Category: Weekly Challenge

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

This is 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
• Tura Brezoianu
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Jerry
• Anima
• Tom
• Lizzie
• Vicki
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Prevention

By Christopher Munroe

And ounce of prevention, they say, is worth a pound of cure.

And if that’s true, what would a pound of prevention be worth? Or a tonne?

What if we could prevent everything? Surely this would be the ultimate cure, solving every problem, everywhere, forever?

To this end, I’ve devoted my life to the concept of entropy, the idea that all systems in time inevitably break down, and spent my effort doing whatever I could to speed up the process.

Because prevention is greater than cure.

And in that light, the heat death of the universe can’t come quickly enough…

JEFFREY

An Ounce of Prevention
by Jeffrey Fischer

I felt a cold coming on, so I decided that an ounce of Prevention was in order. No, that’s not a metaphor. I’m a wizard, and Prevention is my own recipe for warding off bad outcomes. It’s powerful stuff, though, and a little goes a long way.

I brewed up the liquid base, and needed only to dissolve the powdered Prevention into the solution. Unfortunately, as I was measuring, the phone rang, startling me. Instead of an ounce, I ended up with far more, maybe eight or ten ounces in all. The combination reacted instantly, bubbling over the edge of the beaker and spilling onto the table. “Uh-oh,” I thought, “this was going to be bad.”

Pausing only to grab a bag of essential wizard materials, I bolted out of the house, not bothering to close the door behind me. No need – the entire place is in stasis, the Prevention preventing anything from occurring until it wears off in a century or two.

One Night at Duke’s
by Jeffrey Fischer

One of London’s elegant bars is in Duke’s Hotel in St. James. Once frequented by Ian Fleming and known for its martinis, Duke’s takes a unique approach to mixing a drink: the barman rolls a cart to the table. Each bottle is icy cold, removing the need for ice. (Yes, very British.)

The thing about ice is that is provides much-needed dilution in drinks such as a martini. Four ounces of gin – undiluted, with no more than a spritz of vermouth around the rim of the glass – packs an unexpected wallop. My first one was delicious, so I ordered a second. About five minutes later, the booze hit me, and I was barely able to speak, much less pay the bill and stumble to the Tube.

RICHARD

Uncommon sense

It’s a beautiful evening – the sun is shining, there’s a gentle breeze and it’s just perfect for a stroll in the fresh air before supper, especially after a day cooped up indoors at the office.

You’d think I’d be out there, enjoying the evening, but I’m not: I’m sat behind my computer screen, checking emails, trawling through pictures of kittens and whiling away the hours clicking random links on Google, as the sunlight fades outside my window.

It’s a bit crazy… all the accumulated knowledge and wisdom of the world at my fingertips.

And not an ounce of common sense!

TURA

Ounce
———
I spent years learning tai chi, but I could never get this mumbo-jumbo about directing energy through the fingertips, sinking to rise, feeling the opponent’s centre, and I reckoned that this “chi” stuff was just headology. Mind you, the master wasn’t all fake, he could push me around like a feather, whatever I tried, and I could never figure out how he did it. He would just say, “No effort! With four ounces, deflect two hundred pounds!”

Eventually I figured it out, and I deflected him all right. With a four-ounce bar of soap in the end of a sock.

SERENDIPITY

An ounce of strychnine, a dash of belladonna and all topped off with a dusting of rat poison.

Not quite the usual recipe for cupcakes, but this isn’t really your usual cake shop.

It’s what you might call an upmarket store, a place for the privileged and precocious – that top ten percent of society that give nothing and take everything: The entitled few; the brats and the bitches.

An exclusive clientele, who think they deserve it all, and at my prices, the riff raff steer well clear.

Just as well: My cupcakes are far too rich for their kind.

ZACKMANN

Drew had collected enough beverage containers to fill the backyard. Despite his family’s urging him to just turn them in to the recycling center occasionally then put the money into a savings account. He wanted to follow his parents advice but he would never save enough money for a giant Cheese Sandwich if he deposited money in a credit union or bank with easy access to paypal and therefore eBay. Thinking it would be worth every ounce, Drew turned in all his recyclables then ordered a Cheese Sandwich Statue from Amazon. Also one of Pinky Pie since shipping was free.

JERRY

2015-06-13 Wave
—————–
In the house on Mulberry street we wait for the next wave. We locked all the doors and windows and boarded them up. We cleared the yard of the rose bushes that old Mrs. Howard loved and now we have a clear field of fire. Mrs. Howard was one of the first to go. Mary took her out. The back yard is safely surrounded by a high brick wall. The water is still working but most of our food is gone. Someone is going to have to forage soon. What can I say, we weren’t ready for the zombie apocalypse.
————————————-

ANIMA

The Hero

Once in a great while, there comes a hero. One who understands how to manipulate the crowd and situation for the best results.

Geoff was not that man. He was the guy who left the tavern with a black eye, owing a round, and almost having to marry the mayor’s daughter.

If he had given the Crone of the Crossroads the ounce she wanted, he might’ve been that hero. But Geoff was a bureaucrat and wanted to see her medical marijuana card, and proof that her glaucoma was professionally diagnosed. And now he was in a world of hurt.

TOM

Measure for Measure

If you had an ounce of courage you wouldn’t be here. If you had an ounce of decency you shouldn’t be here. So what do you have to say for yourself? Jack rotated the chair beneath his palm and straddled it. He flashed that 10,000 watt smile that irked the hell out of Leo. “No No No,” said Leo, “Not this time you little shit.” Jack let the smile fade, replaced it with an expression of near contrition. “I may not be courageous, I may not be decent, but I may have an ounce of cocaine in my pocket.

LIZZIE

An ounce of discretion is worth a pound of wit, they say but Tommy didn’t care. He cracked jokes continuously and annoyed the hell out of everyone. After a night of drinking, Tommy decided to walk back home. He wobbled through the streets until a car pulled over. The next morning, he woke up to a terrible hangover and a huge surprise. Someone had tattooed “STOP!” on his forehead. That was bad enough but when he finally noticed some of his vital organs were missing, it was too late. An ounce, just an ounce, would’ve saved his life… they say.

VICKI

You showed me how much you cared. Your right hand middle finger held high as you passed me on the highway. For your information, I would have gladly moved into the right lane, if you hadn’t been so close to my bumper. So close I could read your lips as you mouthed opinions of my driving skills. You should have been impressed. With your “encouragement”, I made sure to obey all road rules, especially the speed limit. As you drove past, glaring and gesturing, I smiled at you, held up my right hand and waved.

(music Born Barnstormers, freestockmusic.com)

NORVAL JOE

Bufford hiked around the countryside outside of Geneva with a divining rod his grandfather had famously used to find ground water. He had the gift, just like Pappy did. It wasn’t long until he found what he’d sought. He drilled a hole in the ground, shoved a rubber hose into it and attached a suction pump.
Bufford waited for the collection bottle to fill with dark matter bleeding off from experiments with the Large Hadron Collider. All he needed was an ounce.
An old resident found him and said Bufford was wasting his time.
Switzerland is on the metric system.

PLANET Z

They say that an ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.

But when you’re trying to prevent the wind from blowing something away, it helps to anchor it with as many pounds as you’re got.

Not only in weight, but in tension. Because it’s the tension in the ropes and chains that help anchor your something to a rock or a tree.

Which, i suppose, would be a pound-force in cure, not a pound, because tension is measured in pounds-force.

Or newtons.

Which is kind of ironic, since it’s my packet of fig newtons that keeps blowing away.

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

This is 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
• Cynthia
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Jerry
• Spate
• Tura Brezoianu
• Anima
• Lizzie
• Caledonia/a>
• Norval Joe
• Munsi
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

JEFFREY

There is No Try
by Jeffrey Fischer

Jedi Danskin and Master Yogi found themselves suspended by their ankles over a pot of boiling tar, their hands and feet bound.

“Master Yogi, we’ve go to try to get out of here!”

“Young Danskin, there is no ‘try,’ only ‘do.'”

“Stop it with that Jedi philosophical bullshit! If you can ‘do,’ get us free.”

In the afterlife, a boiled Danskin angrily confronted the equally boiled Yogi. “So much for your mystical crap. Now we’re both dead!”

Yogi replied, “The wrong goal set for yourself you did. ‘Boil me painfully,’ you should have said, then successful you would be.”

“You’re an asshole, Yogi.”

Shell Game
by Jeffrey Fischer

The kid was dealing three-card monte to one of his shills. I watched for a moment, mesmerized by the kid’s fluid motions with the cards. The shill “won” the game, pointing to a card that, turned over, revealed the Queen of Hearts. “Hey mister,” the kid called to me, “try your luck?”

I must have looked green. “Sure,” I said, and laid down a bill on the cardboard box. The kid showed me the red queen, two black Jacks, then moved the cards around in a silky gesture that I had to admire. “That one.” I pointed to the card on my left. Naturally, it was a jack. “Sorry, mister,” the kid said, sweeping both cards and money off the box.

“Not so fast.” I grabbed his wrist and forced him to drop the cards. Three jacks, just as I knew it would be. I pulled out my piece. “This time, the house loses.”

RICHARD

If at first…

During my formative years, the message was always constant – parents, teachers, all told me the same thing: “If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again”.

Of course, I tried – and failed – again and again, and again, and still they’d tell me, “keep trying, you’ll get there eventually”.

Then I became a Jedi.

Yoda’s approach was a little different: “Do, or do not”, he would say; “there is no ‘try'”.

So, being unable to ‘do’, I did not, and being a faithful follower, there was no try.

I still failed… but the Dark Side isn’t so bad.

TOM

But for a Moment

The Dead are Motionless

No matter how he tried the end outcome remained the same. Was it a matter of insufficient intelligence? A lack of raw physical prowess? Or just dumb luck? Was time and space conspiring to limit all possibilities to produce a single unacceptable conclusion? He had long ago lost track of the times he stood upon the plain. Knowledge had been fused into reflex. The sheer din of confusion had been reduced to a single path, like a stream finding its way in a meadow. The problem, that meadow always ended at the gates of hell.

I must try

Again

SERENDIPITY

“Try it, you might like it”, he suggested.

So I tried it, and he was absolutely right: in fact I liked it so much I wanted more.

I cleared my plate, then gorged on what was left in the pot. I asked if he had any more, and he pointed me to the refrigerator, where I feasted on cold cuts and leftovers.

They’ll tell you that human flesh tastes like pork, or chicken, but take it from me, it’s far tastier than either.

I wanted more.

