Weekly Challenge #467 – Pen

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:

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

Tinny and Bunny

JEFFREY

Have Pen, Will Travel
by Jeffrey Fischer

The authorial imagination often soars when the author is removed from familiar surroundings. We take that for granted now, but few remember that it was the fountain pen that freed the wordsmith from being chained to his inkwell. Carrying enough ink for many pages of prose allowed him to write anywhere. Thus, the invention of the fountain pen was the second most important development in the creation of the modern writer.

Nevertheless, another hundred and fifty years or so would have to pass before the invention of the writing surface outside the home, also known as Starbucks.

Swordsmanship
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say the pen is mightier than the sword. I know mine is. When I say that, I often get a condescending reply about the metaphorical power of the written word. I can see that reply forming in your mouth as well, sir.

But I assure you that I’m not speaking metaphorically. Take a look at this pen. To be sure, it will write a few lines, but this is also – wait a moment while I push this button – a fully-functioning light saber, capable of slicing through metal like… well, a laser device through metal. I have a pen, but I’m not that good with similes.

So put down that sword before you get hurt, sir.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 100: The End

George pulled up to the guard’s cabin, signed out, and drove away from ‘Connect Protect Solutions’… maybe now he could get back to the world he understood – pipes, washers and drainage. He couldn’t have felt happier!

Pausing at the junction, he glanced in his rear view mirror and was surprised to see the security guard running after him – he leaned out of the window.

“You’ve still got my pen!”, the guard was shouting.

George didn’t care – he floored the accelerator, without looking, and ploughed straight into a passing truck!

—-oo—

George opened his eyes… the hospital seemed strangely quiet.

#2 – Monkeys

If an unlimited number of monkeys with typewriters could theoretically write the complete works of Shakespeare, just imagine what they could do with a decent word processing package… Neatly formatted paragraphs, properly spellchecked and justified – although I bet they’d use Comic Sans!

Personally, I wouldn’t trust a monkey with anything more advanced than a pen – and I can’t imagine they’d do anything particularly creative with it. Probably stick it up their bum, I imagine.

If you’re going to write Shakespeare, monkeys simply aren’t up to the job, no matter how many you might have handy.

Try dolphins instead.

#3 – Petition

Laggins was enjoying his third helping of bacon and coffee, when the doorbell rang. Grumpily muttering to himself, he opened the front door, to be confronted by that perishing wizard again!

“What?”, he barked.

The wizard smiled… “Would you be willing to sign a petition outlawing door to door recruitment for magical quests?”, he enquired, proffering a large quill pen.

Without hesitation, Laggins grabbed the pen, signing his name on the wizard’s scroll, with a flourish.

“Oops!”, said the wizard, “Wrong scroll… you’ve just signed up to join the ‘Infernal and Horrific Ultimate Treasure Quest'”

“See you tomorrow, first thing!”

#4 – Livestock

We keep them in the pen until they’re ready to move on – that way we can watch their diet and there’s no chance of them running off.

Of course, they need to keep fit and healthy in such a confined space, so we give them the treadmills and the exercise bikes – they get an hour in the middle of the day, and another couple of hours in the evening: Keeps them at their peak and gives them a better quality of life, you see.

Then, after forty years, we let them go… with a carriage clock.

Happy retirement!

LIZZIE

“When we were kids, we had pen-pals. This was when people used pens and paper. To open the mailbox and find a letter from some exotic location was beyond words. Sometimes, we received letters from places we had never heard of. We would dream of going there to meet our new friends!”

The kids looked at their great-grandfather, a puzzled look in their eyes. “Is that why you got stuck up here in Colony800?”

The old man sighed. How could he explain that there had been a life before the Colonies, a life at a place everyone called “the World”?

SERENDIPITY

They told me that the pen is mightier than the sword – I didn’t believe them: A sword is clearly a far superior weapon to a ballpoint, but then I got thinking.

A sword is such an obvious weapon, difficult to conceal, and takes training to wield efficiently… whereas a pen can go anywhere, and nobody would ever suspect evil intent.

My plan was simple: neurotoxin carefully applied in just the right place: Hundreds of victims – simple and deadly.

Mightier than any bladed weapon, any day.

Because everybody chews on their pen, even you, perhaps even right this minute?

TURA

Pen
——–
Whether one writes a poem, a letter, or just a shopping list, always there is the perfect pen for the task. For this letter, I selected my 1851 Montserré fountain, with a nib of meteoric steel and a hand-chequered mahogany barrel. I would use a North Indian ink, its forthright blackness tempered with a regretful hint of sepia.

Of course, she would appreciate none of this.

“O light of my heart,” I wrote.

“After deep consideration, I have decided to terminate our relationship. How can I share my life wth someone who writes to me only with a ballpoint pen?”

ZACKMANN

After supplies ran low, I wound up dueling with the old Captain over which of us was most capable of feeding our crew.

I asked the Captain if he would bet his life on the pen being mightier than the sword. He told me he would so I stabbed him. Luckily, our cook came from a cannibal tribe so the captain was better able than I to feed the crew after all.

Why the eye patch you might ask. Well, just because I find the sword mightier than the pen that doesn’t mean the pen is useless in a fight.

ANIMA

THE END IS NEAR

Folks: Penmanship has gone into hospice, and the end is near.

Not long ago, Penmanship was taught in primary school, and a part of the foundation of the education system. This skill was honed through the simple task of writing untold numbers of thank you notes to distant relatives; social rapport and empathy were developed. The reward? Smiling grandparents, and five dollar bills delivered on birthdays.

Now, the clatter of keyboards and tapping of touch screens have usurped Penmanship. The hopeful walk to the mailbox has been replaced with the Pavlovian response to a message alert.

It makes me cry.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 100

As I lay pen to paper I can scarily believe it’s been 50 years since the death of Timmy, which in itself tests the limits of a rational world. Normally a still birth document lists gender, baby boy or baby girl, but the officiating nurse swears I clearly said Timmy. Magnanimously the Parsons did not question my oversight, for the rest of their lives they referred to that lost son as Timmy. I can’t explain my change of heart. I can’t tell you why I did it, I might will be insane to tell you Timmy told me “Do it.”

NORVAL JOE

The pen is mightier than the sword. I know it’s an overused expression and one others of my fellow drabblers are likely to quote.
It’s a stupid expression as well. While it made seeing difficult for my adversary, once I’d shoved my pen in his eye, he had quite the reach on my with his sword.
I lost my pen. It protrudes from his face. And I’m about to lose my life, as I’m unable to hold me entrails in from the gaping sword wound across my abdomen.
So, don’t believe it. The pen is not mightier than the sword.

MUNSI

On Pens

By Christopher Munroe

You can’t OWN a pen.

They’re like butterflies that way. Or disposable lighters. They don’t BELONG to anyone, they simply are. They’re out in the world, existing, and while one might stay with you for a while, the time will inevitably come when it must move on.

Somebody will borrow your pen and, thoughtlessly, it will be put in that person’s pocket, never to be seen again.

And, when that comes, there’s nothing you can do to prevent it. It’s pointless to try.

Just say goodbye to your pen, remember the time you and it shared fondly, and move on…

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 467: Pen

I don’t use a pen anymore, I type everything now, averaging 110 words per minute. Even if I were inclined to use a pen to write this, I don’t know if I could hold it right now after hearing a friend from High School died suddenly this past week, prior to his 50th birthday. It is stunning that someone healthy, with no medical history, could die so suddenly. He leaves behind a wife, who is in remission from a terminal illness and unemployed, plus two teenage son’s. This just prior to Easter. I doubt even Shakespeare could pen such a tragedy.

KIMI

The ink wasn’t quite dry on the parchment. Satan carefully blotted the markings. He admired the beautiful script, the perfectly spaced letters. He picked up the sheet and blew softly on it, not having the virtue of patience. He set the document down before him on the desk. He meant only to flick a fleck of something off the page, but he ended up smearing a wet globule of ink through the signature , obscuring the name.
Sighing, Satan cast the raven feather quill and snowglobe inkwell into outer darkness. Wistfully, he pocketed a shiny Bic retractable pen. It clicked loudly.

PLANET Z

It is said that the pen is mightier than the sword, but in a zombie apocalypse, you really ought to arm yourself with a sword.

Or a machete. Or, at the very least, a knife with a strong grip.

A gun might be handy if you need to deal with other humans, but guns require ammo, and ammo eventually runs out.

Yes, you can bluff with an empty gun. You can’t bluff zombies, though.

Well, maybe. You can stand behind a chainlink fence. Then, when the zombies rush the fence, stab them through the fence with a long metal pole.

Weekly Challenge #466 – Connect

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:

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

Myst yawn

MUNSI

Theories

By Christopher Munroe

Correct me if I’m wrong…

But vaccines cause deadly genetic defects, while measles, mumps and rubella are minor illnesses that are easy to deal with.

Immigration is an ISIS conspiracy to spread Ebola.

It’s not just Obama, EVERY president was secretly a Muslim.

Fluoridated drinking water is a plot by the UN to, as part of agenda 21, turn our children into communists via mind control.

The world itself is hollow, and the lizard men who rule us in conjunction with the illuminati live in its core.

…what, I AM wrong?

Which part?

All of it?

Oh. Okay. My mistake…

JEFFREY

Prison Break
by Jeffrey Fischer

The three men finished tunneling under the prison around 3 a.m. They resurfaced ten yards past the range of the searchlight outside the prison grounds and went their separate ways. Hank was happy about that. Donnell, a large black man, had beaten his boss to death with a tire iron, while Waylon, a fully-tattooed neo-Nazi had done some nasty knife work. Hank was amazed that the two cooperated long enough to dig the tunnel.

Hank gave a last look at the sign, which marked the prison as the “Middletown Correctional Center.” He laughed at the inaccuracy. Places like that didn’t correct their inmates; they only shut society’s problems away from squeamish eyes. But Hank didn’t really care what they called it: he had an ex-wife to track down and kill.

Grading Time
by Jeffrey Fischer

Travis looked at the stack of essays he had to correct by the next morning and regretted, not for the first time, his choice of career. Once he thought teaching was a cushy gig, spending an hour at a time telling kids what he already knew. No one warned him about the rude students, the disruptive ones, and the ones who just didn’t give a damn about anything. They refused to listen, or learn, and the end result was a pile of poorly-spelled, grammatically-bewildering words about “Romeo and Juliet,” with themes stolen from the first two pages of a Google search. He considered blowing out his brains to avoid having to look at the essays, but that would give the kids too much satisfaction. Instead, he reached for the red pen.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 99: The best

Slipping into the driving seat of his car, George spotted the marketing leaflet lying in the footwell that had started this whole crazy thing off. He picked it up and re-read the fateful words:

“CONNECT PROTECT SOLUTIONS – Elite bodyguarding, personal security and covert operations. Have you got what it takes to be the best?”

He’d always been jealous of Julie’s high-powered career as a ‘protection specialist’ and had pestered her for months to let him try… and he’d properly messed up!

“Ah well”, he thought, starting the engine, “the world needs plumbers”, and there at least, he was the best!

#2 – Disconnected

‘Unable to connect to the server!’

I try again, and then again with no luck. I wait a few minutes and give it another go. Still nothing. Just how long is this going to take?

I look around me, but nobody else seems to be struggling: they click, they connect, everything works as it should, but not it seems, for me.

Perhaps there’s a knack to it, a tricky flick of the wrist that I’ve yet to master, or maybe it’s just a matter of timing.

Then unexpectedly, I connect. The server smiles…

“Are you ready to order, sir?”

