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:

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

MUNSI

Happy Anniversary
By Christopher Munroe

An anniversary requires an appropriate gift.

For the eighth, according to tradition, that gift is Steel.

Google is useful.

So I figured, tonight, we’d slip into something a little more comfortable, all of us, every listener, every author and you, Laurence, then we’d cuddle up on the couch, together, again, all of us, pour ourselves some wine, and pop in a DVD.

Specifically, the DVD of the movie Steel, starring Shaquille O’Neal as the titular character. The film is a train-wreck, but tradition is tradition, after all…

Shush, don’t speak, no words are needed.

You’re welcome.

So: What’s for dinner?

JEFFREY

To Serve Man
by Jeffrey Fischer

Jack found himself stranded on an island with plenty of vegetation but no meat, save for a talking rabbit who had befriended Jack. Still, as much as he valued their friendship, as days passed, the rabbit looked increasingly tasty. One day, he asked the rabbit to join him for dinner. He prepared a variety of vegetables and added them to a stew pot. As the concoction started to come to a boil, he made a grab for the rabbit. “Some friend you are!” squeaked the rabbit as it ran away.

Before Jack could devise a plan to get the rabbit to return, an enormous bird swooped from the sky, plucked Jack from where he stood, and deposited him into the stew pot. The rabbit waved at the bird and collected his payment of a dozen carrots.

Supper Duty
by Jeffrey Fischer

When Sarah returned from her first semester living off campus, her mother said, “If you’re going to live here, you need to take a turn at dinner. Make us something you’d cook for your friends.”

Sarah dutifully bought supplies at the local supermarket and set to work. When the meal was ready, she called her parents to the dinner table. Each place had before it a bowl containing orange pasta, tomato sauce, and a variety of spices. Next to each bowl was a pill.

Her father looked at the setting and asked what he was supposed to be eating. “It’s my own recipe: mac and cheese, spaghetti sauce, and any three spices in the cabinet.”

“What’s the pill?”

“After the first few times I served this, I learned that it went best with an antacid.”

CHARLIE

My wife always asked the same question when she came home after work. “What’s for dinner?” We took turns: cooking, shopping, cleaning the toilets, washing dishes, making the beds, doing the laundry, scheduling the yard work, on top or on the bottom, and so on. The marriage was a partnership…no…more like a small business operation. The last time I cooked for her, I made it a very “special” dinner. My unique ingredients, including the garnish for her plate, cannot be disclosed here, as it would be cause for investigation. As you know there is no statute of limitations for murder.

#2

Mom was a nurse, and aware of what we should eat. When I asked “What’s for dinner?”, she would say: “Son, it’s a special meal tonight. We are having butylated hydroxytoluene, monosodium glutamate, citric acid, polydextrose, zinc oxide, yellow #5, high fructose corn syrup, xanthan gum, propylene glycol, polysorbate 60, caramel color, malic acid, some wood pulp, and some grapes. This was a long time ago. Today’s dinner would have dozens more “delicious” ingredients, would probably taste better because of the additives, and would be more filling because of the unique supplements, including rodent hair, fish bladders and coal tar.

#3

I could smell it when I pulled into the driveway. I asked “what’s for dinner?” I knew already…a tuna casserole. It was easy to throw together. It was like eating a gas leak. You could smell it, see it, and you knew that if you had too much of it, it would probably kill you. Had she foregone the spices, the dinner would have been much better and palatable. She overdid the spices and the crumbled blue cheese sprinkled over the pasta mixture. It turned out to be a big rectangle of gelatinous, yellowish paste, and it tasted like ass.

RICHARD

Life lessons

Experience has taught me that – depending on circumstances – there are some questions that it’s usually better not to ask.

Never, for example, ask a friend “Does this outfit make me look fat?”

When pulled over by a policeman, never ask them why they’re not using their time catching real criminals.

And never ask for a person’s full sexual history on a first date.

Most important of all, unless you have a particularly strong stomach, when traveling in Korea, China or Japan, never but never, ask what’s for dinner.

Because they might just tell you!

And refusal often offends.

TOM

Car died in The Double tree

I get an email at 1:40 informing me artwork has been accepted for a show setting up at 8:00 in San Jose. Four in bumper to bumper I pull into the hotel parking lot. Stering and electrical dies. Call Triple A, its the alturnator. Call Gail, who calls Amy, who calls me. Lost in hotel parking Amy calls. Bout this moment I’m the cell is most important tool I own. We pull into Fremont at 10:30. All I want is bathwater and food. Wonder what I’ll have for dinner. Comfort food

SERENDIPITY

There comes a point in a marriage, when all of the magic has gone, and all you’re left with is the depressing realisation that this is as good as it’s ever going to get.

You resign yourself to a future of futile fallings out and bitter disagreements about who’s going to put out the bins, those irritating habits your spouse insists are in your imagination, and conversational exchanges limited to the bare bones of necessary information…

What are you watching?

Why were you late home from work?

What’s for dinner?…

Arsenic dear, with a helping of hemlock on the side!

LIZZIE

The children looked at their plates, disappointed.
“Can’t we have something different for a change?”
“Be grateful, there’s food on the table,” replied the headmistress.
Some of the kids sulked, others refused to eat. When lunch ended, most of the food went back to the kitchen, untouched.
“What should I do with this?” asked the head cook.
“Give it to the dogs. There’s no room in the fridge. And when you go by the cemetery later today, don’t bring the hands. The kids don’t like seeing fingers floating in the soup. Oh, well, at least the dogs will be happy.”

NORVAL JOE

Mickey helped the unnamed girl across the street to the Chicken King restaurant.
“Mmmm. What’s for dinner?” she asked when they pushed through the front door.
“Chicken, of course,” Mickey said. “But you shouldn’t eat anything. You may have a concussion.”
“Oh right. I forgot,” she said with a sheepish smile.
“What’s going on?” Mandy asked, walking around the counter to them.
“This girl got hit on the head. She has amnesia. I need to take her to the hospital.”
“Let me see,” Mandy said, examining the girl’s scalp. “Mickey. This girl’s pulling your leg. This isn’t blood. I’s ketchup.”

TURA

What’s for dinner?
———
Squeak, we called him, because of his squeaky little voice. Our little brother, but little for his age too, never got strong enough to make himself useful. Not much in his head either. When Squeak was hungry, which was all the time, he squeak “What for dinner?” over and over. Boiled potatoes and salt, usually.

I don’t really know what became of him. I didn’t notice him for a few days, and when I asked, Da said he’d fallen from a tree. We never talked more, not even among us brothers. Times were hard, and what else could you do?

PLANET Z

Bud Abbott and Lou Costello took the “Who’s on First?” routine all around the world.
They milked it for all they could.
Once, they tried to do a tour of Africa, but their plane went down in the jungle.
Bud and Lou were captured by cannibals, who threatened to eat them.
The comedians thought quickly on their feet and came up with “Who’s for Dinner?”
“No, What’s for dinner,” growled Abbott. “Who’s on First Base.”
“What’s on Second Base?” cried Costello.
“I don’t know!” replued Abbott.
“Third base!” they both shouted.
While the cannibals laughed, they ran for their lives.

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:

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

MUNSI

Flight Risk
By Christopher Munroe

Your Honor, I assure you, I’m not a flight risk.

Unless called upon to land the plane, which would be risky indeed.

I’m not a pilot, after all, I’ve never flown a plane in my life, and not for nothing I’m terrible in a crisis.

That’s why, should something hypothetically happen to the Pilot, it would assuredly not be me taking over in the cockpit.

What?

Of course, Your Honor, I also won’t be in a plane in the first place, because I absolutely won’t leave the country the moment this hearing is over.

Because I’m not a flight risk.

JEFFREY

The Customer is Not Always Right
by Jeffrey Fischer

Phil placed the bar menu in front of the customer, who asked, “Tell me about the Scotch flight.”

“It’s three half-ounce pours of single-malt Scotch, starting with the 12-year-old Glenfiddich, a light, almost floral whisky; then a Highland Park, another 12-year-old, with strong oak notes; and, finally, the Laphroaig 10-year-old, a peaty island malt with a very distinctive ocean character. Would you like to order the flight?”

The customer thought for a moment. “Nah. Just give me a Bud Light.”

It was moments like this for which Phil appreciated his strong impulse control, or otherwise he would have slugged the customer.