I think he regretted introducing me to cannibalism, when I began eating his face.

ZACKMANN

So the trial judge said “I have found you guilty of not believing in the possibility of the fantastic. Therefore I sentenced you to be a cookie god; The god of Home Baked Cookies. Now go and smite The Many Headed Hydrox. ”
Now here I am and every time I cut off a head, The Hyrox grows two new and differently flavored cookie wafer heads in its place. The only one who might help me is the Oreo god but his loyalty is hard to determine since The Hydrox has been both rival and older lover to the Oreo god.

JERRY

I have been in search of that one saying that I can pass along to cheer people up. “Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud”. After the tornado last week I switched to “There is nothing impossible to those who will try”. That did not seem to work. Then there was “Don’t try to be something you’re not”. That lasted about a day. Now I am down to “Try, Try, Try, again”. Nope. Does anyone have some ice for this fat lip I got this morning? Next on the list is sayings about Laziness. I hope it works better.

SPATE

Trying

“T” is for tenacity,
you must never give up.

“R” is for resilience,
especially when the going gets tough.

“Y” is for.

Why? Why?

He paused skeptically at the bathroom mirror, looking for hints of the
future in the veins and crevices that marked his aged face.

Why even try? The outcome would be the same; no matter.

When the writer began writing the first word of the first sentence certainly
he knew that the last chapter would come.

Life inevitably brings death.

Still we try.

He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet door and reached for the amber pill
bottle.

(music: “Bumble” by Podington Bear aka Chad Crouch / used under Creative
Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 3.0 International License / curator:
freemusicarchive.org / intro snippet taken from 1972 Alka-Seltzer commercial
used per my understanding of Fair Use)

Nursery Rhyme

Annie was known for her cheerful disposition. She was always happy. Even on
Mondays she wore a smile. People called her Happy Annie.

But a little darkness looms in all of us; in some more than others.

Happy Annie’s secret darkness was found after she died laughing. They
discovered it behind the last door in the upstairs hall of her tri-colored
Queen Anne Victorian.

Annie collected babies. Dead ones.

One of the cops inadvertently filmed the whole room with his body camera.
Hackers stole the footage, posted it online and it went viral.

You can Google it: “Happy Annie’s Nursery”

TURA

Try
———
A trial balloon went up this morning. Usually, we know the verdict already, because only the judge, prosecutor, and accused go aloft. The accused is found guilty and thrown out, from a height commensurate with the gravity of the charge. If there’s defending counsel on board, an acquittal was likely negotiated, because an unsuccessful defender is also thrown out.

Most entertaining is when the court shows clemency and allows the accused to climb down the balloon’s tether, which is thickly greased. He never makes it, especially with sandbags tied to his ankles, but we all enjoy watching a good try.

ANIMA

I always tried.
You can ask my aunt Lydia. She would tell you. All my life, I tried her patience, and I tried her nerves. Which usually lead me to trying my luck…

Typical results were icy glares and the more than occasional smack with a wooden spoon. I knew I’d gone too far if cream of mushroom casserole was on the menu for dinner. I would go to bed hungry on those nights.

In the end though, after too many years of smoking Tareytons, the cancer riddled her throat and lungs. Lydia tried not to cry. So did I.

LIZZIE

The woman held on to the rope. “Try,” roared the man from the dingy boat. Giant waves crashed against the side of the sinking ship and she struggled hard. Her whole life seemed nothing but a drop of nothingness in the overwhelming circumstances she was in. She took a glimpse down and jumped but the boat went down with the wave and she missed it, plunging into the dark cold waters. As she sank, she felt strangely calm. She felt like she was flying and she didn’t fight it. I’ve tried all my life, she thought, now I’m finally free.

CALEDONIA

Trying for Morning

By Judith Cullen

© 2015

“No, I can get just 15 more minutes. That’ll make all the difference at about three o’clock when I want to curl up under my desk and nap.”

Linens rustle, and an inquiring feline “mreeoooorp?” intrudes.

“I can handle it. Really, if I just can get enough rest.

A tentative, yet insistent paw taps a nose.

“Just ten more minutes?”

Tap, tap.

“Five minutes?”

Tap, tap, tap.

“You can’t be that hungry! Fed you at nine last night. I can’t be more than four, six, eight, … mumble, mumble.”

Tap, tap.

SWAT!

“Oh HELL! Alright, I’ll try to get up!”

Just Try ~ Part One: “Parent to Child”

By Judith Cullen

© 2015

“Noooooooooo!”

A small, sweetly pudgy arm swipes the contents of the tray with an agitated clatter.

A patient silence follows, for just a moment.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I don’t like it!”

“How do you know you don’t like it if you don’t taste it?”

“I don’t wanna!”

“Why not? It’s good, look I’ll taste some.”

Mom scoops a spoonful of something that looks like it might have once been partly banana, and over-dramatically eats it.

“Mmmmmmmm! Yum!”

“Then you eat it.”

“It’s not in my bowl, it’s in yours. It’s Suzy’s food.”

“It looks blecky.”

“Would you just try it!”

Just Try ~ Part Two: “Child to Parent”

By Judith Cullen

© 2015

“I don’t like it.”

“Have you ever had it before?”

“Of course not, why would I eat something I don’t like?”

“How do you know you don’t like it if you haven’t tasted it?”

“I just know. My teeth aren’t what they used to be and that looks hard to chew.”

“It’s frozen custard. There’s nothing chunky in it.”

“Then you can eat it.”

“I have eaten it. I had two scoops.”

“Suzanne, I’m 84 years old and I don’t have to eat anything that I don’t want to.”

*sigh*

“You are right, Mom. You don’t have to try it.”

NORVAL JOE

The shoeless man with long hairy toes held out a plate of hors derves and walked through the mall shouting, “Try them, try them, you will see. Try them, try them all, they’re free.”
A teenage boy mocked the little man, saying, “That’s not green eggs and ham. There’s no ham and they’re not even green.”
The man shook his head. “I did not call them eggs or ham, I only said to try them, you little jerk.”
“That doesn’t rhyme,” the kid laughed.
Now, the police are looking for a little man with long hairy toes and a gun.

MUNSI

Trying New Things

By Christopher Munroe

I’ll try anything once.

Well, twice, the first time you might screw it up, there’s really no telling whether you enjoy something based on the first time you try it.

But yeah, I’ll try anything. Twice. It’s important to maintain that level of open-mindedness, it keeps you open to new experiences, new ideas you might not otherwise have come to.

It keeps you young.

“Do one thing each day,” as they say, “that terrifies you.”

And so I have.

And that, in summery, is why I’m standing in the middle of your living room, in the nude, juggling live cobras…

CYNTHIA

Her brother is such an arsehole. He never even tries to be amicable, and he does everything he can to make life difficult for her. I think the thing is that as he was the first born she came along and knocked him off his throne and he has hated her ever since. Over the years he has caused more trouble for her than a Mt. Fuji caused to Japan. Everything he says is either a lie, or a half truth. He puts obstacles in her way all the time. He can’t even be bothered to TRY to be nice!

PLANET Z

It’s been ten years since she died in your arms.
I can’t remember her face anymore.
No matter how much I try.
Can you?
Can you ever forget?
Even when I look at the photographs and the movies I made.
I close my eyes, and it’s gone.
Memories are like that.
The harder you try, the faster they go.
Chase it as fast as you can, it’ll just fly away faster.
I still remember that I should remember her.
One day, I won’t remember even that.
All will be lost.
And it will just be me. And you.
And… and…

Despite everything Fate threw at me this weekend, here it is and here you are.

Let’s make it happen, cap’n.

NOTE: The first 22 minutes are me rambling, ranting, and gushing. If that’s not your thing, skip ahead.

---

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

This is 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
• Jerry
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Anima
• Lizzie
• Tura Brezoianu
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Happy Anniversary

By Christopher Munroe

Ten years ago today a man had a dream that he would write a 100-word story a day, every day, forever.

They may have called him mad, but here he is a decade later, keeping up the pace he’s set for himself, providing us our daily story sustinence.

And we, his Sunday writers, have joined him, pledging ourselves to his quest, writing our prompts and sending them in, rain or shine, without end as the years go by.

Because he won’t be done until the day he dies.

And if we ever want to stop, we have to kill him…

JEFFREY

Beginnings and Endings
by Jeffrey Fischer

Beginnings of stories are often the hardest to write. For his Game of Thrones series, George R.R. Martin had to write but one beginning that served him for thousands of pages. Marcel Proust, same thing. A 100 word story? A new beginning every week. Clearly the tougher job.

We have the better of the other side of the process, though. Will Martin ever finish his epic? Robert Jordan never did, and had to have Brandon Sanderson finish the Wheel of Time saga. But a drabble… well, the odds are pretty good that the same author can begin and finish his masterpiece. Unless dinner intervenes, of course.

Language
by Jeffrey Fischer

Language is infinitely malleable. Said one way, a word can have one meaning. Said with a different inflection, the same word can have the opposite meaning. Metaphors can embed themselves so deeply in the culture that a phrase can have meaning only as metaphor – we know what handling with kid gloves means, but few connect the phrase to goats.

I work with lawyers, who are masters at making words mean what they want the words to mean. Bill Clinton infamously said, “It depends what the meaning of ‘is’ is.” My lawyers aim for Clintonian heights when part of their boilerplate language reads “The words ‘and’ and ‘or’ are to be taken in their disjunctive and conjunctive meanings.” Yes, I work with people who believe “and” means “or” and vice-versa. No wonder I’m often confused.

RICHARD

Urban Legend

Ever wondered where urban legends come from?

Those stories of knife-wielding maniacs hiding in the back seat; alligators in the sewers, and waking in the bath to find you’re missing a kidney… Stories you know can’t possibly be true, but they might just be?

They must come from somewhere, and I know just where that somewhere is!

Every one of those myths is based on a story idea that I’ve had, scribbled down on a post-it note, which has later mysteriously disappeared after my agent has called to see me.

It’s not exactly how I planned being published!

TOM

Rocky the Barking Squirrel

Rocky moved in last week. Fuckn brave squirrel considering the 12 cats who live at different points of the deck. We haven’t seen a squirrel about in over 20 years. It seems to be perpetually pissed off, barks at on you like: “what the fuck you look at monkey boy?” Must say he quite good at leaping from limb to limb in the smallest forest in North America. Since most of the cats are well over 18 years old Rocky might well make it. If Rocky start getting those pinecone at the 60 foot level I’ll be one happy camper.

