Author: R.

Malone

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Word on the street is that Malone is back in town.
Malone’s got a file on him.
It’s a big file. Really big.
Takes up a whole building. Twenty cops working around the clock on that file.
The Feds took an interest in Malone a while back, and they wanted a copy of the file.
We laughed. They came down to see what we were laughing at.
When they saw it, they laughed too, and lost interest in Malone really quick.
Chief says we move on Malone tonight.
Good. We need the building.
It’ll make more room for Casey’s file.

Weekly Challenge #60 – Razor

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Welcome to the Sixtieth Weekly Challenge, 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 Elisson: Razor.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #60?
Chris from Platypus Society
Tom from Footnote Podcast
Guy David of The Sixteenth
Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
Daphne from Going Broke
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

CHRIS

After ten years together, Allen and Donna agreed that their love life was getting stale. So they exchanged notes one morning about what they could do for each other to spice things up again.
As instructed, Allen returned that evening with a bouquet of roses, a bottle of champagne and a new pair of silk boxers. He was very excited to see if Donna had done what he asked her to do.
When she met him at the door, her arms were scratched up and bleeding. She smacked him then handed him a razor.
“You shave the damn cat! Freak!”

TOM

My grandfather was a barber. In his basement on Sunnyside Ave. he had a professional barber chair I remember sitting in that chair feet failing to reach the footrest. On the wall was a glass shelf where the tools of his trade rested. Electric Clippers, Silver Plated Scissors, and the Straight Razor. After lathering my neck with the badger-bristle brush grandpa would take his two-foot leather strap and strop the steel blade until the edge glowed in the dark. With the deft skill of a surgeon he scraped stubble from the babyfat of his prodigy nary a drop spilled.

GUY DAVID

The night was sharp, as sharp as razors. The dark tall man stared
into her eyes, eyes that where on fire, alive and young, little red
fire dancing inside. Neither of them talked. Talking through the
razor sharp air was not necessary. They knew there was nothing to
say, but goodbye. He turned to leave, feeling her eyes burn him from
behind. There was no turning back now. The air stiffened, as if
expectant. The man opened the door and left. The razor sharp night
cut him from inside, each step bringing sharp pains into his chest.
“Exit”, he thought.

LAIEANNA

Three fainting women was a disappointment for Magnus’s show. He
dropped the trick hammer and hobbled towards the front of the stage on
a crushed foot. Taking out a bag of razors, he popped them into his
mouth one by one. When on the platform edge, he looked out at his
audience who tried to bury themselves in their chairs. Magnus let the
silence fill their space then raised his hands and bowed. He closed
the show with a bloody thank you and his tongue fell onto a tall man’s
lap. Magnus walked off stage smiling. The shrieks were stupendous.

DAPHNE

He first he noticed his fingers were numb and then he lost sight in one eye. His lost some of his long term memories too. But nothing that really bothered him so he continued blogging and podcasting with great success. Until the day he found himself going off on a rant that related otters and Middle East politics. The coroner said it was like someone took a knife to his brain, but there were no external injuries, must have been the razor sharp wit.

CALEB

LuAnn makes the best sandwiches in town. The trick is that the meat is cut so razor thin you can read through it. That’s not just some colorful expression, she really uses a razor. She spends most of her time between customers just working that leather strop keeping her razor sharp. That allows the meat to go on to your sandwich pink, tender and delicious..
So if LuAnn ever invites you up to lunch, you go, boy. You’ll never have a better meal in all your life. But I’d steer clear of her barbershop… if you know what I mean.blockquote>

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Creature Infinite in Scope

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Like every creature infinite in scope, God was a bored and lonely being.
He created the universe, then He filled it with all sorts of interesting stuff.
Including us.
What interests Him the most is our capacity for faith and gratitude in the aftermath of a disaster.
Whatever He hurls our way, we come together and seek His guidance.
So, He tests us more. You could even say He tortures us now and then.
But not for His amusement. No, it’s for some kind of reason or plan.
For a creature infinite in scope, shouldn’t He know the answer already?

