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:

• Tom
• John Musico
• Lizzie
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Charlie
• Serendipity
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Anima
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

TOM

Just Doing Business

The Kid had no time for the simple courtesys of gangster etiquette. He did have a wicked sense of humor. He always asked if the mark had any last words, perhaps a short pray or maybe they had a reasonable counter offer. When the mark got the first word out of his mouth he would pop him in the eye. After word got out no one was willing to give the Kid the satisfaction of one last laugh on them. This when the Kid started doing hour long eulogies. Must guys would yell: Fuck You, at some point, then the pop.

JOHN MUSICO

Playing with the kids

In ancient Greece, for fun, boys would grasp the neck of a goat, occluding their carotids, and making the goat pass out. Sort of a dark choice for fun. “Carotid” is derived from the Greek word for “drowsiness” and stems from this mischievous practice. Death by strangulation is inaccurately depicted by Hollywood; suffocation takes minutes but ceasing blood flow to the brain takes a mere 10 seconds. The original Star Trek series was more medically accurate. Spock’s Vulcan death grip where a single carotid was compressed relates to a nerve reflex in the neck which pauses the heart, in seconds.

LIZZIE

Sound Stage 2 was a kid-free zone. The director hated children.
When he realized his main actress was pregnant, he started paying alimony but fired her.
Years later, a kid asked to talk to him. He refused.
The director was then forced to work on a show for children, go figure. Yes, the kid was 14 but he was the owner of the studio.
One day the director went crazy; he abhorred kids and he would have plenty of time to dwell on that, right after the trial ended.
The studio had become a kid-free zone again, that’s for sure.

JEFFREY

On the Job Learning
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Hey, Roger, what are you doing for ‘Bring Your Kid to Work’ Day?” Harvey asked.

“Hadn’t thought about it.”

“You have a kid, don’t you? Bring the little guy in, show him what a working stiff does for a living.”

“I’m not sure anyone would call us working stiffs, but… I don’t know. My kid isn’t all that well-behaved.”

“All the more reason – he can trash the office and make me think I’m back in the frat.”

“Well… okay. But I gotta check Metro regulations first. I can only bring him if they allow goats on the subway.”

The Joker
by Jeffrey Fischer

My colleague Steve was a joker who never owned up to his cruelty. “Hey, big guy,” he’d say “I see your folks killed the fatted calf for you.” Pause. “But you didn’t have to eat it all by yourself! Just kidding.” Or: “I slept with your mom last night. She told me I was so much better than your dad. Kidding!”

I complained and asked him to stop, but he fell back on the cliche about sticks and stones. Words couldn’t hurt, eh?

The next time Steve went on vacation, he mentioned he was flying to Cancun. I called the TSA anonymously and said that Steve had baggies of coke in his rectum. Totally untrue, but it took the TSA guys hours to reach that conclusion. My words must have hurt for a month.

RICHARD

Script for a departure [or, It’s not plagiarism, it’s art!]

“Here’s looking at you kid. I’ll be back!”

“You dirty rat!”

“You talkin’ to me?”

“What if is there is no tomorrow? We should seize the day! Don’t you want to take a leap of faith? Or become an old man, filled with regret, waiting to die alone!”

“Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn! I want to be alone!”

Tears… in… rain:

“Don’t cry, Shopgirl. Don’t cry. “I know now why you cry. But it’s something I can never do. Goodbye.”

“In case I don’t see ya, good afternoon, good evening, and good night!”

Well, nobody’s perfect

[The dubious honours go to:

Casablanca (1942)

The Terminator (1984)

Taxi (1931)

Taxi Driver (1973)

Groundhog Day (1993)

Dead Poets Society (1989)

Inception (2010)

Gone With The Wind (1939)

Grand Hotel (1932)

Blade Runner (1982)

You’ve Got Mail (1998)

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

The Truman Show (1998)

Some Like It Hot (1959)]

CHARLIE

“The Kid” was the consummate simpleton…attributed to a flaw in his genes, or his mother’s drinking and drug use while she carried him. He was pleasant and behaved, but very gullible and trusting. The perfect playmate, as his playmates succeeded in convincing him to take the blame for all the trouble and mischief that the gang managed to conceive and generate. As he grew older, he entered politics at the local level and did very well until the scandal put him in a federal prison for twenty years. Turns out, The Kid took the rap, intoxicated by all the attention.

Second

His dad told him to treat his girlfriends with kid gloves. Donald bought some fine, kid leather, gloves, and wore them his first day of school. The school was private, and sensitive to special needs students, so no one ever mentioned his gloves, believing they concealed some skin condition or disfigurement. Young Donald T. was very popular with the girls. They loved it when he stroked their neck or legs with his gloved hands. His pals thought it was creepy, but they were jealous of the admiration he got from the girls, and because of his wealthy and influential family.

Third

He kidded around with mates and teachers. He believed that his humor was a bit twisted, and anyone that gave his pranks time to sink in would realize that he was being very clever and ironic. Humor gone unappreciated or acknowledged is sad, and it eventually gnaws away at the psyche of the jokester or punster…as it was in Leslie’s case. Maybe his jokes and pranks were NOT funny at all. Maybe he was under the illusion that he was clever and funny. Maybe his friends played along with him because he was prickish and they feared or pitied him.

SERENDIPITY

Soft and warm: they really are the best ever.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to own a pair of proper kid gloves, but they’ve always been too expensive. Which is why I decided to make my own – although I never expected to end up running my own business off the back of them.

I’ve started diversifying too – now I’m manufacturing socks and scarves, and they’re selling well.

Business is booming, but I worry my raw materials won’t keep pace with demand.

So, I’m looking for a new school… And a fresh supply of kids.

MUNSI

Nicknames

By Christopher Munroe

I can’t help wondering about old western gunfighter naming conventions, sometimes…

I mean, for example, surely a gunfighter nickname involving “Kid” in any form must be something said gunfighter would inevitably grow out of, yes?

As he went from cowboy to cow-man, the Cincinnati Kid would surely become the Cincinnati Adult, then the Cincinnati Senior, who can safely be disregarded because he’s not as fast as he used to be…

Y’all’s old and busted, is what I’m getting at, Cincinnati Kid. Y’all’s old and busted and you ain’t got shit on me.

And yes, those ARE fighting words.

Bring it.

ZACKMANN

Thanks for the ride partner. Before you ask about the eyepatch which I wish it was in celebration of Talk Like a Pirate Day, the sad truth is I got in a scrap with a certain Billy the Kid. Billy had become addicted to old school Lucky Strikes. The day I ran out and gave him a Marlboro Red Billy spit the filter right into my eye. I’m go to the doctor to see if I can take off the patch then to look for a job without goats or at least a place that doesn’t use cigarettes as dewormer.

ANIMA

Second Skin

These gloves are nice, but won’t work for me. I have this terrible condition – I am hyperallergic to almost everything. Even lotion residue on people makes me break out in hives. It is truly awful.

Well, well! You should have mentioned this sooner. Try these here on for size. They are expensive, and I only have a few pairs left. They’re vintage; my uncle Gacy made them in the 70’s.

Wow, they’re great, like a second skin! What did you say they were made of?