Takeoff
by Jeffrey Fischer

I inwardly groaned when the big man sat next to me, in the middle seat. He wore a beater undershirt and I could see sweat accumulating on his hairy arms. On takeoff, he gripped the arm rests so tightly his fingers gouged holes in the vinyl. When the flight attendant came by, he asked for two vodkas and downed both quickly. This caused him to sweat even more, but I could see some of the tension disappear.

“It’s my first flight,” he told me, apologetically. “I know I look like a mess, but I’m scared shitless.” I asked him what he did for a living. “I’m in the repo business.” He saw my expression. “Yeah, I know. I take cars away from angry people but I’m afraid of sitting in a metal can at 30,000 feet.”

I told him, “Let me buy you another vodka.”

RICHARD

#1 – Pockets

As an effective means of flight from immediate danger, the hobbit’s efforts had been spectacularly unsuccessful. When he finally came round it was with a throbbing headache and bruised face, and the certain knowledge that he really was in trouble now.

He sensed the creature whose cave he shared was very close by, and his groans signalling his return to consciousness prompted his tormentor’s renewed interest.

“So, is it going to tell us what it has in its pockets… Or must we see for ourselves?”

In the darkness, Boggins felt the disturbing touch of leathery fingers scrabbling at his tunic.

#2 – Flight

The weather was foul – so bad, in fact, that most flights had been cancelled.
My travelling companion was not amused. Hardly a happy flyer at the best of times, she’d turned into a nervous wreck during the wait for our gate to open.

“Please don’t worry”, I reassured her, “Flying is one of the safest forms of travel there is.

“What do you know?” she replied, “I’d rather hear it from an expert!”

Once onboard, I beckoned to the flight attendant… “For my companion’s peace of mind, just how often do these planes crash?”

“Only once!” she said, winking.

CHARLIE

The magic of flight intrigued my family. We all had licenses. I had my license while I was in high school. I used to take my dates for a tour, and make a point to fly over my date’s house so she could take some photos of her house and yard. It made an impression, and I was popular with the girls. If I was going steady and the girl cheated on me or broke up with me, I’d make it a point to drop some nasty substances on her house or in the family pool during a night flight.

#2

My wife took flight as soon after discovering some things about me. She came home early and found me sprawled, asleep, on the bed, naked from the waist down, with the vibrator still clutched in my right hand, and her antique, Raggedy Anne doll in my left. I had used the vibrator to pleasure myself, and dozed off. She pretended she hadn’t seen anything, awakening me from the other room by calling out. I discovered that she had packed and was gone when I came home the following day, leaving a note that mentioned “perversion and unfaithfulness…employing a mechanical device”.

#3

Former President Bill Clinton was a frequent flyer on Jeffrey Epstein’s jet. Epstein is a registered sex offender. Clinton took at least 26 trips aboard the “Lolita Express”, a 727. Epstein allegedly had a team of traffickers who procured girls as young as 12 to service his friends on “Orgy Island,” an estate on his 72-acre island in the U.S. Virgin Islands. Flight logs show Clinton flying aboard Epstein’s plane to such destinations as Hong Kong, Japan, Singapore, China, Brunei, London, New York, the Azores, Russia and Africa. What does a creepy guy like Bill Clinton do on these trips?

SERENDIPITY

It’s the most basic animal instinct… Fight or flight – and, to make the wrong decision could literally mean life or death.

For most, that decision is taken entirely out of their hands: it’s a primal, reflex action that happens in a split second at that critical moment when life hangs in the balance.
At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.

Because instinct isn’t going to save you when you come face to face with me.

Fight, flight, whatever you choose, it’s not going to save you. I’m stronger, faster and my primal instinct is far superior to yours.

LIZZIE

Cramped in their seats, no one moved. No one could move. The flights had become sheer torture. The number of seats increased but no one complained because the prices were irresistible. When the row started at the back, no one gave it much thought. It was only understandable. When the frantic voice of the stewardess asked people to remain seated, no one reacted. When a clearly tense captain announced an emergency landing, most were relieved. When the emergency crews arrived, the biggest piece to be found was the size of a handbag. Dirt cheap, said the flight advertisement. So true.

TOM

UP

Bill and Jack had procured a number of weather balloons from advertisements in the back of Bat Man comics, issue 257 to 265. Getting the canisters of Hydrogen and Helium prove a bit more dicey. Some Midnight requisitioning was employed. They justified the theft under the banner of greater good. They strapped two lawn chairs back to back with a monster amount of duct tape. They got their cool Uncle Frank to haul their airship out to the high desert. The flight was supposed last two hours. The thing finally came down three day later. Their parent seriously ground them.

NORVAL JOE

Mickey wrinkled his nose at the girl’s blood covered hand and asked, “Were you in a fight?”
She frowned and said, “I think I’ve missed my flight.”
“Why. Were you going somewhere?”
“That’s something I shouldn’t share.”
Frustrated, Mickey asked, “Do you always speak in ryhme?”
She laughed. “Don’t you have the time?”
“Stop this. It makes me think you’re crazy,” Mickey gasped.
“Okay,” she said. “I think I should probably go to the hospital.”
“I work across the street. I’ll see if I can borrow my manager’s car.”
“I’ll try to walk, if it’s not to far.”
She winked.

TURA

Flight
———
“We’re flying out from JFK this Sunday,” I said to my friend Fred.

He froze. “Which flight?”

“Early, 05:45 I think.”

“Don’t be on that flight,” he whispered urgently.

Fred worked in avionics. “You mean,” I said slowly, “like that Egyptian flight that crashed into the Mediterranean?”

“Avionics is pwned,” he said. “China can press a ‘SMITE!’ button and a plane crashes. Russia too. We’re playing catch-up, too many here think it’s a bad thing.”

“This is a civilian flight to Europe. Since when was the Atlantic a war zone?”

“Test run on an easy target,” he said. “Catch-up, remember?”

PLANET Z

The fight or flight reflex is a powerful one in my family.
We’re all cowards. There’s nothing that doesn’t scare the bejesus out of us.
Loud noises. Flashing lights.
We’ll even flee at the drop of a hat.
Really. If you dropped a hat, I’d be running away.
Any time someone drops a hat, it’s a mad rush out of the room.
Even Grampa Wally, and he’s got a wooden leg.
We’re not sure which leg is wooden, because both look kind of nasty.
We make him wear a blanket in his lap so as not to scare the children.

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:

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

MUNSI

The Human Brain
By Christopher Munroe

This sentence came out of my brain.

So did this one.

That’s weird, right? I mean, it’s just a lump of meat, maybe three pounds or so, yet everything we are and everything we’ll ever be is contained there. Just bobbing around, inside our skulls, behind our faces, a little scrunched-up looking thing from which we build an identity, from which we pull words, sentences, language, stories, ideas…

I mean, not necessarily good ideas.

This one, for example, doesn’t make a lot of sense, but ideas.

We don’t appreciate our brains enough, I think.

They do so much for us…

JEFFREY

5:15
by Jeffrey Fischer

Four fifty-seven p.m.: time to leave the office. Planning the evening commute required split-second timing. Four minutes to the garage, another two to exit the garage, 12 minutes on the surface streets, though this depended a bit on catching the lights just right, and onto the expressway by 5:15. Traffic was building; in another few minutes the road would be impassable. Leaving those three minutes before the hour made all the difference.

Five-fifteen: into the traffic flow, his job was now out of his mind. He punched several buttons and the opening sounds of Quadrophenia filled the car.

Moving in Stereo
by Jeffrey Fischer

I looked down at my body on the operating table. I had read about out-of-body experiences, but I never expected one myself. I watched the respirator move up and down, breathing for me as my body remained unconscious.

I was jolted back to reality by a high-pitched squeal. The monitors flashed an alert and medical personnel scurried to find and resolve the problem, to no avail. Well, that was it for me, I supposed. I was dead. Nothing more to see in this grim room, so I tried to leave. Uh-oh. With growing dismay, it began to sink in that I might be stuck in here for a long time.

CHARLIE

I have psoriasis. Consequently the internal ear is dry and itchy. Fish oil, Vaseline, goose grease, schmaltz, and other moisturizers don’t work. I am digging into my earholes frequently with old Popsicle sticks, paperclips, and twigs. Last Saturday, I was doing some excavation work on my earholes and I inadvertently sneezed and farted concurrently. Consequently, the Popsicle stick was rammed into my ear and I heard a loud pop and my right side went limp. I yanked the stick out, and some orangey, pink jelly covered the end of the stick. It was something out of my brain, I’m sure.

