Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Tura
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Jon
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

Darling Terminal
She checked her ticket for the tenth time. Stop it! Yes, you have it. She wanted to start a new life without any recollections of the past.
The monitors showed line after line, sometimes too quickly for her to read. Good thing they also used the artificial voice system blaring out information. The flights went out one after the other. And then the system had a burnout moment.
Her flight was called out but to a different destination. She didn’t care. That was her best decision ever. Many years later, she still remembered how he looked, standing at the terminal.

TURA

The train departs from Centraal, a triple-expansion iron colossus drawing a line of three-storey carriages on a double railway track. When it reaches Mitteweg, it has reduced to a single-track engine, racing as if to compensate with speed for its former magnificence. At last the conductor announces, “Terminal, Eindstation. Tout changer, alles overstappen.” Here, the train is a poor thing of more smoke than steam, for at Terminal the steam engine has only just been invented. You may hire a carter to drive onwards, but tourists mostly sightsee around the neighbourhood, then take the train back to the present day.

JEFFREY

The Faces of Intolerance
by Jeffrey Fischer

When masked Antifa thugs smash windows, taunt cops, and assault others, they feel smug and act invincible. Unmask them, however, and the swagger turns to sour grapes about how losing their anonymity is “unfair.” Take a good look at those faces: they’re the brown shirts of the political left, uneducated and gullible, the ground troops of an ideological war that others run for money and power. The puppet masters in the media and political offices pronounce that country borders are racist, that the police are racist, that conservatives are racist. This justifies assaults on those who don’t share the group’s extreme philosophy. When arrested and unmasked, however, their anger turns to confusion. They failed to understand the consequences of accepting lies as truth.

RICHARD

Undated

The older I get, the more chaotic my life becomes.

There’s nothing wrong with my body clock – I know perfectly well when it’s time to sleep, eat and deal with the other necessities of life – my faculties haven’t faded quite that much.

However, my body calendar is a different matter altogether – it’s completely out of sync with reality.

I’ve no idea what day it is, I get confused about when to put the rubbish out, and, to my shame, I never know my wife’s birthday.

She, of course complains like hell.

But it’s really just sour grapes.

SERENDIPITY

It’s the little things that matter the most.

Even the smallest of things: The most inconspicuous, infinitesimal and insignificant occurrences in life can have devastating outcomes.

Take that pinprick, for example… The one you barely felt and almost instantly put out of your mind, dismissing it as ‘nothing much at all’.

You really shouldn’t ignore it.

And if you understood the dire consequences of inaction, I can guarantee you wouldn’t be quite so dismissive.

There are all sorts of nasty things that can be delivered by means of a hypodermic needle; and in your case, I’m afraid that it’s terminal.

TOM

No Name
They’d been all but forgotten by the young queen and her prince. Of course they’d attended the grand wedding. Each had been given a golden pick during the reception, but that was long ago. One by one as each of the original seven had passed-on a black velvet cover was placed over the axe head. Happy, the number two dwarf, was gone. When word reached Snow White she made her way to the humble home of her youth. Since no one way left to cover the pick, it fell to the queen to place the velvet cover over pick two.

JON

A Lady’s Regret

By

Jon DeCles

She was beautiful in her mask covered in roses, but it was the pinprick of a rose thorn, given to her unknowing by her darling prince, that delivered the poison that put her in this terminal condition.

The print on the page of her book went blurry as her weakened eyes went out of sync. She knew she could not drive her little trap through the fields of grapes to his chateau as she had planned. She had dressed as the Specter of the Rose to surprise him. He made such fine rose wine.

But she had made fine enemies.

NORVAL JOE

A Lady’s Regret

By

Jon DeCles

She was beautiful in her mask covered in roses, but it was the pinprick of a rose thorn, given to her unknowing by her darling prince, that delivered the poison that put her in this terminal condition.

The print on the page of her book went blurry as her weakened eyes went out of sync. She knew she could not drive her little trap through the fields of grapes to his chateau as she had planned. She had dressed as the Specter of the Rose to surprise him. He made such fine rose wine.

But she had made fine enemies.

PLANET Z

They took me to a room.
Rose was there with a mask over her whole face to help her with her breathing.
The diagnosis was terminal.
Day after day, I came to see her and bring fresh flowers.
But she was fading, and one day, she was gone.
“So, Mr. Melvin, what arrangements do you have planned for Betty?”
“Melvin? My name is Smith. And this is Rose. Isn’t it?”
They took off the mask. Not Rose.
“Oh, um… I think there’s been a mistake… didn’t they tell you…”
The hospital’s attorneys worked quickly to find where they’d sent Rose.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Richard
• Jeffrey
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Jon
• Tura
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

Roam the land and watch them hanging from a branch, flayed alive by animals with a human face. Kneel. Show them you are inferior. Take a risk and play the game. They will smile and disrespect you. They shaved your head and made you walk naked. They will take your submission for granted. With time, they will believe you. They will get distracted. Then, you will strike back, smiling, holding a whip in each hand. They too will hang, and they’ll struggle to breathe as you did. And they will die, swinging from that branch to never hurt anyone again.

CHARLIE

Bobby Flay taught me how to make a proper, clear broth. You had to be able to read the mint date of a dime at the bottom of a six quart pan of broth in order to pass his initial unit on mother sauces and broths.
His full course was eleven thousand dollars. The courses supplemented his income as a chef, fitness “guru”, merchandiser, and blogger. He was friendly, but thinking of a grown man in a striped jersey as Bobby was silly and childish.
I worked for Flay at the Mesa Grill in Las Vegas plating baby Romaine salads.

#2

Social media advocates decided they would flay me for my Tweets that attempted humor. None of my Tweets were retweeted or liked. Some people messaged me, directly, and browbeat me for being silly and inconsequential. Others made remarks about my lowbrow tastes and occasional indecency.

Lately, I tried my best with proposed names for pop up eating spots. I thought that a name for a sandwich shop could be The Mayo Clinic, and a little soup spot might be called Pho Pa.

I can see you are not laughing, and you are smirking. Well, please kiss my big, Portuguese ass.

——-

*Pho is pronounced “fo” by gringos.

RICHARD

Uncle Bob

Uncle Bob was renowned for being tight. We joked, ‘he’d flay a fly for its hide’.

He never bought a round of drinks, gave to charity, or said, ‘keep the change’; and Christmas was like any other day: He neither gave, nor expected gifts, nevertheless I’d always visit him, with a bottle of whisky; although I never got to drink any. The bottle sat unopened, for the duration of my visit.

I was his only friend.

So, when he died, I had high hopes of being his sole beneficiary.

Guess what the old bastard left me?

The bottle of whisky!

JEFFREY

A Simple Misunderstanding
by Jeffrey Fischer

Vinny patted his back pocket to reassure himself he had his favorite set of brass knuckles. This wasn’t his usual kind of job, but the guy was practically begging for a beating. He left for the studio with a jaunty step. When the studio lights came up, the audience clapped enthusiastically. The emcee introduced Vinny and some bimbo in an apron. When the emcee reached the end of his spiel, Vinny made his move. He whipped out the brass knuckles and thrashed the smirk off his target’s face. The audience gasped and booed but Vinny remained defiant. “Da sign says to Beat Bobby Flay, so youse can stick it.”