Genuine kid. A pity, Uncle never taught me the secrets to making his signature gloves :(

NORVAL JOE

Several people circled around Bufford and Agent Aphasia who held the open container.
The crazy haired woman rearranged her tinfoil hat and said, “Give me the ghost reservoir.”
“Ghost reservoir?” Bufford asked. “It’s a dark matter containment cylinder.”
“Bring in Gnocchi,” the old woman called.
“No one here is hungry, you old bat,” Aphasia growled.
A boy wearing a purple robe with silver embroidered stars walked into the room, his arms folded across his chest.
“Kid Gnocchi is our most powerful medium,” the old woman sneered.
The boy raised his hand for silence and said, “I feel a strong presence…”

TURA

Kid
———
Good old Mr. Johnson, always the joker. He’d stand on someone’s foot and yell at them to get off his foot. Or he’d pour ketchup down someone’s back. Then he’d say, “Just kidding!” His grin would get tighter and his eyes would go hard and people would back off.

Eventually it came out he was keeping three women prisoner in his basement and living on their benefit payments. In court, all he said was, “I was just kidding! Can’t they take a joke?”

So don’t say to me, “Can’t you take a joke?” Because, no, I don’t think I can.

PLANET Z

They were the perfect couple.
Well, sort of.
She wanted kids. He didn’t.
At that point, they were going to be the imperfect couple or the imperfect family.
A counselor suggested a cybernetic child.
He didn’t want kids of any kind.
She didn’t want a pet, whether animal or robotic.
She wanted a child.
So, they broke up, and found others to marry.
She had a kid. He and his new wife didn’t.
The counselor didn’t get the commission on the robot child lease.
Eventually, the program was scrapped.
And replaced with kid gladiators.
They get awesome ratings on television.

Free background music from JewelBeat.com

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:

• Tom
• John Musico
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Charlie
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Danny
• Zackmann
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

TOM

Promontory Summit

Six Pinkertons rode in the coach, at their feet rested the oak box lined in velvet. “Are thet really going to drive that thing into a tie? Asked Patrick O’ Connor. “Stanford won the honors in a poke game.” Said O’ Malley. “I’ll give you six to one he misses.” Said Michael Bennet. “I’ll give you ten to one he hit his foot.” Said Brian O’ Sullivan. They all started laughing, till the Captain enter the car, then fell silent. Captain dropped a double eagle into O’ Sullivan’s lap. “On the feet,” he said. Sure enough Stanford hit his foot.

JOHN MUSICO

John
Angel of Venice

Everyone knew Angel, gliding by on his rollerblades, adorned in an all white Indian wrap and turban, contrasting his African American skin, playing his electric guitar, amp in a backpack, while singing. He had that “not here-ness” that the 60’s acid days left some with. On the way to a concert, we saw him hitchhiking and picked him up. He played in the back seat all the way to his apartment where he reciprocated with a joint. It was by far the strongest weed I’d ever smoked. It seems that it wasn’t acid that fried Angel: the dubbie was dusted.

MUNSI

On the Topic of Spike

By Christopher Munroe

I hate to choose, but if forced to make a decision, my favorite Spike of all the spikes is Spike from My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.

You heard me, Spike from Buffy the Vampire Slayer. I know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but you’re just going to have to live with it.

You’re just going to have to be undead with it.

You’re just going to have to continue having no idea who I am, and not caring what my opinion on the matter is.

Yeah, now that I consider it, probably that last one. Never mind…

JEFFREY

Health Food
by Jeffrey Fischer

Sammy drove the spike into his arm and pressed the plunger. He waited for the solution to take effect. After ten years addicted to heroin, throwing away countless thousands on increasingly-cut stuff, he decided he needed to get healthy. His new dealer promised him this mixture would do the trick.

When, after a half hour Sammy still felt nothing, he concluded Pedro had ripped him off. Sammy found and confronted the dealer.

“I didn’t rip you off, man. You got exactly what you paid for.”

“What *is* this shit?”

“A mixture of kale and broccoli juice. It’s healthy for you.”

“Kale? Aren’t you supposed to eat it, not put it in your arm?”

Pablo shrugged. “I figured injecting would intensify the effect. The guy at Whole Foods agreed.”

“Just give me a gram of China White.”

New Job
by Jeffrey Fischer

When Tony played pro football – that’s the American game, listeners, not that other football where the modal score is 0-0 – he was known as a passionate, driven competitor. He played hard on every down, whether running the ball into the defensive line or blocking for his receivers, and he celebrated with equal gusto.

After his playing career ended, Tony took a job with the local Babies R Us store. His manager told him, “Tony, we want you to work here with the same can-do attitude you had on the field.”

Later that day, Tony made his first sale, a crib for young parents and their infant son. When the couple said they’d take it, Tony celebrated. The entire store went quiet.”

“Tony, what did you do?”

“It was my end zone routine: dance, point at the fans, and spike the ball.”

“For God’s sake, Tony, you’re not supposed to do that with the babies.”

RICHARD

#1 – Marauders

Every harvest the Dark Marauders come and we’re forced to fight for our livelihoods. Savages, they are; ruthless, without pity or respect for the law.

The elders gathered the townspeople together: “If the Dark Marauders act like savages, then they must expect to be treated as savages”.

It was decided that every marauder captured would be executed and their head displayed upon a spike in the fields over which we fought.

And so it has been for many years.

Yet still the Dark Marauders come.

And still we lose our crops.

And our supply of spikes is all but gone.

#2 – A date to remember

I’d been chasing Sandy for weeks – eventually she gave in, agreeing to a date, a quiet drink in the local pub.

Everything was going perfectly: Witty conversation, plenty of laughter and we seemed to connect, but I wasn’t taking any chances – when she excused herself for a moment, I slipped a Rohypnol into her glass.

When she returned, she looked at me curiously: “You’re not the sort to spike a drink, are you?”, I shook my head, “You won’t mind drinking mine then?”, she laughed.

What choice did I have?

And how did I end up in this gay bar?

#3 – Scientifically flawed

They told us the spike in temperatures was because of the Gulf Stream; when it became apparent this was wrong, they blamed climate change and global warming.

When people starting getting sunburn in the middle of winter, we knew something was seriously wrong, but still they fobbed us off, explaining things away.

When, finally, they told us the earth was plummeting into the sun and we were all doomed, it became apparent why the scientists had set up their community on Mars.

And they’d told us it was because of the low gravity and lack of light pollution.

Bad science!

#4 – Tom

I was going to miss Tom.

I wouldn’t miss the constant chases, the heart-stopping moments and endless fights, but I would miss the satisfaction of seeing the broom handle descend upon his stupid, furry head and watching him being kicked bodily from the house, with me safe in my bolt hole with a belly full of stolen cheese.

The Mistresses’ fat legs appeared and she called hopefully: “Thomas! Thomas!”

But Thomas was nowhere to be seen.

I gave Spike the bulldog a grateful thumbs up, he gave me a knowing wink, before returning to his suspiciously furry pile of bones.

CHARLIE

My friend Ted had a large, fluffy, behind. We teased him about it, but he said “You can’t drive a spike with a tack hammer.” It had something to do with carpentry or rug laying, I think, but I asked around and found out it meant something different…something a little impolite. As a demure young woman, my sensibilities were roughened and scuffed. As a teen, I suppose I was overly prudish, but the summer after my visit to a co-ed, church camp, I came to know grown-up things, and had my first encounter with a spike and some motorized tools.

My first drinks were untouched, but the third and fourth were spiked with some kind of synthetic, Chinese concoction that a biker slipped into my drink when I stepped out with my date, Irene, to smoke. My first reaction to the drug was an overwhelming thirst. I had two more drinks, both spiked by my date. The combination of drugs in my system seemed to cancel each other out, so by two AM, I was fully functional, but still thirsty. I was told I beat two innocent bikers and a librarian, unconscious, but I had no memory of an altercation.