TURA

Correct
——–
The teacher asked, “In a straight line of fenceposts, 5 feet apart, how far is it from the first to the 20th?”

The student at once replied, “100 feet!”

“95,” the teacher reproved.

The next day, the teacher asked, “Consider telegraph poles, 10 yards apart. How far from the first to the 10th?”

“90 yards!” replied the student, proud of his new knowledge.

“Correct. But have you truly learned? Consider again fenceposts, 5 feet apart. How far from the 20th to the 40th?”

“95 feet, of course!” said the student.

The teacher responded, “You have not learned how to learn.”
——–
A man passed by a building site, and advised the builders. “Now then,” he began, “I can see that you do not know the correct way to build a house. You have walls with no roof! Learn from me: a house must have a roof. They are surrounded by churned mud, but a house needs roads and gardens about.”

The builders do not answer this man. He has perceived only the outward form and knows nothing of the inner form that creates the outer. They know the business that they are about, and everything will happen at its correct time.

SERENDIPITY

The leg bone’s connected to the…

Knee bone.

The knee bone’s connected to the…

Shoulder bone!

The shoulder bone’s connected to…

The neighbour’s annoying Yorkshire terrier!

I’m not sure what you’d call my creations. ‘Living sculptures’ perhaps, although, if I’m honest, most of them don’t live terribly long.

I realise that not everyone appreciates my work, but they do say that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. I just think it’s beautiful to take that eye, and connect it in a new and interesting way.

And, as the bodies twitch and convulse…

I see poetry in their motion.

LIZZIE

The identification of that mysterious liquid recovered from the landing site was correct. At first, no one believed Professor Grant. Then, when the matter started to break and beautiful blue lights fought their way out of the vials, everyone panicked. They called him back to a frantic lab. “What should we do?” they asked. The Professor knew there was nothing to be done. “Seal the base. Let’s hope for the best.” It took them a long time to connect the dots and find a way out. Many were left behind… fatally. However, the blue planet continued to be beautifully blue.

ANIMA

After all of this, I hope you will still consider me a friend.

I mean, we did both spend a fair amount of money and several hours filling out surveys on Match/Connect.

Maybe you didn’t answer all the questions in a most truthful manner. I went with a plus or minus 10ish on the 1 to 5 scale, so I am to blame too.

I think the algorithms thought we would make a perfect match as you are a left leg amputee, and I am a right. Unfortunately I think you have awful taste in shoes. A blue Croc, really?

TOM

Happy?

When you walk in the valley of Business you’ll be pelted with affirmations: Feast or Famine, when it rains it pours. Let me add another, if you don’t protect your joys, none will survive the light of day. A bit long winded, and lord knows I really don’t have the time. But if you promise not to tell anyone, I will show you my last surviving joy. Its 80 blinking lights. Yup my joy is connecting LEDs. Since I can’t solider, who has the time for that? I just connect the LED leds to breadboards. I call the project firefly.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 99

The deliver was long and then it got longer. Colonel Parsons was slumped against a wall, and it was there Doctor Proctor joined his slump. “Did you know we met during the war?” “Did you know I met you before the war?” “It was a time of connections. Alliances and Afflictions. A maelstrom of relationship that shifted and shredder the landscape. ” “So rebel scum can you save my son?” “At a cost, a very horrible cost.” “You know what my wife wants?” The Doctor fell sadly silent. As he rose to return, a hand stopped him. “Save my Wife.”

NORVAL JOE

As Dergle and Long John drove away from Bambi’s house, he said, “At least there’s one person who believes I still exist. Now, if I can just get the rest of the world to believe me as well.”
Driving past McDonalds, he had an idea. After driving through and getting chicken nuggets for Long John and an Oreo McFlurry for himself, he parked close to the building. He pulled out his laptop and logged onto the free wifi.
“They say the best way to connect with people is on Twitter,” he told his dog and created his account as @WienerDogMan.

DANNY

My cousin Barry would not just win, he would flat out humiliate me playing what I thought was going to be a friendly game of Connect 4. When the Qubic 3D board came out, I was stunned. “This isn’t connect 4,” I said. “Sure it is,” Barry teased, “you just have to get 4 in a row to win, hence, it is just like Connect 4.” My 8 year old mind just wasn’t capable of understanding all the new strategies I needed to master in 3D, and my older cousin took full advantage of that. That’s o.k, I can totally humiliate Barry playing Scrabble now.

PLANET Z

They say that twins share a special connection.

I’m not talking about conjoined twins, where they share a liver or a spleen.

I’m talking about one knowing how the other feels, or when one strikes their thumb with a hammer and the other feels pain.

Scientists think that this has something to do with mirror neurons and seeing someone that looks like you experiencing something, so you feel like you experience it, too.

But that doesn’t explain me and my evil twin brother Bart.

Haven’t seen him in years. Nobody has.

But, I swear, I hear screaming. And smell brimstone.

Weekly Challenge #465 – Paint

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:

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

Myst

PLANET Z

Portraits

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve had my portrait painted, so as to live forever.

Because that’s how that works.

I like it rough and weird in the bedroom, you see, but my proclivities have on occasion left marks upon my body that were tough to explain to my more vanilla friends.

Now, the painting bears the scars, the bruises, it wears the collar and ball-gag and, no matter what I might get up to in the privacy of my home, I always look fine to go into work the next day.

All in all, it’s been a good system.

50 shades of Dorian Grey…

JEFFREY

Paint
by Jeffrey Fischer

When Harry was fired from his gig as a stand-up comic, the club owner told him that Harry’s routine was more boring than watching paint dry. Harry left that day with bitterness in his heart.

He returned six months later with a spring in his step, thanking the club owner for firing him. Harry explained, “I wanted to know how boring I was, so I painted my apartment and sat on the floor, watching the paint dry. It was mesmerizing. I felt calm deep inside, and a peaceful feeling came over me. I’ve spent the past six months painting everything I could in order to keep that feeling.”

“So why are you back here, Harry?”

“Got anything that needs a coat of paint?”

Paint the Town Red
by Jeffrey Fischer

For her twenty-first birthday, Kayla and her three best friends wanted to hit every bar they could both afford and dared to enter. Even with those restrictions, the list was fairly long. Half the time the ladies didn’t need to buy a round – pretty girls didn’t often go thirsty. Kayla started with trainer drinks – a Cosmo in the first bar and a Screwdriver in the next – but soon graduated to a Long Island Iced Tea, and ended up dancing on a table tossing back shots of tequila.

The next morning – or, to be more accurate, the next afternoon – when Kayla regained consciousness long enough to throw up and take four aspirin, her friend Monica, who was in no better shape, said, “I never want to be that sick again.”

Kayla agreed, saying, “The next person who says we should paint the town red needs to get a good kick in the pants. From now on, I only paint the town a light pink.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 98: I give in

George knew when to give in: “Now what?”

Julie sighed, “Now, you go home, while I go back in there and try and paint a better picture of you to my bosses than you’ve managed to do yourself”

She fumbled in her bag and fished out a set of keys.

“The car’s in the car park. Security will let you out… for heaven’s sake, don’t go ramming any more gates will you?”

To George’s relief, she smiled – a ‘you total idiot’ sort of smile, but nevertheless, it was a smile.

George smiled back, “I’ll try not to – but no promises!”

#2 – DIY

I still don’t know why they threw us out of the DIY store – it wasn’t as if we’d stolen anything, and as far as I can tell, we were doing nothing at all wrong.

It’s true that we’d strewn a fair amount of chain and rope around, but we were going to tidy up afterwards, and although we’d unpacked those power tools, we only wanted to ‘try before you buy’.

And to point out that it ‘wasn’t the place for that sort of thing’ was clearly at odds with the sign hanging over the paint department:

‘Grey: Fifty Shades’.

#3 – Different Strokes

Apparently, it takes different strokes to move the world – that may well be true, but in my experience, it’s not so much how you apply the paint that matters, rather it’s the colours you paint with.

Whilst the optimist sees a rosy-hued future, the activist sees red and demands we go green – take that golden opportunity to save our planet, save our humanity!

Humanity? Sure… as long as it doesn’t clash with our political colours, and the colour of your skin is just the right shade of pale!

Different strokes – I don’t think so – It’s never that black and white.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 98
The noise of the hammering and sawing on 3Rd West made it all the way down to Obstetrics. The smell of paint triggered a deep memory in the Obstetrician. The day he asked his mentor’s advice they meet under painting tarps as workmen applied the final coat to his office. “You’re a damn good surgeon, too bad you’ve got an equally heart.” “I guess that rule out Thoracic. How about general practice?’ “Heavens No, I’m thinking Obstetrics.” Doc Proctor laughed the same laugh as he had that morning. “Mrs. Parsons is prepped, Doctor” “Umbrella and Sewing Machine finally meet,” He mused

Just a Rider in the Rain
Oly, bridle up the paint,” directed his father. The choice of horse told the lad which part of the ranch they would be inspecting. The paint unlike most horses never let the location of his feet freak him out. “We are riding the north ridge,” said Oly. “Wires down, needs mending.” Oly tried to sound brave, but his father knew Oly unlike the paint always needed to know where his feet where. “Oly.” “Yes Dad.” “I want you to do something for me.” “Yes Dad.” “Keep your eyes focused on the main just between the paint’s ears.” “Will do Dad.”

Like put paint on a house that falling down
Up in Canada we got this 50 year old garage. All the locals are waiting for it to fall down so they can laugh at the crazy American who painted it. Little do they know I have installed an internal steel frame with 16 inches of poured concrete. If the paint holds up the structure should stay standing for a good 300 years. My neighbors are going to have to wait a pile of generation in a cloud of irritation. “Think I’ll add on to the garage,” I say. “Won’t last a year,” returned Mc Donald. I just smile.

Deep in Process
In Art School there is a pecking order. You would think Sculptors would be on top and on the top of the top guys who live at the foundry. Nope, Painters. What keeps them on the top of the heap is mere presentation. Not those Acrylic guys, we are talking Oil painters. Drape oil canvas and you can rearrange the surface infinitely. One of my cohort spent the semester on one canvas, paint on, paint off. Wonders what you do with a turpentine rag. When ever asked about progress he would stoke his soul tag and say: I’m in process.

ZACKMANN

Let old Zackmann tell you about the last time Captain Cheyenne had us paint the Story Ark. We painted her grey not unlike a naval ship. You might wonder if that is a good color for a fine dirigible like the Story Ark. Well no, especially not when the captain wanted her painted plaid. Sadly Captain Cheyenne ignored the boatswain’s advice and directed all the colors to be mixed in the same container saying something about if the Stooges can mix spotted paint he should be able to mix plaid. As I recall the Stooges paint turned out grey too.

LIZZIE

Bits of paint came off the wall as Tim scratched it with his only nail. All the others had been chopped off by that wretched machine at the factory, along with two-thirds of the fingers they were attached to. That didn’t bother him though. He got used to it. He did miss his thumb. He enjoyed going thumbs-up, for some reason. The remaining intact finger was an index; it was useful for pointing, granted. However, the really big problem was not having a middle finger. He felt like his ability to… express himself had been hopelessly destroyed because of that.

NORVAL JOE

Bambi walked Dergle to the door, holding onto his arm and resting her head on his shoulder.
“I understand you, Dergle,” she said and turned toward him. “You don’t mean to say stupid things. You’re just socially awkward. That’s what I love about you.”
Bambi was really pretty, Dergle thought. Not like the women who paint themselves with makeup and dress in fancy clothes. She was naturally beautiful. He wondered if he should kiss her goodnight.
He’d hesitated too long. She shook her head and hugged him.
“Good night, Mr. Vander Hoont,” she said, opening the door. “Come again, soon.”

