable and looked radiant. We were sipping champagne and feeding each other ranier cherries. I was sure it was time. My heart skipped a beat when she wanted to play truth or dare. I said truth. And so she asked, “What would you do if you found yourself face to face with a dragon and all you had was a boyscout handbook and a pinata costume?”
I shook my head. Packed my things and left. Rather get my cherries popped by her sister anyway.

LAIEANNA

“Are you taking this seriously?” Lulu’s lawyer asked, pointing at Morris’s pi”ata costume.
“This keeps me in good spirits during these trying times,” Morris said.
“Mr. Gritter, we’re here to discuss the details of your divorce. I strongly recommend you retain an attorney.”
Morris touched his tattered, old boy scout handbook, “I’ve always lived by the honor and rules of this book. It’s my lawyer. Besides, I’m not looking for a divorce,” he met Lulu’s keen eyes, “just some changes in our relationship.”
The lawyer motioned to continue; Lulu’s ears flicked in anticipation.
“Just stop eating my family and friends.”

PLANET Z

A dragon tattoo on his chest, a bottle in his hand.
“Get back in the basement, you little fucker,” growled Frank.
Frank married Mom last year, then she overdosed.
Goodbye Mom, hello pain.
The basement was full of junk and cockroaches – somehow, Bobby survived.
He read his torn-up Boy Scout Handbook, wore rags and busted pinatas when his old clothes rotted away.
He found a knife. Scraped it sharp.
Above, laughter. Shouting. Something shatters. Screaming.
Then, silence. Frank was asleep.
No more of this. Tonight, escape or die trying.
Shadows, creeping slowly. Raising the knife.
Bobby slew the dragon.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Thirteen, 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 selected by ArminasX, and we went with Purity.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #113?
	Justin the Space Turtle
	Guy David from Sixteenth
	Mike
	Steven the Nuclear Man from Idea Trash
	Tom from Footnote
	Sister Mary Edith
	Thomas Merkel
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a South Gentleman
	Pond Nitely
	Anima Zabaleta likes Explorers Web
	JD White from Writing.com
	Planet Xray from Planet X Podcast
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

JUSTIN

We exist in the most pure, simple state we can. We choose not to stand out with looks and keep it to the standard, basic color: gray. We avoid all the needless accessories that so many of our kind have, such as lasers, rockets, and blade arms. We run on the simplest form of energy, rechargeable batteries. We stick to wheels and don’t use hover plates. We even forgo transistors and use basic circuit boards and vacuum tubes. Others of our kind make fun, call us outmoded. We pay no processing power to this. We are proud to be robo-Amish.

GUY

Oh, the purity of salmon, done with just enough olive oil and a hint of coriander. Tom would give us another tasty culinary footnote, then Elisson would bring the whiskey, and the party would begin. Terrence would bring his friend Raoul to play around while Laieanna, the belly dancer would give us her best dance, Caleb would add the twist of the twisted and Daphne would take us right down to the sewage, then, the idiot in chief would appear with all his cogs spinning and the dish would be truly ready for upload. Another weekly challenge would be posted.

MIKE

Quality Control’s a real pain, the owner reflected, recalling the chain of events that had led to this. Due to record demand, the backup system had been brought into production. Feeling the pressure, the supervisor had only inspected each filtration seal, not replaced them as directed. The last one failed, sending contaminant downline, and an alert operator had hit the emergency shunt. The company guaranteed 99.5% purity – well above the industry norm; had the contaminant reached the main storage vats, the consequences would have been beyond imagining.
Another whipcrack and scream echoed through the room. Yep – QC’s a real pain.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Snowflakes float lazily as she begins shouting. I do not fight back,
and this infuriates her. Crystalline water sparkles in angled
sunlight, like the shining stone in her ring that bounce bounce
bounces on the floor.
She leaves tire tracks in the driveway, a bit of rubber on the street.
Her suitcase, her car are gone, and so is she.
Fat wet flakes fall, coating my hair in age, weariness, fear. They
come down down down and fill in the tracks with a coat of purest
white.
For a little while, I can forget. For a little while, I pretend.

TOM

Purity has taken a serious hit during the latter 20th century. Its became the plutonium of discourse. None the less it best describes that which is best. The distillation of the raw to the refined. The purity of pen is Mont Blanc. Its weight gives substance to the stroke. Perfectly balanced and contoured to the task at hand. I am partial to the gold nib over the silver but I”m a purest when it comes to glide. The latest of the line is the cobalt blue StarWalker. Image a $400 ballpoint pen the good Sisters of Mercy are wailing somewhere in penmanship purgatory.