The power spiked just as the runaway bus rammed through the tall pole at the bottom of the street. A crossbeam touched the high voltage line when the pole toppled. Dad’s oxygen generator blew him up like a cheap balloon. The buttons on his pajamas popped as his chest expanded. They flew across the family room, spinning and bouncing. One of them broke Gran’s glasses, and one hit the parrot in the kitchen. Dad was OK, but frightened. Mom was grilling a Panini, and as the surge struck, it burst into flames, spreading to the fur collar on her robe.

LIZZIE

When he entered the room, a spike through his chest, everyone thought he was joking.
When he collapsed in agony, everyone thought his acting was brilliant.
When a puddle of blood appeared, everyone said “He’s awesome with special effects.”
When he begged for help, the room was ecstatic. “That’s why he’s the best,” some shouted.
When he didn’t move anymore, a speck of doubt crossed their minds. It only lasted a few seconds.
When everyone left, the police received an anonymous call.
There was a dead body on the floor alright. No spike though. It would be a long night.

SERENDIPITY

The inquisition has many instruments by which we may extract our confessions… The saw, the screw, the rack and the brand – each lovingly designed to exact exquisite pain and supreme suffering.

But these all pale into insignificance beside the simple spike.

Such a versatile, flexible tool of the trade: An instrument of slow, lingering, unpleasantries, or – if you prefer – the short, sharp, bitter sting of retribution.

The spike is crude, but effective, needs no adornment or assistance… mere body weight and pressure will suffice.

Perhaps you’ll allow me to demonstrate?

Please take a seat.

It’s the one with the spike.

DANNY

I look in the pantry and find a box of generic Frosted Flakes. “Is this an accident?” I asked my Dad. “No, I bought them on purpose,” he replied. “You know Frosted Flakes are nothing more than Corn Flakes sprayed with sugar?” Dad shrugs. Then there was a spike in my thinking, and the lightbulb of brilliance went off in my head. “A hand held liquid sugar sprayer. You can spray sugar on whatever you want, corn flakes, walls, floors, ceilings, whatever you want to eat sugar coated whenever you want!” Dad looks at me, and says, “Your an idiot.”

ZACKMANN

“What are you making?” asked Joe.

“A whittle of nothing.” replied Charlie.

“That nothing looks like a wooden dragon maybe Rory from Nutty Bites.”

“No, it’s that one form Friendship is Magic.” said Charlie

“I don’t remember him having a long straight sharp pointy tail like that.” commented Joe.

“Oh, I’m making a few like this for a guy’s girlfriend. He said she needed them this way for work but I think he may not want to admit he is a brony and really wants them for himself because I have never heard of any women actually being named Buffy.

NORVAL JOE

“Open the container, Mr. Picklehacker,” Aphasia demanded.
“I’ll lose my dark matter,” Bufford complained. “It’s taken years to obtain this. I won’t waste all of that.”
“Open it, or I will.” Aphasia grabbed the release valve.
Bufford leapt, but was too late. The agent pulled away the lid.
Desk drawer slammed open, books on shelves flew to the floor, and lights in the room dimmed for several minutes before returning to normal.
The door burst open. People entered, adjusting their tinfoil hats and the dials on their recorders.
“Here’s the source of the paranormal spike,” a crazy-haired, old woman shouted.

TURA

Spike
———
“There never were ninja throwing spikes,” my friend told me. We were nine years old, and he was always saying that this or that was just a story. “People throw them on YouTube, but they’re just imitating the story.”

Apparently, Damascus steel was a myth. “Vanadium in the ore makes the patterns,” he said. “Doesn’t make better swords.”

“Sex?” he said. “Biggest fairy story ever.” He never explained, just said darkly, “You’ll see.”

Then he stopped coming to school. We were told his family moved.

That was a long time ago, but I still wonder what the real story was.

PLANET Z

Know what the greatest love triangle was in all of history?
Tom, Jerry, and Spike.
Yes, I’m talking about the cartoon characters.
The cat, mouse, and dog.
Who else would I be talking about?
Do you know anyone else with those names?
No, I’m not talking about our neighbors.
That’s Bob, Sue, and Ethel.
Besides, Ethel’s banging the mailman.
So is Bob.
I’m banging Sue, too.
You’re banging Bob?
What about the mailman?
No?
Darn. I was hoping you could get some cheap stamps or something.
Maybe if he gets tired of Bob and Ethel, I’ll give him a shot.

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:

• John Musico
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Marsha
• Lizzie
• Jerry
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Charlie
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

JOHN MUSICO

The Fate of Intellect’s “Evolution”

They were from many light years away. Their brains had “evolved” to a level of logic where emotion was seemingly no longer useful and became atrophied, unavailable, in their ancient civilization.
Supreme beings, seeking to fill an empty void, though vicariously, came to Earth….
They watched intently, eagerly absorbed by what was once deemed a purposeless endeavor; emotion, and felt joy, once again. The visitors reciprocated their gratitude by using their godlike powers to aid mankind. They spoke to man, unseen, in a unified voice, as if from the sky, and were viewed as one being. Mankind worshiped their Lord.

MUNSI

Hospitality

By Christopher Munroe

I try to be a good host.

Whether I’m having people over for a night of b-movies and beer or an alien parasite has burrowed its way into my brain in order to control me like a puppet, I do whatever I can to make my guests comfortable. That’s just hospitality.

Some find this old-fashioned, but that’s how I was raised, it comes as naturally to me as breathing used to previous to finding that crashed alien ship out in the woods.

So, fellow normal human, may I offer you liquid? A beer-drink? Something to get you off your guard?

JEFFREY

Household Guest
by Jeffrey Fischer

The pain is with you all the time, day and night. Sometimes it’s a dull ache, tolerable if never fully out of your mind. Sometimes it’s stabbing agony, leaving you gasping for breath. Most of the time it comes as waves of torment, crashing against your mind’s shores, eroding your will to live.

My friend, your expression of sympathy suggests that you believe I am speaking of myself in the second person. On the contrary, I use “you” in its usual meaning. Ah, I now see understanding dawning. Don’t try to move; when the paralytic wears off, you’ll find yourself securely bound.

And remember: when I say “This won’t hurt a bit,”… I’m lying.

Part of the Hospitality Industry
by Jeffrey Fischer

Why, thank you, sir, for opening the door for me. You’re too kind. These little kindnesses are ignored far too often. Look, my bed is all made up, and I have towels as well. The hospitality of my host is unparalleled. I’m told there are exercise facilities on the premises as well. It’s the little things that make a stay more pleasant.

Why do I keep prattling on like this? Sir, you have your little fictions and I have mine. You insist on calling me a “guest of the state,” so I insist on believing that I’m being treated as one. May I see tonight’s dinner menu?

RICHARD

The Country Retreat

We were an eclectic group gathered together, as we waited to be called for dinner.

I glanced around at the guests – the major, all handlebar whiskers and ramrod straight posture; the haughty socialite, frostily eyeing her companions; the young married couple, utterly besotted, and the grumpy old dowager, frowning at having to wait for lunch.

All strangers: All anxious to be seated at the table.

At last, the final guest was announced, and the room fell strangely silent.

“Mr Hercule Poirot!”

Strangers maybe, but before the night was out we would become intimately familiar.

And one of us, would die!