ARRI GAFFER

Riktor found his feet walking THAT familiar path. The forbidden path, he knew.

After docking at the quadrant hub station and debarking he wasn’t thinking about anything in particular, he thought. But here he was, walking THAT way.

Again.

Dazedly he was through the doorway of THAT dive. Riktor came awake. But before he could stop himself and flee his mouth had already barked to THAT woman, “So did you paint those on or what?”

Before he knew it the bouncer, the owner, and his ex had all bashed him in some way. And Riktor’s next “interesting” adventure had begun.

TURA

People don’t know how to see real colours, they spend too much time at computer screens. Go out into the fresh air, and you’ll see shininess, roughness, texture, scattering, translucency, iridescence– more effects than there are names for.

You ever wonder how those thousands of shades of paint at the hardware store got named? “Trumpet Red.” “Whisper Moon.” “Night Haze.” That’s my job: naming paint.

“Trumpet Red” was one of mine. In fact, I came up with the name first, and then the boys in the lab designed a paint around it.

But they drew the line at “Invisible Man”.

ANIMA

Cheapskate

Adding up the expenses for the hospital visit was painful: ER visit, doctors, MRI, meds.

Thank God My nosy neigjbor noticed the front door open after dark. Joanne loaded me into her Prius and hauled ass to County. I think I lost about 3 hours, but who knows for certain…

The estimate of $2500 was too much to paint a few rooms, so I decided to do the job myself. It would have been a bargain at twice the price. I should have been warned by the name on the can– Bargain Basement Three Skulls Cover Up, guaranteed killer coverage.

PLANET Z

Cindy didn’t want to know if the baby would be a boy or girl.
So, Jack bought blue and pink paint, and he waited.
When the doctor said “It’s a boy!” Jack put the pink paint cans in the garage, and got to work on the walls.
He rushed the job, the paint dried unevenly, and a few flakes fell into the baby’s mouth.
Yes, the paint had lead in it. Folks didn’t know any better in those days.
The boy was stupid and clumsy.
One day, he got into the garage, drank the pink paint, and choked to death.

Weekly Challenge #464 – South

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:

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

Myst

MUNSI

Winter

By Christopher Munroe

I can’t deal with winter.

Seriously, this is getting ridiculous, it’s cold as balls and I’m not going to put up with it.

And neither will my balls.

I’m going south. Birds go south for the winter, and so do elderly Canadians, and while I’m not elderly , I’m certainly Canadian and I’m sick of this weather.

The time has come to go the fuck south.

As far south as it’s possible to go.

I’m going to Antarctica.

Wait, that might be too far.

Well, I’ve said it out loud. Antarctica it is.

Hopefully it will be a little warmer…

JEFFREY

Spring Training
by Jeffrey Fischer

The first sign of spring isn’t a robin, or those funny flowers that poke out of the ground far too early for comfort. Spring is just around the corner and the long winter nearly a mere unpleasant memory when the first spring training baseball game gets underway. The game makes for boring television, but is a welcome break from the news of yet another snowstorm. Gio Gonzalez takes the mound for the first time since the playoffs, the wiry southpaw shaking off the rust as he tries to locate his pitches.

Spring is time for renewal and the promise of life – and the time when every baseball team is still undefeated, making plans for its World Series appearance. Such is the power of warm weather.

Snowbirds
by Jeffrey Fischer

The mass migration south starts in October. A few cars at first, a few extra one-way tickets to places like Miami, Tampa, Naples, Fort Lauderdale. Then comes the deluge. Airports are a hive of activity, and filled with walkers and wheelchairs. Usually-empty restaurants are booked days in advance. Shopping center parking lots fill to the farthest rows. Highways slow to a crawl with traffic, white puffs of hair barely peeking above the dashboards of large American cars with license plates from New York, Pennsylvania, and Ohio.

The snowbirds have migrated south once more.

RICHARD

George’s Story – Part 97: Big Disappointment

“Do you realise what it cost me to get you the chance of this tryout? And you’ve made me a laughing stock with your antics!, Julie’s onslaught was relentless, “I can wave goodbye to any chance of promotion myself now!”

“And as for that floozy… that Emily woman… what the hell were you thinking?”

George held up his hands defensively.

“I’m sorry Julie – I really had no idea…”

He gave his wife the puppy-dog look that never failed: “Forgive me?”

“Forget it, sunshine”, she replied, giving him a look several degrees frostier than a cold day at the South Pole.

TOM

The Artist as A Old Man

I was born in the south, but I am no southern. My people have hugged the northern Great Lakes for 300 years. I was a navy brat, delivered in the naval hospital, Bethesda Maryland. Before you South Carolinas or Georgians start your rant, let me point out the fuckn Mason-Dixson line, the one that clearly marks Dixie, separates Pennsylvania the north, from Maryland the south. Stop don’t give me, well it wasn’t in the Confederacy. Because it was full of federal troops. You don’t get to choose where your born, if you’re lucky you get to choose where you die.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 97

As the snake spoke he had the lilting tinge of a southern accent, a Med-Atlantic Channel Island draw. He carefully and clearly listed the branching out comes of each choice laid before the boy, but much to Timmy’s dismay the end result was the death of one or both his parents. “I don’t really have a choice, do I? Wait a second … I’ve already made my choice, didn’t I?” “Took you long enough to figure that one out, pilgrim.” “Then what are we waiting for?” “For him.” The Doctor appeared. “Do it,” said Tim. “Do it,” said the Snake.

KEEME

Southern belle
I’d followed her for months. Through swinging doors, musty heat, glares, and flies… and that scent! Putrid mixture of tears, and rotgut whiskey, “Maybe this ones it.” I counted three men playing cards, a slim man, and the barkeep. I’d have one left for her, even if things went south. The barkeep moved toward me, my hand now on my Colt, room went silent, and still. I whisperd “whiskey” I tossed my money and the mangled poster on the bar. “Where is she?” He said “gone, two days ride thataway!” He looked up and whispered “room #3.” “Get the gravedigger.”

LIZZIE

“South…?” the man said, but Peter’s sense of orientation relied much more on pointing and showing the way than cryptic instructions like North or South.

“Thank you,” he replied, trying to look savvy in the secret ways of… finding the way.

He walked aimlessly through white aisles, past the milk and butter shelves, the yogurts and some mysterious small bottles announcing they’d make anyone’s lazy intestines work just fine.

“South, huh? Why is it always so difficult to find someone who can give a clear, objective reply to a clear, objective question? Where are the bodies? It seems simple enough.”

SERENDIPITY

You have precisely one hour; and your journey will take precisely one hour to complete.

In precisely one hour and five minutes, a twenty ton truck will thunder over the spot where I have left her lying.

Reach her first, and all will be well.

You now face a choice: North, South, East or West?

Choose correctly and she lives; otherwise, the truck wins.

But I am not entirely heartless – I will tell you which road to take – but do you have wisdom enough to hear me?

So, choose well and you will find her…

Stretched Out Upon The Highway.

KIMI

Bolting upright from a suddenly evaporating dream, I grasp at the receding tendrils of details and emotions. Reaching for my ever present pencil and notepad, I fix my gaze upon the vintage Baby Ben alarm clock perched on the nightstand. With it’s nearly perfect crystal face and modern numerals, the timepiece is a powerful talisman which aids in the recollection of my dreams. My mother brought it North with her when she fled the South in 63, the year I was born.

Ah ha! The dream congeals. I fill two complete pages with the ongoing saga of my sleeptime life.

TURA

South
——–
In Oran, the East wind brings rain. The West wind brings salt spray from the far oceans. The North wind brings cool respite after the hot season. But the South wind is feared. Le catamaran, it is called, the mad wind of Oran. It throws its stifling heat like a heavy blanket over the hot season, and brings desert dust that stings the eyes and wears at the lungs of those who must work outside, however they mask their faces.

When a man goes berserk with a machete and murders half a village, people shrug and say, “C’est le catamaran.”

ARRI

Heading South

Mumph, splitting headache. Where am I? Ships hold?
Aw crap – the brig? Shit. Crikey those Dunedin Kiwis can party!
Wait, hold the phone, what am I doing aboard any ship? I’m done with this miserable work.
Well I thought I was. How the heck did I…

“Oi, the dandy mate, he lives! A bit pissed up you were at contract hall the other day. Thought we might lose ya you were so far out. Better learn to control those urges aye?”

“The other day? At sea? A day? What heading?”

“South.”

“Yeah but South from Dunedin is… Oh shit no!”

SPATE

Going South

Uncle Fred went south. Not south to Florida or the Bahamas or anything like
that. South like a direct face plant into his plate during Sunday dinner.
South as in dead.

Nothing ruins the pleasantries of a nice home cooked meal like someone dying
and triggering an improvised mashed potato and gravy explosion.

Snow sat wide-eyed splattered with the collateral damage.

Dim articulated that one single syllable vulgarity that he would offer as
commentary towards just about any variety of circumstance.

Me? I called the ambulance. but not until after we had finished dessert,
Uncle’s favorite: Baked Alaska… southern style.

(music: “Live at the OCCII – Track 04” by Iva Nova / curator
freemusicarchive.org / licensed under Creative Commons
Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 US)

ZACKMANN

“It’s been quite the experience wintering in Lake Winnipeg but now it’s spring. If there is anything I have learned in the past few months is that the red part of the compass points north and The Red River of the North runs south.” said Joe.

“Yeah Joe, we have great memories. The locals coming to see the people from south of the border and the Mounties stopping by.” said Ben.
“Yeah, sure, you betcha, but just telling us we were so screwed wasn’t the least bit helpful.You know.” said Joe.
“Now heading south. To North Dakota and beyond!”

NORVAL JOE

“So are you saying you don’t like my name, or that you think I should act more like a boy?” Bambi asked.
Dergle could see their evening was taking a quick turn south and searched for a way to repair the conversation.
“I like your name,” he said and swallowed. “Really, it’s too pretty for boys. It’s pretty like you. Even with your braces.”
She almost smiled, then the last line must have sank in.
“You think my braces are ugly?” She asked.
“No.” He swallowed again. “I’m sorry you cut your lip, and the stupid monkeys were on strike.”

PLANET Z

Why do we fund all those expensive research stations down at the South Pole?
Well, they make lots of discoveries.
Have you ever said that something “went south”?
Well, they were finding all the things that have gone south.
Plans, terminally-ill grandparents. That kind of thing.
They funded the research project by collecting up all those things that went south and selling them on eBay.
The project was going great for a while, until it went south.
And that’s when the researchers discovered the mythical ninety-first degree South latitude.
And then wished they hadn’t. Because things are really fucked there.

Weekly Challenge #463 – Trench

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:

There’s one story I left out. It’s by Thomas Pitre.

Yes, I’ve been saying that it’s okay for folks to take a break, and do other things. If they come back, that’s cool, and if they don’t, that’s cool too. As long as they’re creating and exploring their imagination and all of that neat artsy stuff. Do something somewhere, just as long as you’re doing something.

However, Thomas had some opinions on how I should run this thing, some of which I agreed with, but some of which I disagreed with, and some of which required levels of effort that I felt should be on the participants and not the host. It escalated to the point where I told him to “go eat a bag of dicks” and that was that.

When I got that email, for a moment, I thought “This is an opportunity to forgive and forget for both of us.” Then, I thought “Go fuck yourself.”