In an ironic twist, Vinny’s prison block turned out to be huge fans of celebrity cooking shows, so he spent many quality hours hoping for others to beat Bobby again.

SERENDIPITY

Welcome to the Church of the Broken Soul.

Here, we make no empty promises of salvation and eternal life, we offer no messages of joy, and show no mercy or compassion.

We do, however, preach the truth, and whilst it may not set you free, we are at least honest about it.

And the One Truth we hold sacred, is that life is pain, and suffering; loss, and despair.

Our rituals and ceremonies celebrate and consecrate this simple truth, permitting our followers to glimpse the reality of true suffering, through personal experience.

Now, let us bow our heads, and flay.

TOM

Over Nights for Peoria

The Head of Programing had just fired the entire Creative Dept. The only man standing was Rudy, who somehow made it through the last three purges. He always had one project he kept to himself. Si Reynolds was counting on him. “Ok, kid,” said SR, “What ya got?”

“Marketing ran the numbers on a sub-sub group with 5 digit incomes previously untapped. We have designated them the “Flayers” “More,” enquired the VP. “What we had in mind is a cross between Texas Hold Em, Iron Chef, and An Evening With Marquis De Sade.” “And?” FLAY TO PLAY.

“I love it.”

JON

To Flay

By

Jon DeCles

Flensing knives are used to flay, which is to say to cut off the skin, as when you flay off the hide of a deer before you butcher it. You want to carefully remove the skin intact, so that it can be tanned and made into leather of various qualities, depending on the animal. Cattle and bison produce heavy, tough leathers. Smaller creatures produce more delicate kinds. Kid skin gloves are soft and considered very elegant by many. Delicate knives are needed for mouse skin gloves for ladies.

Flaying alive is a torture popular with a number of human cultures

TURA

Marsyas and Apollo
———
There was never a piper like Marsh. When he played, the birds would swoon off their perches.

One day, Polly shows up.

“Marsh, I hear you’re a mighty fine piper,” he drawls. “Think you’re as good as me?”

Marsh plays, and soon it’s like every crow for miles is coming to mob Polly. Polly whips out a pair of razor knives and he’s dancing, cutting crows out of the air. Marsh pipes harder and Polly dances faster, and we’re thinking what happens when Marsh runs out of crows?

Well, I saw, but I’d rather keep my skin on than say.

NORVAL JOE

A minute later, Linoliumanda was back, wearing her new tee shirt.
“Come on.” She dragged Billbert toward the backyard.
Billbert hefted his broom. “I don’t think this is a very good idea.”
“Don’t be silly. On the command ‘Go’, you shout ‘Fly’ and we’ll race down to the apple tree and back.”
Just the thought of that word made Billbert’s underwear rustle.
They straddled their brooms and Mrs. Withybotham called, “On your marks, get set, go.”
“Fly!” Linoliumanda shouted and ran for the apple tree.
He shouldn’t stand there like an idiot.
“Ffffffffffffflay,” Billbert shouted and chased after his friend.

PLANET Z

There are so many chefs on television these days.
Wandering the world, looking for new cuisines, and yelling at junior chefs in reality shows.
Meanwhile, in my own kitchen, all I need is a cutting board and a ceramic knife.
Raw vegetables are my thing these days.
Just slice up some celery, cucumber, green peppers… dump in baby carrots and sugar snap peas, and I’ve got a meal.
Okay, so I need hummus as a dip, but that comes in a tub at the store.
I take my veggie bowl and hummus to the sofa, and watch the television chefs.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Tom
• Lizzie
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Richard
• Jon
• Serendipity
• Norval Joe
• Jeffrey
• Planet Z

TOM

Always Just Out of Reach

When the lights went out I found a girl under my beach blanket. “Who are you,” I asked. “River Moon Beam,” came the breathy reply. The darkness was drenched with Patchouli and Maui Wowie is was the 70s and sexual revolution was entering its death spiral and I had no idea on that starry night I was about to be become the last M.I.A. Moon Beam hand me bottle of Jack. I took a swallow, she drained it. It’s hard to make purchase in sand, but youth if nothing else is resourceful. Sadly there is no resource for alcohol unconsciousness.

LIZZIE

Late at night, no-one cared. A slow slumber took over and everyone was fast asleep quickly.
During the day, things collapsed. The lamps that had existed for several decades inside the underground survival units were vital. They illuminated every corridor, every room.
When the lights went out, Rachael desperately wanted to leave. They didn’t let her. The air, the ground, you can’t.
She managed to escape and went to the old hut in the middle of nowhere where she had grown up.
Only the ones who left the units survived.
When she flipped a switch again, she felt ridiculously alive.

CHARLIE

As the sedan hit the tower, he heard her scream and the ear-piercing crash when the lights went out.

He rushed to find her on the route home. When he spotted the crash, he leapt out, finding her in the car. She was burned to a smoldering pile of steaming Kimchi, and was still holding the cell phone.

The impact of the car took down the fifty foot steel tower when her car veered off the road.

When the thirty kilovolt lines broke away from the crumpled crossbars, they started a large grassfire that consumed her car and poor Leoliana.

#2

When the lights went out, I fumbled around for the flashlight. Beverly had removed her bra and exposed her giant bosom. “No, no. Put those away! I can’t handle those now!” She teased me a bit, and folded them up and put them inside her top.

Beverly was my love robot. Arriving from the factory in California in a crate, customized to my specifications, she was soon the envy of my friends in the local tech club.

She was self-charging, five nine, had double hinged apertures, blond hair and was green-eyed.

She liked to tease me and play practical jokes.

RICHARD

When the lights went out

I did what everybody does when the lights went out: I blundered about in the darkness, bruising my shins and stubbing toes, wondering why the hell I couldn’t find my way around my own house in the dark.

“Where’s the candles?”, I shouted, “In the basement!” came the reply, and it struck me at that moment what a profoundly idiotic place the basement was to keep candles.

It was also where I stupidly kept the torch!

Cautiously, I felt for the top step, missed my footing and went crashing to the floor below.

And the lights went out again.

Permanently!

Permanently!

JON

The Absolute

By

Jon DeCles

Power is easier to abuse than women’s bodies, or men’s bodies, or children’s helpless flesh. It is also more insidiously attractive than sex or food or fast cars.

She knew that, and she had contemplated it from her earliest realization. She had never for a moment rejected even the shadow of her desire to gain power, and to abuse it to the fullest. That future was, for her, the most delicious.

Politics, Law, and Medicine had all offered opportunities, but she had carefully chosen her arena to provide the fullest range of possibilities.

She smiled, looking out over her students.

What You Can’t See

By

Jon DeCles

When the lights went out we all giggled a little and made dumb jokes about what you could do in the dark. When they stayed out we started to get nervous, being high up in a skyscraper.

Things can go wrong. Many things.