MARSHA

NO TEXT

LIZZIE

John’s only grandniece had six children. At family gatherings, John was always somewhere else with his old buddies, a tropical island, a cruise, a religious peregrination. He wasn’t religious, but any excuse worked. This time, his coward friends decided to visit their families. So, when a choir of kids asked John why he looked all wrinkled, he showed them his gold teeth. “See this? You won’t get any. You’re out of the will.” Little did the family know that he had already spent all his money and that he had no intention of parting from his teeth, even after dying.

JERRY

Guest
————————–
They came early.

Now Roger does not mind when folk show up early for one of his dinner parties. Roger uses the term ‘bit’ to mean half-an-hour or so early because half-an-hour means that all the food is prepared, the table is set, and the house is clean. Most importantly the bathroom is sparkling clean and, if the need arises, his guest can eat off its floor. When the door bell rang Roger was in the shower and was not pleased that his guest were three hours early.

At least that is what he told the police when they arrived.
————————

TOM

Well Met on the Great Plain

Lindow Laxor was their guest, which meant the greater part of hospitality was due to him despite his habit of non-reciprocal return. He arrived with the first crush and bid us farewell with the draining of the last cask. The children found his talk of the Dunelands awe inspiriting. Grandma just as soon shoot him in the eye. So it was odd that as harvest approached no sign of Laxor. When the last cups of summer were raised we toasted his absence left a thimble aside in his honor. My family has been collecting Laxor’s Thimble for 600 years.

SERENDIPITY

I am the unseen guest at every dining table, the unwelcome visitor who calls in the night. I am the one of whom you do not speak, the one who lurks in hospital wards and loiters in dark alleyways.

I am the shadow on your lung, the faulty brake pipe, the falling branch.

I am the thin ice, the ruptured artery and the prank gone horribly wrong.

I am the fatal mistake, the sudden bend, the unexpected rip tide; I am bullet, bomb and burns, drugs, disease and disaster.

I am…

Death.

And I invite you…

To be my guest!

ZACKMANN

Some people hate having their in-laws visit. I don’t mind but I do hate all the extra cleanup and that we really have to clean up for the relatives who come from overseas. I can’t just shove stuff into the closet all Fibber McGee like when the pastor comes by since when they come, they stay for weeks. I actually miss having my father-in-law visit because as long as I made sure there were at least two beers in the refrigerator in the morning before I went to bed things would magically be fixed around the house in my sleep.

CHARLIE

Guests and fish start to smell after three days, so Babe made excuses so they would leave in the early morning of the fourth day of their yearly visit to the Burroughs home. Babe and her pal, Mary, had an odor about them anyway, and it grew stronger in time. Both of them were on a strange diet which consisted, largely, of grains and assorted roughage. When they sat on the patio or deck, the Burroughs always sat upwind of their guests, not letting on or grimacing every five minutes or so when they caught emanations of the silent winds.

Over the years, I’ve made every excuse I could muster to avoid having guests visit my home. The last time a visitor from two states away called while in town to ask directions to my house, I pretended I picked up the call on a cell phone in far-away Canada, saying I wouldn’t be home until the following Thursday, but pleased they made it to my special, little village. Next time, I’m going to say the house is being fumigated, and has a large tent over it, so we can gather at the local hotel if they insist on meeting.

NORVAL JOE

“Mr. Picklehacker. This is your last chance to share some information,” Aphasia said. “Unless you want to become a guest of our airport security cell.”
“No big deal,” Bufford said. “You already know it weighs more than it should. It’s dark matter.”
The agent narrowed her eyes at him. “It doesn’t look very dark.”
“It’s an expression,” Bufford said with a shrug. “Is it illegal to have or transport an unknown element?”
“It depends, Picklehacker. What do you plan to do with it?”
“I don’t know,” Bufford said and sat back with a laugh. “Maybe I’ll make invisible paper weights.”

TURA

Guest
———
The horizon’s just crossing past the sun when they show. Two people. Look like men, but that don’t mean much.

“We have come far, and are weary,” says one. Weary? They’re not even breaking a sweat. Must be packing some mighty fine implants to be just walking across the badlands. No stuff with them, not even guns.

“This shack ain’t no hotel,” I say. “But plenty of rocks to lay on. Be my guest.”

Well, there’s no fire from heaven coming down. Guess I passed God’s secret customer test. I didn’t let on, but the wings really give them away.

PLANET Z

I call it the spare bedroom.
She calls it the guest room.
The blueprints call it the basement.
The girl we kidnapped and locked up down there calls it a prison.
The cops called it a dungeon.
The media called it a slaughterhouse.
The prosecutor called it the scene of the crime.
I suppose we should call the girl the victim.
And me and her the accused.
Oh, and the cops, well, they’re still the cops.
But the media are jackals.
And the prosecutor is their whore.
Showing off for the cameras, as he runs for mayor.
God damned semantics!

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:

• John Musico
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Jerry
• Serendipity
• Tura Brezoianu
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Munsi
• Jennifer
• Zackmann
• Planet Z

JOHN MUSICO

John
Hopeless

Dr. Analitico’s patient; Mildred, worried she was depressed. He asked; “If you won the lottery, what would you think, what would you feel?”
Mildred’s eyes took on a far away gaze; “Oh that would be wonderful; I’d get out of debt, help my kids pay for school as I always wanted to,
get a maid…so many things”. The psychiatrist announced confidently; “You are NOT depressed. The difference between depression and simply being bummed out is anhedonia: wanting is absent in true depression”. Mildred sighed her relief audibly and calmly told Dr Analitico she’s bummed she can’t pay for the visit.

JEFFREY

The Curve
by Jeffrey Fischer

Adam licked the back of his pencil. He needed an 85 on this test to pass his calculus course. Too many nights farting around instead of studying, compounding his innate lack of understanding of the subject, had gotten him to this point.

He flipped the exam to page 1. “Integrate 6 x^5 – 18 x^2 + 7 dx,” read the first question. He flipped the page back again. This was hopeless. He stood and walked from the exam room.

When Adam failed the course, his professor pointed out that an 85 still wouldn’t have helped. “Son, you needed around a 130 out of 100 to pass the course. You’re no good at calculus, but your basic math skills aren’t all that great, either.”

Hopeless Romantic
by Jeffrey Fischer

A hopeless romantic, Dalton always imagined he would find his soul mate if he just looked long enough. Unfortunately, Dalton was short, plump, and balding prematurely, with thick spectacles, and his idea of a suitable match was a willowy blonde with a million-watt smile and endless legs.

Dalton’s latest mission involved a one-named model with a half-dozen degrees to her name. When he made his intentions clear, so did she. Dalton slunk away, as he had so many times before.

A hopeless romantic indeed: he was certainly romantic, and he was most certainly hopeless.

RICHARD

#1 – Hero

It’s one of the great movie standbys: The hero, having succeeded against impossible odds, faces the final test of character and heroism – a hopeless situation.

Inevitably, somebody is going to die, and – equally inevitably – it’s going to be the hero. Sacrificing his own life for the greater good, saving the planet and the day.

I have to be honest, no matter how desperate the circumstances, you’ll never find me volunteering to be that hero. I’ll be the one keeping my head down, staying in the background and demonstrating no survival skills whatsoever.

Heroes die.

But I’ll survive!

#2 – Moment of truth

It was a hopeless situation – how had things come to this?

All eyes of the crowd were focussed on him, he could feel their gaze burning in to him, as a bead of sweat trickled slowly down the back of his neck.