And that was that. Click click delete, and done.

Yeah, I know. The world needs love and forgiveness and peace. But everybody’s got their limits, and I’ve been on a hair-trigger since some doctor slapped me.

Sometimes, I wonder why I do this. What’s the point of the weekly challenges, or even the writing? With my temper and my hypocrisy, I’m probably the most ill-suited person to host anything.

I don’t know why. But if I keep doing it, maybe I’ll figure it out. Or, someone will figure it out for me, and tell me.

Not that I’ll listen to anybody about anything, right?

Besides the whole “Do it only when you feel like doing it, as long as you do something somewhere” attitude, one other thing I’ve said over the years is that if you don’t like how I do things (or, I suppose, even if you do like how I run things), you’re welcome to send stuff to other podcasts, such as the Drabblecast fan-run Dribblecast. Or, you could start your own podcast. It’s easy, inexpensive, and fun to do. (Well, fun at first. Until someone annoys you to the point where you start telling people to eat a bag of dicks.)

So, let’s all encourage him to start his own podcast, with his own guidelines and rules (or lack thereof) and to share and encourage and inspire. And if he does end up starting one, I strongly encourage you to consider participating in it, if you’ve got the time and the creative energy for it.


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

Missy roars

JOHN MUSICO

Trench
by John Musico, MD

The old man stumbled out of the bar and plodded onward by foot. It rained heavily and was very dark. He slid down the roadside mud and tumbled into a trench. He flashed back to his army days in such trenches and drifted off to sleep.
At dawn, he awoke to multiple rounds of gunfire. Was he dreaming of the war? No, he was on the shooting range of an army base. A voiced called out; “Cease fire, man on the range!” The M.P.’s dragged him to the nearest clinic- mine. I asked; “Exposure?” They replied; “and also quite drunk”.

JEFFREY

Freedom of Speech
by Jeffrey Fischer

Once there was a king who ruled with an iron fist. He worried about his image, however, so he frequently proclaimed that, unlike neighboring kingdoms, he tolerated dissent.

What the king didn’t mention was that anyone who wanted to speak against the regime could do so only in the royal park. True to his word, the king allowed everyone to say his piece. Then he gave the signal to his guards, who killed the dissenters to the last man, rolled the bodies in a trench, and refilled the trench with dirt.

Freedom of speech was important, the king thought, but so was a peaceful rule.

In the Trenches
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Andersons had been married for a quarter-century, and most of those years had been unhappy ones. She nagged him to do more around the house. He nagged her to learn to cook better. She complained he needed to find a higher-paying job. He responded she needed to find a job that paid anything and perhaps she wouldn’t nag him about money as often. And so on.

Witnessing another skirmish in the eternal trench warfare between the couple, Mrs. Anderson’s mother asked why they didn’t simply divorce. The pair replied in unison: “What? And ruin the happiness of two other people?”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 96: Rude awakening

George felt as if he was slowly surfacing from a deep and murky trench. As the drug took effect his memories came flooding back… The application he’d filled out; the acceptance letter; the medical; and the last words spoken by the doctor: “When you wake up, you won’t remember a thing”

Now he remembered everything.

“Hello Julie”, he mumbled to the woman – or rather, as he now realised rather foolishly, his wife – stood in front of him, “What are you doing here?”

“George Attwell!” she frowned at him – “Before we even go there, you have some serious explaining to do!”

#2 – Entrenched

Dad’s vegetable plot was his pride and joy, so you can imagine his dismay when the local population of rabbits moved in.

After a week of nibbled and ruined vegetables he’d had enough – with murder in his eyes, he headed out to the patch, armed with a shovel.

A week later, I gingerly approached the now massive trench he’d dug.

He challenged me: “Who goes there, friend or foe?”

“It’s me dad… What’s going on?”

“You don’t understand, son, This is war!”

His head suddenly appeared above the trench wall, then he lobbed a loaded carrot straight at me!

TOM

The Line Must Hold

Lionel Atwater leaned against the earthen wall of Bond Street. He took out the letter from Mary not so much to reread the words but to touch one thing separated from the carnage about him. The paper nearly transparent and the edge of each letter ringing in a random run of ink. It would now survive the war. The sky was the color of aged cellophane as he made his way along the main trench. There was work to be done at The Chessboard. Signal corpsmen Atwater return to his wireless. All dispatch ended with the same line off: TLMH

A Well Defined Relationship Part 96

When Doctor Proctor materialize he was standing ankle deep in brackish water, in an earthen trench that disappeared into a red horizon. A young solider greeted him. “Timmy?” “Yes Doctor Proctor, or at least one of the possible Timmies. He hasn’t made up his mind, so I may not be here very long.” “I don’t understand” “Do you know what the Tamerlane is?” “I was told it was atomic recombinator.” “Well you got the last part right, but it’s not atomic.” Everything shifted to green, the walls of the Imperial capital emerged, a different Timmy said “It Recombines Reality. ”

SERENDIPITY

Pitch darkness, freezing temperatures and pressure that would pulp you in an instant… Welcome to my world.

There’s a reason I choose this hell as my home – it keeps you tiresome humans out of my way. The deep ocean trenches are one of the few remaining places you’ve yet to invade.

But you don’t stop trying.

Those creaks you hear are not just stressed metal under intense pressure, and that tapping isn’t the sound of cabling against the hull.

What you hear is me: Slowly unscrewing the bolts that hold your fragile lives in the balance.

Welcome to my world!

ZAKCMANN

“Oh dearest, I’ve come all this way. Now there’s a trench between us.”

“Yes my love, that’s the Marinara Trench”

“Isn’t that Marianas Trench and I thought that was in the ocean?”

“It’s still in the Pacific but this is definitely the Marinara Trench. After we discovered these zombies hate tomato sauce, we dug a giant trench around the city then filled it with spaghetti sauce to quarantine them and us”

“Oh Dearest, this trip will be worth it if only I can hear those three special words”

“I’m not infected!”

“Dearest that sounds even better than I love you,”

ANIMA

MY LOVE

My love for you is truer than a compass pointing North. It is surer than a snow white mountain goat, and tastier than spinach feta pie.

My love, dearheart, is deeper than the Marianas Trench, and as unending as the Rose Bowl parade. It defies gravity like Cirque d’Soliel acrobats. I am more faithful than a black Labrador, more loving than a 12 year old tabby. I will cherish you until the sun rises in the west and sets in the east.

But if you eat the last of the oreo ice cream, I will eviscerate you and move on.

LIZZIE

Words trenched into the stone. They could be seen clearly, even forty years later. The excitement of revisiting this secret place made him recall the pact of silence with his sister. He knelt to greet her. Her blond hair had grown thin. “I came back.” She smiled continuously, half of her teeth missing. “Yes, they don’t know you’re here. They never will.” As he slid the stone back in place to hide the entrance to the cave, he read those words one last time. “I hate you.” He had written them himself with great effort back when he was ten.

NORVAL JOE

“Do you want vanilla or Rocky Road?” Bambi asked, opening the freezer door.
“Depends. Do you have anything to put on it?” Dergle asked.
“I have chocolate syrup and chopped almonds?”
“Okay. Vanilla, then,” Dergle said.
They sat across the dining room table. Dergle flattened his ice cream with his spoon, dug a trench down the middle, and filled it with chocolate syrup and nuts. “I’ve never met a boy named Bambi.”
“Well, yeah,” Bambi said, putting her spoon down and scrunching her eyebrows at Dergle. “It’s a girl’s name.”
“Not in the movie,” Dergle said. “Bambi was a boy.”

DANNY

I’ve dug myself into a trench, and I do not know how to get out. Laying the foundation for your house isn’t as easy as it looks when your watching skilled professionals do all the work. Feels like something out of World War One, but I don’t think they dug trenches nine feet deep. At least the cement truck won’t arrive for another hour. Wait, they are already here? Damn Daylight savings time, I forgot to set the clocks forward. Can’t they hear me screaming, “Help!? I can’t die now! Whose going to water all my plants when I’m gone?”

TURA
“In a hole in the ground lived a hobbit,” Tolkien famously wrote. He claimed the word was Anglo-Saxon, but he was at the Somme, and every soldier in the trenches knew about hobbits. Little creatures, like men, you’d glimpse from the corner of your eye.

Some said, if you saw a hobbit’s face, you’d die soon. Others, if you saw one running away, you’d die. Or if you didn’t see one, you weren’t long for it.

Graveyard humour, y’see? We were all going to die. Until the War ended.

But they liked holes in the ground, everyone agreed on that.

PLANET Z

My mother warned me about school.
If I skipped too many classes or blew off my homework, I’d end up digging ditches.
Well, I skipped a lot of classes, and I don’t remember turning in a single bit of homework.
And I didn’t end up digging a single ditch.
I dig trenches, not ditches.
A ditch is something you dig along the side of a road. It’s wider and longer than it is deep.
A trench is deeper than it is long or wide.
What? The power’s out? You smell gas?
Better stop the backhoe and check the map again.

Weekly Challenge #462 – After

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:

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

Twisty girl

JEFFREY

Use Your Imagination
by Jeffrey Fischer

The lazy approach to writing a sex scene is to bypass the whole thing. The amorous couple heads to the bedroom, at which point the author simply starts a new paragraph with “Afterward,…” The comma signifies the entirety of the act, from carnal activity to cuddling, the author insisting that the reader carry the entire burden of lustful narrative in his imagination. The reader tries, but fails, to construct a fully-realized scene of rumpy-pumpy, nookie, the beast with two backs, et cetera. This is an author derelict in his duty. He’s the one with imagination – give us something to work with!

You Had One Job
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Washington Post recently ran several short pieces on the dating scene, including some personal experiences. One lady confessed to a remarkable 75 dates in a year. Seventy-five! Hard-working touring bands have fewer late nights than this woman.

Those 75 dates yielded exactly zero lasting relationships. She then explained that most of the dates were arranged through Tinder, the app where two people get together based on how well they like one another’s looks. I’m no expert in this, having been married since Mr. Mister and the Pet Shop Boys were popular, but maybe she’s doing it wrong.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 95: After all that

George found it hard to believe that everything he’d recently been through was all contrived – some sort of nightmare interview process that had completely turned his world upside down. And what was he supposed to do now, after all he’d been through?

The after-effects would stay with him forever.

The brusque woman was back: “Give me your arm”, she said, and quickly swabbed it before plunging a syringe into his vein.

“This will restore your suppressed memories”

After administering the drug, the woman waited, watching him quizzically… as his memories began to return, he slowly realised exactly who she was…

#2 – The letter

After receiving the letter, I flew into a blind rage.

I tore your clothes, doused them in petrol and burned them; I ripped your pictures from the album and shredded them; I poisoned your goldfish and threw all your plants in the bin.

After I’d calmed down a little, I emailed your naked pictures to your work colleagues and plastered them all over social media.

And, after that, I re-read the letter.

And realised it wasn’t from you.

It was addressed to next door.

And now, I’m waiting for the sound of your key in the door.

And, after that…?

#3 – You shall not pass!

After the wizard had gone, Laggins’ spoiled breakfast did nothing to lighten his mood and, straight after doing the washing-up, he made a large, intimidating sign and nailed it to his front gate:

‘NO WIZARDS! You shall not pass!’

To make his point absolutely clear, he scattered broken glass along the path, and daubed ‘WIZARDS GO HOME’ in foot-high letters across his front door.

If that doesn’t stop him, nothing will, he smirked.

Later that afternoon, he was disturbed by a discrete tap on the back door… it was the wizard!