Should we stay put and wait, or try to walk down the aching flights of stairs?

People grow fearful of what people can become under cover of the dark. People talk, and talk starts to breed terror. Our imaginations fueled pictures of horror in our frightened minds.

It was much worse when the lights came back on.

SERENDIPITY

At first you were afraid, when the lights went out.

And the fear grew as you became aware that you were looking down on your own lifeless body; the doctor, frantically pounding your chest; the machines sounding an unbroken, single tone.

That’s when fear turned to absolute terror.

And that’s when you heard my voice, reassuring and calm: “Walk towards the light. Walk towards the light”

You turned and took one tentative step, then another, until you were running towards the light, and into my arms.

And that’s when I turned out the light.

And plunged you into eternal darkness.

NORVAL JOE

Unable to control his thoughts, Billbert rose toward the ceiling.
Fortunately that was when the lights went out.
Linoliumanda’s mother marched in with an snowy owl shaped birthday cake.
“It’s time to sing to the birthday girl.”
The distraction was enough to settle Billbert back to the floor before anyone noticed his levitation.
They sang “Happy Birthday” and ate pumpkin ice cream with the cake.
Billbert gave Linoliumanda, a tee shirt that said, “Twilight Sparkle is my Patronus”.
She hugged it to her and said, “This is so cute. I want to wear it for our broom races.”
Billbert gulped.

JEFFREY

Party Games
by Jeffrey Fischer

McKenzie’s latest party was in its full drunken glory by midnight. I stifled a yawn. Mac was a good guy, if a bit touched in the head, but I was too old for his nonsense and made my preparations to leave. “Not just yet, my friend,” Mac said. “Stay a few minutes. I promise you won’t be sorry.”

When the lights went out, everyone in motion stumbled across a piece of furniture and the room was filled with expletives. I shook my head at Mac’s childish antics and thumbed the flashlight app on my iPhone to navigate safely out of the house. Mac called to the remaining guests, “Who’s up for a game of blind Twister?” and laughed manically.

PLANET Z

And God said, “Let there be light.” And there was light.
God looked at the heavens and the earth.
“What a mess!” he said. “I should have made light before I made the heavens and the earth.”
God tried to fix his mistakes, but he was hoping to get finished with his project before the weekend, so he rushed things.
“Shit,” muttered God, as he looked at the calendar. “It’s Saturday, and I’m not done yet.”
So, God threw together man and woman, dropped them in Eden, and headed for the airport.
“Watch these idiots, please,” God told the serpent.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Tom
• Lizzie
• Richard
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Jeffrey
• Serendipity
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

TOM

Eroica

Power is over-rated. Not the stuff that squirts out the wall sockets to fire up your cell phones. That stuff is way cool. No, I’m talking about the force to direct the will of the masses. Raw, of times, evil actions who sole purpose it to show who’s on top. A reminder that there are big people and little people. Not talking brownies and fairies. Talking the folk who walk in marble halls. Funny thing is, in the end, even if you’ve walked in the marble hall, the last marble will reduce all your accomplishments to a hand full of words

LIZZIE

Walk forward. Don’t give up. Even when they say you are not worth it. Power. Even if they… Power… Pow…
The robot stopped its roaming and blabbering. We all stared at it, expecting it to return to life as unexpectedly as it had started to move and talk.
“Perhaps if we walk away and come back, it’ll start again,” someone suggested.
But the robot didn’t move when we all did that, its arms awkwardly stretched back. We shrugged and walked away. The museum was big enough.
The robot rotated its head slowly and reprogrammed the data in everyone’s chips.

RICHARD

#1 – Knowledge

I’ve always been told knowledge is power, so I thought I’d try and prove it, and I’m ready to reveal my invention to the world.

The first knowledge-powered vehicle!

It was surprisingly simple to develop.

There was no need to devise exotic new technologies; no messing about with dangerous chemicals or nuclear fuel cells; and the raw materials are all around us.

It’s essentially a variation of the steam engine, using collected knowledge as combustible fuel.

A couple of encyclopaedias will get you to work and back, whilst a university library will keep you going for a year or more!

#2 – Super?

I was a latecomer to the Marvel Universe… A minor character, written in to fill a gap on a storyboard.

By the time they got to me, they were scraping the barrel for new superpowers: All the good ones had already gone to the X-Men, the Hulk, Deadpool, and all the rest of those A-listers.

I suppose a minor, unremarkable character doesn’t deserve anything particularly special anyway, but I do think they might have made a little more effort for me.

But here I am: Doctor Boring… And my super power?

The ability to make paint dry, very slowly indeed.

CHARLIE

Power was delivered to the wheels through the Casemont confabulator. The spiral downdraft tube assembly provided the high octane oxidant to the Belkins oval-throat chambers at the side of the main assembly. We took our chances when we cooled and boosted both of the Merrymount thrust bobbins containing the spindle head valve jacks.

We installed a dozen, brass, hand formed whipple cups for better lubrication, hoping to stabilize redundant lifter spin at high revolutions.

The zenith of measureable output came the day we readjusted the Neiki spinners in the flux field, allowing more ribbons of plasma to enter the Merrymounts.

#2

Normally I don’t talk about my power…my powers. I read minds, heal the sick, see the future, and I make an earthshaking smoothie.

I keep a low profile, having been pestered by “friends”, relatives, and hangers-on. I exercise my powers inconspicuously and privately. Yesterday, I rode my bicycle past the clinic and cured eleven cases of skin rash and nervous leg. Today, I am buying winning lottery tickets and passing the winnings on to the local Vets Support Dogs club.

Everything is anonymous, but I clip all the news articles and copy the Twitter posts and other social media posts.

SERENDIPITY

During the nineteenth century, the infamous – well, infamous if you happen to be a physicist – ‘War of the Currents’ raged.

An epic battle between Edison’s direct current, which he argued was far safer than the alternating current favoured by Tesla, and championed by Westinghouse.

It’s really all academic to most of us now: We just plug in, and play, and it matters little to us what form our electricity takes.

I’m not bothered either.

I just crank up the power as high as I can.

Because agonised screams and burning flesh don’t care if it’s AC or DC!

JEFFREY

Home Renovations
by Jeffrey Fischer

Frank and Jillian’s house already had some years on it when they moved in a decade ago. Jillian wanted to update the kitchen. “New cabinets and countertops, new floors, maybe an island. Oh, and a higher ceiling.”

Frank said, “Fine, I’ll do it myself.”

“Really, Frank? What do you know about home repair? Let’s just hire a contractor.”

But Frank insisted had had seen enough house-flipping shows to tackle the job. He removed the old cabinets, got a friend to help with the heavy lifting, and took down the tiled ceiling. Several electrical wires dropped from the space.

“Hey, I wonder if these are connected to power.” Frank prodded the bare wire with his screwdriver.