So much hinged on his answer, and he had no idea whether this would prove to be the worst decision he would ever make.

The pressure was overwhelming.

The man stood before him, repeated the question, in a stern, imperious tone.

He responded, eyes clenched tightly shut.

“I do”

“Then I now pronounce you, husband and wife!”

LIZZIE

Hopeless Conversation

“Mary and Patrick named their daughter Joan. Joan married Anthony and had a baby girl they named Andrea. Andrea partnered Rosie and adopted baby Mary. Mary married Patrick; they had a daughter they named Joan. Joan got married to Anthony and had a baby girl…”
“Wait a second. There’s something wrong with this. Genealogy doesn’t go in circles. If you tell me their baby was called Andrea…”
“No. She was called Hopeless.”
“What a cruel name to give to a child!”
“Not at all. They were… hoping for… less… of a circular family history. Get it?”
“Jeez. What a dumbass.”

JERRY

A Hopeless situation
———————————
I play a lot of tennis: USTA matches several evenings each week, four-hour drill on Friday, and my Saturday Morning Tennis Group of 30 friends. I have several on-line MMOs that I do in the evening with friends that can’t survive any battle without me. My wife has stuff for me to do and then there is my writing. My blog ‘Lucky and Good’ where I write about economics and risk-taking, and of course the 100 Word Challenge. This is really a hopeless situation and sometimes I have to drop something. Sorry Laurence, you lost the coin toss last week.

FYI- I reminded Jerry that I don’t like to be mentioned in the stories, nor do I like meta-stories about trying to write for the podcast.

SERENDIPITY

“Welcome to the Anxiety Helpline – you will now be presented with a number of options, please select a reason for your call”

“If human contact makes you anxious, please hold to speak to an operator”

“If dealing with machines makes you anxious, please press one”

“You have chosen option one. Are you sure that’s the right choice? Press the appropriate key to respond”

“You have selected an incorrect option”

“Please hold”

“You a currently in a queue. Please hold.”

“Please hold”

“I’m sorry. We cannot take your call at the moment – thank you for calling the Anxiety Helpline”

TURA

A Hopeless Situation
——————
After weakening me with red kryptonite, my enemies had pulverised my body with a nuclear explosion, consumed the residue with molecular acid from a hive of xenomorphs, and divided the fuming remains among several nuclear reactors to be dispersed into deep interstellar space.

But Superman laughs at such material inconveniences! With subtle psionic tendrils I began slowly collecting material for a new body, atom by atom, hidden in a place I shall never disclose, lest my enemies in the past discover my words with machines that see the future.

For Superman, there is no such thing as a hopeless situation!

TOM

What Price Your Soul

Feel overwhelmed? Do you wonder it you can go on again day? Well we at Hopeless Situations understand. We feel your pain. Know that the answer does lie in wealth or fame or power. If it did you would have had lawyers, guns and money to get you out of this. No dear friends you are up to your eyeballs in fire ants covered in honey buried in the Texas panhandle. With one simple call to Hopeless Situations the unsurmountable is dissipated. The unresolvable becomes resolute. Our operators are waiting, should you be? Hopeless Situations a J. Faust International Company.

NORVAL JOE

“Bufford,” the agent said pulling her chair close to him. The scent of her perfume filled his head and he felt his reserve begin to crack. “This doesn’t have to be a hopeless situation. Answer a few of our questions so we can know you’ll be straight with us.”
“Play straight with me, and I’ll play straight with you,” Bufford said, leaning away from her. “You haven’t told me who you are, or who you represent.”
“Okay,” she said, sitting up straight. “My name is Aphasia and I work with the Bureau of National Despair. Now. What’s in the box?”

MUNSI

Hopelessness

By Christopher Munroe

When you’re feeling down and out, as though the world were hopeless, remember:

The world was here before you were born, and will remain long after your death. It survived ice ages, comets, mass-extinction-events, global warming and cooling, and through each crisis Earth abides, through each new crisis presented Earth will abide.

Earth will survive any trouble we will throw at it, of this I have no doubt, and it will barely notice your own private problems.

We simply won’t necessarily necessarily survive with it.

The world, my friend, is full of hope.

It is merely WE who are hopeless…

JENNIFER

Jodie arrived just after recess with her mother and the principal in tow. Standing at the doorway, the principal waved our teacher over. They huddled for a moment before he turned back to the class.

“Boys and girls, today will be Jodie’s last day. Why don’t you tell us a little bit about where you’re going and why?”

“Well, my mother and I are moving to the city. My parents had a big fight last night and now they’re getting a divorce.”

I sat, terrified, knowing that my mother was leaving my father next week for the exact same reason.

ZACKMANN

I can explain an equipment malfunction fire but I have to explain a big hole in the wall next to a door. Which will be easier than explaining the trebuchet. I begged my boss not to do what he did but he wanted to save money on heating and cooling as do I but I insisted the last thing you want to do is put a “Keep Door Closed At All Times” sign up in a room full of engineers because a door that may not be opened is a wall. I think I should propose a revolving door policy.

PLANET Z

There she was, passed out on the bed.
Drank too much. Or maybe it was the pills.
I poked her foot.
No response.
I tickled the sole of her foot.
Still no response.
She was breathing.
I turned her on to her side so if she threw up, she wouldn’t choke on her vomit.
I stayed up all night reading.
Well, most of the night.
I must have fallen asleep.
The campus police woke me up.
Someone had attacked her before I found her.
And thought I did it.
He wore a condom. No DNA.
No good deed, I suppose.

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
• Tura Brezoianu
• Lizzie
• Anima
• John Musico
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Tom
• Munsi
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

JEFFREY

The Stoolie
by Jeffrey Fischer

Young Vinnie burst into the capo’s office. “The cops busted Joey,” he said, gasping for breath. The capo thought about this. “Joey’s solid. He won’t sing.”

Tony, the outfit’s lieutenant, said, “I dunno, boss. Joey’s looking at serious time, and he knows a lot about this organization. What if he cuts a deal?”

“Good point,” replied the capo. “I hate to lose Joey, but better not to take a chance. Vinnie, when he’s sprung from the joint on bail, outfit him with cement overshoes.”

Vinnie looked confused. “You got it, boss. But how are cement overshoes gonna keep Joey from singing? His voice ain’t in his feet.”

The capo wondered how much inbreeding had gone on in Vinnie’s family. “Don’t ask questions, just do it.”

Doing Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

When the police caught Big Johnny red-handed, he knew better than to sing. He kept quiet, was convicted, and sent to Sing Sing for five to ten. Big Johnny found himself sharing a cell with pro golfer Vijay Singh, who had run afoul of immigration laws. Vijay heard Big Johnny sing in the shower – Johnny was a natural tenor but an occupational accident made him more of a soprano – and suggested they form a quartet with Fingers LeGrande and an overweight female guard named Lulu. Their performance was a great success with the cons, who applauded what they thought was the last number and started to leave.

“Wait!” Big Johnny implored. “We still have one more number to go. Everyone knows it ain’t over ’til the fat lady sings. Take it away, Lulu.”

RICHARD

Rock ‘n’ Roll

Ringo was always my favourite Beatle – I mean, playing the drums is cool anyway, but the guy had balls too. Let’s face it, he couldn’t really sing, so when you hear his rough and ready tones on Sgt Pepper with the question, “What would you think if I sang out of tune?”, it’s an in-your-face challenge to which there’s really no answer.

It’s an inspirational moment – one that made me, and thousands like me think we could be as famous as The Beatles too.