“Thought I should use the tradesman’s entrance”, he smiled.

LIZZIE

After dark, evil spirits haunted the town for weeks. “A warning against nuclear tests,” old people said. The Mayor called in all sorts of experts to solve the problem, to no avail. One day, a man showed up, claiming he could end the torture. He had a jar. “It’s magic,” he said. Everyone went home and waited. The next day, the man was gone. Under the jar, a note. “Done.” Inside, dozens of them; they looked like a cross between crickets and fireflies. They were nice to look at, but were they loud. Sometimes, things are simpler than we think.

SERENDIPITY

“After you… ladies first”, you said – so charming, and even in our present circumstances, I had to admire your composure. Whilst those around us were shouting, screaming and fighting, you chose to remain calm and composed, with impeccable manners.

“Are you sure?”, I enquired, “We don’t need to stand on ceremony,”

You assured me you would be fine, nodding towards the remaining bag stuffed under the seat.

Such a polite man, I thought, as he helped me with mine.

“By the way”, I shouted over my shoulder, “That other bag is my luggage, it’s not a parachute!”

Then, I jumped.

MUNSI

Now

By Christopher Munroe

There’s no such thing as after.

We look to the future, wonder what awaits us in a desperate, ultimately futile attempt to avoid what we already know to be true, but reality doesn’t care what we want, or what we believe, it simply is in spite of our wishes, and nothing we can do will change that.

We have no future, separately or together, because there is no future, only moment after moment of endless Now approaching us, unrelentingly.

There is no “After” and the future will never come.

And, as such, it’s our duty to live in the moment…

ZACKMANN

“Now that you have been elected we have requests for you to speak including one at a church but I don’t remember which sect you said you are.” said the adviser.

“Oh, never mind that. Now that the election is over, I can go back to my devout worship of Mammon instead of whichever religion we thought would get me elected. We will take the speaking engagements that pay” said the Public Servant.

“I think I might regret being such good campaign manager” Said the adviser.

“Considering your rates, there’s no pretending you don’t also serve the god of money.”

TURA

After
——–
General Wei said, “An inferior general wins battles without winning the war. A mediocre general wins wars without winning the peace. A superior general is he who wins not only the peace, but all that follows after.”

Therefore before making war, he studied the condition of the enemy’s peoples. With his hidden hand he fomented rebellion, and when the people revolted, his armies assisted them. When he achieved victory, the conquered people said, “we have won freedom for ourselves!” Then they turned to those who had fled across the borders, and said to General Wei, “help us against our enemies!”

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 95

Every time Timmy tried asking a question of the King, he would raise a hand the say “after we’re eaten.” After the orange stuffed peacock Timmy broke in “After is a luxury I don’t have in abundance.” “You’re a wise man Timothy Patrick Parsons. All things after a single choice define how much after you may have.” “You had held the key to every afters.” “Then the snake took it.” “Show me the Snake.” As Timmy correctly reasoned Babylon fade and he was face to face with the snake. “ Are you Tamerlane?” The Snake smiled. “What are my choices?”

Lost in Translation

You would think a mastery of prepositions would be pretty natural in a concert world. After all they describe temporal and spatial relationships. Not the case prepositions demand complex understanding of multiple forms of reference. A thing can have frontness, betweeness, underness, and overness, to itself. But all these attributes change when a second object is referenced. In front of one car is the behind of another, which is of course between the two. I can stand after Benny in line, But mother can tell me to go after Benny. Thank you for your kind indulgence have a good afternoon.

ANIMA

After

It is stifling warm in the underground bunker. We’re down to the last few packs of batteries for the flashlights. Based on the display of my watch, we have been down here 6 days. But gauging the tension in the air, we’ve been here an eternity.

Think it is safe to go out? I haven’t heard anything in the last 24 hours.

Josh, we said we’d wait 48 hours. If we don’t hear anything by tomorrow… Settle down, now. How much water is left?

DANNY

It isn’t every day that Adolph Hitler is trending on Yahoo!, so I had find out why this sudden resurgence in Facism. It appears Mein Kampf is about to be republished 75 years after it’s first printing, with annotations and criticisms of the original text. Proponents call it a vital academic tool, while critics say it will fuel an already increasing rise in anti- semitism . Mel Brooks said it the best, “With Comedy, we can rob Hitler of his posthumous power.” On the other hand, when a book becomes labeled as too dangerous, the more powerful it rises from its grave.

NORVAL JOE

“I’m sorry you cut your lip on your braces,” Dergle said. “Does that happen a lot?”
“I’m sorry the monkeys were on strike,” Bambi said. “Only when I’ve been eating caramel corn. Do you think Long John is okay in the van?”
“I would rather eat caramel corn than have straight teeth,” Dergle said, then felt stupid for it. “I mean, if I had to make a choice. Yeah. Long John’s fine.”
The dog stood on the driver’s seat, pressing his nose against the window.
“Do you want to come in for ice cream?” Bambi asked.
“Sure,” Dergle said, smiling.

PLANET Z

There is no now.
Only before and after.
Once something happens, it’s over.
Does this mean that everything is just a memory?
Yes.
If you can remember memories, can you remember what hasn’t happened yet?
Yes.
The future is now.
And you can remember is, just like you remember the past.
Just as you’re remembering this.
Even though it hasn’t happened yet.
When will it happen?
When it happens, of course.
But that doesn’t matter.
You already know what will happen.
What are you going to do about it?
Nothing?
Good. Then you already know.
Accept it, and then remember.

Weekly Challenge #461 – Strike

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:

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

Smirks

MUNSI

How The Smiths

By Christopher Munroe

I did stop listening to Depeche Mode.

I didn’t NEED to, like I said, but change can be good.

I moved on to The Smiths. I also will love The Smiths until I die.

Johnny Marr’s the best guitarist of his age, and Morrissey’s a God.

I own every album, both Smiths and solo, and I listen to them whenever I can, the lyrics are genius, and he’s one of the foundational artists of a genre.

Morrissey isn’t my first crush, that was Ally Sheedy, but he was my third or fourth.

Mayhaps I’ve said too much.

Bigmouth strikes again…

JEFFREY

Tomb Raider
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Christ, it’s dark in here!” Professor Stenson exclaimed as he squeezed through the doorway into the ancient tomb. “Let’s get some torches lighted.”

Stenson heard no reply from his two native assistants. He sighed. This was not entirely unexpected, as the pair claimed they feared an evil spirit that guarded the tomb. Stenson was a rationalist, and did not believe in evil spirits, animated corpses, or any other superstitious nonsense. Still, he mused, if he weren’t so sensible, he might well be nervous. The atmosphere gave him an uneasy feeling, as though someone was in the chamber with him.

He fumbled for his matches. Striking one, he used its meager light to get a glimpse of the tomb. It was all he imagined: the coffin, painted in gold leaf, surrounded by countless jeweled treasures. Just before the match went out, he felt rather than saw something move. His last thought was that the natives weren’t as foolish as he believed.

Look for the Union Label
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Unfair!” chanted the three men. They looked cold, parading in a small circle by their large, inflatable rat.

“What’s up, fellas?” I asked. Their leader replied, “We’re protesting the use of non-union labor at this casino.”

“I see. How’s that going?”

“We’ve been here every day for the past ten years, in all weather, demanding the owner use union labor. Sure, it’ll cost him two bucks an hour more in wages, but it’s only fair.”

“So let me see if I’ve got this straight: you’re on strike, often standing in the cold and rain instead of being in a nice, climate-controlled building, making nothing for a decade, all so you can demand, what, twenty percent more than you could have made all along?”

“That sounds about right. But we’re real close now. The owner will cave any day.”

“And how many years will it take for you to make up those lost wages from the last decade?”

“Uh….”

Strike Three
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Mr. Del Rio, under California’s ‘three strikes’ law, the minimum punishment for your crime is a life sentence without the possibility of parole. I so sentence you. Do you understand?”

“Aw, judge yo’ honor, can’t ya gimme a break?”

“Sir, which word do you have difficulty with? Mandatory? Minimum?”

“Naw, but three strikes? Can’t we call it two or sumthin’?”

The judge reviewed Del Rio’s folder. Burglary. Burglary. Assault. Armed robbery. Burglary. Assault with a deadly weapon. The list went on. “Mr. Del Rio, I’m assuming your pleas had some effect on other judges. From what I’m reading, this isn’t a question of strike three – you’ve had a full inning’s worth of strikes against you. Bailiff, take him away.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 94: Failure!

“Wait here!”, ordered the woman, leaving George alone with his thoughts in the corridor.

He mulled over what he had just been told…

“You’ve been through a rather unique selection process, George. Most organisations of our type run character tests and hypothetical scenarios: We prefer a more ‘hands-on’ approach. You’ve faced a range of situations designed to measure your response to danger, decision making and mental agility, and a whole host of other criteria. Sadly, you’ve managed to strike out with every test!

You are the lowest-scoring candidate we’ve ever had… it’s quite an achievement, albeit it’s your only one!”

#2 – Grandpa

I miss grandpa and his weird sayings – he had ways of putting things that were utterly baffling, but terribly endearing.

Now – as he would say – he’s gone to the great white turtle waxer; dead as a bean on a roller skate, and off the rota at the boxing club.

Total nonsense, of course, but you always knew exactly what he meant and it made for some interesting conversations

His favourite expression was ‘struck down in their prime by a wanton banana’ – all the more ironic and poignant considering how he died.

Botulism, from a rancid plantain.

#3 – They’re back!

The team were back together – Captain Johnson, nerdy Jack the hacker, Sid and ‘Tenacious’ Willy.

How long had it been since the last time they’d beeen on a mission? Too long, and the guys knew it – all too aware of how the easy life and lack of training might have dulled their wits, nerves were on a knife-edge.

They couldn’t afford to make mistakes.

They needn’t have worried – it went perfectly – mission accomplished, objective secured and no comeback at all.

The team celebrated their success, it felt good!

Strike Team Alpha was back in business!

#4 – Breakfast… interrupted

Limbo Laggins was halfway through his breakfast bacon and eggs, when a knock on the door disturbed him. Sighing, he trudged to the door only to find that pesky wizard stood on his doorstep.

“Could I interest you in a quest?”, enquired the wizard.

“No”, said Laggins, attempting to close those door.

“Be very careful, little hobbit, or I shall strike you with my magical staff!”

Laggins looked the wizard up and down before replying.

“What staff?”

The wizard frowned… “Oh bother! Now where I have left that?”, and hurried off down the pathway.

Richard ‘

SERENDIPITY

They do say that lightning never strikes twice. however, as far as you are concerned, not strictly true.

You’d be surprised how many times lightning can strike when you encourage it with a good tall flag pole, a reel of heavy gauge cable with a nice, easy route to earth.

And that’s where you come in… my missing link.

So just make yourself comfortable as I strap this cable to your head and try not tip the water bowl at your feet.

There’s a storm coming, and you know what that means, don’t you?

What a shocking way to die!

ANIMA

College Anyday 2015

Jill enters the crowded college bar, avoiding eye contact with any of the patrons. She is pissed Aaron has bailed on dinner, and contemplating how to get out of the relationship before finals week. It is going to be a mess.

Some guy from the other end of the bar locks eyes on her. Hamn, Strike one.

He sidles up, carrying what appears to be 2 pints of beer. Lite beer. Strike two.

“Excuse me, I am writing a term paper on the finer things in life, and would like to interview you…”. Strike three, Frat boy, you’re outta here!