The Pistachios are on the Front Seat

Of late I have been drifting away from my local church. But from time to time I will run into a person I’ve shared a pew with, in the store, at the movies, or the farmer’s market. It’s unusually awkward and full of gaps in the conversation. In an effort to find common ground I remember the person I’m talking to is fond of pistachios. “We going to Santa Rosa I’ll bring back some pistachios.” “Oh don’t do that, I’m short of cash.” I smile and tell them I’m not listening. They frown. Sometime doing good it like pulling teeth.

Lincoln Lincoln I’ve been thinkin

The war was going rather slow this week and Lincoln found he had some free time on his hands, so from under his desk he pulled the old Double XX and took a double pull. Sitting on his desk was a piece of Tennessee Hickory, a toy for Tad; Abe had been carving on for weeks. Ironically it was a bust of Booth.

“Should I whittle or sand?” pondered Abe.

The more he debated the drunker he got. In the end the angels of his better nature directed him to whittle.

A Souse divided against itself can not Sand

Epistemology

“Build a boat,” said the voice.

“You said you would never flood the earth,” said the man.

“I lied,” said God.

“You can’t lie,” yelled the man.

“Oh, like I can’t create a stone

so heavy I can’t lift it” whined God.

Suddenly a granite form the size

of the moon appeared over the man.

“Take it,” said God.

“What” cried the man.

“Hold out your hand.”

commanded God.

The man did and the stone

felt lighter than a feather.

“You couldn’t lift this?”

“Idiot, God does have hands.

Now go build that boat.”

The man walked away completely stoned.

JERRY

Sorry Laurence, but this entire week, for some reason, the well has gone dry and my mind is a blank. No ideas about what to say or how to say it. This week has been a real drag and the old wheels are just not turning. You gave us free will to write anything at all for your tenth anniversary pod cast and I, to my shame, can think of not one subject on which to write. I know I am a disappointment to you as I am to myself and so, no, wait I can write 100 words about….

SERENDIPITY

10 Year Anniversary

Can’t believe we stayed together so long, especially with all your complaining.

I could never do anything right, or come up to your exacting standards – no matter how hard I tried, you always found fault and put me down.

I stuck with it though, year after year, after year. Can you believe we’ve been together for ten years now?

It was hard at first, but I stuck with it and I found ways to cope. Although – to be fair – you’ve been much quieter these last few years… ever since I cut out your tongue and chained you in the basement.

—

The Weekly Challenge

I hate Facebook, and I loathe the people who can’t live without it.

That’s why I created the Weekly Challenge – call it an experiment in social engineering…

Every week, I post a challenge and those idiots stupid enough to rise to the task are rewarded with my Facebook friendship.

The challenges were simple at first – steal a bicycle; punch an old lady; poison a puppy… but soon I was inciting torture and murder… and people were doing it.

I’m still not sure what my crime actually was, but when they caught up with me, I was sent down…

For ten years.

—

Whatever the hell I want

He was the uncooperative type – the sort for whom normal punishment for a life misspent was pointless.

“So what should I do with you?” I asked, as he stood arrogantly before me

“Whatever the hell you want” came the reply.

I smiled. This was going to be fun.

“So be it… the hell that I have chosen is this:

I’m returning you to the mortal world, where you will write for my amusement. You will write a hundred-word story every day of your life: every day, until the day you die.

And you’ll write them, in your own blood!”

ZACKMANN

“You want to get out of that cell?” asked a small man in a suit.

“That’s my fairy godfather.” said the troll.

“”Yes, I am and I will get you all out of that cell by turning the bars into cheese singles.” he said.

Matt looked at the bars and said “I can’t believe this is real.”

“It’s definitely not real.” responded fairy godfather “It’s processed American.”

Matt replied “I’m not sure I should go through with this man. I’ve always had trouble with singles bars.”

“Oh, come on. As as fairy godfather troll, I’m to protect the rightfully accused.”

ANIMA

The Triathlete

Exhausted, I fall on the sofa and gulp down my recovery drink. 11 long and slow miles are now done, and I am tired but happy. One more weekly goal accomplished.

I am what I consider a triathlete. Mostly I try to run (slowly), I try to swim (slightly better than a rock), and I try to bike (downhill is better than uphill). I have little natural ability, other than refusing to accept defeat or pay attention to the nay-sayers who think I should act my age and mind the grandchildren.

But now I have 3 marathon finisher medals, so there! :P

LIZZIE

Cake?

When she dropped her cake, a murmur of excitement spread through the room. Miss Perfect had messed up. When she picked up the smashed pieces of cake and tried to put them back together on the plate, everyone chuckled; everyone except him, the stranger with the pierced nose. He walked up to her slowly, sat on the floor and got a few pieces that were still scattered about. “Cake?” he asked the crowd. “No? Your loss.” Since then, once a year, the two of them smash a cake to pieces and ask “Cake? No?” to reply in unison “Your loss!”

TURA

1. On Obedience

General Wei journeyed with his army to inspect the state of the people. At the town of Xiin he demanded passage. The governor of that town said, “See! The gates lie open to you, and none shall obstruct your path.”

General Wei then demanded supplies for his army. The governor replied, “We will provide whatever you need, at the army price decreed by the emperor.”

Then General Wei ordered the governor executed and the town burned, saying, “An excess of obedience is rebellion. Willing servitude weakens the state. Only when the people are compelled against their will is order maintained.”

———

2. Concerning Heavenly and Earthly Virtue

The Emperor decided to move the capital from Sheng-tzu to Sheng-nieh. Secretaries created plans to dismantle every building, from the imperial palaces down to the labourers’ huts, and transport them fifty miles east, where the terrain at Sheng-nieh would be excavated and built up to replicate the topography of Sheng-tzu.

General Wei said, “The conception of Heaven exceeds the capacity of Earth.” Then he executed the secretaries and destroyed the plans, substituting a ritual observance of withdrawing a single nail from each building and hammering it back in, and redrawing maps to show the capital at its new official location.

NORVAL JOE

When Dergle received the invitation to his ten year high school reunion, he threw it away. “No one I want to see there.”
“Aw, come on,” Bambi said. “It should be fun to see your old friends. I’ll go with you, if you want.”
Dergle spent the entire night watching Bambi laugh and joke with all of her friends and eventually explain that she graduated in 2008. It was Dergle who was a member of their graduating class.
When he smiled and said hello his classmates typically scratched their heads and asked if he’d been in their wood shop class.

PLANET Z

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

This is 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
• Jerry
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Anima
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

JEFFREY

Say Cheese
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Smile!” Click. “Say cheese!” Click. And two more for good measure. “That’s great, Tommy. Now run along and send in the next person waiting.” Alone for a moment, Scott let his artificial smile fade. When he decided to become a photographer, no one warned him about school pictures. Kids making crazy faces, kids wearing crazy outfits, and kids giving him grief the entire day, and it was off to the next school in the morning. Then the parents, once they saw their little darlings, would call and complain. Lady, he wanted to tell them, if you want better results, raise a better brand of monster next time.

The door opened. “You’re Flora?” Scott plastered the phony smile back on his face. “Smile for the camera, Flora. Say cheese.”

The Brie and Wine Circuit
by Jeffrey Fischer

Brad clutched his glass of wine like a talisman and nibbled a piece of brie. A large woman wearing a ghastly hat walked to him, patted his arm, and told him how much she liked his novel. He swallowed the cheese hastily and thanked her. Rather than moving on, the lady launched into a lengthy tale about her problems receiving books from Amazon. Where was his publisher’s rep to get him out of this?

Brad loved to write, but he was horrified at the publicity part of the job. If he didn’t need to eat, he wouldn’t be out here on the brie and wine circuit, sipping fortified grape juice and pretending to like his readers, who pretended to have actually bought his book. It was times like these that Brad envied Thomas Pynchon.

RICHARD

#1 – Say Cheese

Say ‘cheese’!

That’s the phrase which has resulted in so many ruined photographs of my childhood – there I am, gormless, pained look upon my scrunched up, toothy face – awful pictures, best consigned to the bin. Which is precisely where most of them ended up.

Only in later years, when I took up photography as a hobby, did I find out that ‘cheese’ is the worst possible word for decent facial expressions. Far better off saying ‘money’, ‘mummy’, or my favourite: the one I employ whenever subjected to yet another entreaty to say ‘cheese’ by another hapless photographer…

‘Murder’!

#2 – Cheese Sandwich

Every day for the last forty years, my wife has made me cheese sandwiches for lunch. She must have given me a couple of tons of cheese over the years, made from who knows how many gallons of milk, donated by hundreds of cows.

I’ve been through the lot… Cheddar, brie, gorgonzola, edam; accompanied by all manner of salads, sauces and condiments.

Forty years of cheese that must be some sort of record, surely?

And every day for the last forty years, I’ve thrown those damn sandwiches in the bin and gone to Subway instead.

Cheese… Can’t stand the stuff!

#3 – Fondon’t

Back in the seventies, I was invited to one of those parties that were all the rage.

Having not been to a fondue party before, I wanted to make a good impression, so

on the day in question, I turned up: Moustache trimmed, trendy sports coat – (the one with leather elbow patches) – bottle of liebfraumilch in hand, and slightly sweating lump of cheese, which I handed with a flourish to my hosts.

It was only once gathered around the table, when the guests started throwing their car keys into the fondue pot, I realised my rather big mistake!

JERRY

2015-05-20 Cheese
————————-
A little known fact is that Oklahoma is today the cheese capital of the world. The reason for this? In the 1940s a cheese blight, better known as the “blitzkrieg”, destroyed the capability of Europe to produce any cheese, except cottage cheese. This was and still is a closely guarded secret thus enabling the Europeans to keep their self-esteem. Needless to say we here in Okie-land keep the secret and export all our production to other countries, such as Switzerland, which has the only existent working cheese drill, and they, in turn, repackage our product for export as their own.
——————-

MUNSI

Nachos

By Christopher Munroe

Holy hell, I want nachos right now.

I mean, I always want nachos a little, nachos are basically amazing, they’re nature’s perfect food.

Carbs covered in cheese with hot sauce on top, you tell me something in this world that’s better than that, and I’ll call you a liar right to your face.

But I can’t have nachos, not yet, I’m in the middle of writing a story, I can not take a break until I’m done.

Big push to the end, Munsi, big push to the end. Get to one hundred words and finish.