Unfortunately, I really couldn’t sing in tune.

Or play the drums.

Or the guitar.

Ah well.

TURA

Sing
———
The musical artificer is famous for his mechanical birds. They are made with the preserved syrinxes and throat-parts of captured birds, animated by bellows and exquisite clock-work, to exalt their song above even their voice in life.

The most withdrawn room of his residence presents his greatest creations to his most discreet clients: simulacra of the finest human voices, the opera singers of living memory.

And when the latest star of the opera was found murdered in the street, her throat brutally torn out, those clients wondered only which of them might become the fortunate owner of her preserved voice.

LIZZIE

Singing and dancing in the rain was not his thing. However, he was tempted to do it anyway just to ruin his damn shoes, a birthday gift from his girlfriend. Anticipating something as catastrophic as a pair of bright orange shoes, he had told her not to get him anything. She insisted and the result was… catastrophic. When the weather got worse, all he could think of was singing and dancing in the rain. When he returned home with ruined shoes and a well-rehearsed guilty look, she broke up with him. Hah! She knew him all too well, didn’t she?

ANIMA

Hallelujah!

What was that?

Handel’s beatific chorus rose from Claire’s chest, startling her boyfriend. They were still figuring out each others’ secrets, and there was much left to learn.

That’s my heart, singing for joy when you said you loved me.

Does that happen often?

It is my special superpower – whenever I feel an upwelling of emotion, my heart sings.

Strong emotions get different songs, like “Happy” by Pharell Williams, or a gut wrenching Tori Amos medley. But, if you try to adjust the “tuning knobs” when she thumps out “Brown Chicken, Brown Cow”, I will break all your fingers.

JOHN MUSICO

John
Sing

Professor Tenacio, marine biologist, studying the songs of Grey Humpback whales, couldn’t quite place his finger on a sense of familiarity.
He applied scientific method to the query. Basics. Evolution. The most direct descendants of dinosaurs to this day are birds from which other species, including mammals, are derived. Birds sing, as do mammalian whales.
He manipulated a whale song recording in a myriad of ways. It was that at several fold speed; the singing of humpbacks was identical to the songs of modern days birds. THAT was the haunting subliminal association he made, way back when this project began.

SERENDIPITY

Grandmother used to keep canaries in a small gilded cage. I would tell her it was cruel to imprison them, but she’d hear nothing of it.

“Of course they’re happy”, she’d protest, “just listen to them sing”

Those birds certainly could sing, and though it broke my heart to hear them, grandmother was far too stubborn to give in to my pleas to free them.

“Listen to them sing”, she said.

So I listened.

And this was their song:

“Go into the kitchen,

and find the big sharp knife;

Plunge it deep into her chest,

and end her worthless life!”

ZACKMANN

We paid the manager then entered a portal into a new dimension. We were separated so I started to sing hoping she would hear. Monsters appeared all around me. I journeyed to a castle in the distance. Finally, I reunite with my sister who tells me we are in a world in which magic is based on musical ability. She became an elven princess when I nearly got eaten by orcs. Just my luck that when she sings it sounds like the curly haired Marx brother playing the harp but when I sing it sounds like Jack Benny playing violin.

“Can you pick me up from the BART train station tomorrow? I have an audition for a singing part.” said Dylan.

“Sure, just call me before you leave the city.” replied his father.

“You may have read the story the play is based on.”

“One of Stephen Kings?”

“No, it is a musical play based on Paul Cooley’s story Mimes. I’m singing Mimes Mimes Mimes for my audition. Does a musical based on Mimes seem odd to you?” asked Dylan

“No, I loved the musical audio drama version sponsored by Pondie’s Wieners brand all beef frankfurters and break a leg.”

TOM

With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me

He sang the body electric, turned the head and heart of a Dublin lad. In greater devotion to his mentor he created a beautiful monster. Some say Henry Irving was the inspiration for the Vampire, but I give you the following that more correctly points to Whitman both had long white hair, a heavy moustache, great height and strength, and a leonine bearing. Further, Dracula is the only character who speaks with a sense of rhythm, parallelism, and balance that is characteristic of Whitman. Stoker’s siren song of death singing through the ages. The armies of those I love engirth me.

MUNSI

Singing

By Christopher Munroe

Writing out a story

Singing what I’m doing

The prompt this week is sing and

So sing I’m going to do

Writing prompts in song now

This song won’t be long now

Can’t we get along now

I can, how ‘bout you?

I’m moving through the middle

Middle of the song

Yes this is the middle

Middle of the song

Moving toward the finish

Hope you like what I’ve written

But trust me; if you didn’t

I don’t even care

Taking this prompt meta

A little private joke-ey

What can you expect from me

When you make you prompt “Sing?”

NORVAL JOE

Bufford sat at the table, the collection chamber in front of him, his hands folded in his lap.
“What’s in the box, Mr. Picklehacker,” the agent said, leaning one hand on the table and brushing back her long blonde hair with the other. She licked her luscious lips. “We weighed it. It’s heavy–heavier than it should be.”
Bufford shrugged his shoulders and shook his head.
She slammed her hand down on the table. “We have ways to make you sing.”
“I could sing, Sweet Heart,” he said in his best Humphrey Bogart. “But that doesn’t mean you’d recognize the song.”

PLANET Z

Before every major sports event, someone performs the national anthem.
Some do it well. And some don’t.
Oh, sure, some singers try to ham it up, and they look stupid doing it.
Or they forget the lyrics, and refuse to use the words on the scoreboard as a prompter.
The strangest I’ve ever seen was a man on a theremin and a woman using wine glasses.
It sounded really cool, until the woman spilled a wine glass on to the theremin and electrocuted them both.
Always use surge protectors, wear rubber boots, and ponder learning how to play the violin.

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:

• Richard
• Jeffrey
• Munsi
• John Musico
• Tura Brezoianu
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Spate
• Tom
• Anima
• Jerry
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

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

RICHARD

Tramps

‘Tramps’ is the name of our local nightclub – I worked there behind the bar one summer and I learned a thing or two, I can tell you.

When the punters have left and the strip lights go on, you see the place as it really is: dirty, smelly, stained and tarnished by the reminders of a thousand wild nights out that are really best forgotten.

And the girls look different too when you’re sober and serving. Ignorant, arrogant, and loud-mouthed; they sprawl over the bar counter, all tacky make-up and way too much bare flesh.

Tramps. The lot of them.

JEFFREY

Riding the Rails
by Jeffrey Fischer

I sat in the Business Class car in the last remaining seat, next to a pungent gentleman in disheveled clothing. He explained that he was a hobo on his way to Philadelphia.

“A hobo? Aren’t you supposed to be riding a freight train?”

He waved an arm. “This is a lot nicer. I sprained my ankle hopping off a car a few years back and settled with CSX for two million. Now I can afford Business Class on Amtrak instead of a drafty freight car.”

“Seriously? You injured yourself while illegally riding a train and came out of it with two million?”

“I know. Ain’t America great?”

Middle-Aged Spread
by Jeffrey Fischer

The evening had gone well up to then, Steve thought. He flirted with the woman at the bar – he was pretty sure her name was Alice – and they left together, heading for her place.

Some kissing and fumbling later, both Steve and Alice – or was it Andrea? – were naked. She turned, and he saw the tramp stamp on her left buttock. It may have started life as a butterfly but now looked like Mothra. Ah, the folly of youth, thought Steve. His own tattoo was a snake that now looked as though it had eaten a chihuahua. He shrugged and returned to exploring the realm of Mothra.