ZACKMANN

I don’t think I will take a date to a baseball game again. My day would have been better if there had been a baseball strike. The speakers played too loud so I got a fan to give me two cigarettes.I tried to put their filters in my ears but they were Lucky Strikes. My date snuck onto the field, despite my trying to drag her back. She smacked the umpire then ducked which placed my eye in the path of a moving fist. Apparently when you hit a baseball official the umpire strikes back. Fortunately we left then.

JOHN MUSICO

John Musico
Strike

The secret meeting hall was filled.
The union head pounded his fist on the podium;
“We are sick and tired doing all the work, we demand vacation; we deserve promotions! His wings shuddered as he spoke. “Heaven fills daily with more of we angels, merely to do His good deeds for him as he sits peacefully on his throne. When the sun rises; no one goes to work- and our days will be filled instead with the leisure WE have earned!” That was the day heaven became a lovely place. The angels still lounge and gladly pay their union dues.

LIZZIE

Unaware of his demise, Nolan was about to lose everything. His wife Linda, along with her lawyer lover, prepared everything quite thoroughly. “Trust me,” she said. And, foolish as he was, he did. The car, the house, the weekend cottage, everything was gone. However, there was Nikolai. “My darling,” he said, “I’ll take care of it.” Nolan never saw Linda again. The lawyer disappeared. And the properties were magically in Nolan’s name again. “How?” “My darling,” he replied, examining the barrel of his gun, “there’s a monster at the end of everyone’s path. I just happened to be that monster.”

TOM

What He Say?

Strike while the irons hot. Said the Master. He was always saying stuff like that. In all the time he had spent with the old man not one original word came out of his mouth. Further the wise words were always out of context. The last pearl came after the apprentice asked if the master would like another bowl of ice cream. When the dish was placed before him instead of a simple thank you the master said: When you have been struck on one cheek turn and offer the other. It was going to be one very long day.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 94

The energy from the Tamerlane leveled the bandit’s lair then spread out across Denman. As quickly as it struck the entire mass of the planet was pulled back to the Tamerlane producing one glorious mini super-nova.

“President Parsons the Marivoltie Gravis Imperium has just claimed responsibility for the planetary strike on Denman. The newly widowed leader ordered Admiral Poindexter to engage the fleet.

Inside the cube the doctor was struck be a deep sense of emptiness. “I just died,” said the doctor. The dealer nodded.

Timmy?

Mirror.

The dealer dealt one more hand. He busted and so did the cube.

NORVAL JOE

This was the worst date of his life, not that Dergle had been on that many.
Bambi, the checker at the corner grocery story, kept calling him, “Mr. Vander Hoont”, instead of Dergle. He was only three years older than her and though her braces and ponytails made her look like a teenager, she was twenty-two.”
Maybe the zoo was a bad choice for their first date.
Dergle felt off balance.
He had to leave Long John in the microvan, the monkeys were on strike, and Bambi’s lip got cut by her braces when he tried to kiss her goodnight.

TURA

Strike
——–
My great-grandfather struck it rich in the Californian gold rush. But he realised the real business was selling equipment and supplies to all the other poor fools. Eventually, he and his son were running a chain of stores across six cities, and richer than any gold-digger. Then my grandfather sees mail order getting big, so he gets into delivery networks. FedEx is a direct descendant of one of his companies. My father saw computers coming in and got into computer consulting. And me? I charge business leaders twenty thousand dollars a day to tell them how to strike it rich.
——–

RICK

Mama generally came home from work in one of three mental states…
Normal
Nervous Break Down (which is bad … REAL BAD)
and the far more common “on strike”, which meant … if she didn’t get a break she would have a nervous breakdown. During those times our older brother always knew what to do.
The music was Dixieland Jazz
steaks outside on the grill … (dirty kitchen … REAL BAD!!!)
Red wine (he would say “this is the reddest I could find, hope it suits Madame’s pallet” in his best French accent.

Mom would smile so sweetly!

“You’ll make a good husband someday!”

PLANET Z

They say that you should strike while the iron is hot, but they never say what you should strike the iron with.

I used to strike the iron with a rubber chicken, but now that I heat iron before I strike it, the rubber chicken tends to soften and melt all over the iron, making a gooey mess.

Why am I striking my iron with a rubber chicken?

You’re right. I should strike the iron with a mallet in order to shape the iron.

Now, what should I place the iron on while I strike it?

Aha! The rubber chicken!

Weekly Challenge #460 – I’ve Got Nothing

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:

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

Bedcats

MUNSI

Depeche Mode

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve switched to Depeche Mode and all’s right in the world, because I could listen to Depeche Mode all week every week, forever.

As you well know.

My opinions on the band are known by anyone who’s ever seen me at a club, after all, they’re just incredibly good. Music for the Masses, at the moment, and loving it. Every track is genius, especially…

But none of this is new information.

What am I trying to do, after all, what am I trying to say? I’m not trying to tell you anything you didn’t know when you woke up today…

JEFFREY

“The Destructive Force of a Tornado”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Mary fastened an earring as she opened the front door to the babysitter. “Thanks for coming over. I assure you that Shawn is no trouble at all.”

“How old is he?” asked Caitlin.

“He’s five, but very mature for his age. He’s quiet…” Just then a child started wailing in the next room. “Well, usually. He’s well-behaved, entertains himself with his toys, and puts everything back when he’s finished.” Caitlin followed Mary down the hallway to the den. Sitting on the floor was a child with a mischievous grin on his face, surrounded by Legos, toy cars, several jigsaw puzzles jumbled together, and the remains of a coffee table book that had been systematically shredded.

“No trouble, you say?” Caitlin said.

Mary looked at her son. “I’ve got nothing.”

“The Ultimate Weapon”
by Jeffrey Fischer

The terrorist carried a box containing a small sphere into the apartment where his colleague was assembling a bomb. “Praise be to Allah!” the first said, setting the box in front of the second. “You can stop work on the bomb now, as I have something better.”

The second peered at the sphere. “You have brought us an empty piece of glass?”

The first looked annoyed. “Not empty, my friend. It’s filled with a powerful explosive – called ‘nothing.’ I am assured that this is more destructive than plastique. You’ve heard of matter and anti-matter, have you not? This is nothing, and the principle is the same. When it comes in contact with something, a big explosion happens.”

The bomb-maker looked skeptical. “Where did you find this marvel?”

“On eBay, of course. I’m assured it is the genuine article.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 93: Emotional roller coaster

Over the next fifteen minutes, George experienced a full range of emotions, from disbelief and bewilderment to outrage, anger and – eventually – resignation.

Weird as recent events had been, the explanation he was now receiving was beyond the realms of possibility. With every word that each of the men spoke, he found himself losing his grasp on what little sense of reality he now clung to.

“So, George, is there anything you’d like to ask us?”

“No”, he replied quietly, “I’ve got nothing…”

He became aware the sneering woman was again stood at his side – only now he understood her disdain.

#2 – Got nothing

I’ve got nothing… No money, no friends or family, nowhere to call home, not even a pair of shoes to call my own right now. It’s not an easy life but I get by – the odd dime from passers-by, handouts from the soup kitchen, and you’d be surprised what home comforts you can find, even out here on the street.

Sure, I’ve got nothing, but that means no job, no responsibilities and no commitments. No expectations and no disappointments. I’ve even had people tell me they envy me!

And you know what?

They don’t know a damn thing!

#3 – Guilty

“I’ve got nothing to say in my defence, your honour, but before you pass sentence, let me ask you just to pause a minute and consider whether you, or any other reasonable person would have done differently in the same circumstances.”

The judge looked at me curiously, then he spoke.

“It was indeed a unique set of circumstances, and considering the evidence before the court, there was little else that you could have done. Indeed, any reasonable person would probably have done the same.

However, regarding what I would do… I’ve got nothing to say.

You’re going down, sunshine.”

TOM

A Good Piece of Advice

Many years ago I apprenticed with a Cabinet Maker. Much like Anakin Skywalker. I was sorrowfully too old to fully integrate into the relationship. The best Mr. Russell could do, oddly enough, was prepare me for my up-coming divorce. He’d been adopted into a rich Chicago Meat Packing family. His choice of brides came from deep within the Junior League A list. Brushing his secret sealing oil on a drawer he said, “I was miserable for 10 years. The only way out was to walk away from everything.” Standing in the empty apartment I conciliatorily mused, “ I’ve got nothing.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 93

“Sparky what do you have?” “I’ve got nothing.” The E meter while pegged-out showed no sign of Timmy’s presence. “Duke where’s Timmy?” “It’s pretty fuzzy pilgrim, but it seems he is in a cascade time loop.” “That means …” said Senator Smith just before blinking out. “… I was never here,” finished Dino Mod.” Both Banister and Proctor made a mad dash for the Tamerlane. Just as he laid his hand on the box his comrades vanished, replace by El Cid and the 40 thieves, guns drawn, firing.

“Too late,” said the Doctor

“Too late,” said the Bandit.

Then came the Flash.

SERENDIPITY

His eyes burned into me across the desk.

“We know you did it. You had motive, the means and you’re a cold hearted, calculating bitch. Just confess and make it easy for all of us.”

I smiled.

“Where’s your evidence, detective? What do you have that’s going to nail me?”

“You know I’ve got nothing, yet… but trust me, I’ll find it!”

“Oh, I know you will”, I stood to leave the room, “and sooner than you expect”, I muttered, under my breath.

He snarled at me, and drained his coffee – along with the poison I’d slipped him.

LIZZIE

Two lonely hearts, pulled together by circumstances and pain. They talked and danced. They shared their stories and their moments. They shared the others, the others in their lives who didn’t know they were being shared. They shared and got closer. They got as close as that illusive closeness of nothingness, with nothing but fragments of lives and the excitement of the unknown, of warm familiarity, of love. Loneliness is a high price to pay for the determination of commitment. So, they decided to seize the moment, not caring for anyone else but themselves in a selfish illusion of nearness.

ANIMA

VD 1840

Emma looked at the homemade card – 12 hand drawn hearts, in varying states of artistry. Some were neat, others more of a child’s scrawl. Holiday cards were in fashion.

Inside, the text was brief – “Joseph, for all that you do and all you provide, we love you more every day”.

What do you think? Anything else we should say?

From around the room – “Looks great!” “I have nothing more to add” “Can we use the purple ink?”

As Emma was the first and oldest, she signed first, then organized the other sister-wives to sign the simple Valentine’s day card.

SPATE

Snow In February

Dim’s dog Bummer did it.

Should’ve known better… leaving him alone in the Chevy while we worked
third shift.

He ate the candy, chewed the flowers and pissed all over the back seat,
thoroughly soaking the Hallmark card that played Barry Manilow when you
opened it.

“Dimitri, your dog sucks!”

Dim shrugged the shrug of a man that had nothing to contribute.

Now here I was meeting Snow at the Denny’s for our Valentine’s dinner (her
breakfast) and I’ve got nothing for her. Nothing!

But she smiles that smile so lovely.

And in that moment I knew she was everything.

(music: “Soul Wants To Grow” arrangement by Zep Hurme / lyrics and vocals by
Snowflake aka Emily Richards / curator: CC Mixter / licensed under Creative
Commons Attribution Noncommercial 3.0)

ZACKMANN

I hear The Rhode Show podcast with Hugh and Kelli will have its 300th episode this week and would like me to send something in. Hugh Four, Snarkdogg Kent, and The Space Turtle (eehowm) had introduced me to drabbles but also have done many good things so eventually listeners of The 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge will forgive them for that. Maybe I could start with “This is Zackmann. You might know from disrupting such chatrooms Snark Infested Waters and Bearcrawling but I would just be stealing that introduction from DAVe Avila. Sorry Hugh Four, so far I’ve got nothing.