THEN there will be nachos…

LIZZIE

The large group gathered at an Italian restaurant for wine and cheese.
She hated it. She hated the fake smiles, the fake white teeth, the fake everything.
For two excruciating hours, and out of desperation, she chopped cheese in small cubes with a huge knife while everyone pretended to be everyone else’s friend.
At the end of the get-together, the proverbial group photo was taken.
Several years later, she sat down at the same restaurant. She looked at the photo while holding that same huge knife, the one she would get rid of right after finishing the wine… by herself.

SERENDIPITY

I like cheese, in fact I like cheese a lot – and I hate to share mine.

However, much as I like cheese, I dislike mice running around my home just as much, and – as everybody knows – if you’re going to trap mice, you’ve got to use cheese.

I bait the trap, place it strategically where I know the mice will find it, then sit out of sight, waiting for the tell tale snap and squish that signals another rodent has met its maker.

Then I settle down to enjoy my little snack – cheesy, crunchy mouse… so delicious, whilst still warm!

ZACKMANN

Deciding to relax Jack grabs a frying pan, He finds some bread and some habanero cheddar. After turning burner on to warm the pan, Jack adds some olive oil then decides to listen to a writing podcast as he cooks.He hears one of the Dead Robots say something about sometimes a story is not always about saving the world but sometimes only about making a really good sandwich then Jack hears shuffling. Jack grabs a spatula and a pot holder, puts his sandwich on a plate, then hits the zombie over the head with the hot cast iron pan.

TOM

Grandma and Me

When my mother delivered a new baby I got to go to grandma’s to stay. It was there I learned the secret wisdom of the grill cheese sandwiches. While American cheese is formulated to melt between a hamburger bun and said meat, it was not the proper selection for the classic grill cheese. It’s got to me Cheddar, and not just any cheddar. There’s this farm outside of Rhinelander that has been making cheddar since the civil war. To truly create the prefect grilled sandwich it must rest in a bed of browning butter. If you’re counting calories, better walk away.

Aged for Ten Years

Each year in July we take a monster road trip. A 1000 miler to Canada. Much of it along the edge of the Pacific Ocean. Along that road sits the insanely green Tillamook Valley. The cheese factory, the Tillamook County Creamery Association, is part Rube Goldberg, part Dr. Seuss. Through glass walls you can watch a maze of conveyor belts reduce 20 pound blocks of cheese to store ready products. They have got a tasting room to die for. Dozens of Dishes full of every type of cheese. Fun stuff too, like cheese curd, a bit like cheese chewing gum.

Comfort Food

I love cheese. Gorgonzola to Edam. When I was a kid I ate the cheap stuff, but as an adult I can indulge in the pricier stuff. Someone said why eat to live when you can live to eat. Of late I’ve discovered this outstanding near Cheddar out of Ireland called Dubliner. It was introduced to the United States in 1999. But it took a bit to break into the California market. It’s sweet, but at the same time a sharp edge that doesn’t lose its flavor in the deepest hero sandwich. On a Ciabatta, with Brandywine, Guacamole, Chipotle. Yumm

ANIMA

Memorial Day Rant

I hate the company picnic. Why is it always hot dogs and burgers?

Here’s the typical burger: An unseasoned patty grilled to grey, on a bleached white flour bun. And cheesburgers? They’re topped with slices of single-serve white or orange plastic. I love me a cheeseburger, but WTF. This cheese “product” melts itself to the humble meat patty, but has no taste and adds nothing to the visual appeal.

I know the company is economizing, but really, once a year, can I get a decent meal?

This year, let’s skip the burgers, and nosh instead on Vermont Cheddar and grapes.

NORVAL JOE

The Dairy Board would have us believe that anything is better if we spread a little aged spoiled milk on it.
In a lot of cases that’s true. My wife likes to eat tart apples with a slice of cheddar. It’s great with a lot of meats, elevating it from an average meal to truly memorable.
I don’t know of a cheese that goes well with Captain Crunch, frosted flakes or Cocoa Puffs.
And how about Jury Duty? Slathering it with Brie or sprinkling on some grated Romano won’t make that any better. On second thought, it’s worth a try.

TURA

Cheese
——–
Thank you for your invitation to dinner. Please remember that I cannot eat cheese. If there’s only a little bit of cheese in something, it’s cheese. Any fermented milk product is, for this purpose, cheese. Panna cotta, sour cream, yoghurt: they all count as cheese. If a savoury dish has the word “gratin” in the name, yes, I know that doesn’t mean “cheese” by the dictionary, but ten to one cheese will be present. If you’re thinking about any other edge cases, they’re cheese as well.

Call it a fence around the law if you like, I call it cheese.
——–

PLANET Z

if a cheeseburger is a burger with cheese on it, is a hamburger a burger with ham on it?
At Fred’s Ham Shack, it most certainly is.
Every burger gets a slice of ham on it.
If you ask for cheese, it becomes a hamburger with cheese.
And if you ask not to have ham on your burger, Fred attacks you with a knife.
Why on earth would you come to Fred’s and not want ham on your burger?
It’s what he’s famous for, after all.
He spends so much time seasoning and smoking the ham.
And sharpening his knife.

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

This is 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
• Norval Joe
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Deanne Charlton
• Tom
• Jerry
• Zackmann
• Serendipity
• Anima
• Lizzie
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Words Don’t Exist

By Christopher Munroe

I have no words.

I mean, obviously I have words, I talk constantly. The sound of my voice is among the most soothing things that I’ve found in this world and it’s something I come back to time and time again to fill the gaping void that exists at the center of my life.

Seriously: I love, love, LOVE listening to myself.

What I mean is, in this specific circumstance, no words exist to properly express the magnitude of what’s going on.

It’s utterly beyond comprehension. I can’t even begin to describe it…

So, yeah. This circumstance.

Am I right?

NORVAL JOE

I don’t know what Sumodat is. It’s my momma’s word, but it seemed to change meaning.
First time she used it was when I hid brussel sprouts in my pocket.
She said, “You like dem sprouts? Good. I’ll give you sumodat.” And made me eat the whole bowl.
Next was when she hit me with a wooden spoon and I laughed at her.
“You like dat? Good. I’ll give you sumodat.” She laughed until the spoon broke.
Last, she was dying from cancer and in terrible pain, and they gave her morphine.
She said, “Good. You can give me sumodat.”

JEFFREY

Djinn-Tonic <-- okay, you had me with this one
by Jeffrey Fischer

As I cleaned my father’s attic after his death, I spied a leather-bound book. As my hand glided across its weathered surface, I was astonished to see a creature appear.

“Bless you, for you have freed me from my imprisonment within those dusty bindings. I will grant you a Djinn-Tonic.”

“A what?”

“Djinn-Tonic. It’s my own name. I’m a Djinn, of course, and my boon to you is a tonic, so…” He spread his hands. “Look, you get a wish. Think of something and it will be so. Just be careful…Eh, what am I saying? You humans always blow it.”

I determined to keep my mind a blank until I knew what I wanted. All I could think of was the saying “Don’t think of an elephant.” Yep. I am now the proud owner of an elephant.

Zymoxic
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Zymoxics. That’s 30 points for the word, triple word score, plus 50 for using all my tiles. One hundred forty points. I win.” I placed the tiles so the “C” was abutting the blank being used as an “S” in “shoe.”

“Come off it. ‘zymoxics’ is not a real word.”

“Sure it is. See, the ‘zy’ prefix is from the Greek, meaning ferment, while ‘mox’ is the same root as ‘moxie,’ meaning courage. So zymoxcis are fermented drinks, like beer, that make you braver than otherwise.”

My friend bowed. “You win.”

I have a terrible vocabulary, but I started liking Scrabble much better when we stopped scoring by the rules and instead awarded points for the most creative whoppers told in making up definitions.

RICHARD

A word that doesn’t exist

I intended writing a story about a word that doesn’t exist – a creation of my own making, for which I could concoct fantastical meanings.

Then I realised I couldn’t write a story about a word that doesn’t exist, because the mere act of writing it down would defeat my own argument… such a word, no matter how contrived or meaningless, would then, nevertheless, exist. A quantumly physical type of word if you will, whereby the mere act of observation suffices to change its inherent nature.

Instead, I’ll imagine it exists… And I’ll imagine I’m writing an imaginary story about it.

DEANNE CHARLTON

STORY (A word that doesn’t exist)

The impact got my attention and we never remembered what we’d been talking about. Thomas’s face erupted red when the airbag broke his glasses. With no fatalities, he would joke for months, when unable to think of a word, “Hey, I have a head injury!”

Not I. An editor, I was unseated when I looked up, asked him, “How do you spell ‘anthrasam’?” He seemed bewildered. “You know, the substitute for ‘and’,” I insisted, drawing one in the air above my left shoulder. “It’s with all A’s, isn’t it?”

He replied gently, “You mean ‘ampersand’.”

My world, too, had wrecked.

TOM

Baby Girl

I come from a large Catholic family, thus a pile of Christian names for my sibs like Dennis and Chris. None of us had a nickname, except my sister Pat. My father, who had a habit of marking stuff up, called her Moogee Mogg. “That is not a word,” we’d say. Out came my father’s fountain pen, on to the paper he’d write in silver ink. “See it is a word.” “What does it mean,” we’d complain. “It means your sister.” We all laugh and say that’s silly. Years later I come to understand the whole universe is Moogee Mogg.

Broadly Excepted

I believe POETIC LICENSE is too broadly implemented. If I was making up the rules Poetic License would be limited to creating words for orphaned expressions. Take the colors silver and purple. Currently there aren’t any words in English which rhyme with either. This oversight would be address under my new improved rule.

Let’s start with the basics pilver and surple, a type of beer and the way to drink it. On to the intermediates Wilver and Zurple the movement of a cat on catnip. And last drilver and Thurple, the head teamster and his brakeman.

Have a Milver Lurple day.

My Word

I have a word that does not exist, but it should. It is a lovely word both in purpose and form. It is lilting on the tongue and parses through the air like a silver thread. It is cautionary and in the correct situation lends itself to a teachable moment. Not wholly foreign in structure, built from time honored parts. It may be viewed as presumptuous as Antidisestablishmentarianism, but I prefer to see it as precisional. I have written to the folks at Webster’s to add it to their lexicon, sadly deaf ears. Perhaps they too are suffering from Hypercriticality.

JERRY

The mob surged down the dirt road and up the hill. Their expression and the fire in their eyes was not now of friendship and love. Men, women, and children had picked up sticks and stones on the way from the town to Visitor Hill. To save himself all Sam had to do was say one word. The problem was, in Sam’s world, that the word did not exist. How can you say something that does not exist.

Sam looked up to the blue sky and heaven with his three eye stalks and wished for the return of the ship.