MUNSI

Spring Break

By Christopher Munroe

Nobody knows how tattoo ink came to be tainted with hallucinogenic drugs.

Maybe it was a problem with their manufacture, or perhaps somebody thought it funny to spike them, but there’s no way of knowing for certain, now.

Anyone who might have had answers is dead, after all…

What we do know is that, during Spring Break, close to two thousand young women, fresh tattoos on their lower backs, were suddenly thrown into uncontrollable, murderous rage.

We did what we could to get away from them.

But by then it was too late.

We were caught up in the Tramp-Stampede…

JOHN MUSICO

John
Tramps vs. Cosmo girls

Chicks just don’t get guys.
Fashion magazine ice women do not appear on the cover of porn mags for guys. Fine, fashion mags are for women, but why don’t women get that when it comes to guys, the slut/wanting look is what guys crave hands down? It seems that the sad, for a guy at least, obvious conclusion is that; females value of other women’s opinion of them- is more important than what males value: yeah, gettin laid. So how ought we confused guys proceed? Accept that once a female feels accepted by her peers, THEN she feels sexy…you dogs.

TURA

Tramps
———
I remember tramps.

They dont exist any more.

Friendly figures, but scary too, outside the rules. Like clowns.

“Gentlemen of the road” was the expression. Now they’re “homeless people”.

You can’t wander the countryside these days. Stick to the cities, more people, a numbers game.

To a small child, tramps were part of the world. They featured in children’s stories. You never thought about how that really worked, any more than you would in a dream.

That’s what childhood is, a dream. Growing up is waking up.

Reality often sucks, especially for tramps, but I’ll take it over any dream.

LIZZIE

The grotto was pleasant. The two tramps, Roger and Romeo, had dragged a sofa and a few other commodities inside. With the fireplace in the center, the area looked homey.

Then, Romeo decided to bring a lady tramp to live with them. The altercations became constant. She worked at night, so she was happy not to have to take part in the quarrels.

One day, when she got back home, she found a note from Roger. “I’ll be back in a few decades. Romeo checked out, permanently.”

Roger that, she thought. It worked. She had the grotto all to herself!

SERENDIPITY

The tramps are coming, and you’d better look out!

They’re coming in their hordes, with their funny waddling walks, toothbrush moustaches, bowler hats and twirling canes.

They’re coming to hunt you down, to whimsically beat you senseless; to break your bones with their careless capers and inept tomfoolery; to hunt you down and mess you up, with eyebrows wobbling furiously and slapstick hilarity.

So run and hide, lock your doors and stay off the streets because the tramps are coming, and they will be the death of you.

And, if you survive the tramps…

Just wait until the clowns arrive!

SPATE

Tramps In The Future

She leaned in for a closer look. “Does it hurt?”

He shrugged. “Hardly anymore.”

“Hell of a place for a piercing!”

Another shrug. “Seemed right at the time.”

“Yeah,” she smiled knowingly, “have ya seen my ‘seemed right at the time’?”

Not waiting for an answer, she whirled around and lowered the back of her
hospital johnny pants to reveal a faded, wrinkly, blue green splotch just
above the crack “Y” of her buttocks.

“That’s my tramp stamp but these fucking nursing home orderlies keep
mistaking it for a bruise!”

He laughed so hard his teeth fell onto the floor.

(music: “Gretchen’s Tango” by Ergo Phizmiz licensed under Creative Commons
Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 UK: England License / curator:
freemusicarchive.org)

TOM

The Spring was Brief, then Brutal

He was a child of the Prague Spring. Watched as his father fled to the Americas. As a young man he went Tramping across the Czech country side. Developed a deep interest in Steinbeck and the precise location of the frog incidence. Meet a fellow Tramp named Marta who shared his dream of freedom in America. They planned to hang glide into Italy, but in the end a college visa and a quick dash over the border was the easiest course of action. When the Soviet System collapsed, they returned home, but they was no longer tramps, she they were Americans.

ANIMA

Neighbors

Tramp tramp tramp tramp

Tramp tramp tramp tramp

There’s a herd of buffalo that lives above me. They have no consideration for anyone, stomping around all night.

When I bought, I had my choice of townhouses. The garden access was a lovely feature, but now I rue my desire for greenspace.

I called animal control. “Buffalo should be living on the prairie somewhere, not in the heart of downtown, right?” Apparently there are native American issues associated, and they won’t get involved.

So I’ve invited my friend Bill Cody to visit; he says he knows how to fix my problem.

JERRY

He came to our door one afternoon. His old bluejeans were stitched up many times and were darn near white from age.

My Mom was in the kitchen making supper for when Dad would get home.

Me, then a kid of about 10, ran to the door and yelled through the screen “Get out of here you old tramp!”

That was when mom whacked me up the side of my head from behind. She then brought the man some ice tea and a plate of food.

The tramp ate on the back porch while Mom taught me about respecting everyone.

NORVAL JOE

Bufford sat in a side room at Boise International with a variety of tramps, hooligans and other suspicious people. A TSA agent wearing a crumpled uniform, two sizes too small, stood at the door trying to look fearsome.
Bufford balanced the dark matter collection chamber on his lap until the door opened and two characters in black suites and dark glasses stepped in.
The one on the left removed her fedora, shook out her long blonde hair and said, “Mr. Picklehacker, please come with us.”
He tramped behind them to a small dark room with a single chair and table.

PLANET Z

Frank Sinatra sang lots of songs.
He also acted in a lot of movies.
But for all his talent, Frank never realized his full potential as a puppeteer.
He’s stay up late, working on his Punch and Judy act.
Except that it was more like Punchin’ Judy.
Judy Garland was his assistant, and the target of Frank’s frustration when things didn’t go so well.
She drank too much and took all sorts of pills, then died from an overdose.
Liza Minelli and Nancy Sinatra don’t talk about it at all. But you never see them playing with their dolls either

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:

• Carol
• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Jerry
• Serendipity
• Spate
• John Musico
• Zackmann
• 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!

CAROL

I wanted to be a Wave. Thought my father would be happy about that – he had quit school and run away from home to join the Navy when he was 16 after all. He wasn’t. Said that all Waves were whores and forbade me to enlist.

So I ran away from home and became a mermaid. Now I sport beneath the waves, leaving him to his land-locked life. No regrets

But he was right about one thing – waves are definitely not monogamous. Any time, any breeze, any beach will do. And don’t even get me started about those white-caps!

MUNSI

Dancing

By Christopher Munroe

I’m not too old to hit up a nightclub.

I mean, an alternative club, and basically only on retro night every other week, but still, proof of concept. I can still go dancing, and by god I do!

Scene kids in our thirties, now, enjoying one another’s company in impeccable style, soundtracked by the goth/indie tunes of the ‘80s and 90s, and fun is had every damn time.

It’s an important part of who I am.

And when the Pixies play, you better believe I’m on the floor…

On a wave of mutilation.

Wave of mutilation.

Wave of mutilation.

Wave…

JEFFREY

Catch a Wave
by Jeffrey Fischer

Casey paddled away from shore, his surfboard in hand. He had seen the guys surfing on the beach, and they all had hot, bikini-clad girlfriends who laughed a lot. Surfing didn’t look very hard, and Casey wanted a hot, laughing, bikini-clad girlfriend, so he waited for the right moment to impress.