#2

It’s fun to open up your document, release your inhibitions, and let the words flow. The stories that come out of my brain each week often surprise and shock me. If I didn’t know me better, I’d say I was nuts. I am a thin, confused, M to F transgender individual these days, but I am holding on to my netherrod, hoping to find a high bidder when I’m ready for my lower surgery. They tell me I will have a lot left over when they do the surgery, so I’m putting an ad on Craig’s list for a buyer.

#3

He was yelling and pointing in front of Safeway. No one was there. He was out of his mind, or his brain, I suppose. He mumbled something about acid, and I offered help, so I approached him, walking backwards towards him, and sticking two pencils up my nose as I did. When I reached him, I spun around quickly and started singing “I am the Walrus, Goo goo g’ joob Goo Goo Goo g’ joob.” His eyes popped out of his head and he ran screaming into the bushes behind the store. I did my good deed for the day.

RICHARD

Zzzzzzzzzz

Have you ever had one of those nights when you just can’t sleep?

You lie there, thoughts constantly buzzing around your head, whilst you become ever more frustrated with your complete inability to get some sleep.

The more you try to empty your mind, the worse it is. You constantly find yourself recapping the day’s events… They fill your mind – a neverending distraction from the one thing you crave more than anything else…

The blessed relief of sleep!

Then, finally reaching your wit’s end, you sit up, sheets in complete disarray and desperately cry…

“Get out of my brain!”

SERENDIPITY

After the explosion, it was touch and go whether I’d live, but – thanks to a genius surgeon, and the wonders of modern medicine – I survived.

Of course, having half a pound of assorted shrapnel and metal shards pulled out of my brain, even by a genius surgeon, was always going to have some unforeseen consequences.

Nothing significant, just occasional mild insanity.

Personally, I think it’s been the making of me, and looking on the bright side, when the worst happens you can rest assured that it’s not going to bother me at all…

Although…

It might bother you!
—

LIZZIE

The roads were littered with metal scraps. The food was scarce. No one dared say a word. The real problem was none of this; it was the compulsory pea-sized contraption. Then, they went back home and all the brains on Earth were placed in suspended mode, our bio energy being sucked away, long-distance. When they returned for a check-up, I was part of the test sample. I hid, and jabbed my eye to get them out of my brain. I lost an eye but they never saw me again. More have done it too. We’ll get Earth back, one day.

TOM

Oh No!

Murray had a habit of saying the most unappropriated thing at the precisely the most optimum moment. “It just came out of his brain, “his sister Ann would say “It was like the tin-foil was just strengthening the signals from Planet Murray. No one wanted to sit next to Murray at a family funeral. Visits to sick relatives often ending with 911 calls. During his wedding to Laura there was brisk wagering on how long it would take him to fuck it up. To everyone’s surprise and loss Murray just stayed in his brain with the help of his heart

NORVAL JOE

The auditorium was too dark to determine the nature of the body between the rows of seats. Male, female, young, old, dead or alive.
Mickey climbed down from the seats and knelt by the unmoving body.
“Oooh, oooh? Are you okay?” he asked, pulling lightly on a strand of hair.
She groaned and shook her head, pulled herself to her knees, and onto one of the seats.
“I’m Mickey. Who are you and what happened?”
“I’m, um, shoot. I know it, but it slipped out of my brain.” She rubbed her head and pulled her hand away, covered with blood.

TURA

Out Of My Brain
———
After a long rehabilitation, I visited the scientific team to see the tumour the surgeon had cut out of my brain.

I’d volunteered for the experiment. The neuroma had to come out anyway, so I’d donated the tissue to the project. It had been grown to fill a tank dominating the room, surrounded by tubes and machines.

“Penrose was right about quantum neural computation,” said the project leader. “This thing thinks faster than anything before. We’ve just completed the speech and hearing interfaces.”

“You can talk to it? What does it say?”

“MO-O-O-O-RRE BRAIINNZZZ!!” replied the brain in the vat.

PLANET Z

Apple, Microsoft, Google, and Amazon formed a partnership for the ultimate online product.
mybrain dot com was a computer-human interface. It would allow instant learning, store memory backups, and so much more.
And they gave it away for free.
Government regulators went completely ape-shit over it.
Until the four companies declared war on anyone that opposed their efforts.
Millions of bureaucrats, protesters, and religious officials discovered their email and data had vanished.
The hypocrites among the opposition who used free mybrain units all died in their sleep.
Massive cerebral hemorrhages.
Everyone else instantly learned not to oppose the new masters.

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:

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

If you come up with a story on this topic after this post went up, feel free to send it in and I can add it to the site.

MUNSI

The Rave in the Cave
By Christopher Munroe

It’s an amazing name for an event, but in execution, two problems become apparent.

Firstly: Raving in an actual cave reminds people too much of the Matrix Sequels.

Second: I’m in my thirties, what the fuck am I even doing at a rave?

Nonetheless, the acoustics in the cave were amazing, and I figured with enough club drugs I’d enjoy myself regardless of the inappropriateness of my weekend plans.

Men in their thirties still party like nineteen-year-olds, after all!

We just pay for it in the morning.

And that, in a nutshell, is why I’m not coming into work today…

JEFFREY

Fallout Shelter
by Jeffrey Fischer

He told his wife that the apocalypse was near and that they needed to be prepared. She nodded and grunted what he took to be an assent – he had timed the request for a “Real Housewives” marathon so she wouldn’t pay much attention to him – and he ordered the supplies.

For the next few weeks, trucks arrived in the driveway, unloaded, and drove off. His wife paid little heed to the process until she saw the Budweiser truck pulling away. She ventured into the basement. Case after case of beer was piled high in one corner. He had furnished the cellar with a dozen reclining chairs, all facing a 72″ TV.

“This doesn’t look like a shelter,” she complained. “It looks more like a man cave that sucked up our retirement savings!”

“You ride out nuclear winter your way, and I’ll ride it out mine.”

Vintage Expedition
by Jeffrey Fischer

The spelunkers widened the gap and wedged themselves into the cave. They were excited to be the first humans to explore here. Cautiously, with miners’ lamps illuminating the way, they moved ever deeper into the mountain.

At last, the narrow passageway ended in an enormous cavern – that was filled with cases of beer and wine. One of the men finally found his voice. “My God, we’ve died and ended up in Heaven.”

“Actually,” said a prissy voice from some distance away,” you’re in the wine cellar of Maison Blanche, which is directly above us. And you’re trespassing. Unless you have a dinner reservation?”

RICHARD

Cave

Boggins could tell the owner of the voice was not amused. The creature laughed – a gurgling, oily, guttural sound that set the hobbit’s already tense nerves into a state of agitated panic.

A slimy, scratchy, slithering filled the cave and Boggins realised with horror that his unseen companion was drawing closer.

He had to get out of that cave!

In abject terror, he leaped for the cave entrance, however in his haste he completely misjudged his flight and crashed heavily – face first – into the unyielding stone of the cave’s mouth.

Gibbering quietly, he slipped gently into unconsciousness.

SERENDIPITY

They sealed up the entrance to the cave after the accident, declaring it too dangerous for recreational pursuits.

Four dead and no bodies recovered.

Four dead – that’s what they thought, but it was three dead and one survivor.

You have no idea what being sealed up in a cave for six months with only the decaying bodies of your friends for company does to you.

But I know exactly what it does to you.

And now that I’ve tunnelled my way back out, those who abandoned me are going to find out exactly what it does to you too!

LIZZIE

The growling coming from the cave was nothing compared to the fear they shared of ghosts. Emily, however, had a deep rooted curiosity about entities of a parallel dimension. The problem was that these entities enjoyed playing tricks on their mortal counterparts. One was imitating voices and that growling was exceptionally realistic indeed. When they stepped inside the cave to take a picture of the ghost, the flash showed them, for a fraction of a second, the chilling white teeth of a huge black bear. “Oh, so ghosts don’t exist after all,” said Emily disappointed with the insignificant furry problem.

NORVAL JOE

Mickey had a choice. He could search through each of the books or he could chase after Polecat. The latter seemed more productive.
The exit she had taken opened into short passage. At one side was another exit onto the street, on the other a door stood ajar to a small theater. Monkey Boy peeked into the assembly room. As dark as a cave he could see nothing, though his monkey senses picked up the sound of someone breathing.
Mickey slipped off his shoes and climbed along the backs of the seats. He leapt on a form laying between rows.