NORVAL JOE

I verbally wrote a story yesterday morning. It involved two people speaking with New Yorker accents. The man and the woman made humorous comments on twists of word meaning which were somewhat dependant on the way they spoke to have the greatest impact.
I tried repeating the dialog with different accents and inflections but the effect just wasn’t the same.
I was in a hurry to get to work, so I thought I would just write it down later.
Now, for the life of me, I can’t remember the story.
It would have been great, but now, I’ve got nothing.

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 460: “I’ve Got Nothing”

I’ve lost my house, my office, my practice, my dignity, and my bar license. I’ve not held myself up to the high standards of an institution that cannot even stand up for itself. I’ve bought into every lie about the American Dream, working hard for little or nothing, holding up ideals for a society that has none. I’m now told I’m a loser, a taker. I’ve got nothing, I am nothing, and therefore, I will always be nothing. Sorry to disappoint. I am now the voice of the oppressed, the hell of your own creation you wish you never raised.

TURA

I’ve got nothing
——–
“I got plenty o’ nuthin'”, the song goes, and nowhere is that more true than here at the offices of Plenty-O-Nuthin tax accountants. Are you finding it hard to make ends meet on a $10 million income, when the government takes away half of it in taxes, year after year? Lay down your burden with us! Our skilled prestidigitators will magically cut away all of your profits and capital gains when the auditors call, while leaving your bank balance completely unharmed! Join our satisfied clients in the freedom of having plenty of nothing, and nothing will be plenty for you!

PLANET Z

Time Magazine’s cover shows a baby that they say could live to one hundred and forty-two years old.

Of course, if his mother is Jenny McCarthy, he could catch the Mumps, or some other deadly disease that could be prevented by a simple vaccination.

He could also have a mother that doesn’t believe in using a child safety seat in the car. Or making him wear a helmet while he’s on a bike.

Or civilization could collapse from a jihadi uprising, food shortages, global warming…

What good is living over a century, and he’s got nothing to look forward to?

Weekly Challenge #459 – Eat

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: Eat

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of I’ve Got Nothing. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

Derp

ANIMA

I Need A New Job

Next!!

At the unemployment office, the line was moving steadily. It was nearing 9am, and the processor was thinking of his break. The sun was unbearably hot today.

Next!

Name? What was your last job? Why did you leave?

Next!

… I’ve been working in Nazarene as a carpenter, but I’m looking for a change. I am a great people person! The thirty-something smiled hopefully.

I have an opening for a sin-eater. Pays not great, but you would have a very strong influence in your community. Think that might interest you?

You said it was a permanent position?

Absolutely. Next!

JEFFREY

“Waist Line”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Chester teetered back to his seat, balancing two plates and a bowl. He settled his 350 pound frame onto the seat and considered where to start. Lasagne, bread, soup, fried chicken, mashed potatoes, dumplings, fried okra, mac and cheese, and pork roast. Oh, and a salad. He loved buffets, and this one was his favorite. According to Chester, the whole meal was good for him because of that salad. He set the salad aside and speared a dumpling.

Chester never understood why he kept gaining weight. After all, he had a salad almost daily.

“Blind Date”
by Jeffrey Fischer

Jessica arrived at the restaurant for her date. When she spotted Brian, she headed for his table. She was nervous about the evening, not least because Brian said he didn’t eat out much.

She was a little put out when he didn’t stand as she approached the table, but that paled in comparison with the next ninety minutes. Brian didn’t use a napkin, grabbed her water glass, nearly blinded her by squeezing a lemon garnish, ate with his mouth open, and checked for text messages all evening. Then he stuck her with the bill.

Now Jessica lives alone, with only a cat for company and Lean Cuisine for dinner. She considers this an upgrade.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 92: Have I mentioned zombies recently?

“Sorry about her”, smiled the chap in the middle seat, “she’s not too impressed with you.”

Completely bewildered, George simply stared at him vacantly.

“You’ve been a little irrational, the last few weeks…” prompted the one on the left.

George was incensed: “Irrational!”, he protested, “I thought zombies were going to eat my brains”

The man smiled at him: “Well, from what we’ve seen, if there had been zombies, they wouldn’t have had a very satisfying meal. Don’t you agree?”

George slumped, utterly deflated, in his chair.

“Look guys, can you just please tell me what this is all about?”

#2 – ‘Tiny’ Orson Thomas

See that picture on the wall there? That’s ‘Tiny’ Orson Thomas – a legend in his own lunchtime.

It seems unbelievable, but six times he’s completed the Sizzling Steakhouse Challenge – a sixty four ounce rib-eye, fries, two eggs over-easy and a side order of onion rings. His unbeaten record was twenty minutes and he’s considered a hero around these parts.

All the more surprising when you think he was only five feet tall and as thin as a rake.

Of course, it was the steaks that killed him in the end – but boy, could that guy eat!

#3 – Fussy eater

I guess I’m what most people would call a fussy eater, or, maybe you’d prefer just plain weird!

Some people won’t eat meat, others won’t touch dairy, as for me – I only eat food that shares the same letter as the day of the week…

Monday is mash; Tuesday, tuna; I’ll have walnuts on a Wednesday and so on. Weekends tend to be sausages and salmon.

Truth is, it does get a little boring and I do miss some of my favourites. There are days I’d kill for some bacon!

Which is why tomorrow, just happens to be Buesday!

MUNSI

Adam Ant

By Christopher Munroe

It’s dog eat dog out there.

No, literally Dog Eat Dog out there, I’ve been listening to old Adam Ant tunes for the past week and it’s gotten stuck in my head.

Which is great, it’s a classic, it’s just that, given time, I fear it will drive me mad.

The driving beat and repetitive chorus, blocking out all other thoughts, distracting me from my day-to-day life, causing me to lose my edge.

And I need my edge.

It’s dog eat dog out there.

It’s dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat-dog-eat WATCH ME DADIO!!!

Sorry, yeah, I may need to switch it to Depeche Mode…

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 92

“You coming with?” “Coming where?” “There!” Timmy took the Gilgamesh card and thwacked-it at the mirror. The silver surface ripped. The card effortlessly passed through. “Damn,” said El Cid. “I guess Through the Looking Glass wasn’t bandit required reading.” “ No Steal this Book was.” “This might be a world class bad decision.” “Aren’t they all,” returned the bandit. The pair passed through the glass. The light was blinding. The heat was crushing. The Boy and Bandit had landed atop a ziggurat in a ring of ziggurats. The king himself greeted them with a plate of food. “Eat,” he said.

Goodbye Smith

“Come on Smith eat just a little,” begged Benny, but the dog just continued lying next to the wood stove. “Ok how about some water?” Smith took a few sips and then lowered his big head. When Death takes his time the first desire that passes is movement. That is followed by a lack of interest in food. When the beloved stops drinking his presence is unescapable. Mother said, “You can stay up tonight with Smith.” Benny was there when the labored breathing settled into a shallow draw. Mother handed Benny a sandwich. “Eat,” she said. Benny shook his head.

SERENDIPITY

Most people prefer a little room when they fly, but not me.

I look out for the obese passengers – preferably the ones who need an extra seat – squeeze myself in beside them and settle down for a long uncomfortable flight.

You may wonder why I choose such an unorthodox option… It’s simple – no matter how bad the turbulence, I’m safe and secure, wedged into place by my fellow passenger’s bulk.

And, should the worst come to worst, and we crash in mountainous terrain, I’ll simply eat them… And absolutely no chance that I’m ever going to starve!

LIZZIE

Eat Your Words

Everything was ready for the recording. The film would be released in just a few days. While the actors grabbed some food from the catering and slowly took their places, a crazed director stormed in. “Don’t you people have food at home? I’m hungry too. I’ve been working since 5 a.m.” One of the actors lost his temper. “Well, Mr. Director, no one will record anything today then…” And he looked at the script. “You can eat this.” That film was never concluded. Since then, all actors eat something right before starting to work, even if they are not hungry.

ZACKMANN

Doctor Monstercliff, I brought my teen here today because when he was considering fad or trendy diets I made the mistake of telling him that I was okay with any diet as long as he used our medical plan to consult a doctor or dietitian first. I know you’re new here to this land. Our peoples have a great deal in common however humans were not created like nor did we evolve from plants like the people of your home planet therefore we need food hence the Breatharian diet is quite lethal for us. Tell him he needs to eat.

SPATE

New Jersey Again

So it’s been at least seven years since I’ve done this trip but I’m back
down in Jersey for the week on business, staying at this hotel that’s wedged
behind a strip of chain restaurants and there’s this big sign out front, in
capital letters: E-A-T. That’s it – just “EAT”.

Now I’ve been committing creative sign alterations since my teenage years.
How could I let an action verb sit so lonely?

Some foam board, spray paint, duct tape, and a commandeered man lift.

Well, unfortunately the lawyers won’t let me share the after picture.

Common nouns can be very descriptive.

(music: “Deleve_SeLiga_Instrumental (press bass rmx)” by error404 featuring
presserror / curator: ccmixter.org/files/presse/12922 / CC Attribution
Noncommercial)

NORVAL JOE

I think meatloaf has to be the perfect food.
You can control the fat content by choosing leaner types of ground beef, if that’s your concern. Or you can increase the flavor by varying the ratios of ground beef, veal, pork or goat. You can select only ground meat from grass fed cattle, use non-GMO grains, gluten free rabbits, or carnivorous sheep.
It’s hard to deny the Meatloaf as a superlative source of protein. Why, it even says EAT right in the name.
But, I don’t understand why, after mixing one up, no one else wants to like the bowl.

TURA

Eat
——–
“Eat spurge, wear flem,” they say up north as a symbol of poverty. Spurge is a marsh reed which can be boiled and mashed into poor sustenance for the lowest of peasants. The tougher stalks– the flem– are pounded to separate the fibres, to be woven into shabby cloth. Etymologists debate whether flem is named for the Flemish or the other way round.

A new restaurant has just opened, serving these and other bygone staples of the destitute: potato worms, crutched friars, gravelfish, and breemliars. Dinner runs $200 for two, plus wine, and the waiting list is a year long.
—-
In southern Japan, the poor are ashamed to eat millet, because they cannot afford rice. In northern Japan, the poor are those who cannot afford millet, but must eat potatoes. In Russia potatoes are a staple (used mainly for vodka), but they consider turnips fit only for cattle. In Germany they eat turnips and give the cattle mangelwurzels. In Wales, they eat mangelwurzels but despise spurge. In Poland, they eat spurge but not barley. In Tibet, they eat barley rather than rice.

Whatever you eat, someone will look down on you for it, which explains a lot of restaurant reviews.
—-
Excellent steak!

By the way, have you ever been inside an abattoir? First thing is, the animal loses bowel control. So that’s all over the floor while they’re chopping the head off, opening the belly, and hauling out the guts to shovel up later for offal. Bandsaw the carcase, hang the sides for three days– see, you can’t actually eat newly dead cow, tough as leather, has to rot a little. Then they scrape off the mould and it’s ready for packing. If there’s inspectors watching, they might hose it down to get the last of the shit off.

Yum!