Ghostwork

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If you have a ghost, my advice to you is to give it a job.
Ghosts can be very useful. And loyal.
A ghost will enjoy walking your dog for you while you’re busy. And they’ll prepare delicious dinner meals while saving you the chore of cleaning up afterwards.
Got landscaping to do? I’ve got one word for you: ghost. There is nothing more reliable than a ghost with a lawnmower and hedge trimmers.
I, for one, have three of them working for me.
Hold on… maybe I meant to say “Mexicans.”
Or Mexican ghosts.
Still, they do excellent work.

Rygar

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Jack?
Oh, Jack! He calls himself “Rygar” now, and he sleeps in his basement under a pile of old towels.
Until… he wakes up… senses… INTRUDER!
“Come on out, Jack,” said his landlord, nervously twiddling his keychain. “We need to talk about you tapping the Smith’s cable line.”
“RYGAR ANGRY!” shouts Jack, and he searches his towel-pile for weapons.
“I’m sure you are,” said the landlord. “We’ll discuss this when you’re ready, okay?”
The landlord sighed and reminded himself that of all his tenants, Jack paid his rent on time.
And in cash.
“Grondar Goldheart happy,” growled the landlord, chuckling.

Marching Boots

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Every moment, we grow more afraid.
Boots! Boots! Marching Boots!
I can hear them marching in the streets, the boots of the soldiers!
Not the soldiers themselves, mind you. Just their boots.
It’s an impressive sight, so many boots marching in unison, completely in step.
A fearsome sight. A scary sight.
We peer out of our windows, watching them.
Who will protect us from these boots? Who will stop this stomping menace?
The soldiers?
No, they are more afraid than we humble citizens are.
We watch the socks, drying on the clothesline.
Will they be next?
All hope is lost.

Scythe

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Fashion is so fickle, you know.
This year in Paris, all the rage is scythe.
“Scythe is the new black,” says a designer, and he pedals the grindstone faster. Sparks fly!
The blade’s edge is sharp, and the flat of it is polished mirror-like.
Trowels and rototillers are so yesterday… scythe is now! It’s hip! It’s fresh!
It’s the in thing.
The word is: scythe.
“It’s the new black,” says the model behind the stage, changing from Versace to Armani. “It goes with everything.”
She checks her hair and heads for the runway.
Watch out, world. Scythe! Scythe is here!

Bad Wine

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As I watch the sailboats slide slowly across the bay, I open our bottle of wine.
“Was it a good year?” my sister asks.
“I’m not sure,” I say. “Year’s not over yet.”
Aunt Polly used to say that good company makes up for bad wine.
We’ve been doing this for years – bad wine, stale bread, and a ratty old blanket on the shore of the bay.
“Is the sun going up or down?” my sister says.
“I’m not sure anymore,” I say. “Have a drink.”
We used to go out rowing, the three of us.
Don’t ask.
Just drink.

Weekly Challenge #59 – Reverie

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Welcome to the Fifty-ninth Weekly Challenge, 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 Anji Bee: Reverie.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #59?
Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
Guy David from Sixteenth
Tom from Footnote
Daphne from Going Broke
Tamara from Going Broke
Chris from Platypus Society
Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
Laieanna from HodgePodge Point
The Mad Bard From Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner a prize… it’s refrigerator magnets for the podcast. Massive amounts of fridge magnets were mailed out in the past week… watch your mail, and let me know if I’ve missed you.
It is your voting that determines who wins. So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!

CALEB

It was one of those perfect spring days; the picnic, the wine, a light breeze that played all around us. And pretty soon we were lost in a reverie.
But my girlfriend doesn’t like being lost… not anywhere.
Pretty soon she’s nagging me to ask for directions or buy a map at a gas station and I just want her to get off my back y’know? And there goes the reverie… which means we’re not lost anymore.
I said, “Darling, let’s never fight like that again” and we kissed and made up.
And before very long… We were lost again!

GUY DAVID

She was caressing me softly. Her hand felt like the sea, rising,
rising inside me, her naked breast brushing against my belly button,
her tongue licking my nipple. My body stiffened, shock waves passing
through it, then I looked away at the single palm tree swaying in the
light breeze. The smell of sea water filled my nostrils. I breathed
it deep, savoring.
Suddenly, her tongue turned into a snake, her hands into sharp pointy
things. I screamed and screamed, then I passed out. You get some
strange reveries when stuck alone in the desert with no food and water.