TOM

PreNeolithic Dwelling

Me happy. Me dry. Life good in cave. Fuckn cave good. Forest sucks. Damn animals. Mate likes cave. She decorating. Want mural. So I paint Fuckn animals. Ever paint in the dark. It’s a bitch. She hate mural. Fuck her. Me go hunt. Bear finds cave. Need new mate. Maybe new cave. Good idea. Bigger cave. Maybe sub leases. Neanderthals good. Bit slow. Good with children. Smell funny. Wait, I smell funny. Fuck we all smell funny. Cave coming along. New mate wants new mural. Same old story. Hunt and paint. Story of me life. Maybe paint bears. This time.

TURA

Cave
———
“Siri, where is the One Ring?”

“It is at the foot of the Cave of the Ancients, in the Lost Valley of the Kings, beyond the Mountains of Doom, across the Misty Seas. Giant scorpions scuttle through the Cave. The Valley is filled with Inextinguishable Fire. The Mountains walk and crush all intruders, and the Misty Seas cannot be navigated.”

“eBay, where is the One Ring?”

“It is being auctioned by sauron8645. The current price is 561 kilograms of Philosopher’s Stone.”

“Facebook, where is the One Ring?”

“That account has been locked for making public posts of images of basilisks.”

PLANET Z

I challenged my students to determine the true identity of Batman.
One student used Google Earth and traffic cameras to reveal that the Batmobile went back to a cave near Wayne Manor.
Another student matched DNA from a Joker-Batman fight to Bruce Wayne.
A third student found Wayne Enterprises patents on a bunch of Batman’s gear.
Finally, a fourth student traced the Batcomputer’s route through Wayne Manor’s Comcast router.
Truly brilliant. Best student’s I’ve had since I was released from Arkham and offered a teaching positions.
I also advise the school newspaper.
“Riddle me this, Bruce…” the headline will shout.

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:

• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Munsi
• Planet Xray
• Serendipity
• Lizzie
• Charlie
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

Magic Trick
by Jeffrey Fischer

Think of a number between 1 and 100. Got it? No, don’t tell me, just keep it to yourself. Okay, now double it. Double it again. Subtract 10. Take the cube root. Yes, I’ll wait while you look up what a cube root is. Multiply by Pi. All right, multiply by three instead. Now round to the nearest integer. Integer – that’s a whole number, no decimal points. Sheesh, what do they teach you kids these days?

Your number is four. Are you calling me a liar, you little so-and-so? You should be ashamed of yourself.

The Elephant in the Room
by Jeffrey Fischer

Agent 006.5 was trapped. Wires extended from a device on his head to equipment on the wall. His nemesis, Doctor Chuckles, twiddled several knobs.

“Are you planning to kill me? If so, just get it over with.”

“Kill you? Nev… well, not just yet. No. This device will amplify your emotions and feed them back on you. Remain calm if you want to live.

The spy knew he was in a hopeless situation. He thought of a number, the number seven – specifically double-0 seven – and how that slick bastard slept with every woman 006.5 ever dated. He hated that smug, martini-sipping fop with a passion. The anger rippled out from the spy and destroyed the room, killing himself and a very surprised Doctor Chuckles.

RICHARD

#1 – Riddle

The voice again urged Boggins to reveal what was in his pockets – but there was no way he was going to mention the gold ring.

“I’ll tell you, if you can answer my riddle”, he replied.

“Oh… We likes riddles, so we do”, came the disturbing response.

“Ummm, something about three, and two legs… No, that’s wrong… What goes down when it’s up a chimney… No, forget that…”

Desperately, he blurted out the first promising thing he could think of:”Think of a number. Any number!”

“Seven!” Came the triumphant reply.

“Wrong!” Shouted Boggins. Immediately regretting his stupidity!

#2 – Sid

Sid is one of those annoying, know it all friends. As a kid, always the first with his hand up in class, the highest scores in tests and an annoying habit of explaining how magic tricks worked.

The sort who can’t spend an evening in the pub without demonstrating a beer mat or matchsticks trick.

Most irritating.

So when Sid, asked me to think of a number, I was determined to get the upper hand.

He did all the usual calculations, then proudly revealed my number.

It was wrong.

He looked annoyed, “So, what was it?”

“Pi”, I replied, smugly!

MUNSI

A Brain-Teaser
By Christopher Munroe

Think of a number. Any number you like.

Got it?

Good.

Now: Take your number, add three, multiply by five, then subtract four. Take the digits of the new number, add them together, then divide the total by two.

Don’t tell me what the answer is, that’s the trick after all.

Ready?

The answer is a different number!

Or possibly the same number!

Oh, yeah, I forgot to say, I am NOT good at math. Or brain-teasers. What I AM good at is wasting time that you’ll never get back, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!

Mwaa-hahahaha!!!!

PLANET XRAY

Catching Up

Think of a number, any number between one and five,

Got it? I’m sorry, you picked the wrong number.

Try again, Think of a number between one and five.

Oops, you picked the wrong number again.

One more time, Think of a number between one and five.

I must say you are consistent; you picked the wrong number a total of three times in a row.

Good thing I didn’t say, pick two, you’d come with something like.

My dumb hammer hacked at the wolf while he was drunk from the fermented cherries, pacing a line in a round cage.

SERENDIPITY

I can think of a number of reasons that I never have any luck finding that ‘someone special’.

For a start, I’m rather socially awkward, so speed dating, or even regular dating aren’t options, so I’ve turned to the Internet to find love.

I read somewhere that an honest and interesting profile is key, and I’ve worked hard on mine…

Thirty something, Intelligent, fun loving, good sense of humour, seeking lonely, soulmate. Affinity for razor sharp objects, and a strong stomach are essential qualities. Prefer a loner with no immediate family. Must like kittens.’

Still not having any luck though

LIZZIE

“He slept for a thousand years,” read Mrs. Thomson. “And when he woke up,” she continued, hoping to keep the class quiet. “He…”
That’s when Peter stood up.
“Why did he sleep that long?”
The kids looked at him.
“I don’t understand.”
The quiet class quickly turned into a mob of loud kids.
“Children, the story isn’t over yet,” protested Mrs. Thomson. It was hopeless.
Twenty years went by and Mrs. Thomson received a letter.
“I think I understand why he slept for a thousand years. I wish I could do the same.
Signed,
Peter, in for a life sentence.”

CHARLIE

Tony La Mesmer was a professional hypnotist. Last night he had two men in their underpants, in a deep trance, acting like puppies; barking, jumping on his lap, and sniffing his behind.

Tony had a following of acolytes and hangers-on under his control. This cadre of talent-less worshipers were not wise to La Mesmer’s tricks. He would have them think of a number, then write a love poem based on the number. About three-quarters of them went insane in the first month, as the challenge was too much for them, taxing their intellect, creativity, skill and willingness to “follow orders”.

#2
I thought of a number of between one and ten. Seven is the number chosen by most people. Seven is the number of perfection and completeness. God rested on the seventh day.

If you were born on the seventh day of the month, you have a tendency to be self-centered and stubborn. On the other hand, if you investigate the various signs of the zodiac, you will come to learn that the seventh sign (Libra) indicates that birth under this sign suggests you are the artistic type and if you are male, you are probably a homo, a woman…a whore.

TOM

Q is the Loneliest Number

When I think of a number I think of Q. It’s sort of like ‘E’, but different. It’s an irrational number which is useful when you need to find the area of a circle in a square or its Perimeter or the volume of sphere in a cube. Let me give you the first 13 decimals places, so you can plug them into your spreadsheet. I’ll also include the formulas for using Q. You won’t find Q in any math text, nor the result of a quoted Google search. The number self generates out of PHI during an inverted transformation.

————-

Q is equivalent to .7853981633974
Area equals length of the side by the length of the side times Q
Volume is equivalent to twice the cube of the side times Q divide by 3

Perimeter is equivalent to four times the length of the side time Q

That’s accuracy to the width of an electron orbit

NORVAL JOE

Mickey slid Cherry Cola onto the floor and checked her pulse. It was strong and her breathing, regular. She probably wasn’t in any real danger.
Though it was early in the day, the library seemed all but empty. He crept silently past shelves of books.
A shuffling sound echoed from the Sociology section. Turning down an aisle, Polecat pushed a book back into place and ran for the exit.
A book on this shelf could explain Polecat’s presence in the library. But which one?
Pick a number between 327.035 – International Relations and 345.667 – Criminal Law, and start reading.