Jillian used the life insurance money to hire a reputable contractor to finish the job.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert stood up and set down his butter beer.
“Wow. You’re really pretty”
“Thanks.” Linoliumanda curtsied in her ballerina princess dress. “Here’s your magic wand. It has special power.”
“Really?” Billbert took the wand and waved it.
“Yes, really. Watch this.” She waved her wand at Billbert and said, “Windgardium Leviosa.”
“No. Don’t,” Billbert cried. He knew that the only real power the wand had was the power of suggestion. In his case, the suggestion was enough. He knew the meaning of windardium leviosa. Though he fought to remain on the floor, his grocery bag began to lift him up.

PLANET Z

Dieting and exercise require a lot of willpower.
To eat the right things, in the right amounts.
And not to eat the bad things in any amount at all.
Also, to find ways to burn those calories.
If you don’t, then the problem solves itself, doesn’t it?
You get sick and you die.
Sometimes quickly, from a heart attack or a stroke.
Sometimes slowly, from diabetes or some other disease.
It doesn’t matter, really. When you gotta go, you gotta go, right?
I know a guy who died from eating carrots and celery.
Never mind that he choked to death.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Tom
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Serendipity
• Jon
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• Planet Z

TOM

You Never Know

Timmy was an Unfortunate Elephant. He never got the knack of marching in line with the other elephant in the circus. So regrettable the circus owner had to find someone willing to take him off his hand. In a small town in Iowa an elderly farmer spent a considerable time sizing Timmy up. After a fashion an agreement was reached, a fair amount of corn feed in exchange for Timmy. As the circus train pull out, Timmy shed a tear. When news of the circus train’s deadly destruction just outside of Chicago arrived Timmy was no longer an unfortunate elephant.

CHARLIE

My mug was the result of an unfortunate accident. There was an profusion of global grime and chemicals in the atmosphere. My poor, expectant mother was exposed to such pollution, as the official elephant tender at the town zoo in Cape May. This was determined to be the most significant cause for my deformity.

My nose did not grow nor form naturally from the center of my face. It was more of a careless splat of flesh and gristle that “the dread designer” chose for me .

I survived as a bit player in off-off Broadway productions of Russian playwrights.

#2

I came to dread the splat I would often hear on the walk outside my tent. They would parade the elephant by every morning on the grime covered walk, as they strove to raise funds for the global unfortunate that were addicted to drugs and were usually gathered on corners in the city to beg for change with an undernourished dog and a Starbuck’s Mug in their laps.

My time in Seattle as a volunteer was frustrating, as most of the homeless, drug addicted, and mentally deranged refused housing and counseling, preferring to get an airplane ticket home to Kansas.

RICHARD

Muck

Okay, I know it isn’t going to go away… Let’s talk about the elephant in the room.

I dread people asking how I became what Time Magazine called ‘The Self Made King of Dirt, Splat and Gunk’; because frankly, it was all down to an embarrassing mistake.

I’d planned to go into organised criminal activity – a mob to rival, if not better, the Mafia. I even had millions worth of promotional material made up, like this mug.

However, thanks to an unfortunate typo that wasn’t picked up by the proofreader…

Well, read it for yourself:

Richard’s Global Grime Syndicate’

LIZZIE

Unfortunate Mug

The fast plane took off with ahhs and ohhs of exhilaration. It was the inaugural flight of a new model. Heads of state, ministers, members of parliament, journalists, an array of dubious reality TV personalities, even football players were invited. Each received a commemorative mug to display at home for curious visitors. When the plane crashed, a few miles short of the airport, the horror was only surpassed by the relief that there were no casualties. Except for the mugs. Nobody cared for the mugs. And no one noticed that each mug had a little spying device. Close call, huh?

JEFFREY

Part 1: Battle Zone
by Jeffrey Fischer

The line “don’t take a knife to a gun fight” was never more accurate than the time I was robbed during the night shift at the convenience store. The guy sauntered in, asked for a pack of Kools, then pulled a knife on me. I handed him the contents of the till, but he had a surprise coming as I pulled my elephant gun from behind the counter. I say elephant gun, but it was really a toy modified to shoot elephant dung over the unfortunate victim. The police had to hose him off before taking him to the station.

Part 2: Cleanup
by Jeffrey Fischer

I’m no idiot: I chased the robber out of the store and waited until firing the dung gun. Splat! It was a very satisfying sound. I knew I’d have to wash away the grime before the morning shift arrived, but hosing down the parking lot was much easier than washing any affected merchandise inside. Our customers weren’t the pickiest. Nonetheless, even they would have objected to dung-covered malt liquor cans and snack food bags. I made a mental note to gather more ammunition from my contact at the zoo before my next shift. I love the global economy!

SERENDIPITY

Two hundred years ago, there were around twenty six million elephants on the planet.

The total alive today, is around one point nine percent of that figure.

The majority: Hunted down, and killed for their ivory.

Let’s turn that on its head and imagine that elephants hunted people for their teeth, instead.

You, your family, friends and acquaintances would all, almost certainly have been killed, and this world of six billion human beings would number less than the population of Japan.

Twenty years, and the last elephant will be gone.

Far more sickening than any story I could make up.

—

Music credit: Louis Gordon – “The Anatomy of Melancholy – No Beginning and No End”

JON DE CLES

Swifter and Swifter Justice

By

Jon DeCles

It was unfortunate they had decided to show his ugly mug on the global feed one last time. There was dread on his face, and grime, and he was as gray as an elephant. He knew what was coming.

Yet he had persisted in his gross political crimes, opposing the rightful government of the unimaginably rich. What could he expect?

The planet watched in fascination as he stood under the lights atop the tallest tower of the city. They watched as he was pitched into the pit, and watched in flashes as he accelerated downward ever faster, and then..

Splat!

NORVAL JOE

Dressed in a bathrobe, round rimmed eyeglasses and a mascara lightning bolt drawn on his forehead, Billbert approached the door, his stomach filled with dread. He checked the address, 36 Dancing Elephant lane, as the door opened.
Mr. Withybotham glared at him.
“I’m here for Linoliumanda’s party. It’s tonight isn’t it?” He held up the handwritten invitation.
The man handed him a large mug of yellowish liquid, said, “Butter Beer”, and waved Billbert into the living room.
He sat to the crinkling of his hidden plastic bag.
Linoniumanda entered smiling like a myopic fairy princess wearing a single tennis shoe.

TURA

Global Dread
———
We used to call them terrorists. Violence from nowhere, to sow terror. They would be simple things. Set off bombs. Fly planes into skyscrapers. Drive trucks into people. Mail anthrax to politicians.

But that was before. Before smart contracts, decentralised crypto, autonomous vehicles, and not-quite-human AI. Now, anything can happen, anywhere. Mysterious outbreaks of deadly plagues. Random assassinations. Rogue vehicles. Some say that terrorists give missions to autonomous AIs, and they spiral out of control. Others blame secret government agencies. But nobody knows. All they know is we no longer have shocks of terror, but pervasive, global dread.