KORY

“Why did you get arrested?” the troll asked Matt.

“Verbal abuse of the Creative Commons Attribution NonComerial ShareAlike 4.0 International Licence”

“I hate that one.” Said the copyright troll.

Matt pointed toward third person in the cell then said “I’m surprised you didn’t eat him just to stop the snoring.”

“You’ve no evidence that my people still eat your people. Also they haven’t coined a term of what he did but it involves shouting “Vive La France!” every time he saw someone drinking a Mexican beer on May Fifth. I couldn’t eat someone who supports my current country’s military?”

SERENDIPITY

The verdict rang out in the hushed courtroom: “Guilty, on all counts”.

Before sentencing, the judge turned to address me with contempt in his voice:

“In all my years on the Bench, I have seldom had the misfortune to preside over a case such as yours. Your crimes are abhorrent in the extreme and lack any shred of humanity.

To torture, debase and murder so many, in such a callous manner, is beyond comprehension; yet what is far worse is that you are proud of your deeds.

‘Remorse’ it seems, is a word that for you, simply does not exist!

ANIMA

I came across this entry in Fodor’s Guide to Party Animals: Mumbolians.

Hmm.

Typically nocturnal, but can sometimes be found in the late afternoon of a big tailgate weekend…

Migrations occur in New Orleans between Mardi Gras and Jazzfest, and can be spotted in Las Vegas anytime.

Breeding Grounds: South Padre Island in the month of March

Distinguishing Characteristics: Chameleonic. Often appearing aware of their surroundings, until consuming one more sip of cocktail, or the pills kick in. Then they slide off bar stools and spout incomprehensible gibberish.

Early onset Mumbolianism is often seen at High School Graduation after-parties.

Interesting…

LIZZIE

That word doesn’t exist, Randy thought, suspecting Patrick, his neighbor, to be either under the influence or raving mad.

Raving mad was a good option, considering that Patrick decided to fill his garden with truck tires recently. When asked why he was doing that, Patrick replied it was for the aliens to land safely in his back yard. Randy laughed.

“But where did you hear that word?”

Patrick, the neighbor, replied, “From the aliens.”

Randy would remember this many years later. The mystery word meant hello and it would be the first word Randy had to learn after the invasion.

TURA

A word that doesn’t exist
——–
I was idling on a park bench when I saw the little green man. It was standing next to me and anxiously tugging my sleeve.

“It is most important that you [….],” it said.

“Er…” I answered smartly.

“You must [….] at once! Or the [….] will [….]!”, it said, jumping up and down with urgency.

“Your universal translator seems to be on the blink,” I said.

“[….]!!” it screamed again, and vanished.

Then I looked up and saw the alien invasion beginning. So I [….]ed, and the spaceships crumbled into dust. Either that, or the drugs were wearing off.

PLANET Z

When two goons in cheap, ill-fitting suits say that the boss wants a word with you, he doesn’t want a word with you.
You have only two choices:
As they’re taking you to the car, run; or run right then and there.
I got in the car.
It’s a nice car. Too nice for anyone to want to shoot anybody in it.
Which is why they took me out in the country.
Out in the middle of a cornfield.
The way the wind blew through the stalks, it was so beautiful.
I barely heard the gunshot, or felt the bullet.

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

This is 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
• Kimi
• Zackmann
• Tura Brezoianu
• Lizzie
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Anima
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

On Trolling

By Christopher Munroe

I’m on the internet a lot, and yes, I do like to argue. Sometimes things get heated, sometimes I find myself saying things I don’t mean.

What can I say? I have strong opinions on things, and sometimes I get bored. I find a Libertarian or an Anti-Vaxxer and go to town, not even bothering to make points, really, just irritating them for its own sake.

Not the noblest of hobbies, but it relaxes me.

Still, I wouldn’t consider myself a troll.

I mean, I do live under a bridge.

And I do eat children.

But no.

Not a troll…

JEFFREY

Across the Bridge
by Jeffrey Fischer

Steven slowed on the approach to the bridge, feeling the car shift into a lower gear. This was it – the place his travel agent warned about. “Don’t slow down,” she said. “Maintain your speed and you’ll be fine.”

Taking a deep breath, Steven took her words to heart. He gunned the engine and raced past the booths. Alarms began to clang, but Steven kept going.

“Piece of cake,” he later told her. “I didn’t even see it.”

“See what?”

“The troll you warned me about.”

“Steven, I told you to mind the *toll*, not *troll*.”

Troll
by Jeffrey Fischer

“He’s a troll.”

“Dear, I think they prefer to be known as ‘little people.'”

“Isn’t that just dwarves who like the term?”

“Hmm. Or do they now prefer ‘short-statured’? It’s so hard to keep up.”

“In any event, we need to keep moving if we want to be at grandma’s house by nightfall.”

“Let me handle this.” Martha left the car. “Yoo-hoo, Mr. Little Person! Would you step aside so we can drive on?”

The troll merely held out a hairy paw and continued to block the road. “Stanley, just pay the man.”

“I don’t see why I should have to pay a troll just to get across a public bridge.”

“STAN-ley!”

“Fine, if it makes you happy.” Stanley pointed the EZ Pass at the troll, who then smiled at the couple and waved them on.

Trolling
by Jeffrey Fischer

In Scandanavian folklore, Fairies sometimes exchange a human child for a troll. This creature is known as a changeling. Although adults often mistake the changeling for a real child, and parents often care for it as their own, other children can see the truth. No matter the pretty clothes, the carefully-done hair, or the smattering of social graces, we human children can spot a troll from a mile away. The ugliness goes straight to the core.

“Mom! Jeffrey’s being mean to me again.”

“Jeffrey, how many times have I told you not to troll your little sister?”

RICHARD

Trolling

The internet has much to answer for, if nothing else, it’s given us trolls a really bad name. Marginalised as drama lovers, timewasters and even downright evil, the internet is a stain upon our good name.

So, it’s time the record was set straight – no more of this troll nonsense, let’s call a spade a spade and give these idiots a name they really deserve… Tossers, jerks or morons is a good start; that way, us real trolls get on with the more traditional pursuits, like lurking under bridges.

But as for the internet… It really gets my goat!

SERENDIPITY

Those dratted goats think they have the better of me… Tramping across my bridge as if they own the place; showing no respect and thinking they’re so superior.

Whilst they play in the fields, feasting on fresh grass in the warm sunshine, I squat in the dark and the damp, dreaming of warm goat meat, and making my plans.

Those goats think they’re so clever, with their witty answers and sharp horns, but I intend to have the last laugh in the end, and then I will feast on their flesh.

For tonight, the darkness comes… And so do I.

TOM

Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la.

It’s not easy being the choir-master at Billy Goat Gruff Universality. With a mandate to offer higher education to the under severed Troll community it presents how you say it: many ongoing challenges. Not the least keeping our kids alive. We’ve been quite successful in our mixed choir preparations for the annual Christmas concert. The Trolls are particularly fond of Deck the Halls. They sing out with such gusto. The goats are glad for the distraction. “OLY please put Timmy down, and do wipe off that Grey Poupon. Once again from the top with feeling: “Troll the ancient Yule-tide carol.

Way pass Hello Kitty

They say popular fashion no matter how odd will return in 20 year cycles. And so it is now time for the third wave of Troll dolls. Frankly I never understood how the previous offerings got traction. I get Barbie, projection, emulation, and role modeling. Troll dolls ugly having a permanent bad hair day. OH ya there’s that creepy naked thing. I guess the human capacity for love is considerably deep, and in the face of female objectification that grinning plastic urchin is one big fuck you I’m not going to playing by the rules of an unrealistic male paradigm.

WALK AWAY

In my computer classes I spend a fair amount of time on etiquette. I warn my class against engaging in Flaming. We talk about Trolls. Not the ones who live under a bridge, though from the exchanges I have witness these folk may well have been raise under one. Sometimes it’s hard for older students to grasp the level of dysfunction that floats on the Internet. I wish I could use a bit more color to my lectures, like, shit disturbers hell bent to get you so pissed off you tell them to fuck off, point, game, set, match.

KIMI

“No, no , no, NO! I don’t want to go to to bed. Please!? I’ve been good all week. You owe me, you said you would make it up to me when you threw out my favorite t-shirt! You ruin everything! I try so hard, but for what? I don’t know why I did it, it just happened! Why don’t you trust me? What did I ever do to you? This is so unfair.” Hot tears seep from the squeezed shut eyes. Yawn. A blow into a tissue , then sleep. The fit cycle is complete.

ZACKMANN

“I can’t believe I’m in jail again.” Matt said to his cellmate.

“I’m surprised you didn’t come in and start screaming.” Said the troll in his cell.

“Well, it’s not like you a monster. What are you in for?” Said Matt.

“No one told me that in this country you can’t sue people for doing parodies of properties your clients own and the judge sent me here for wasting the court’s time”
“A copyright troll. I was wrong, you are a monster but the monster who can get us out of here since most of my stories involve a jailbreak.”

TURA

Troll
——–
He stood, flattened into a crevice in the rock. Others were hidden behind boulders, or concealed under a thin layer of sand and seaweed.

They waited.

Humans had learned how to deal with trolls. Trolls were stupid, and learned nothing.

It appeared at the cliff top, carrying a dead deer. It half slid, half climbed down the loose face.

Suddenly, they hurled their jagged rocks, then ran towards the stunned creature. They pounded it with more rocks, until it stopped moving.

Forty thousand years later, in the back of a collapsed cave, archaeologists would discover a specimen of Neanderthal man.

LIZZIE

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

The Virtual Troll Convention was highly anticipated by the troll community. The sessions went quite well until a man stood up and started yelling incomprehensible sentences. The trolls were appalled. This was a serious event where they learned new tricks to annoy others in-world. Suddenly, a troll grabbed the man by the collar. “You are destroying our event.” The man calmly ignored the troll and started banning them all, one by one. “I always wanted to do this,” he said, an evil tone in his voice. In fact, he was the owner of the place and the trolls didn’t know!

SPATE

The Curse of the Troll

Gasoline fueled flames surround the Troll. No escape, except maybe the
window?

With clothes afire, skin beginning to bubble, he darts across the room,
desperately reaching for the window but finding it nailed shut.

Banging on the window, he curses: “To all who hear me, you will die as I
do!”

His executioners laugh and drive away. On the highway they’re in an
accident. Their vehicle catches fire. They are trapped inside and burn.

So it is true. Whoever hears this curse (now including you) dies banging on
a window while they burn.
even if it’s only in their imagination.