TURA

Think of a number
———
Throughout my mathematical career, my goal of proving Riemann’s hypothesis seemed always just beyond my grasp.

One night, an angel appeared to me in a dream, and said, “Think of a number bigger than God.”

A billion, a googleplex: kindergarten stuff. Even the enormity of Graham’s number is a simple thing to a mathematician. In a frenzy of thought I constructed new ways of defining ever more gigantic numbers. Finally, I answered the angel. “Four,” I said, “for God is but three in one.” “All is granted to you,” said the angel.

And when I awoke, I had my proof.

PLANET Z

Ever since I started using a cell phone instead of a landline, I’ve had the same number. I just transfer the number between new phones and new carriers.
At work, I don’t have a phone number. Tell me what you need through an email, a chat, or a text.
Not in person, though. Then I have to write that shit down.
Heck, it’s the same way with my personal number, really. Unless it’s to call the bank or credit card company, everybody else has an app for that now.
Well, except my mom. No wonder why she’s pissed at me.

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:

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

MUNSI

On Apologies
By Christopher Munroe

It’s been said that it’s easier to say, “I’m Sorry,” than it is to ask permission. And this is true.

Ask permission anyway.

Don’t be a dick, make sure what you’re planning is okay with all involved parties before going through with it, it’s just basic consideration of other people and their needs. Be a human being, make sure you’re not hurting anyone BEFORE doing whatever the fuck you want.

And while you’re at it; Just in general stop basing life decisions on what’s easier. That’s no way to live, you lazy path of least resistance-taking piece of human garbage!

JEFFREY

The Non-Apology
By Jeffrey Fischer

One of the many unpleasant modern inventions is the non-apology. They’re all the rage. First, someone says something offensive, such as “Students at Emory University are delicate snowflakes, unable to cope with a presidential candidate’s name written in chalk.” Said students object to being called delicate snowflakes, and the Snowflake Preservation Society objects to the comparison with sensitive college students. After controversy erupts, the speaker says, “If I have offended anyone with my remarks, I’m sorry.” The first clause essentially negates the rest. The speaker never acknowledges he was wrong, and vaguely implies that the statement was nothing worth taking offense over. The media then rush to cover the next faux-outrage.

The Silent Treatment
By Jeffrey Fischer

Of the many forms of spousal argument, the silent treatment is perhaps the second-most unfair, falling just short of crying. The offending spouse often wonders just what he did wrong. He knows something is bothering her, but he can’t ask – or, rather, if he does, he gets no reply, beyond a hurt-sounding, “You know what you did.” He tries to make amends, first with a non-apology of “I’m sorry for whatever I did wrong,” and then, when that fails, a wild guess at the offense, followed by a heartfelt, “I’m sorry, I know I was wrong for -“, filling in the guess. If he’s a good guesser, this might end the silence.

On the other hand, if he doesn’t like to hear her talk, he just guesses incorrectly, over and over. Sometimes silence is golden.

TOM

Go’n Dark Tonight
“I’m sorry,” I said as I pulled the knot tighter. The look in his eyes was priceless. “You’re trying to place the face, Accounting, The Gym, The waiter at Mario’s, One of Martha’s sycophantic students. I’m sure you will recall the meeting you’re such a clever guy. But the Who isn’t as important as the why. Why is the man behind blue eyes doing this? Good, a flash of recognition to my feeble Townshend reference. Shows heighten male bonding. It’s so sad we never had an opportunity like this before today.” I retighten the counter-weight and turned out the light.

RICHARD

Artificial Intelligence

I’ve always been disappointed computers never turned out to be quite as exciting as they might have.

Imagine the fun of IT that functioned like that of sixties’ sci-fi magazines or the iconic computers in the movies?

My favourite was HAL9000, and I can’t help thinking computer manufacturers missed a trick… What if, rather than a bland ‘Resource not found’ message, we had a calm, unnerving voice instead:

“I’m sorry Dave, I can’t do that”

Of course, there’s always the worry we’d be dealing with a megalomaniac, psychotic intelligence with a hidden agenda.

But isn’t that what computers are anyway?

SERENDIPITY

I have a large and comprehensive vocabulary.

It comes with the territory – you can’t have the sort of interests like mine without picking up a surprising degree of specialist knowledge along the way.

The tools and techniques of forensic pathology and surgery; the terminology of butchery; a smattering of legal words and phrases – essential for navigating the dark and unsavoury places my hobbies necessarily lead me.

Even so, there are some words that have never featured in my vocabulary, and frankly, they never will.

You see, the one thing I can never see myself saying is…

‘I’m sorry’

TURA

Sorry
———
Please remain at your desks.
A fire has been detected on floor 17.
There is no cause for alarm.
The situation is under control.
We apologise for the inconvenience.

Halon flushing triggered on floors 14 to 20.
Doors and windows have been sealed to contain the situation.
There is no cause for alarm.
Remain where you are, until the all clear.

Fire services will arrive shortly.
The situation is under control.
Do not attempt to combat the fire yourself.
Remain at your desks.
We apologise for the inconvenience.

Remain where you are! Remain where you are! Remain where you are!

(Audio credits: bell by battlestar10, fire by JaBa, from soundbible.com.)

LIZZIE

A whisper, barely a murmur, caught his attention that night.
He squinted, adjusting to the darkness of the alley. A few steps and he heard it again.
“Who’s there?”
No one replied.
The murmur became a lament, loud and mournful.
He followed the sound as he stepped into the shadows.
Suddenly, he saw the shiny blade coming from the right and instinctively turned around.
That grin, he recognized her.
“I’m sorry,” he yelled in despair, trying to save himself. “I’m sorry.”
But it was too late.
“I’m not,” she replied, grinning as she did back then while he raped her.

NORVAL JOE

Cherry Cola stood and stumbled toward Monkey Boy. “What’s the matter? Aren’t you happy to see me?” She slurred her words and looked as if she fought to keep her eyes open.
“I’m sorry,” Mickey said. “I expected to find someone else in here.”
She collapsed into his arms.
Mickey dragged her to a chair and collapsed into it with her on his lap. She batted her eyes sleepily and mumbled, “I’m sorry I walked out on you. I didn’t want to, but…”
Cherry’s head tipped back revealing a red welt on her neck where someone had injected a sedative.

suggested prompt….good answer

PLANET Z

When I heard that Prince died, I knew that my social media timelines would be full of quotes from his songs, clips from his concerts, and headlines from parasitic gossip rags all over the world.

I shut down my computer, turned on Netflix, and watched Tim Burton’s Batman.

It was campy and cheesy. Jack Nicholson was a stiff smirking mannequin with the acting range of a failed North Koean ballistic missile blowing up on the pad.

But the music was great.

No, not Prince’s music. Danny Elfman’s backing tracks.

Prince? Couldn’t stand him.

Now play me some Morris Day, bitch.

Music by bensound.com

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:

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

MUNSI

On Slow Nights
By Christopher Munroe

Sometimes a man needs to get drunk on rum and Cherry Coke whilst watching B-movies.

Whether Hammer Horror, New Line Cinema or something dumb by Nicolas Cage, I suspect you’ve had this impulse too, it’s a fun evening, though not one you can partake in every night.

Moderation, and whatnot.

I live-tweet the experience, myself, though I suspect nobody’s as amused by it as me. Hmm, now that I think about it, I ought to do that again sometime soon.

Something where 90s style computers are hacked, perhaps. Or the one where Liam Neeson fights wolves. I’ll figure something out…

JEFFREY

Gym Rat
by Jeffrey Fischer

One of the things that keeps me out of gyms is the presence of the annoying jock. You know the type: he’s not there to keep in shape, he’s there to show that he’s better than you. A solid week of rain kept me from my usual outdoor routine, so, reluctantly, I went to the office gym.

Sure enough, one guy was in there at the dumbbells, preening at the two women in the room as he curled one arm and then the other, each time grunting audibly. The women ignored him, but he kept trying.

That hacked me off. I was going to hate myself later, but I wanted to finish in peace. “What big muscles you have,” I said, with a leer that he couldn’t miss. He couldn’t leave quickly enough.