PLANET Z

The global ivory trade is responsible for the deaths of hundreds of elephants a year.
That ivory mug you’re drinking from? Yes, Dave, that’s illegal.
The unfortunate grime you call coffee should be illegal, too.
I dread drinking this swill. Tastes like the reeking splat from the back of an elephant.
I’d throw it out, but I’d be cited for contaminating the water supply.
Why can’t you just get a pod coffee maker like everyone else?
Sure, brewing a whole pot traditionally is less expensive, but when nobody wants to drink this swill, it all goes to waste anyway, right?

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Tom
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Jon
• Jeffrey
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

TOM

Before the Parting Mist

My dearest beloved, frozen fingers raise blade to sharpen this quill to drive home the point of our company’s last engagement, in the hopes our first engagement proves all the more sustaining. It is the memory of sun on your gentle face, and that nearly perceivable smile when we first walked under the dwarf maples at your father summer house on the lake. As restless as the leaves of autumn are the men, and I fear equally likely to end in piled drifts. Know that as the battle horn sounds that my heart beat in time with yours. Zackery Maupin

LIZZIE

The name of the exclusive, terribly expensive event was Quill. No better name than Quill for a writing event, she thought. The turn out was better than she expected. The room was full. The problems started when one of the attendees tripped and hit his head on the giant quill that was placed in the corner for decoration. He split his head. Blood all over. Everyone left in a hurry, waving their hands in the air. Well, she thought, that was easy money. She didn’t even have to host the damn thing. She packed up her stuff and left town.

CHARLIE

I wrote my first draft with a crow quill.

Dipping the crow’s wing into a bottle of India ink was awkward and messy to say the least. The crow squawked and squirmed for a full half hour while I struggled to finish my story assignment.

I was not going to wait until the crow moulted a feather I could use, so I netted a big crow on the greenhouse roof. I took him inside my studio where I had set up a table, a very big roll of butcher paper and a bottle of ink.

Adult crows moult every summer.

TURA

Quill
———
My very esteemed Lord Palamon,

It was a pleasure to receive your letter, which of course I had a student read for me. Did you use a cockatrice quill? Perhaps nibbed with a basilisk talon? You must have had commerce with higher- dimensional entities for the ink, for I found his intestines elaborately knotted, yet the ends not severed. Well done!

I have his soul in a bottle. One day I may reanimate him in your corpse.

No doubt you will evade the spell woven into this letter. Of my best pupil I would expect no less.

Cordially,

Quirrell (Professor)

JEFFREY

Judicial Tradition
by Jeffrey Fischer

A tradition in the U.S. Supreme Court involves placing quill pens at each of the counsel tables every day the court is in session. Many attorneys, especially those arguing for the first time before the court, take one of the pens as a souvenir.

Of course, the use of quill pens is not confined to genteel reminders of days past. Those things are sharp! During particularly heated arguments, opposing lawyers have been known to stab one another. “Just making a point,” one lawyer quipped as he plunged the nib of his pen into his opponent’s eye.

RICHARD

Unwrote

I wouldn’t really call myself a writer. Not because I don’t regard my musings as literary or worthwhile; simply because it’s been a long time since I wrote anything at all, really.

I type, tap or swipe, aided and abetted, (and frequently frustrated), by predictive text.

My page is neither vellum, nor paper, but a pixelated screen.

I’m not a writer, I’m a typerapipest!

Maybe one day, when I’m retired, with time on my hands, I’ll pick up a pen and notebook and write for real…

Better still, shave my head, hand me a quill, and call me a bard!

JON

Before You Write

By

Jon DeCles

First you must obtain a quill. A large one from a turkey is ideal. Easy to work with. You must dry it thoroughly and clean the part you will be using. Then put it in a bottle of water to soak. You will need a pen knife of course, small and very sharp. Didn’t you know that is why it is called a pen knife? Well, yes, because you use it to cut pens. You cut the tip off the quill at an angle, then remove the papery filing. Scoop out the reservoir, then cut the channel from the tip.

SERENDIPITY

I’m always looking for new, innovative approaches to my craft. It’s so easy to become predictable, bland, and boring!

You’re constantly telling me that nobody likes boring…

Unless it’s into soft flesh with a blunt drill bit!

But I’ve been there, done that, and for some time I’ve been looking for something new.

I decided to pay a visit to the zoo – see if I could find some inspiration there, and that’s where I found the porcupine quill.

And, as I plunge it into your eyeball and pierce your brain, maybe you’ll think twice about calling me boring again!

NORVAL JOE

As the bus rolled toward the school, Billlbert thought a party, alone, under the guidance of Linoliumanda’s unhinged father didn’t sound like fun.

“Oh. I forgot. My mom said I can’t go to a party unless I have an actual invitation,” Billbert lied.

“Okay,” Linoliumanda said. “Give me your quill.”

“My what?” he asked.

“Your quill. You know. A pen. I have my parchment here to write your invitation.” She held up a piece of binder paper.

“What? Is this a Harry Potter birthday party?” Billbert asked.

“Of course. I’m dressing as Luna Lovegood. You can come as Harry Potter.”

PLANET Z

A quill from the legendary phoenix bird is considered the greatest of all writing implements.
A pen of such legendary stature demands an equally legendary ink.
Nothing less than the ink from the great sea kraken will do.
No ordinary inkwell should contain your kraken ink.
I’d think a hollowed-out meteorite is expected.
Did you think that quill would remain sharp?
You have to sharpen it with a knife made from the tooth of a dragon.
To blot the ink, the hide of a unicorn…
Fuck this shit. Give me that Bic pen.
Now how much was the pizza again?

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Tom
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Jon
• Jeffrey
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

Take a chance, she said, perhaps you’ll win. And he took a chance, so full of himself. After all, he was super fit. He was given a small boat and told to row South, that he would find the beach. He did. The place was amazing. First few days were easy. Then, a terrifying storm arrived. Everything was damp. He couldn’t find any food anymore. Instead of building a shelter while he was strong, he sunbathed. And then they couldn’t find him. He was in the wrong beach. Take a chance… He almost died. He did win his life back.

CHARLIE

Chance has been my support dog for the last five years. He was a former detection dog for the local police department, but was retired when his handler made detective. I knew Chance when he was a pup, fresh from the breeder in The Netherlands.

Chance is solid black, weighs eighty nine pounds, and has an IQ higher than most of my friends.

Chance alerts me when I am impolite to strangers, when I backtalk my superiors, and when I feel like slamming some pissant in the face. He saved me a couple of times from flying off the handle.

#2

A typical game of chance in my town, is riding a bicycle on the public streets. We have an inordinate amount of over or under medicated seniors driving around. They go the wrong way on city streets, drive peeking through the spokes of the steering wheel, don’t use signals, drive with impaired vision, and with deficient reflexes.

Some of the poor devils leave the house and get lost at the store a half mile away. They forget why they are there, lock their keys in the ignition, leave their lights on, and leave their pets sweltering in the hot car.

#3

What am I thinking? I am writing a story with the cue word, chance. I am not intimidated, nor am I worried that I will not be able to come up with 100 words that include “chance” in the text.

I went to a summer camp when I was twelve. It was for rich kids and was called “Chance Ranch”. We were given guns when we got off the bus. Everyone had their own Kevlar vest. For the next two weeks we learned how to get along, control our tempers, and discourage counselors from cupping our balls in the pool.