NORVAL JOE

Yeah. So I live under a bridge and threaten to eat goats. That’s no reason to call me one of those monsters. I like the taste of goat, and life below the bridge is nice. It’s out of the sun and there’s always fresh water.
I ran an extension cord from a light pole by the street and now I can even plug my laptop in, when I’m not harrassing goats. Day and night I can get onto facebook, twitter and public forums and start arguments with unsuspecting people.
They’re as stupid as goats.
Okay. Maybe I am a troll.

ANIMA

A Modern Love Story

Jack and Dianne relaxed on the couch, surrounded by the comfortable chaos that was their life. Toys were strewn about, and Katie had only just gone to bed..

What’s this? she asked, as Jack placed a jewelers box in her hand.

Just a little something to commemorate the day you fell in love with me.

Huh?, our anniversary is not for another 6 months.

No, silly. It was 5 years ago that we met in that college bar. You thought I was funny.

That’s not how I remember it…

You called me ‘droll’.

You jackass, I called you a troll…

PLANET Z

Buffaloes were hunted to extinction.
All the buffalo meat in your buffalo burgers is actually bison.
The same thing happened with trolls. Man hunted trolls to extinction.
The troll meat in your troll stew is actually ogre.
Ogre meat is actually healthier than regular cow meat.
It’s leaner and hardier, so it doesn’t need all those antibiotics.
As for the taste, well, that’s another story.
It tastes absolutely revolting.
But when was the last time you saw a cow down in the Deadly Swamp of Grondor?
After 2 weeks of iron rations, you’ll eat just about anything.
More troll stew?

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

This is 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
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Tura Brezoianu
• Anima
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

JEFFREY

Fit to Shrink
by Jeffrey Fischer

I grab the nearest pair of dress pants from the closet, pull them on, and attempt to hook closed the waistband. Attempts two and three fare no better than the first. What has happened to my pants? They used to fit just fine. Then it came to me: they shrunk in the wash. No, they were dry cleaned. Aha! The dry cleaners shrunk the pants. Yes, that’s the only explanation that fits.

I wander into the bathroom, where I see myself in the mirror. Slowly, in a fit of inspiration, another explanation starts to emerge…

Clearly, the universe is an expanding one, and everything has become bigger, except my pants!

Outsized
by Jeffrey Fischer

I clipped my new FitBit to my waistband and started walking at a brisk pace. I imagined the steps mounting up and the calories burning off. Around the block – twice! – stopping at the doughnut shop only once, I felt like a man in charge of his destiny. Well, his body mass index, at any rate.

When I got home, I unclipped the FitBit to check my progress. 3,264 steps out of a daily goal of 10,000. This piece of crap must be broken, I thought. Still, surely I was losing weight.

I checked my fitness software. Two doughnuts, 400 calories consumed. 3,200 steps, about 150 calories burned. Maybe I could learn to love my weight.

RICHARD

Hi Laurence,

Hope this week is going well for you, and if it’s not, I hope it gets better!

Facing a bit of a word shortage around here, but I’ve managed to cobble together a hundred of them, collected from down the back of the sofa and all those other places that stray words tend to accumulate, along with odd socks and old ballpoint pens.

Topic suggestion: You’re in a box… Why?

And a story as well.

Regards,
Richard.

Square Peg

As a youngster, I never really managed to fit in – always very much a square peg in a round hole, not that it ever bothered me much.

I enjoyed being a misfit and a maverick… I grew my hair long, threw away my shoes and lived the hippy lifestyle; above all, I was happy.

Then came relationships, commitments, the job, the house, the kids and all the responsibility and respectability that comes with it – I finally started to fit in.

So, I’ve finally found my niche; my corner in life.

I wish I didn’t fit in any more.

LIZZIE

Nothing prepared him for the strenuous race. They told him it would be easy peasy. They lied. They told him to watch out for the spectators who, in their enthusiasm, tended to try to grab the runners; he didn’t see any spectators. Nevertheless, he ran like never before. He knew he’d be the winner. But the finish line was empty. Why? He didn’t understand. Suddenly, he realized that the “Finish” banner was nothing but a clothes line where t-shirts and a few diapers were hanging from. “Damn, I should’ve worn my glasses. This thing of looking handsome is not easy.”

SERENDIPITY

I know I promised that your family would see you again, but I never made any promises regarding how.

The trouble is, I can’t just walk you up to the front door – that’s a surefire way to get caught, neither can I just let you go, that way is fraught with risk.

Which is why I’ve decided to post you back… Piece by piece.

The post office will take care of the details, all I have to do is parcel you up and add a few stamps.

Only very small pieces though… Or you’ll never fit through the mailbox.

TOM

The Spice Must Flow

Benny was prone to fits. In a normal family this condition would have been met with the best possible care. But the Baxter family wasn’t your average family, in fact they really weren’t a family, more of a long term breeding enterprise. A minor house in the Landsraad hell bent to catch up with Atreides and Harkonnen. Initially Benny showed great promise, but despite the efforts of this tutors he lacked that Kwisatz Haderach fire. In the end Benny ended up in the financial wing of the family. When the fits arose he’d scream, “My name is a Billing word!”

The Legacy Generation

My father’s generation was an age of indulgence. Heavy smoking, drinking, driving and eating took its toll, few lived to see the lifespan of their fathers. Our generation is having none of that. We are fit in a manner that would shame Adonis. I walked five miles a day, lifted free weights and embraced a plant based diet. I chose employment that would not induce even moderate levels of stress. We should have been called the Fit Generation, in the end we were called the Asteroid Generation. The Plant Base Generation is doing quite leafy well, fuck you very much.

Too Be Happy

Mary was always putting square pegs in round holes. And it didn’t stop there. Every aspect of her life railed against the rules of convention. It didn’t stop her from attaining multiple degrees and a string of Noble’s. Three of this writing. A loner by temperament she knew she would never fit in, that was until she met Rudy. He had a way of making her smile doing the oddest stuff. Gave it all up for him. “The research went on without me,” she would say years later. Rudy and her fit together and that was just fine by her.

MUNSI

On Fitness

By Christopher Munroe

I’m not exactly fit.

I mean, I walk everywhere, have an active job and find the energy to go dancing on weekends, but still, my lifestyle will catch up with me.

I drink, probably too much, my diet’s terrible and while I’ve tried I’ve yet to quit smoking. These things wear on me, and one day they’ll bite me in the ass…

That’s fine.

I like me, I like most of the things I find myself doing, and if that causes problems it will at least be a life of minimal regrets.

My life is a good fit for me…

ZACKMANN

“Did you get a new car? Looks like you like Hondas.” Said the security officer.

“Yes, it’s smaller than my old car but it is Fit as a fiddle.” Replied the DJ.

“How does it feel to be out of your Element?” ask security.
“I was afraid as full as the Element got after gigs that I wouldn’t fit all my stuff in the Fit but I do love Hondas and gas isn’t cheap. I’m not actually out of my Element. My wife drives it. We looked at an Odyssey but she almost had a fit seeing the monthly payments.”

TURA

Fit for purpose
——–
The scene: the campaign headquarters of a political party.

“Look, David, we’ve no chance of keeping this promise, we all know that and so will everyone else.”

“Call it an intention, then.”

“That’s still too definite. How about a goal?”

“A target, not a goal.”

“An aim, not a target.”

“Perhaps it should be an aspiration?”

“That pushes it too far away. Any party can talk about aspirations. How about a purpose?”

“Suppose we say the policy is fit for purpose? Then we don’t even have to say what the purpose is!”

“Brilliant, Jenkins! Give that man a pay rise!”

ANIMA

As the manager of an apartment complex, I am plagued with inane requests. The residents don’t think I am competent; In a fit of pique I have decided to respond to ALL this week’s requests.

Lights in the halls: I’ll reissue the glowsticks I gave the last time this was mentioned.

Weekly garbage pickup: A few grannys should do the trick. They’re usually weak. Hope no one tosses out a sofa.

A community game room? Awesome! – I can stock the garage with wolves, then hold competitions to see who can makes it home in one piece! Let the games begin!

NORVAL JOE

I always wanted to be a dancer but I could never get any toe shoes that fit. The only thing I could ever pull over my massive dogs was red rubber boots and the dance school said a gag like that wouldn’t fit the dance routine.
I always wanted to be a tennis star, too, but I wasn’t physically fit enough to win any games. And then, when I would hit a ball into the net, I would smash my racket on the ground in a fit of rage. Do you think that’s why I could never get a sponsor?

PLANET Z

Ned’s a small guy.

So small, he’d fit in a wine glass.

I guess that would be funny, seeing how Ned’s last name is Wineglass.

But seeing as how I’ve never seen him in a wine glass, I guess that’s not really all that funny.

I’ve seen him in a beer stein though. Heck, he jumps in there a lot these days.

Maybe if Ned were named Ned Stein, that could be funny.

Ned runs across the table and jumps into a beer stein, pulling down the lid.

Hilarious!

Especially when he shouts for someone to put the cat outside.

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

This is 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
• Zackmann
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Kimi
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

Drop the Anchors

By Christopher Munroe

Anchors away?

Never! And to hell with anyone who’d suggest such a thing!

To hell!

There’s an anchor crisis here, at home! Right in our own backyard there are no anchors, unless you live near a shipyard in which case maybe, but what about the people who DON’T live near shipyards? What about them?

Yet some would send our anchors away? Never! An anchor in every garage! I believe in anchors for everyone, and nothing’s stopping us but our own unwillingness to act!

So act we shall!

Something something, and let’s set course to this bold, new, anchorful future, together!

JEFFREY

Retirement
by Jeffrey Fischer

I helped my friend Mike pack his office. He was retiring at the end of the week and wanted to take home his handful of personal items. While Mike sorted through desk drawers, I removed anything hanging on the walls.

Most were pictures of family or vacation spots, but occupying a place of honor was Mike’s treasured “Employee of the Year” plaque. I tugged at it, but the plaque refused to move. Studying it, I saw a large bolt anchoring it to the wall. The plaque wasn’t going home without a large chunk of plasterboard.

“Oh, just leave that,” Mike said.

“Your award? Your recognition for years of hard work?”

“Well, someone’s hard work. It came with the office. I guess the previous guy couldn’t pry it loose.”

The Diagnosis
by Jeffrey Fischer

My wife came out of the physician’s office with a grim look on her face. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Dr. Boothe said the pains were likely from a tumor.” She fought back tears. “Judging from the size and position, he said I may have only a few weeks.”