The Three Rs
by Jeffrey Fischer

Once upon a time, the school used a tracking system: smart kids in one set of classes, dumb kids in another. Somehow that was supposed to be bad for the self-esteem of the dumb kids, so the school ended tracking and the kids were thrown to the wolves. Parents complained, so the school instituted an Advanced Placement program so smart kids could opt in, and order was restored to the educational universe. Then the school overlords noticed racial disparities in participation. Administrators conjectured that the problem was that households where English was not spoken did not learn about the AP program – the program conducted entirely in English.

The moral of this story is: think twice before calling a child dumb, but don’t hesitate to apply the label to a school administrator.

RICHARD

#1 – Oops!

How could I have been so dumb? Hacked by a ransomware scammer, because I’d stupidly opened what I thought was an unpaid invoice.

Worse, I’d opened it in work: now the whole network was locked up with the clock ticking – If I didn’t come up with the demand in Bitcoins, we’d lose the lot…

Petabytes of sensitive data, wiped out thanks to my stupidity.

Fortunately, because of my work, I have contacts – a couple of phone calls, followed by a long tense wait, and then: Success!

And that’s how a lowly accounts clerk nearly brought down the CIA!

#2 – Dumb

How could I have been so dumb? Getting blind drunk on cherry kirsch is never a good idea… And the ‘good ideas’ I have when I’m in that state rarely turn out to be quite that impressive in the cold light of day.

Like the ransomware thing – I thought I was being clever. Disguised as a laundry bill, I thought it would be hilarious to send it to the CIA, never once thinking anyone there would be stupid enough to fall for it!

It’s not fun any more… I’m just waiting now for that fateful knock on the door…

#3 – One of the good guys

How could I have been so dumb?

My big chance to get even with my former employer: I blew it.

When the guy came on the line, panic stricken because he’d locked up the network, thanks to some second rate amateur hacker, I should have left him to face the music.

Better still, I could have got in on the action: Creamed off my own share of the ransom, and retired to some sunny beach somewhere… What a missed opportunity!

I stepped out of the Faraday cage, back to the real world… Guess I’m just one of the good guys.

#4 – Consequences

How could I have been so dumb?

The accounts guy was trouble – just too cocky for his own good – an accident waiting to happen. I should never have hired him.

Does he really think we don’t know about his little misadventure nearly closing us down?

People like that need to be taught a lesson – and trust me, the hammer is going to fall. The guys who’ll be conducting his disciplinary are not known for their charity, and by the time they’ve finished with him he’ll wish he’d never been born.

Time to feed him to the wolves!

SERENDIPITY

Cherry red – it’s my favourite colour.

But you do need an eye for detail – nick a vein by mistake and you get that gloopy, sticky, blue-tinged mess. It’s a horrible shade that ruins the scene.

I’m an artist, you see, and colour is everything.

But, executed properly, you’ll get a wonderful spray of bright arterial blood: Fresh and glorious. That’s what I crave.

It’s only painstaking, precision work that produces a masterpiece.

It’s rarely appreciated though. I read the headlines: ‘The victim was hacked to death’.

Hacked! How dare they? – I’m an artist!

Everyone’s a critic!
—

LIZZIE

When staring at a line of people, it’s often difficult to spot who the dumb ones are.
Sometimes, they just look dumb. Other times, they hide it under a layer of apparent effectiveness. Phones are now especially useful for that; people look like they have extremely busy lives, doing extremely important things.
When the newest computer game came out, hacker John X watched the line of people standing at the entrance of the store, waiting impatiently for the doors to open, and he was sure of one thing. They were all dumb, no exceptions. Their eagerness would be their downfall.

TOM

Which End of the Line Do You Stand?
Dumb ideas abound. When someone in the shop has one and it goes seriously wrong his dick is in the ringer. But let management do the same and they are seen as risk taker, bold, and given infinity corporate opportunities to fuck over. Seems there is no glass basement that you can break through. Take the smartest guy in the room Carly Fiorina damn near killed HP. And Frank Lorenzo, who was named one of Time’s 10 worst bosses of the century. Hacks in suits the lot of them. They’d uses a god damn hammer on a Philips head screw.

NORVAL JOE

When his shift ended, Mickey shot a bee line for the library. He knew he was dumb to think he might still find Polecat.
Dating back to the 1890’s, the building was dark like a cave with side passages which he was sure lead to dens inhabited by orcs, dragons and werewolves.
Manic clicking led Mickey to a corner where a girl hacked at a computer keyboard. She swayed as if drunk.
Her long, red-brown hair was familiar, then the hammer dropped. “Cherry Cola. What are you doing?”
“Monkey Boy,” she said. “Nice to see you out of your cage.”

TURA

Dumb wolves
———
They’re coming.

People thought that genetically modifying dogs for intelligence would just make them into better companions, better guide dogs, better at everything we have dogs for. It just made them better at everything, period.

Better at running away. Better at foraging in the wild. In wolf country, better at joining wolf packs. The bigger breeds can mate with wolves.

Natural selection is doing the rest. Intelligence is such an advantage that the number of smart dog-wolves is doubling with every generation.

They say their howls sound like language.

When will they get here? I lie awake every night, listening.

PLANET Z

They say that Bob Grundy is as dumb as a bag of hammers, but I don’t know how you measure the intelligence of a bag of hammers.

I tried to test them with the maze we use to test mice, but the bag doesn’t really fit into the maze. It was built for mice, not bags of hammers.

And I don’t think cheese has much appeal to bags of hammers.

Although I did notice that when I offered the bag of hammers a cigarette, it didn’t accept the cigarette.

Smarter than me, I suppose, as I hack and cough painfully.

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:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Tura
• Lizzie
• Zackmann
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

Munsi

On Slacktivism
By Christopher Munroe

A public service announcement: Nobody’s mind has ever been changed about any issue based on a political meme they saw on Facebook.

Everyone, on some level, understands this, yet we keep posting and reposting the damn things as though they helped illustrate any sort of point.

Actual news articles are okay.

And people who I DO agree with politically? This is directed at you too.

You think you’re making a difference, with your cartoons and re-captioned screen-grabs. You think you’re contributing to the debate.

I understand that, it’s just that you’re not.

You’re not contributing to anything.

You’re just Mass-debating.

Jeffrey

Math is Hard
by Jeffrey Fischer

Demographic change is a harsh mistress. She can be a bitch. Liberals will tell you the West has nothing to fear from a Muslim minority. Just a few generations will change the nature of the debate. In a native population that isn’t growing and an immigrant population that doubles in size every generation, a 20% minority today becomes half the population in two generations and two-thirds in only three. I’ll venture a guess that at that point gay and transgender rights won’t be at the top of the agenda.

Liberals insist that a two-degree temperature change a century from now is our greatest threat, but are blind to closer catastrophes. This what happens when one dozes through math class.

The Debate
by Jeffrey Fischer

Hillary Clinton squared off against Donald Trump in their only televised debate. The moderator implored the candidates to stay on topic and avoid personal attacks. First question: what are your strengths?

Hillary: “First, I want to thank the American people for tuning in tonight. Seeing a debate with a woman candidate is so important. Second, as a woman Secretary of State, I was a role model to women everywhere. Did I mention my gender? In conclusion, women: vote with your uterus!”

Trump responded, “Strengths? Oh, I have strengths. More strength than you can imagine. And I’ll use those strengths to make America great again! I have plans to use my strengths, and I’ll lay out those plans shortly. I tell you, it’ll be YUGE!”

Hillary interjected, “See, I’m a woman! Female! Vote me!”

The network cancelled the rest of the debate, showing a “Judge Judy” rerun instead.

Richard

Not alone

Boggins was roused from a fitful sleep by the uncomfortable and chilling realisation that he was no longer alone.

He sensed a presence in the darkness of the cave with him and called out nervously:

“Is there somebody else in here?”

A sibilant whisper came from the murky depths in response.

“I think the question is rather, why is you here? And, what has it got in its pockets?”

Now terrified, the hobbit babbled, “Let’s not get into a debate about it… How about I just slope off and leave you in peace?”

“I think not!”, came the chilling reply.

Serendipity

People will always debate the ethics of the death penalty.

Is it morally right to take a life to appease the taking of another?

Personally, I have no views either way – I simply do my job. Others can debate whether it’s right or wrong.

Thankfully, it’s a pretty one-sided argument as far as I’m concerned, because once they strap you into that chair and attach the electrodes, you know that it’s an argument I’m going to win.

The switch is thrown.

I course around your body, burning and sparking through your mortal flesh.

You die.

No debate.