TOM

Beyond Laid Back

My favorite line from Lord of the Rings is: A Chance Meeting, as we say in the Shire. It reminds me of life in Santa Cruz, California’s idea of the Shire. Once I witnessed the following on a bus ride. A young man looks up to see a young girl get on, breaks into a wide smile. They talk for a few minutes. It is obvious from their conversation they have lost track of each other’s whereabouts. As the guy departs the bus, he asks for her phone number. She declines, tell him, till we meet again. So Shire, fursure.

RICHARD

No chance

“No chance!”, I said when they asked me to join the office lottery syndicate.

“Seriously, do you realise just how much the odds are stacked against you? You’re more likely to be hit by lightning, or die falling out of bed!”

I decided to save my money, and laughed at the stupidity of the rest of those fools, throwing theirs away in the hope of those elusive numbers coming up.

Of course, I was laughing on the other side of my face when they did.

“Give me a break guys… You won’t miss a few thousand.”

Their response?

“No chance!”

SERENDIPITY

Some of the most momentous, life changing happenings occur completely by chance.

The chance encounter whilst stood at the bar: An encounter that leads to romance, and a lifetime partnership.

The chance remark in the heat of debate: A remark that starts the thought process that leads to groundbreaking innovation.

The chance interruption… The traffic jam; the diversion; the spilled drink; the wrong turn. The interruption that saves you from the disaster that lay, unseen in your future.

But not today.

Because today, chance has brought you my way.

I am your destiny, and I never leave things to chance.

JON

Game Show: Chance or Quit

By

Jon DeCles

“Mr. Kelly, you have a chance to win twenty billion squgwarts! Is that exciting?”

“Very exciting, Sir.”

“If you fail at this stage of the game, you will fall a thousand feet into an oubliette at the bottom of which are millions of ravenous, flesh-eating accountants? You got that?”

“That makes it all the more exciting!” said Mr. Kelly, who was already covered with a dark green fungus from the previous round.

“Here’s the question then: Why is a Raven Like a Writing Desk? Will you take the chance or will you quite?”

“It’s a chance I have to take!”

JEFFREY

The Final Adventure
by Jeffrey Fischer

The starship shuddered from another blast from the plasma monster. “Captain! Shields are down to 20%! If we don’t find a way to reverse course, we’re finished!” The captain drummed his fingers on his command chair, considering the options open to him. Direct remaining power to the engines? Tried and failed. Ditto blasting out. The bridge crew looked expectantly at their leader, but the captain’s expression was grim.

“Gentlemen, we’re out of options. It’s been my honor to work with every one of you. Comms, send a final message to HQ, warning other vessels to avoid this system.”

As the close-up shot of the captain faded and an ad for Ivory soap took its place, Allison gripped my hand. She asked “How will they defeat the monster? This is the end for all of them, isn’t it?”

“Not a chance. This season’s ratings have been through the roof. I expect to see previews of next season any day now.”

PHILIP

“Well. You’re welcome to come, if you want,” Linoliumanda said to Roderick.
“Not a chance,” he sneered and moved to the back of the bus.
“Is it really just us two at the party?” Billbert gulped.
Linoliumanda joined him.
“Yeah. I don’t have many friends.” She sighed.
“Why not? You seem nice to me,” Billbert said, discretely sniffing the air for unusual smells.
“Thanks.” She smiled. “I think most kids are afraid of my father. Sometimes he shouts and threatens.”
“Really? Doesn’t that bother you?”
“Oh, no. He never threatens or yells at me,” she laughed. “Only people I’m with.”

PLANET Z

There’s always a chance of a bird strike at an airport.
Tens of thousands of starlings live in the woods and ravines around the airport, and they sometimes fly into the runways and the engines of planes taking off.
So, we send out the Falconmaster with his team of falcons.
Birds naturally avoid birds of prey, so they stayed away from the runways.
There hadn’t been a bird strike in over ten years.
The university came up with a technological solution.
A robotic falcon drone.
It worked well, until someone hijacked the signal.
And ran it into a plane’s engine.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Danny
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Tura
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Jeffrey
• Jon
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

CHARLIE

I was willing to take a stab at it. I had never done anything anywhere like it before, but I had enough whiskey in me to try it. The prize was two hundred dollars and a week of free drinks at the bar. It started slow, but the contest attracted a dozen more contestants in a few minutes.

The rules were clear. If you agreed to participate, you had to go out into the busy street and start singing Cindy Lauper’s True Colors in a high, falsetto, while Twerking in a tight, knit, pink, thong.

Naturally, I won, hands down.

#2

Stabbing has become a team sport in many large, metropolitan cities in Europe and the United States.

You can be shopping or taking a leisurely walk with your sweetheart and some maniac will run up to you and jam a long blade into your back or your neck.

They will take a couple of shots at it, making sure they have done enough damage to end your life. They might yell some incoherent words at you, or the familiar Allahu akbar!

If some fool tries this with me, I’d put a few holes in his head with my umbrella sword.

LIZZIE

The two men sat on the porch, looking at the inferior ones, they’d say. The porch became a symbol of power, of dominance. Only those who ruled could sit there and watch the others while they went about their lives. Ron felt like he was in jail and those two men were the guards.
One day, in a moment of lunacy, Ron took over the porch. He stabbed one of the men and knocked the other one out. He was king of the porch for 10 minutes. The best 10 minutes of his life. After that, it was all downhill.

RICHARD

Addict

I thought I’d take a stab at the hundred word story writing thing.

At the time, I had no idea of the evils of the drabble – in fact, if you’d told me at the time that it can become a habit as addictive as crack cocaine, I’d have laughed at you.

Shows how much I knew!

It’s nowhere near as bad as crack though, obviously…

Apart from the compulsive need for more, ever more; the cold sweats; the rage; the mood swings; the feverish nightmares and the inability ever to let it go.

No, nothing like crack at all!

JEFFREY

Pole Position
by Jeffrey Fischer

The big-boned woman at the other end of the bar winked at him. She wasn’t his type, but he was a “two at ten and a ten at two” sort of guy and the bartender had already shouted for last call. He made his way to her and decided on the direct approach. “Wanna see Mister Stabby? Let’s go somewhere private and he can come out and play.” She agreed and they drove to a cheap motel.

As he started to undress, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. “You don’t want to see what I have under there?” he asked, leering drunkenly.

“I sure do,” she said, discarding her skirt, and the bulge was obvious, “but me first. Meet *my* Mister Stabby.” He yelped and ran unsteadily to his car.

TOM

Addictive Damage

“I’ll take a stab at it,” said Jerome. The ‘It’ was six feet four, weighed in at 290 pounds. Jerome, no piker himself, was well over 11 feet and 400 plus. He had to make his way over a few bodies to get to ‘It’. If ‘It’ had a superior mental capacity there would probably have been twice the bodies, this was not the case. Dumb as a boot, just mean as junk-yard dog from LA. So when Jerome got into the bit radius ‘It’ lunged forward. Jerome dropped to one knee raised his blade upward. ‘It’ provided the force.