A monster wave was starting to crest. This was it! Casey balanced on the board and let the water move him. In an instant, he fell, tumbling again and again in the water until he surfaced on the beach. He felt very proud of himself.

The bikini-clad girls were laughing, which was good. Only then did he realize he had lost his swim suit some time ago.

Safe Space
by Jeffrey Fischer

The seminar participants were very brave to sit through twenty minutes in which a cisgendered straight Caucasian explained to them that carrying around a mattress on campus was not actually performance art. The only way this could have been more traumatic would have been if the speaker were male. Male privilege was the *worst*. Well, white male…well, straight white male… Oh things got confusing quickly. Anyway, despite the multiple trigger warnings before and during the talk, some of the womyn needed a safe space to calm down. When the Womyn’s Center facilitator said there would be coloring books and videos of frolicking puppies, the audience waved, because clapping was triggering for some.

And so went another day at day care for twenty-somethings, also known as college.

RICHARD

One pint of beer

All it takes is one pint of beer – it really doesn’t matter what sort or which brewery, it doesn’t even have to be artisan beer, any old cheap brew will do.

You don’t need pretzels, snacks, a party atmosphere or the company of any friends to share the moment… just a pint glass, brimming with cold beer.

That, along with a single, momentary lapse of judgement, and maybe a brief, thoughtless, uncoordinated wave of the hand…

Hand: meet beer.

Beer: meet high tech, high spec, top of the range laptop computer.

And you can just wave that expensive laptop goodbye!

LIZZIE

Waving energetically didn’t solve her problem. She tried whistling and even throwing stones. Nothing. She lifted the axe from the floor and swung it over her shoulder.

A man approached quickly and tried to take the axe away from her. “What on Earth, lady!”

“What on Earth?! Just get off my lawn! Don’t you see the sign?!”

He hadn’t seen it, considering the puzzled look on his face. Well, it was too late now.

The sign read “Stay off my lawn or I’ll chop your head off.” Yep, getting all those words on such a small sign was a pain.

TOM

And that is all I have to Say about That

Timmy waved to the cars passing by. Sometimes they’d slow down and wave back. It didn’t matter the weather or temperature. Timmy would be comfortably seated in the rainbow lawn chair, smiling and waving. His sister had taught him how to do the: “prom queen on a float wave” so he wouldn’t tire himself out. Sometimes someone from the church would stop the car and come up on the porch. Timmy would pour them a lemonade and wave when they got back in their car. Timmy doesn’t sit on the porch any more, but people still drive by and wave.

JERRY

Ounce – 2015-06-18
—————–
Now and again I don’t see the need to follow directions. I don’t mean things like “to get to 1720 Westlake Road go North 10 blocks and then turn left”. You will find me following those kinds of directions precisely. Sometimes, when I am cooking, I will fall off the direction wagon because somethings look so good. Say that the recipe calls for a cup of chopped onions or seven sliced cumquats. I may add a little more. Last night, after the doctor pumped my stomach, he said that my using 16 ounces of Habanero may have been too much.
——————
Wave 2015-06-18
——————
Last week I was out at the lake with the blue sky over head putting around with my little dinghy and everything was so perfect and was going so grand that I did not want it to ever stop. I was deep in the throes of a great, near faultless ride. The feeling was one of exhilaration, inner peace, physical completeness, that feeling of being surrounded by the warmth of true love in a wet and slippery environment. It was taking my breath away. I was riding the final wave when my wife walked in on Linda and me. Dang.

SERENDIPITY

Isn’t technology wonderful? It opens up a whole world of possibilities… I call them techno-pathogens.

Whilst the world is obsessed with computer viruses, I’ve been working away with real ones, digitally distributed and delivered directly to the unfortunate recipient.

Absolutely deadly, but not exactly silent.

You see, my viruses are hidden in music – the sort that gets inside your head and won’t go away: earworms that you hear once, then hang around for as long as it takes for the infection to gain hold.

Pathogens buried in the wave forms of sound itself – music to my ears.

SPATE

Everyday

Everyday I make the Post Office run. Everyday I see him on the corner. He’s
younger than me but not much, with long hair held back by grease; an
untucked tattered work shirt; dirty worn jeans that confuse sight with
smell.

Regardless of weather, he’s there, always wearing that sad smile, purposely
making eye contact with the driver of each car and giving each a personal
wave.

Some say mental illness. Some say drugs. Some that he’s been touched by God
and can connect with the soul of anyone he meets.

Me? I wave back. and go get the mail.

JOHN MUSICO

John
Wave

Hand waving reminds us of our territorial warring past. As a tribe approached our village, before they got too close; you’d wave your arm; “Whoaa, this place is ours”. If they proved friends, they’d get waved in. The handshake is a related, also dark gesture: “See, I hold no weapon”. Waving goodbye is a blend of the two. Communicating from afar as the boat sails off further; that weaponless, we two have been friends. The salute also goes back to our warlike nature. Lifting one’s armor visor to show your smiling not scowling face- one of the good guys.

ZACKMANN

I was in the bank getting some fees waived because sometimes all you have to do is ask. Mike my friend from tech who was in a New Wave band waved at me. When we were in electronics class Mike could whistle a perfect sine wave for the oscilloscope. Mike greets me with “Your mother wears army boots.” To which I could only respond “You watch too much Bugs Bunny cartoons. Besides that was my grandma and it was navy boots. She was in the WAVES.”

I’d like to go on Mike’s band cruise but ocean waves make me seasick.

ANIMA

The Great Wave of Kanagawa

For the past 10 minutes I have been looking at this amazing Japanese print.

3 boats plow the trough of a giant wave; In the distance, Mt Fuji.

Are the sailors scared? Jacked on adrenaline? Praying? Do their families worry when the fishing fleet goes out?

Mt Fuji peeks through – my mind wanders in a different direction.

At the base of the mountain lies Aokigahara, the Sea of Trees. Is there a widow wandering the Suicide Forest, about to suffer the same fate as her fisherman, drowning in a wave of grief?

Maybe I should mediate on cherry blossoms …

NORVAL JOE

Bufford thanked the Swiss man for his input with a smile and a wave and waited for him to disappear into the woods. Giggling, he gathered his pump, hoses and other apparatus, and loaded the collection chamber into a wheelbarrow.
Maybe it was only confirmation bias, but the chamber felt like it was more massive, even twice the expected mass. He shipped the equipment back home, but hand carried the chamber on the plane. On his flight back to Idaho he imagined the experiments he would perform. First he would determine if dark matter was made of particles or waves.

TURA

Wave
———
—I’m starting up a new business!

—Oh yes, what’s the business?

—I’ve invented a machine for creating the very best waves for surfing, anywhere there’s enough water. I can turn any beach, anywhere in the world, into a top-class surfing resort! No more hanging around waiting for the cry of “Surf’s up!” The surf will always be up! The pièce de résistance, though, is a gigantic pool shaped like a ring, with a wave breaking endlessly round and round. You’ll be able to surf a cylinder wave all day long!

—What are you calling it?

—“The Wave of the Future”!

PLANET Z

Is light a particle, or is it a wave?
Well, in some conditions, it acts like a particle.
And under other conditions, it acts like a wave.
Then there’s the times that light acts like a total dick.
Light never puts down the toilet seat.
And uses up all of the hot water when you want to take a shower.
Of course, it always borrows the car when you’re late for work.
Worst of all, there’s that damned light bill to pay every month.
I’m going to newspaper the windows, buy heavy drapes, and kill this son of a bitch.

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