Tom

Sound Reasoning
August Wagner was state debating champ four years running. I spend endless hour helping him build his card file. I was no debater, to this day I couldn’t win an argument to save my life, but August had the ability to slowly set the seeds of doubt in the most ironclad defense. The most frequent reply from his opponents was: we never saw it come. After college we drifted apart. I googled him last year. Seems he became a member of a select group of lawyers who brought case before the Supreme Court. There’s no debating the man had game.

Tura

Debate
———
As my candidate’s champion, I armed myself for the debate. Vambrace, rerebrace, pauldron. Pixane, cervelliere. Iron-framed goggles. Finally, my debating sabre.

The judges decide victory not by first blood, nor a scoring of hits, but by the duellists’ strength of character. Each must stand his ground, heedless of injury. To once lift a foot from the floor may lose the match. Even a too-quick parry is frowned on, and victory never goes to a “klugfechter”, one who evades every strike.

Of course the performance has nothing to do with who would be the best President, but what debate ever did?

Lizzie

The two sides presented their arguments in a very civilized manner. There were no interruptions. The audience clapped in unison after each speaker. The moderator smiled content with how everything was going. During the break, a man sitting at the back stood up and started yelling something about kiss and everyone thought he meant the band. He was rapidly removed by security much to the perplexity of those sitting on the right side of the isle. Those on the left side snickered. At the end, viewers voted. The numbers were clear. The vampires won and it was a bloody mess.

Norval Joe

“Mickey. What are you looking at?” Mandy called from the register.
Stepping back from the front window Mickey struggled with an internal debate. Should he make up a reason to run after Polecat and see what she’s doing in the library, or stay at work and hope she’s still there after his four hour shift?
He’d probably lose his job if he ran out now.
“What was so interesting out the window?” Mandy asked when he finally came back.
Another internal debate.
“Oh. Just a girl I know,” he said.
“A pretty girl?” Mandy teased.
“Pretty Smelly,” Monkey Boy said.

Zackmann

Sorry honey, I can’t do any chores right now because I will be watching a live debate. Not a Presidential debate, a Nutty Debate involving things that are cool mixed with nerd rage. I’m hoping the debate topic is ‘What’s Best Superhero Musical’ I am rooting for Filker Tom Smith’s The Last Hero On Earth, Team Starkid’s Holy Musical B@man, and Pete Townsend’s Iron Giant which I believe inspired the Iron Giant cartoon movie. I suppose I should check Nimlas dot org to see what tonight’s debate is and which steaming website it’s on before I get too excited.

Planet Z

After television networks tired of the name-calling and lies in political campaigns, they tasked IBM with creating virtual candidates based on the speeches and policies of historical figures.

These profiles were enhanced with mountains of data that honestly reflected their actual job performance, which eliminates the usual pandering and empty promises of most candidates.

The public loved them. In fact, they protested against the real candidates, and demanded the virtual ones.

Enough states voted to amend the Constitution to eventually eliminate human lawmakers, political executives, and judiciary.

Other countries joined the movement, as President Watson expanded the digital empire’s reach.

Background music by Bensound.

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:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tom
• Zackmann
• Serendipity
• Planet Xray
• Lizzie
• Norval Joe
• Tura
• Planet Z

Munsi

Bookmobile
By Christopher Munroe

My town’s library system is bringing back the bookmobile!

I mean, they’re calling it “The Book Truck” now, rather than Bookmobile, which is NOT a good name, but that’s fine. It’s not FOR me, it’s for children in neighborhoods lacking easy library access, and I totally get that they don’t have to run the name by me for approval.

And anyway: Bookmobile! For the first time since 1991! Fun times, and a very useful service to the communities it will serve.

Mayor Nenshi is, once again, crushing it.

No punchline this week, gang, I’m just excited that it’s back.

Bookmobile!

Jeffrey

The Street Library
by Jeffrey Fischer

I passed the bum every afternoon. He rattled a cup of change with one hand while keeping guard of a huge box with the other. One day, curiosity got the better of me. “I’ll give you five bucks if you tell me what’s so important in the box.”

The man replied, “It’s a lending library. Oh, you think we can’t read, just because we’re homeless? People donate books and I lend ’em out. Melville is popular, and I can’t keep Proust in stock.”

I gave the bum my five and walked on, impressed. Proust – who would have guessed?

The next bum said to me, “You met Tony? He told you about his library?” I nodded. “What a sucker! Tony is batshit crazy. Ain’t nothin’ in the box but his collection of soda cans.” I heard the bum’s mocking laughter for the next block.

Late Fee
by Jeffrey Fischer

I saw the library aide shelve the new Brad Thor novel. Excited that I wouldn’t have to wait months for the book, I grabbed the copy and tried to check it out. The librarian swiped my card and, with a stern look, said, “You have an overdue book on your account. Harriet the Spy, due June 16.” She paused. “1977.”

“Oh, come now, that was nearly forty years ago. You can’t hold me accountable for a book I checked out in seventh grade. Anyway, I’m sure I returned it.” The woman was resolute, so I went home empty-handed.

Back in my den, I selected a well-worn book from the top shelf and removed the old library card I kept as a bookmark. I began to read. “Harriet was trying to explain to Sport how to play Town….”

Richard

#1 – Community Spirit

We’ve got one of those tiny libraries at the end of our street – you know the sort of thing: It’s like a doll’s house on a pole containing a few well-thumbed trash novels and a note that reads: “To build our community spirit”.

That made me laugh – we haven’t been a community for years… But, I think it may be working.

Local drug dealers use it as a mailbox; school kids use it to stash illicit booze and smokes; and everyone likes to leave anonymous rude notes about their neighbours bad habits.

Community spirit? Yes!

Crappy books though!

#2 – Words

How many books do you reckon your local library has? A couple of hundred, a few thousand, half a million, or more?

And think of all the words between the covers of those books… Millions, upon millions of the things, pages teeming with stories, advice and a wealth of knowledge that is overwhelming in its abundance.

So many books, so many subjects, and oh so many words.

And yet, in a place so dedicated to the preservation and sharing of this wealth of words, has it ever struck you as ever so slightly odd, that you’re actively discouraged… from speaking?

Tom

More Than Words

In my youth despite having a galactic reading deficit I loved books and by proxy a love of libraries. In grammar school I volunteered to put Dewy decimal numbers on book spines. In high school I worked the circulation desk at our local community library. Throughout my college career I’ve worked at a number of university libraries. Everything from shelfing to Audio Visual. When I was on the Civil Grand Jury I wrote a number of reports dealing with unfair labor practices. One day I hope they name a library after me. Don’t think you can get Intermed in one.

Zackmann

Tried to get my kid to try LINK+, you know after I convinced him I wasn’t asking about how to use a Smash Brothers character. I said, “LINK+ is like OverDrive.”
He asked “OverDrive, the gear for a car?.”
“The website for borrowing ebooks.”
He responded “There’s a website for borrowing ebooks?”
I answered “Don’t you know anything? Who raised you? Nevermind that. You must have read about bittorrents on Boing Boing so imagine OverDrive as a legal bittorrent that works with your library card and Link+ like OverDrive for lending hard copies of things outside of local library system.”

Serendipity

There is a book – a very special book – that you won’t find listed in the library catalogue. Yet, it is there… Because that’s where I hid it.

You’d expect to find it under ‘Horror’, perhaps you might even think it should be labelled ‘fiction’, but I assure you every word is true.

You may stumble upon it amongst the autobiographies – you can’t miss it, it’s the only book bound in human skin.

And those pages, stuck tightly together?

Human blood.

It’s my life story.

And, if you like, I’ll write a whole new chapter…

All about you!

Planet Xray

The Great Library

Our cloning facility in Singapore has a wonderful library of DNA samples of people from around the world.

They’re cataloged several ways, as an example, by region.
If you clone someone from Germany, there’s a 75% chance they will be an engineer.

98% of our Kwik Mart stores are staffed and run by clones made from Pakistani DNA.

Our protein providers prefer clones with DNA from New York City, which we call the “Stockyards”.

There’s a blending of all the regions, which balances the tastes.

While America may be the great melting pot, New York City is our Stew Pot.

Lizzie

The books shook on the shelves. At first, they got slightly roughed up. Then, the earthquake became stronger and they all ended up on the floor. Somehow, the Classics got mixed with the Sci-Fi which generated a rather electrifying commotion. The Gothics insisted on moving to the Horror section because they had a few relatives there. And the Mystery hardbacks sulked when they were temporarily lodged with the Crime paperbacks. The only ones thrilled with the uproar were the Erotica books. They had grown tired of being ostracized for years in the stuffy corner at the back of the library.