SERENDIPITY

You know what? I’m starting to get tired of your constant failure to leave your husband and move in with me.

You tell me you don’t want to cause him pain and that every time you psych yourself up to do it, you lose your resolve and realise just what a special person he is.

You tell me about all the wonderful things he does for you, and that even though you want to be with me, he’s done nothing wrong; nothing to deserve being dumped.

You tell me, you just can’t stab him in the back.

But, I could!

TURA

Stab
———
The eagle lands with a thud knocking the wind from the lamb’s body. Its front talons clamp around its ribs, and the rear talons stab it through. It heaves its prey into the air, and eventually returns to me, deposits the body, and goes to its recharging station.

Eagles are almost extinct, but these are the next best thing. We’re also working on a pack of robotic wolves that can bring down a man. The military are interested in that one.

The lamb will not go to waste. I have a recipe for new-born lamb that is to die for.

NORVAL JOE

Roderick looked about to hit Billbert when Linoliumanda climbed on the bus. She sat behind the two.

With a gentle stab of her finger into his shoulder, she said, “Billbert. You’re still coming to my party tomorrow night, right?”

“Hey. No one invited me. Are you disrespecting me?” Roderick grabbed a handful of Billbert’s shirt.

“Come on, Roderick. You don’t really want to go. It’s just seventh-grader stuff,” Billbert begged.

“You could come if you want, Roderick. It’s just me and Billbert.” Linoliumanda shrugged.

“What?” Billbert gasped.

“Forget it. I don’t want to go to any seventh-grade party,” Roderick sneered.

JON

A Simple Inquisition

By

Jon DeCles

“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”

“Hmm, I’ll take a stab at that. Because Poe wrote on both of them!”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Well, you understand, Edgar Allan Poe wrote on the subject of a raven, and he also wrote the poem, on paper, which was on a writing desk. So he wrote on both a raven and a writing desk.”

“I am afraid that both of them being utilized by a poet in completely different categories of usage is not the same thing as a case of similarity. You fail! Now, the pit or the pendulum?”

PLANET Z

Fuckin’ beer guys, are they on strike?
Frankie got up and went to get beer, but he never came back.
He felt a stabbing pain in his chest while waiting in the line, and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.
The medics got him to the hospital.
They checked his pockets, but Bill always held on to the tickets.
And he never took his phone to game.
“Where the fuck is Frankie with our beer?” growled Joey. “God damn Frankie!”
The doctors called Frankie’s wife, she called us with the bad news.
We had to get our own beer.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Danny
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Justin
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Jeffrey
• Jon
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

CHARLIE

Never say you have the answer. You don’t know enough about the topic. You have no life experience, nor do you have skills to research the topic. You are a bloated gas bag, and you don’t have the sense to keep your mouth shut. Stop prothletising. Stop being a pedant and a poophead.

No one cares what you say, as you have already demonstrated many, many times that you are intellectually average, and you do not have the respect that you think you have.

Can you find a place in your heart to raise my grade to an A, please?

#2

Never say you will be happy to donate to the church. They will hound you for your lifetime. If you move, they will find the church nearest you, and dispatch cadres of missionaries, door-knockers, pamphleteers and personal visits by elders or the pastor hisself (sic).

I moved from California to avoid a congregation. They sent people to my workplace, the gym, the massage parlor, and my grocery store. They would catch me buying produce and engage me in ways that were terrifying.

One day, I was shocked to have the Deacon’s wife lay hands on my backside at the spa.

JUSTIN

Goonies never say die.

And I can never say accurately that I can visit the Goonies house next time I go to Astoria.

Last time I went there were signs, neighbors telling visitors where not to park, and at the house itself some info, and some tape to not cross, because people live their.

And a donation box, because, why not?

But now public access has been revoked due to people crossing the line, going on porch, peering in windows, not respecting the owners.

Hey you guys, you ruined it for everyone! Great job. No Big Willie’s treasure for you!

RICHARD

Never say…

There are some things you should never say to a woman, even if you’re only being helpful:

‘Your bum looks big in that’; ‘That really isn’t your colour’; ‘Your hair is a mess’ – it really is asking for trouble, maybe even a slap across the face.

However, if you hold your tongue and fail to mention she’s not looking her best, you’ll be in the doghouse for keeping silent.

Either way, you’re not going to win.

This is something I’ve learned the hard way.

Something else I’ve learned you should never say to a woman…

‘Will you marry me?’

LIZZIE

The countdown started. 10, 9, 8… She closed her eyes and tried to come up with ways to stop it. 7, 6, 5… The place was deserted. She didn’t know what to do. 4, 3, 2… It was all over. ONE. Perhaps not. It’s not over till the fat lady sings, they say. ZERO. And nothing happened. She opened her eyes and remained sitting. What an anti-climatic moment… The director of the play clapped. She… she just stared at the small candle on the floor. It flickered. Never say I just love this theater company, can I join you guys?

TOM

Saints do not move

You never say I love you. Yes, I do all the time. No you don’t, not the words. But I show you in every way possible isn’t that enough? Why can’t you just say the words? It’s because every person who has ever said it to me has lied when they said it. My mother yes, my father most certainly. All the fancies of my youth. That is them, it is not me. He turned and mouthed the words, in a breathless silence. So she to, to him in return. Never spoken were they again, yet daily in breathless silence

SERENDIPITY

Never say, “let’s go and check out the old haunted house” – it’s simply asking for trouble.

Never go to investigate the strange sound in the middle of the night.

Never leave the safety of the house to peer into the darkness, whilst calling “is somebody out there?”

And, when the lights go out, never back away, with the unknown behind you.

And please, don’t ever go down into the cellar.

Most of all, never, ever check a body to see if it really is dead…

Oh, alright then, maybe just this once.

Just come a little closer…

Closer…

Closer…

JEFFREY

Two Anniversaries
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say that one of the cardinal mistakes a husband can make is to buy a home appliance for his wife for a birthday or anniversary. Good advice, really, right behind not answering the question “Do these pants make my butt look big?”

On the other hand, what can a guy do some times? The washing machine that came with the house broke down in late June one year. We bought a new one on what turned out to be our wedding anniversary. When *that* machine failed, years later, once again it happened the day before our anniversary. “Ha ha,” I said, “Now we have *two* anniversaries to celebrate.” Ignoring the glare from my wife, I called the appliance store to order the machine’s replacement. “This one is a deluxe model. Never say I don’t get you nice presents.”

Fortunately, the house has a spare bedroom, as I’m too long for the couch.

JON

And You Shall Never Say…

By

Jon DeCles

Never say I did not love you. Never say that.

Never say I did not give you all that you asked, no matter how much or how too much it might be. Never even consider saying that.

Never say we did not grow close, as close as a vine climbing is to a wall, and never even imagine saying that you did not cling to me as such a vine does, sending in tendrils to suck my mortar to dust.

Never say my stones do not protect you, below, on all four sides, above, from light and dark and air.