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 459: Eat

Bea lived with her parents in a modest apartment over the family owned butcher shop. Bea was a beautiful girl who had no problem attracting boys. After dating a few weeks, Bea would often invite her boyfriend over for dinner to meet her family. The boy would soon disappear after dinner, never to be seen again, yet the family always had a supply of strange but delicious steaks. One day Bea broke in the back freezer of the butcher shop shocked to discover the hacked remains of her boyfriends. Grabbing a knife, Bea proclaimed, “Oh Mom, Dad, time to eat!”

PLANET Z

When you’re on a diet, ice cream is a bad thing.

You can try to deny yourself ice cream, and it’s great if that works for you, but I don’t have that kind of willpower.

Instead, I remember something that my mother told me: use a small bowl.

The cabinet is full of small bowls. They sit in there, waiting as I grab a spoon and eat directly out of the container.

So, I try for moderation. Instead of the half-gallon containers, I get the tiny cup sized containers.

Too many of them.

Once again, I deny myself ice cream.

Weekly Challenge #458 – Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!)

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: Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!)

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Eat. Scroll up and click on Weekly Challenge to learn how to join us!

Tin Roof Swirl: Cat vs Ice Cream

ANIMA

The Mesopotamians

The wheels had fallen of the van, again.

Dammit Hammurabi! Did you tighten the lug nuts? Now there is no way we’ll make the gig in Hoboken.

Who, me? Man, you know I can’t remember shit…. That’s why I’m a singer, and not the drummer. Relax, I know what we can do… I’ll say a prayer to Ishtar, and sacrifice a goat (sorry Larry). She and I had a thing back in Cali, so I know Tari will help us out. Plus I think I left my favourite armband in her couch…

Larry, what do you say about that?

Baaaaah!

JOHN MUSICO

John Musico
Before the Old Testament

The archeologist beamed, as he brushed off a clay tablet in the Mesopotamian ruins.
Carbon dating came back as 3000 BC: long before the Old Testament. The glyphs inscribed on the tablet read that the world was created by the Devil for His amusement and had always been evil.
Eventually the Devil became board. He created God so there would be some contrast to better appreciate all his evil.
Upon death, any good man would be cheated of the vices of Hell. No philandering, boozing it up, no freedom to swear, etc. Good men were to be banished to Heaven….

JEFFREY

“Chess Master”
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Paul, as the school chess champ, everyone wants to try to take you down. Now the Science Club wants to play you in six simultaneous games.”

“Eh, no thanks. I’ve seen them play before. THEY think they’re good, but…well, Deep Blue they’re not. On a good day, their best player MIGHT beat Sargon.”

“Sargon? Never heard of it.”

“Oh, sure. It was a chess program for the Apple II, among other platforms. When I wanted to BE a chess champion, I begged my Dad for a copy. Sargon wasn’t on par with the GIANTS of the field, but it was good to learn on. Anyway, forget the Science Club. Six games with them is no challenge at all. It would be like playing a Mesopotamian.”

[And now a word from our sponsor]

Have you been involved in a camel accident? Threatened with being stoned to death by an angry king for apostasy you didn’t commit? Accused of summoning an evil genie to do your bidding? You have rights, and you’re not alone! Contact Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh, attorneys at law. We’re here to fight to the death for YOUR rights!

Disclaimer: Actual fight may or may not occur. The phrase “to the death” is a metaphor and not to be taken literally, except in the unfortunate event it happens to be your death. Seek medical help for state of nirvana lasting more than four hours. Void where prohibited by law.

“Names”
by Jeffrey Fischer

“I don’t like it when countries change names of things.”

“Like what?”

“The big city in China, for instance. It’s now Beijing, right? But we used to call it Peking. Or Bombay is now Mumbai. Crazy, right? Now I have to learn new names for things.”

“You’re an old reactionary. Those changes are to make the names closer to what the natives call those places. Westerners tried pronouncing foreign words and something got lost in the translation. You wouldn’t want some foreigner renaming Philadelphia just because it’s hard for him to pronounce, would you?”

“It’s not just pronunciation. Mesopotamia.”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Once it had powerful rulers, like Hammurabi, or Gilgamesh. Now it’s partly in Iraq, partly in Iran, etc. You can’t tell me that’s just because we were pronouncing it wrong.”

“Now you’re just being silly. Mesopotamia was a region. Countries are countries. They couldn’t all be called Mesopotamia. So be fair. It’s not like countries just change names of cities for the hell of it.”

“Well, don’t try telling that to the natives of Saigon – I mean, Ho Chi Minh City. And Istanbul *was* once Constantinople…”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 91: The Mesopotamians

They say the great kings of Mesopotamia – Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal and Gilgamesh were considered to be gods. If George had been living in ancient Mesopotamia, then his status – based upon the withering look the woman now gave him – was somewhere between something nasty you scrape off your shoe, and six week old potato peelings.

“This way”, she commanded him brusquely.

“George Attwell”, she announced entering a room containing a desk, behind which sat three, smiling men.

The woman guided George to the chair gave him a look reserved for the Mesopotamian equivalent of a wet fart, and left the room.

#2 – What’s in a name?

Sargon Hammurabi Ashurbanipal Gilgamesh Harris had a pretty rotten childhood, as you would expect, being named after a bunch of Mesopotamians!

It was all his father’s fault – a huge fan of the group, ‘They Might Be Giants’ – who chose to name his son in honour of his favourite song.

Understandably, Sargon became a bit of a recluse, avoiding going out in public as much as possible, and spending entire weekends holed up in his bedroom.

But, he had to go to school: Every Monday morning he’d leave the house knowing the nightmare facing him.

Richard ‘

TURA

Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh (The Mesopotamians!)
——–
“What are Men to us?” declared Sargon.

Hammurabi purred, “They give us their best food, and warmth, and leisure.”

“In the palaces,” snorted Gilgamesh. “The rest have us only to keep down the mice.”

“Where we succeed, we starve,” observed Ashurbanipal, “and must scavenge their rubbish heaps.”

Sargon snarled, “Let us return to hunting the creatures of the plain!”

“We are too long among Men,” sighed Hammurabi.

Gilgamesh concluded, “Then we must make our own place here, not become slaves like Man’s dogs.”

And so Gilgamesh, Hammurabi, and Ashurbanipal entered the houses of Man, but Sargon returned to the wild.

SPATE

They Might Be Terrorists

Breaking news just in:

Four suspected Muslim extremists were caught crossing the border near Bisbee
Arizona overnight.

The men, claiming to be Mesopotamian musicians, were apprehended when their
mink birdhouse delivery van sustained severe tire damage and got flooded
with desert sand.

Asked what they were doing there, they stated that they got lost.

Two of the men were originally from Massachusetts but reportedly have ties
to a rogue terror cell in Istanbul.

The Department of Homeland Security suspects they had planned on attacking
the San Francisco Noise Pop Festival using improvised weapons of sarcastic
wit and quirky infectious melodies.

SERENDIPITY

You may have heard of Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh: the Mesopotamians, but the chances are, you’ve never heard of me.

There’s a very good reason for that – for I am Nunbarsegunumathauntanabusharinapaksariwan, the greatest and most feared of all the queens of the ancient world. My name is both blessing and a curse to those who utter it.

A blessing, for those who speak my name without fear, fault or fumbling; for they escape with their lives.

As for those who stumble, stutter or struggle… they are sliced, diced and fed to the pigs.

Nobody takes my name in vain!

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 87

It was painfully apparent El Cid would be of little or no uses helping Timmy find a way-out. A memory of his father settled in his thoughts : Sometimes the way out is the way in. “I got to think outside the box.” Making direct eye contact with the dealer, Tim rolled his hand across the table and said “Deal.” Tamerlane let a wry smile flash, broke the seal on a package of Dal Nergos. Timmy tapped his two. The dealer laid out four kings Sargon, Hammurabi, Ashurbanipal, and Gilgamesh. “so we’re playing Mesopotamians. Tell me the tale of Sargon.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 88

A babe in a basket set adrift on the great river. Raised by the gardener of the emperor. He grew strong in Inanna’s protection. Wine bearer of the court, who troubled the dreams of Ur-Zababa the great. Brandished to the land of Uruk carrying a sealed call for his own death, but their did take the city then all of Sumer. He fell many city walls, was the progenitor of writing, defended against the Elam. The model ruler to the ages. Written in the Book he is Nimrod. He is the first. Do you chose him?”

“Tell me of Hammurabi.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 89

“He took sleepy Babylon made it the jewel of the fertile crescent. Great powers fell and became part of his vast domain. Of all his deeds the most glorious was separating the Law from the Rule. He created a code independent of the power of the throne. Further to each corner of his kingdom he placed stone steles engraved for all to see and know the law, precise and immutable. Harsh was the law an eye for an eye, but better by far than blood feuds spanning generations. Hammurabi giver of law. Do you chose him?’

“Tell me of Ashurbanipal.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 90

He was the lion of the Assyrian. Who ruled from great Nineveh and did there establish a library of a 30,000 clay tablets. The tale of Gilgamesh was stored. King of the universe he called himself, but shared the his rule with his beloved brother. He defeated the Nubian king of Egypt and claimed Memphis as his prize. Noble to his people a demon to his defeated. He putting a dog chain through the jaw of a defeated king and then making him live in a dog kennel. Ashurbanipal persevere of word. Do you chose him?”

“Tell me of Gilgamesh.”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 91

“Oh mighty Gilgamesh who’s tale has journeyed cross the universe, but at its core is a simple story of friendship and loss. He bridled chaos with the love of a woman to create the wild civilized man upon whose death would causes the great search for Xisouthros in an effort to beat death itself. “Was his search in vain master Parsons?” “No it is not,” said Timmy pulling that card from the table, turning over his two, the ace of hearts and the suicide king. “I will take from the snake what he stole.” Timmy turned to the dark mirror.

MUNSI

The B-52’s

By Christopher Munroe

Don’t get me wrong, I love the B-52’s. Classic new wave band. Roam, Summer of Love, Good Stuff, all brilliant .

However, the song Mesopotamia, I’m out.

It’s just that they have moments where they’re too cutesy by half, and by “There’s a lot of ruins in Meso-po-tamia” I can’t deal with it.

HOWEVER, I am still feeling the ‘80s vibe, so I switched to Adam Ant. You might agree with this decision, you might not.

That’s fine, I’m used to it.

It happens all the time.

All of those who get to know me, become admires or my enemies…

LIZZIE

Getting lost in the desert was as far from their plan as going to the moon. The ill-organized adventure ended with a group of four friends stuck in a van. Six months later, when the police finally found them, they were mummified. Years of studies followed with no results, until surprisingly they came back to life. “We told you not to touch that stone!” A pursuit ensued; three furious men chasing another. The authorities, perplexed, ran after them too. Last time that long line of people running was seen, it was heading towards… somewhere. At least the line was organized!

NORVAL JOE

I dated a girl in high school who named all of her pets after famous people. I thought that sounded like a good idea because you could sound like someone who’s deeply creative or very well read.
I named a long haired chihuahua Sargon. I thought it sounded powerful. The dog ran away.
I had a pot bellied pig who I named Hammurabi. It disappeared when my house was broken into.
I named a parakeet Ashurbanipal. It caught a cold and died.
All I have now is a goldfish I won at a carnival. That’s right. I named it Gilgamesh

PLANET Z

Our first computer was an Apple Two Plus.
We bought a few games for it, such as Space Eggs and Wizardry.
Then there were the pirated games that friends at school passed around.
A second floppy drive made it easier to copy those disks for others.
Some of them were flawed copies, but the games were so engaging, we promised to buy them for real.
You know, because the software companies depended on that revenue to pay programmers to make more.
But as much as we played Sargon’s chess, we never bought it.
I mean, he died centuries ago, right?