Category: Weekly Challenge

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

JEFFREY

Say Cheese
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

The Brie and Wine Circuit
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

RICHARD

#1 – Say Cheese

Say ‘cheese’!

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

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

‘Murder’!

#2 – Cheese Sandwich

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

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

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

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

Cheese… Can’t stand the stuff!

#3 – Fondon’t

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

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

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

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

JERRY

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

MUNSI

Nachos

By Christopher Munroe

Holy hell, I want nachos right now.

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

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

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

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

THEN there will be nachos…

LIZZIE

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

ZACKMANN

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

TOM

Grandma and Me

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

Aged for Ten Years

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

Comfort Food

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

ANIMA

Memorial Day Rant

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

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

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

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

NORVAL JOE

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

TURA

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

MUNSI

Words Don’t Exist

By Christopher Munroe

I have no words.

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

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

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

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

So, yeah. This circumstance.

Am I right?

NORVAL JOE

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

JEFFREY

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

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

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

“A what?”

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

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

Zymoxic
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

My friend bowed. “You win.”

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

RICHARD

A word that doesn’t exist

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

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

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

DEANNE CHARLTON

STORY (A word that doesn’t exist)

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

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

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

My world, too, had wrecked.

TOM

Baby Girl

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

Broadly Excepted

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

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

Have a Milver Lurple day.

My Word

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

JERRY

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

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

KORY

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

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

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

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

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

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

ANIMA

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

Hmm.

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

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

Breeding Grounds: South Padre Island in the month of March

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

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

Interesting…

LIZZIE

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

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

“But where did you hear that word?”

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

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

TURA

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

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

“Er…” I answered smartly.

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

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

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

• Munsi
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Kimi
• Zackmann
• Tura Brezoianu
• Lizzie
• Spate
• Norval Joe
• Anima
• Planet Z

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

MUNSI

On Trolling

By Christopher Munroe

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

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

Not the noblest of hobbies, but it relaxes me.

Still, I wouldn’t consider myself a troll.

I mean, I do live under a bridge.

And I do eat children.

But no.

Not a troll…

JEFFREY

Across the Bridge
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

“See what?”

“The troll you warned me about.”

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

Troll
by Jeffrey Fischer

“He’s a troll.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“STAN-ley!”

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

Trolling
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

RICHARD

Trolling

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

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

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

TOM

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

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

Way pass Hello Kitty

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

WALK AWAY

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

KIMI

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

ZACKMANN

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

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

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

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

TURA

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

They waited.

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

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

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

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

LIZZIE

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

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

SPATE

The Curse of the Troll

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

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

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

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

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

NORVAL JOE

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

ANIMA

A Modern Love Story

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

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

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

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

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

That’s not how I remember it…

You called me ‘droll’.

You jackass, I called you a troll…

PLANET Z

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

JEFFREY

Fit to Shrink
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

Outsized
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

RICHARD

Hi Laurence,

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

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

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

And a story as well.

Regards,
Richard.

Square Peg

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

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

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

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

I wish I didn’t fit in any more.

LIZZIE

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

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

TOM

The Spice Must Flow

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

The Legacy Generation

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

Too Be Happy

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

MUNSI

On Fitness

By Christopher Munroe

I’m not exactly fit.

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

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

That’s fine.

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

My life is a good fit for me…

ZACKMANN

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

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

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

TURA

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

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

“Call it an intention, then.”

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

“A target, not a goal.”

“An aim, not a target.”

“Perhaps it should be an aspiration?”

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

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

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

ANIMA

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

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

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

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

NORVAL JOE

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

PLANET Z

Ned’s a small guy.

So small, he’d fit in a wine glass.

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

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

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

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

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

Hilarious!

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

MUNSI

Drop the Anchors

By Christopher Munroe

Anchors away?

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

To hell!

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

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

So act we shall!

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

JEFFREY

Retirement
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

“Oh, just leave that,” Mike said.

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

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

The Diagnosis
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

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

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

RICHARD

Sailor

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

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

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

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

ZACKMANN

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

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

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

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

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

LIZZIE

Survivor

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

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

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

TOM

Hay Kid we can put on a show.

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

American Enterprise

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

NORVAL JOE

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

TURA

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

One day, the devil came to tempt her.

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

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

KIMI

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

MUNSI

On Matters of Faith

By Christopher Munroe

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

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

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

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

The results are rarely positive.

Police have been called more than once.

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

JEFFREY

Mirimanee, the Goddess of Science Fiction Women
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

The God Papyrus Awakens
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

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

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

RICHARD

#1 – Norman

Norman, the god of the unremarkable was nothing special.

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

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

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

Quite remarkable, really.

#2 – Polyproblematic

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

It can get a bit silly.

Eventually, the Pantheon called a summit meeting:

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

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

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

Which why the universe is run by a committee.

#3 – The Petulant God

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

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

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

Walk on water?

He was God, not a damned magician!

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

TOM

I’m a gods r us kind of kid

Hello Gods r us

How may I assess you?

Yes

Yes

Excellent choice.

Sorry we will have to back order him

Oh sorry

her

That ancient Ur always throws me.

Yes

No we no longer stock that god

You may find him available at

The Vatican’s web site.

Given this particular concentrations of deity

I would highly suggest both

Guards of the watch towers

And Mutual of Omaha Life Insurance

Excellent

Let me read your order back to you

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

Good luck with your daughter’s birthday party.

LIZZIE

The God of Boredom

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

SERENDIPITY

I am the goddess.

I am she who creates pain and despair.

I bring you suffering and slaughter.

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

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

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

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

I am the goddess.

And you… had better say your prayers!

TURA

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

SPATE

Number 08765943328’s Last Prayer

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

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

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

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

Anthem!

NORVAL JOE

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

HOTSPUR

(no text)

JEFFREY

Days Gone By
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

Hop-son’s Choice
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

Everyone’s a Critic
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

RICHARD

Hi Laurence,

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

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

Catch up with you and the gang on Sunday.

Regards,
Richard.

Frying Pan

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

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

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

MUNSI

A Life Lived with Style

By Christopher Munroe

I go through life with grace and aplomb.

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

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

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

And dignity has always been my watchword.

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

ANIMA

THE FIRST OF MAY

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

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

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

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

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

LIZZIE

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

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

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

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

TOM

And One more for the Road

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

The DownUlater

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

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

NORVAL JOE

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

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 468: Pan

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

TURA

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

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

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

“Atoms!” replied his father.

“What is love?” he asks today.

“Neurons firing!” comes the reply.

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

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

KIMI

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

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

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

Zamfir is the master of the Pan flute.

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

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

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.

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

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.

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

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.