TOM

Between them they shared a Dixie cup of plum wine. Unlike the reverie in the street Shema and Shoji chose to celebrate VA day seated. In the 60s they had lead the 5-mile long dragon that snaked up the broken pavement of the El Camino Real. They were knights of the Divine Wind the first pilots to land in LA after the Los Alamos disaster. Oppenheimer’s Folly one single explosion had poisoned 57 million citizens. Abandon and broken the Nippon Empire claimed California during the Honolulu Peace Treaty. Deeply reflected in shoji purple wine the red of the rising sun.

DAPHNE

Sitting on her patio, sipping a glass of wine, staring at a sunset her mind wandered into a daydream.
The sun glistened off the water as it set into the horizon; she watched as it slowly disappear.
She let the worries of the day fade with the sun as she relaxed in the reverie of her thoughts.
She let her thoughts flow through her mind as she relaxed with her glass of wine.
“Oh for the love of God! Can’t I get five minutes to write a one hundred word story without being IM’d?

TAMARA

With his review in fifteen minutes, Laurence wasn’t getting any work done. He sat in his cubicle daydreaming about walking into his boss’s office and finally using the .22 he kept locked in his briefcase all day. He just wanted to shoot the smug smile off that gas-bag’s face; maybe he could cut out early and go to the Astros game. Maybe he could just walk down the hall, visiting each office with his new co-workers, Messers Smith and Wesson. Maybe he should just put the cap back on the jar of rubber cement sitting open on his desk.

CHRIS

Steve dreamed of becoming a baseball player. But when his father died, he quit high school and took a job as a janitor down at the mill to help his mother pay the bills. Tomorrow marks his thirty-seventh anniversary with the company.
Occasionally you’ll catch him holding the mop handle like a bat, lost in reverie as he stares down an imaginary pitcher. He won’t say if the scenario is a memory or just a fantasy, but in thirty seven years he’s never missed a day of work, and he’s never missed smacking that hanging curveball over the centerfield fence.

HOUSTON KEYS

“An earth shattering KABOOM!” shouted Marvin in delicious ecstasy!
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening.” Truth is told, I was enjoying a quiet reverie. The hustle and bustle of my day rarely added up to a few enjoyable moments, much less the time I spent with Marvin.
“I don’t think you’re serious about this,” Marvin said quietly. “Are you just using me to survive when I enslave the world?”
“Come on Marv,” I reassured him. “You know you are the only… uh, guy, who can get away with a green Roman Soldier skirt.”
“It’s NOT A SKIRT!” Marvin was so defensive.

LAIEANNA

It was the same mundane thing I had left the day before and it was
only Tuesday. I tired of my job. Actually, I was just tired. By
three each day, I was always ready for a nap. I’d stare off to think
of anything but work. My reverie would slip into sleep. As made
obvious by the head bobbing and final slam into the table. That day I
might not have got caught if I didn’t snore. Now I sit at the
unemployment office, filling out the same boring paperwork and trying
not to fall asleep while I wait.

PLANET Z

When these boring meetings get to me, my mind wanders and I start to daydream.
One time, I imagined the copier was a dragon and I was fighting it to the death.
Another time, the coffeepot was full of a magical bubbling potion that turned me into a frog.
Then there was the time I imagined that Jody, the hot chick from Sales, was giving her presentation naked.
Then I wake up and look around.
Everything’s normal again.
Such silly little daydreams.
I mean, a copier dragon? Magical coffee? Jody making a presentation?
Especially on Everybody Gets Naked Fridays.
Rawr.

Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.

Woodwork

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If I seem a tad distracted, it’s because my new lathe is broken.
I bought it last month, thinking I’d do woodwork. Sure, I don’t know anything about carpentry or crafts, but Wood 2.0 is new and exciting. It’s all about social woodworking. And the marketing brochures said it was profitable, too.
All I needed was a lathe and a client base.
Technical Support tells me it’s not plugged in. Then they say I’m using glass instead of wood… that’s why my finished product is often a pile of broken glass.
I’ll just scream louder and threaten to sue them.