Norval Joe

Mickey put chicken pieces into pots to marinate and headed to the front of the restaurant to see where Polecat was going. Mandy caught him by the shoulder as he passed her at the register.
“I didn’t mean to come down on you so hard,” she said, carressing his arm.
His heart stopped and his blood ran cold. Mandy could squeeze his arm till his fingers went numb and he wouldn’t stop her, but he needed to see what Polecat was doing.
“No worries,” he said, stumbling free to the front window. Across the street, Polecat slipped into the library.

Tura

Library
———
The signs are clear to a hunter’s eye. A worn, illegible spine. No classmark. Shabby. Conspicuously inconspicuous. Suddenly, I snatch the book from the shelf, flick open the front cover, and slam my “WITHDRAWN” stamp onto the flyleaf, wetted with ink made from burned books. It convulses in my hand for a moment, then lies still. The forbidden teachings remain, but the evil spirit striving to download them into an unwary reader’s mind is no more.

The library pays me well to exorcise their stacks. The Black Librarians pay even better for the volumes that my official employers believe destroyed.

Planet Z

Libraries do so much more these days.
Digital archives. All the world’s information ever.
Genetic repositories.
The flesh stacks. Great for a weekend body mod job.
Hit the fabricators for skin and clothes to fit.
Temporal projection systems.
You can look back through the harmonic impressions of atomic decay.
Every event in history ripples through the cosmos.
Justice researchers gathering evidence for trials, kids writing their term papers.
I like to watch the football.
Barbaric, sure, banned because of the brain damage.
But to watch Lynn Swann leap for a touchdown catch?
Magnificent.
Let’s go print some fluffy tails now.

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:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Planet Xray
• Tom
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tura
• Marv
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

On Drinks
By Christopher Munroe

Drinks with rhyming names are delicious!

The Singapore Sling. The Bahama Mama, they’re playful, summery drinks with playful summery names that are fun to say.

Which, naturally, makes them fun to order, which in turn causes people to order them more often. This isn’t coincidental.

Bartenders aren’t dummies, they know the power of a catchy turn of phrase and they’re highly motivated to keep you drinking. Up to a point…

Eventually, the names become syrup in your mouth and you start to trip over them. This is when they cut you off.

Overall, it’s very useful, as naming conventions go…

My Favorite Bartender
by Jeffrey Fischer

I looked around the bar as I took my usual seat. “I don’t like it,” I said to Frank, who was tending bar.

Frank shrugged. “Manager wanted tiki night. What can I do?” He motioned to a line of kitschy mugs that might have been ripped off from a Trader Vics. He slid a cocktail menu in my direction. “So whaddya want?”

“Singapore Sling. Light on the Singapore.” Frank nodded, then grabbed a shaker. He poured a generous portion of gin over ice, added a short portion of dry vermouth, shook, and poured the mixture into a martini glass. After adding a pair of olives, he passed me the drink.

I took a deep swallow. “Frank, you’re the best.”

Keeping It Clean
by Jeffrey Fischer

Some days, I think there’s a great deal to admire about Singapore. Oh, sure, the government is authoritarian and they’re not keen on freedom of speech. On the other hand…

I’ve never understood people spitting in the streets, as though the sidewalks were spittoons. I’ve also seen someone spit on the carpeted floor of the subway. Then there are the smokers who carelessly toss cigarette butts out the car window or on the sidewalk, as though purchasing a pack also conveyed the right to litter.

What does this have to do with Singapore? One word: caning.

Richard
Busking it

I’ve never been musical: instruments of any description are completely beyond me. I tried to learn piano, but kept getting my hands mixed up. Tried the guitar, but my chords couldn’t keep up with my strum, as for the drums… Well, it seems I have no natural rhythm, apart from the wrong one.

Didn’t stop me becoming a busker though, however I now use the natural instrument I’ve been blessed with – my voice.

It’s dreadful. I can just about sing a poor attempt at ‘My Way’, but people are more than happy to pay…

For me to shut up!

Planet X-Ray

iClone

When we were looking for a location to build our secret agent cloning facility, we picked Singapore because it was an island of only 278 square miles, in case any of the rejects got loose.
Also, with a population of 5 million, what better a place to blend in the new agents while they were in training.
Our biggest problem was getting the agents to drive on the correct side, or I should say the left side of the road. That was mainly due to the donor DNA coming from our stockyards in New York City, but that’s another story.

Tom
Singapore Girl
In the golden age of air adventure airlines used a number of cleaver slogans and earworm giggles to entice the middle class to take to the skies. From United’s fly the friendly skies to Braniff’s when you’ve got it flaunt it. Delta’s Delta is ready when you are, and We’re American Airlines doing what we do best. Airlines used iconic images to brand their companies. A koala bear who hates Quntas or a crowd of people creating a winking face for British Airways. My favorite was Singapore Girl a great way to fly, yes its sexist but sure sold tickets.

Lizzie
The Singapore Cleanup

“Where are we?” asked Penny.
The small boat slid through the narrow strips of water.
“I thought…”
“I know, love,” replied Miles.
Unexpectedly, a bend in the canal revealed a boathouse called Singapore. It was deserted.
“Ok. This is unacceptable,” Penny shouted. “Not only do we not travel to Singapore but we have to wait?! We are professionals!”
Suddenly, a sharp sting hit the side of her head. She was gone immediately.
The boat driver then turned his attention to Miles.
“The invitation did say Singapore, last stop.”
Miles tried to go for his gun, but it was too late.

Me: Serendipidy Haven
Story: Singapore

Next time you’re in Singapore, why not forgo cocktails at the Raffles Long Bar? Take a walk on the wild side instead.

Stroll down to the night market and marvel at the street food… It smells so good, but who knows what it is?

Wander past the flower merchants. Just off Pagoda Street is a dark alley.
Half way down, you’ll find a green wooden door. Take the stairs to the second floor.

That’s where I’ll be.

We’ll make mad, passionate love.

Then I’ll kill you and chop you into tiny pieces, to sell to all those street food hawkers!

Tura
The King of Singapore
———
In 1391, the bandit Parmeswara led an insurrection against the Emperor of Thailand, setting himself up as king in the territory now called Singapore. But his followers were never so zealous as he himself, and at last he stood alone. In dying, he cursed the land that had proven unworthy of him, foretelling that no king would ever again stand on its soil.

Since then, it has had vassal overlords, colonial governors, presidents, and prime ministers, but never a king. Even under British rule, the King of England never dared to set foot in his colony. When Japan annexed Singapore, the Emperor declared himself King of Singapore, and within a few years Japan was defeated and its Emperor’s power broken.

To this day, the word “king” is taboo in Singapore, and it is a treasonable offence to use it in reference to any member of the government.

Marv.
Singapore is Calling

We were sailing two days out of Singapore, just north of the Riau Islands, headed for Manila when we hit a squall.
The skies darkened and there was frequent lightning that caused an unnerving pinkish glow in the western sky.
Suddenly, a freakish wind slashed our sails to shreds leaving us to the mercy of the now raging seas.
All we could do to seek safety below deck.
Hammered by the thunder, we never saw the waterspout suck the boat up into it.
When we regained consciousness, we were back in Marina Bay again,
Singapore was calling us to her.

Norval Joe
“I know, Mandy. I’m sorry. I ran into some trouble on the way to work,” Monkey Boy, Mickey Platano said. “It won’t happen again.”
“It better not,” Mandy said. Her stern smile was out of place on her normally cheerful face. She was only eighteen, but was shift manager. Mickey grabbed a smock and followed her out to the cash register.
“Prep the chicken to grill,” she said looking at the bowls of marinating meat. “We need Rio, New Delhi, Peeking, and Singapore.”
Thirty-One flavors of chicken, each named after a city or country.
Polecat walked past the front window.

Planet Z

The phone rang.
The caller ID showed a long number, one of those International numbers.
I looked up the country code, and it said the call was from Singapore.
Who did I know in Singapore? Was someone traveling there, and needed help?
I let the call go to voicemail, and I played the recording.
Nothing but static.
Maybe they’ll call back?
I waited… and waited… and waited.
I tried to dial back the number, but the system told me that the number was no longer in service.
I put my phone down, and let it sit there for a while.