I sank into a chair, my legs unable to hold me. How could this be? My rock, my anchor, the one person I could always rely on – gone in a few weeks?

My wife saw my grief-stricken expression and laughed. “April Fool! He thinks it’s just indigestion and I’ll be fine. Had you going, though.”

I later told the police, after I killed her, that she didn’t even have the month right.

RICHARD

Sailor

I never realised just how difficult being a sailor could be for someone who takes things as literally as me.

It started when the captain told me to weigh anchor… It took me a week to find a set of scales that could handle it.

Then I was told to station myself in the crow’s nest – but just how do you find a crow so far out to sea? In the end I settled for a seagull, but I can’t say the captain was impressed.

It was time to quit, when I was ordered to scrub the poop deck!

SERENDIPITY

When you told me to throw out the anchor, you should really have been far more careful about how you phrased it.

Right this minute, you’re wondering why we’re still drifting… creeping ever closer, inexorably towards the jagged reef and its needle sharp coral fingers.

And, as the hull splinters and splits on the rocks below; as the sea rushes in to drag you under to your doom, you’ll turn to me, eyes imploring ‘Why?’

And, I’ll smile back, and your final memory will be the siren’s song, echoing across the waves, as my sisters welcome me home, once more.

ZACKMANN

“What brings you into Cliff’s Tattoo Parlor today?”

“Well, I just got this job as an anchorman for a new cable news network;Unbroken News. They thought I would be edgier if I got a tattoo.”

“Are they the ones whose slogan is At least as accurate as The Onion.”? That seems like a low standard” said Cliff

“You would think but three of the existing networks can’t manage to do it.” said the newsman “Unbroken New instructed prior Navy gets an anchor tattoo.”

“A ship’s anchor?”
“No. I can still follow instructions getting Walter Cronkite’s character from We’re Back”

LIZZIE

Survivor

“I refuse to sink” read the tattoo on her chest. Decades of wars and narrow escapes turned her into a survivor. Yet, she knew. The capsule injected under her skin was her anchor.

As a child, she disappeared for a week, to her parents’ frantic despair. When she returned, the stories of strange looking beings with oddly shaped eyes and white skin were hurriedly dismissed.

When they finally came back for the data in the capsule, she smiled. That was the moment she had lived for. She asked them “take me with you” and they did. She’s over 250 today.

TOM

Hay Kid we can put on a show.

Why so glum Timmy? Cindy Lu needs a new iron lung, but Grandpa Joe can’t raise the money because the Bank is foreclosing on his farm,” said the lad plopping down on a bale of hay. “Heck Kid you gave me a great idea. We can take all this hay and make it into seating for a Musical Extravaganza right here in the barn. Will do a review, call it Anchors Way. A wandering Hollywood executive will see it and will make it into a big old Hollywood movie, make plenty of scratch get Cindy that brand new iron lung.

American Enterprise

The treasure fleet anchored in the bay. The Pomo representative boarded the Great Khan’s flagship with five oaken chests. In Chinese fluent, he greeted the Master Merchant with a long riddle. Tinsu Lang replied in prefect Pomo, “Coyote would ask the turtle.” “Then we are in agreement.” 30 bolts of crimson silk appeared alongside 30 pots of crimson spices. The Pomo dealer opened the oak chests filled to the top with Lake Diamonds and Konocti Obsidian arrow heads. Of all the riches that flowed across the continent the most valuable was beware the Europeans. The guns sure came in handy.

NORVAL JOE

Popeye went into the tattoo shop and asked to have his trademark anchor tattoo removed.
“If we remove it, we won’t know it’s you. It would be as bad as getting rid of the spinach.”
“Thacks the poink,” Popeye said, explaining that the belief that spinach had more iron was based on a decimal error on a government report from the late 1800. It’s no better for you than broccoli.
“It’s easier to cover the tattoo with something, than remove it,” the tattooist said. “How about Olive oil?”
They settled on Bluto, whom Popeye had secretly loved all these years.

TURA

Anchor
——–
There was once an anchoress, walled up in a cell in a church, to spend her days in contemplation. There was no door, only a barred window through which she might hear mass.

One day, the devil came to tempt her.

“Holy mother,” he said, “how brave to rise above the sneers of the ignorant, to be willingly shut up in the darkness! Do you never long to walk through the world of God’s creation?”

“What?” exclaimed the man who swept up the elephant dung in the circus, who had wandered in from another joke. “And give up show business?”
——–

KIMI

I sat in the third row on a metal folding chair in a small room off of the main chapel. Bill’s casket was open and I could see a few wisps of curly black hair and the heavy horn-rimmed glasses set astride his waxy nose.
Leaning back, I closed my eyes and ears to the goings on around me and thought of the sweet big guy that would wrap his burly arms around you and snug in close as he shared his amazing ooey-gooeyness.
I will miss those long, I Really Mean It hugs, Anchors AWeigh, my friend

PLANET Z

My first job out of college was with a public television station.
After my internship finished, I was asked to help the transmitter engineer with computer support.
Lots of already-ancient Tandy 1000’s stacked up in the warehouse, gathering dust.
Someone joked that we should give them away, like we did with mugs, tote bags, and Three Tenors CDs.
“Or use them as boat anchors,” said the transmitter engineer.
I left that place years ago. Never went back, didn’t keep in touch.
I imagine that old transmitter engineer out on his boat, hauling up a dead PC and sailing for Cuba.

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

This is 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
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tura Brezoianu
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

MUNSI

On Matters of Faith

By Christopher Munroe

I don’t need to create a God, one’s been provided.

Dionysus, God of theatre, music and drinking. He covers all the bases I need, and he’s incredibly easy to worship!

When I’m at a bar, he’s with me, when I open my mouth to let music out into the world, he’s there. Every act of worship is a celebration, every celebration an act of worship.

Sometimes I go door-to-door, drunk out of my mind, to preach his gospel.

The results are rarely positive.

Police have been called more than once.

Still, other than that, Dionysus has been very rewarding, deity-wise…

JEFFREY

Mirimanee, the Goddess of Science Fiction Women
by Jeffrey Fischer

And so it was decreed by the goddess Mirimanee that science fiction should satisfy the imaginations of adolescent boys, and yea, until the eleventeenth generation adolescent boys have only one thing on their minds, so female characters must adhere to the teachings of Mirimanee. She commanded that women must be:

1. buxom of stature – and thus was born countless video games.
2. weak of heart – and thus was born countless screams.
3. weak of mind – and thus the male lead ultimately saves the day.
4. weak of flesh – and thus all must fall in love with the male lead.

From time to time, new goddesses would arise and beget such characters as Commander Susan Ivanova of Babylon 5, or Clara Oswald of Doctor Who, but Miramanee would declare them false and curse their ways.

The God Papyrus Awakens
by Jeffrey Fischer

One day the great god Papyrus, God of Bureaucracy, Deliverer of Paperwork, was roused from his slumber. “Who dares wake me!” he roared, always grumpy before his morning coffee.

“Mere supplicants, o great Papyrus. We ask only that you create a system by which we may enumerate the wealth and holdings of the people, so we may ensure that what is Pharaoh’s is rendered unto Pharaoh.”

Papyrus considered the request and then, with a scowl upon his none-too-handsome face, made it so.

And thus came to be the Internal Revenue Service and its devilish spawn, Form 1040.

The moral of this story: never annoy a god before he has had his coffee.

RICHARD

#1 – Norman

Norman, the god of the unremarkable was nothing special.

He lived in a fairly pleasant neighbourhood – along with his wife and two children (one of each), in a house little different to those around him.

Every morning before work, he’d take the dog for a walk, head home for a shower and breakfast before heading off to work in the local DIY store, in his rather dilapidated old Ford.

There was nothing particularly interesting or noteworthy about Norman’s life – even though he was indeed a god amongst men – and few people even noticed him.

Quite remarkable, really.

#2 – Polyproblematic

The trouble with polytheism is that it has a tendency to get out of hand, surely not everything merits a divine patron?

It can get a bit silly.

Eventually, the Pantheon called a summit meeting:

“Things have gone too far”, argued Turgid, god of prophylactics; “Do we really need a goddess of finger food, and a deity for stop signs?”

“He has a point”, observed Wendy, goddess of nightwear. “You can barely move for the sacrifices!”

So they put it to the vote, and all the gods resigned (with massive pensions).

Which why the universe is run by a committee.

#3 – The Petulant God

He, whose name may not be spoken, the all-powerful builder of worlds, creator of life and The One Who Is Above All Others was in an exceptionally bad mood.

You’d think that being God would be a blast, but the truth was, all those worshippers were pretty annoying.

They’d started demanding dispensations for their sacrifices, miracles and answered prayers for their obeisance: “Heal our sick… walk on water!” they’d demand.

Walk on water?

He was God, not a damned magician!

“Time you remembered who’s in charge!”, he grumbled, before smiting them irrevocably back to the dust from whence they came!

TOM

I’m a gods r us kind of kid

Hello Gods r us

How may I assess you?

Yes

Yes

Excellent choice.

Sorry we will have to back order him

Oh sorry

her

That ancient Ur always throws me.

Yes

No we no longer stock that god

You may find him available at

The Vatican’s web site.

Given this particular concentrations of deity

I would highly suggest both

Guards of the watch towers

And Mutual of Omaha Life Insurance

Excellent

Let me read your order back to you

Seth Whiro Apep Eris Tau Typhon Angra Mainyu Ama-tsu-Mikaboshi Loki Coyote Prometheus Mercurius

Good luck with your daughter’s birthday party.

LIZZIE

The God of Boredom

Against his will, he had just been promoted from a minor deity to a major god. They told him that people were always bored nowadays, so being the God of Boredom would be good. He knew why he was bored. It was because Patrice, his neighbor, had stolen his favorite book, the one about minor deities. He hated it when people messed around with his things. Could he become the God of Hatred? Noooo! He was stuck with boredom now. That’s why, before promoting anyone, the High Council of Gods should offer options! Free will and all that? Gods… Pfft.

SERENDIPITY

I am the goddess.

I am she who creates pain and despair.

I bring you suffering and slaughter.

I have the power to tear worlds apart, overthrow your armies, destroy your hopes and devour you.

I was present at the dawn of time, and I will bring it to its close.

So kneel before me, parasites; bow down before my might and know that I hold your pathetic lives in my hands.

I determine whether you live, or you die; whether you are saved or damned, blessed or cursed.

I am the goddess.

And you… had better say your prayers!