NORVAL JOE

The next morning Roderick surveyed the students as he climbed the steps into the bus and made a beeline for the empty seat next to Billbert.

“If you’re smart, you’ll never say anything about what happened yesterday,” the bully said as he sat and jammed an elbow into Billbert’s ribs.

“I wouldn’t think of it.” Billbert tried to move away from the other boy.

Roderick squinted at him. “How come that bag worked for you but it didn’t for me?”

“I have my theories, and I’d share them with you, but I just promised to never speak about it again.”

PLANET Z

When I was little, I was told never to say fuck.
Or shit. Or damn.
So, I said those words a lot. Especially at dinnertime.
“What the fuck is this damn shit?” I’d say, holding up my plate.
“Go to your room!” my mother would shout.
I spent a lot of nights without dinner.
I learned to eat big breakfasts and lunches.
And eat as much of my dinner as I could stand before mouthing off.
When I grew up, I still used swear words.
But I also hired a cook, so I wouldn’t need to use them as much.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

• Danny
• Lizzie
• Charlie Lacrosse
• Richard
• Tura
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Jeffrey
• Jon
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

LIZZIE

Fired Future

She sat in the water, looking at the horizon. The future promised to be as bright as the brightness of that bright summer day.
She smiled.
Perhaps what happened would not mean anything.
A few seashells swayed with the tide.
Perhaps no one would notice.
The seashells bumped against her thigh. She watched them for a moment. Then she swatted them away, just as she had swatted him away, that greasy fucker who had got her fired.
Shame she swatted him too hard…
This was such a bright day and he would never ever see another bright summer day again.

CHARLIE

We were promised a majestic future. We got no such thing. Someone dropped me here, and left me with no guidance, no promise of majestic accomplishments, and no way out.

A remote radio prompt was sent every hour or so. The last one had me engage the drill and gyrate enough to jar a rock sample loose for inspection, photos and subsequent transmission.

The frustration grew by the day. I’d beep and screech so earth station personnel would be alerted.

As the last iteration of the Mars Rover, my time was almost up, after fifteen long years. I was dying.

RICHARD

#1 – Performance Review

I always got a bad feeling whenever I was called into the Managing Director’s office for one of his surprise performance review meetings, but this time it seemed I had nothing to worry about.

Almost the first words out of his mouth were, “I see a rosy future for you!”

“Yes indeed, you’re talented, very capable, and you pick things up very quickly. Not only that, you get on well with your colleagues.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little at his praise.

“Yes, you have a great future ahead of you. Unfortunately though, not with this company…”

“You’re fired!”

Hard Candy

After getting the sack from what I’d imagined would be my permanent career I went into a decline.

My father tried his hardest to snap me out of my depression: “Son, you can’t let life’s little trials get to you – there’s plenty of other jobs out there, you just have to go look for them.”

So I took his advice, securing a place at a sweet factory.

Proudly, I told my dad.

The horrified screech he let out brought my mother running… “What on earth did you say to him?”

“I only told him I was a fudge packer!”

Chocolate Bunnies

Funny how you can get bored with any job.

I’d only been fudge packing six months and frustration was already setting in. Everyone thinks working in a sweet factory is the perfect job, but you rapidly go off it when you’re surrounded by candy day, after day.

The prompt for me finally deciding to quit was the nightmare called Easter. I was transferred to chocolate bunnies and all was well until the sudden, majestic, explosion of the cocoa vat.

It’s not the first time I’ve ended up deep in the brown stuff.

But I vowed it would be my last!

TURA

Thanks a million for lending me your time machine. It’s been so long, I’d forgotten what it was like back at the start of the 21st century. I mean, you’ve heard about them burning up all their complex hydrocarbons just to get from one place to another, but you can’t really appreciate the scale of it until you’ve seen their big cities in the rush hour. And chemical space rockets! There’s a sort of majestic absurdity about the Shuttle. To think we’re descended from these apes!

Back in a few weeks, or centuries, depending how you look at it,

Lazarus.

JON

For Special Celebrations

By

Jon DeCles

Matilda fired the first rocket, and with a screech it did its gyrate dance across the night sky until it burst and made a majestic nebula of multi-colored pinwheels that brightened briefly the blackness of the sky. The report of popping shot sounds was prompt, coming back from where the fireworks exploded in a concatenacious sound array. Matilda felt some frustration that she had not been the packer on that particular display, but she knew that in the future she would be allowed to build the loads on the fireworks, and someday, perhaps, even invent new ones to shoot off.

SERENDIPITY

If you’re going to die, I’ve always thought you should plan for the future.

Let’s not have any half arsed, poor excuses for a death – if you’re going to go, then make it majestic, make it memorable, make it worthwhile.

After all, it’s not as if you’re going to have more than one shot at it.

And let’s not have any excuses about not knowing when your time will come… What you need is a consultant, somebody skilled in such matters. Someone who will handle not only the time, and the place, but the method as well.

Guess who!

JEFFREY

My Time and Your Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

The singer was ready. The players ran onto the field to cheers for the home team and boos for the visitors. Both sides lined up for the anthem. As the singer started her off-key rendition of the song, a half-dozen home team players turned their backs and made the Black Power salute. The fans booed lustily.

The general manager emerged, whispering two words to each protesting player: “You’re fired.” Security led the players off the field.

One didn’t go quietly. He engaged in colorful gyrations, shouting, “I got my First Amendment rights!” The GM said, “The team acknowledges your right to protest on your time. And we have the right not to hire people who disrespect the anthem, the flag, and the fans on my time. Now clean out your locker.”

TOM

Hi-diddle-dee-dee

Billy Clark was your average Midwestern corn-feed kid. 4th gen Lutheran Farm Family, really nice kid. When he got on the bus to LA everyone thought he was headed to the Lutheran seminary. Billy had other plans. Seems Bill was never that religious nor scholarly. What he lacked in brain power he apply made up in penis power. Billy was a carnal prodigy so when he got to LA Mr. Happy Productions got him a fake ID to add four years to his new identity and he got a great stage name: Majestic Packer. And so a legend was born.

NORVAL JOE

With a screech, Billbert’s mother jumped back. She rubbed her eyes before she fired off a barrage of questions, which ended with, “What on earth is going on?”

Billbert gyrated in frustration, trying to return to his seat, though the bag refused to let him.

“I’ve got this superpower, Mom. When I wear a grocery bag, I can fly,” he said as his hold on the table slipped and he headed for the ceiling.

She folded her arms and looked up at him hovering above her, and said, “I’d suggest, in the future, don’t wear that bag in the house.”

PLANET Z

“I’m glad I got fired!” shouted Betty, dancing on the bar again, gyrating her hips and waving her arms without any regard to the beat of the music blaring from the jukebox.
Her frustration with her job had been all she’d ever talked about.
Tomorrow, she’d be washing down aspirin and antacids with Gatorade to kill the hangover.
She’d pick up another job quickly, because she was that good.
Too good. In time, she’d go back to bitching about the new job.
And the next one. And the one after that.
Eventually, she gave up looking, and bought the bar.