SISTER MARY EDITH

My story centers on my own purity, or lack thereof.
Some of you may remember me as Sister Mary Edith. Alas, I’ve been defrocked, which isn’t as much fun as it sounds. It was a routine clergy-net sweep for kiddy porn that turned up my brief fling with 100 word stories. I was cast out, and my pc exorcised by the Cardinal himself, which is why, when Lawrence played my mp3, pure silence. On the upside, did you know exorcism completely uninstalls Windows Millennium Edition(R)?
A year later, I’ve found my new calling. You can call me Scout-Master Mary Edith.

THOMAS

The priest droned as the crowd murmured. With their sins absolved, the village would be pure once more.
Ena stood before the cold obelisk, trembling… resolved. Purer than the sacrifices before her. No evil thought or deed found purchase in her soul. This fact made her ideal to remove the sins of her peers.
The priest recited the ancient text, knife raised asking his god’s blessing on this sacrifice. Then motioned Ena to kneel.
As the knife came down, crimson lightning issued from the obelisk, killing the priest, and the ogling crowd. Ena walked quietly away; the village pure again.

SOUGENT

Back in January 1919, I was a traveling salesman and I had just made a big sale down in Beantown and was walking down the street to a bar I’d spotted earlier ta get a sip of whiskey when all of a sudden I hear a rumbling sound down the street in the direction of the Purity Distilling Company and the ground started shaking.
I looked and there was this big old wave of molasses coming straight for me, so I did the only thing a body could do…..
I hopped on and body surfed that sucker clear across town.

POND NITELY

“Hope”
“No”
“Faith”
“No”
She sighed.
“How about Grace?”
“Uh uh”
The newspaper in his hands, a wall between the two of them, rattled as he shook his head.
“Prudence? Patience?”
“No, no and no!
What is with the goofy names, I don”t want our daughter running around with a tag like Prudence.
And do we have to talk about this tonight, I”m just bagged””
She sighed.
“I read today that the Puritans named their children after virtues to give them strength. I really want to give our child the best start possible in this uncertain world.”
He sighed and turned the page. His wife used to read the Wall Street Journal, now the coming baby ruled her focus completely. He peered over the paper.
“Well if you want to give her a good start, how about a name that suits the new millennium, not some outdated ideal. Why don”t we call her Cynicism, or maybe Apathy.”
“I”m not even going to dignify that with a reply”
Several breaths worth of pause, and…
“Chastity? Charity?”
He folded the paper, rubbed his temples and mentally reached for the white flag, waiting.
“Purity?”
“Fine”
Poor kid.

ANIMA

Vitaly had some, and I needed it, bad.
It had been days ” the brainfog was settling in” News on the vidscreen was sounding
plausible.
Come on Vitaly, I whine. Scanning the room, I spy the scarred PIOSK bottles. I know
you fired up the Elektron yesterday. Liquid’s better, but chemical will do.
Vat have you trade?
A foil of pop tarts and six Twinkies”.
Prakhaldna ” 10 minutes.
How about liquid?
Chevo? ‘K ” 5 minutes.
Inhaling, the purity of the O2 hits my brain better than anything I remember.
I wheeze again, growing sharper and more cynical with each passing moment.

JD

In the beginning we were driven out from the garden.
Latter we were driven across the face of the earth.
At last we were driven into the sky and across the universe.
In all times and places we searched for what had been lost.
The void between the stars, our last hope.
For eons we searched in the darkness of that void.
And then we found the Children of the Light.
We saw that they had what we had lost and then we understood.
So, in our terrible rage we killed them all.
Once lost, purity can not be regained.

PLANET X

The oldest house in our neighborhood was always the center of activity, in it lived the pastor of the local church.
Purity, the pastor’s daughter, was always prim and proper, an example for the neighborhood.
When they moved, the house sat empty for a very long time, until Purity bought it for her family.
Soon, Purity had her own daughters living with her, each were very pretty, and had names like, Charity, Destiny, Faith, and Grace.
And her mission was so much like her step-father’s, to provide a little heaven for each of their visitors, twenty bucks at a time.

PLANET Z

The quest for genetic purity has been the foundation for the greatest evils throughout history.
Disposing of those deemed imperfect, flawed, or inferior.
However, sometimes it can be a good thing.
Take Nardo the cat as an example. He’s the perfect specimen of Ginger Classic Tabby in all regards except for one minor detail ” he’s a polydactyl.
Those thumbs cost him a life of poking, prodding, and harassment at cat shows.
Instead, he got dumped at a shelter. My ex girlfriend picked him out, she moved to California, and left him with me.
He’s not perfect. Then again, who is?