TURA

The God of Computation
——–
Every bishop wants to be Pope, and every saint aspires to become a god. I knew the woman who became Goddess of Crows, and in time she might become Goddess of Birds. But the God of Greed is struggling now, and he looks like just a passing fad of the 80’s. You need something with long-term growth potential. I’m trying for God of Computation. The others joke about me being God of Nerds. Let them think that. Modern science says that the universe runs on computation, and I reckon this could take me to the very top, and become GOD.

SPATE

Number 08765943328’s Last Prayer

Oh Lord of lords, Master of all, Ruler over life and death, please accept
this humble supplication from me, number 08765943328, for I am in need of
relief.

Supreme All Knowing One, devoutly I have delivered monthly tributes to Thee,
never asking for even the smallest consideration in return, but always
holding the deepest faith that you would be there in my time of need.

Now lo! The physician has painted such an ominous picture, that I come
before Thee trembling and with bowed head, beseeching Thee.

Oh most venerable and righteous God of Insurance: please accept this claim.

Anthem!

NORVAL JOE

The Northern California god of puns was a man with the head of a yak.
No one liked him and declined invitations to his parties with the proverbial response, “Puns are the lowest for of humor.”
He smirked at their ignorance, knowing the saying continued with, “But are the highest form of wit.”
Witty but alone, Yak Man tried to devise a way to win more friends among the local pantheon.
They all agreed to come to his Roman Bath with Sicilian Cylinders when he explained it was really just a pool party and his mother had made pizza rolls.

PLANET Z

Long ago, the followers of Paper, Scissors, and Rock waged constant battle.
Paper beat Rock, Rock beat Scissors, and Scissors beat Paper.
Sometimes, they make brief alliances. Or truces.
Paper uses Rock to beat Scissors. Or Rock uses Scissors to beat Paper.
In the end, everyone died.
Paper, Scissors, and Rock.
Their corpses littered the streets, picked apart by dogs.
Their shrines and churches lay in ruins.
Weeds grew through the streets.
And, in time, when everything fell into rust, the forest reclaimed the land.
A survey team found some scattered rocks, but I would hardly call it a victory.

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

This is 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:

• Hotspur
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Munsi
• Anima
• Serendipity
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Danny
• Tura Brezoianu
• Kimi
• Planet Z

What’s the next Weekly Challenge? Come to the website and subscribe to the feed to find out!

HOTSPUR

(no text)

JEFFREY

Days Gone By
by Jeffrey Fischer

My wife laments that people eat out too much these days. They have far too much food, often food that’s not healthy, and don’t learn to cook for themselves. For without the desire to cook, there’s no need for fancy cooking equipment: no roasters, or whisks, no mixers, no frying pans. And it’s the last of that bunch that really upsets her, because there’s nothing like a good frying pan with which to whack an errant husband over the head. Smacking him with a stack of takeout menus just isn’t the same.

Hop-son’s Choice
by Jeffrey Fischer

The angler reached into his bucket of ice and pulled out a trout he had caught only minutes before. He threw the trout into the frying pan suspended over the open fire and turned his attention to preparing the rest of the meal.

The trout was initially happy to be in the warm pan after lying on the cold ice and enjoyed the sauna. After some time, however, he was far too warm and considered his options. He leapt out of the pan.

The fire was no better! The trout felt his skin begin to singe. Mustering all his strength, he leapt back into the frying pan, which was now sizzling hot. Even his little trout brain understood that he was screwed either way.

Everyone’s a Critic
by Jeffrey Fischer

The job of a theater critic is not an easy one. Staying awake is often a problem, as is not reacting to the boorish behavior of others in the audience. But the big headache is handling those who react poorly to criticism. If I pan a play, I can expect no end of crap from the director to the actors to the actors’ mothers. Look, folks, I just call ’em as I see ’em.

So darling, I don’t care if you’re in middle school – that production of “Our Town” was a stinker. And tell your mom she has to start talking to me some time.

RICHARD

Hi Laurence,

Only one story this week – the sunshine is far too lovely to be sat in front of a keyboard, and around these parts it doesn’t last long enough to be wasted! (Which is a clever way to hide the fact I was totally uninspired… ah well, the best laid pans, eh?)

So here it is, and here’s my topic suggestion – ‘The ultimate thrill’

Catch up with you and the gang on Sunday.

Regards,
Richard.

Frying Pan

I’ve a terrible knack for getting into trouble – it seems no sooner do I get out of one scrape, I’m straight into another one, until eventually, I’m in a whole pile of grief.

Then it struck me that if I’m going to get into trouble, I may as well accept things as they are – pretty pointless to try and dig myself out if I know that I’ll inevitably end up in the same position again, almost immediately.

So these days, rather than out of the frying pan into the fire, I sit tight in the pan, and hope no-one notices.

MUNSI

A Life Lived with Style

By Christopher Munroe

I go through life with grace and aplomb.

Grace and aplomb, in case you didn’t know, is like swagger for people who AREN’T reprehensible douche-bags.

There’s a poise to it, a style too absent from this vulgar modern age, and I’ve made it my personal mission to restore that indefinable quality, that dignity, that It Factor, to all my dealings with the world.

Panache, I suppose you could call it. Or quiet, elegant dignity.

And dignity has always been my watchword.

No, wait, I misspoke, that doesn’t describe me at all. I’d meant the opposite of every part of that…

ANIMA

THE FIRST OF MAY

Sarah rolled over, looking into his eyes. Twigs and leaves clung to her dishevelled hair. The grassy knoll where they lay was bathed lightly in morning sun.

“I’m happy you convinced me the first of May is a real holiday. When we met at the bonfire last night, I wasn’t interested in short, hairy guys, but … WOW! You have changed my attitude.

You’ve played music long? I am glad you can use those skills for more than playing the pipes…”

Pan leaned in, kissing Sarah on the mouth, nickering happily at his latest conquest. Indeed, the first of May!

SERENDIPITY

They told me that if you were to place a frog in a pan of cold water and gradually increase the temperature, it would boil to death without ever realising.

I didn’t believe it of course; even so, I decided to give it a try, but my results were inconclusive… with no way to communicate with the frog, how could I possibly tell whether it knew it was being boiled?

Which is why you’re presently lying in a bath of water, currently at a very pleasant, body temperature.

You’ll be sure to let me know when you’re done, won’t you?

LIZZIE

Frying pan in hand, Linda looked outside. Tony was late; her darling husband who swore to wed her for better or for worse and all that crap, until… She waited for hours and hours.

When Margaret, the owner of the house, arrived, Linda gave her the pan treatment first.

The problem was that Tony had years of experience. He entered the house through the back and… Let’s say Linda’s life suffered a slight rearrangement and there it was… till death do us part.

Frying pan in hand, Tony thought “amazing how easy it was to solve two problems at once”.

TOM

And One more for the Road

The Great Pan sidled up to the bar. The bar keep passed him a Bushmills neat with an ouzo shooter. After the fourth round the bartender positioned himself in front of the old goat, and casually drew a towel around the inside of an Old Fashion glass. “Hoof and Horn,” mumbled Pan. “Gladys?” Pan limply flailed a hand that banged into his left horn, bounced, hit the bar. “That satyr is no good for you.” “Cupid’s arrows” “Fuck Cupid.” Pan wiped out his pipes and started playing some Mississippi blues. Joe pour Pan a double “It on the house, man.”

The DownUlater

They paned it. Damn near everyone to Omaha paned it. Those that didn’t had less then faint praise for the production. He knew if he stayed in the pack he’d have deep cover. Careers had been lost over this sort of quixotic dedication. A lone voice countering the choirs. His editor and publisher lent a deaf silent to the piece. Even his wife Ann said burn it. “Print it” he said.

The first review of the newly hired New York Theater Reviewer thanked the previous reviewer for his glowing piece on Jim Carey’s Musical version of Waiting for Godot.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle sent his first tweet:
Dergle Vander Hoont ‏@WienerDogMan
By not believing in myself, I’ve ceased to exist. Trying to #connect with people who might #believe in me.
He waited. If this didn’t pan out like he hoped, he didn’t know what to do next.
He tried again:
Dergle Vander Hoont ‏@WienerDogMan
#ImReal #BelieveMe My pet #weinerdog is named Long John Silver. My #GirlFriend is Bambi. She works at Mac Discount’s #GroceryStore.
An hour later he got a follower @_Brit_knee_Speers who he followed back.
She sent a direct message, “10,000 real twitter followers for $9.99”.
Dergle sighed, losing all hope.

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 468: Pan

Susan Pan was a poor, disillusioned, petty excuse of a human being. She wasn’t even of Asian descent, yet her last name was still Pan. This was because her father, Harry Potter, never wanted to acknowledge he had impregnated a woman, but still wanted the last name of his bastard child to reflect a kitchen appliance. Susan suffered from a rare affliction that caused her feet to ooze thick oil that smelled like Italian dressing. This is where the story gets weird, because I’m running low on 100 words. Susan’s boyfriend JimBob, who was turned on by the smell of her….

TURA

Pan
——–
“What are the sun and the moon?” asked the boy, ten thousand years ago.

“A man on a horse, dragging a firepot,” replied the old man. “And Woman, who chases Man, then flees from him.”

“What is fire?” a boy asked a century ago.

“Atoms!” replied his father.

“What is love?” he asks today.

“Neurons firing!” comes the reply.

Stories all, of which we rarely ask, “is this true?” but only, “is it a good story?”

Terry Pratchett told a very true story, when he said that we are not Homo sapiens, knowing man, but Pan narrans, the story-telling ape.

KIMI

Granny Jackson could cook. Before she became frail, the woman was brilliant in the kitchen. Now, she sat in her wheelchair next to me at the kitchen table going over recipes. We have sat together like this since I was a little girl. Looking around the kitchen stirs memories of my failed attempts cooking my favorite meal of fried chicken and buttered Johnny cakes drizzled with sorghum.
“Granny, I followed your recipes but it doesn’t quite taste the same. Do you have a secret spice that isn’t in the recipe?”
“A spice? No. A pan? Yes! A Number 10 Griswold.”

PLANET Z

Back in the days of Ancient Greece, Pan was some goat-legged sex fiend god.

I’m not sure what he was the god of, though.

Goats?
Sex fiends?
Fiends who had sex with goats?

The Greeks had a god for everything. I guess they had a lot of goats, sex fiends, or fiends who had sex with goats, because they had to come up with a god for it.

Pan had a pipe flute. These days, it’s called the Pan flute.

Zamfir is the master of the Pan flute.

Whether he’s a sex fiend, well, the informercials never manage to say.