Weekly Challenge – Page 62 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #365 – Pick a number

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was PICK A NUMBER:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of JOURNAL.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

I enjoy working with numbers in my head. It keeps my brain fresh and young. I listen to the Canadian FM stations, living just 26 miles from Victoria, just on the South side of the Strait. All the morning’s weather is announced in Centigrade, so I have to convert to Fahrenheit to get the temperature. It’s easy. For example, if they say “plus four”, I multiply by eight to get 80 percent of four. I add that to four (3.2+4=7.2) , then add 32, to get an approximate temperature in Fahrenheit (39.2). The actual conversion is 39.4, but it’s close.
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His personal utensil got number and number. He had done an experiment with the pills found in his uncle’s medicine cabinet, mixing them with morning coffee and Bailey’s Irish Cream. He was assured it would wear off, but it was no guarantee he would find himself recovering fully. He thought that the pills would provide four or five hours of full inflation so his afternoon with Veronica would be more adventuresome and delightful. Silly is as silly does. The condition didn’t go away for two weeks, and he was too embarrassed to seek medical help or go out into public.
#
Numbers. Check out numbers in the Bible. See where numbers are mentioned, or look up “Bible numerology” on Google. If you believe that numbers can reveal the future, or uncover mystical intelligence, you are delving into the dangerous realm of divination and the occult. Your family and friends might not like this, and folks at the coffee house might find this discommodious. Waving crystals over your croissant, carving profane characters into the table top, and only eating bagels if the decoding of the sesame seeds on the pastry add up to a prime number, might be troubling to those nearby.
#
She had my numbers. All of them. I couldn’t get a thing by her. She knew when I was watering down the liquor in the cherry wood cabinet in the dining room, and she could smell cigarettes on my breath from fifty feet away. My dear, old mother was a wise, fair and diligent detective, unflaggingly protecting me from death, disease and early detention. Mom was a nurse, and worked with nurses and doctors in the operating room. She heard outlandish jokes from the docs, and brought stories home to share with Dad and her number one son, over supper.

EXPLORER

Numbers

I’m just another number in the world, the first set of numbers are given to you
the day you’re born. The second set of numbers that you receive in life is your
Social Security number. A nine-digit number you share, because you’re part of
the calculated, algorithm, system, shared electronically everywhere.

“Click, sending”

Coming in at number one is awesome, but if you’re second or third, you’re
mediocre. However, women and men that score a ten in looks are equivalent to
a number one, really.

Therefore, no matter what your numbers are in life you are always a number
one…

JEFFREY

The Singer
by Jeffrey Fischer

Steve nodded his head in time to the music as the intro kicked in. The last number of his set was a catchy, upbeat tune, designed to send the customers away happy, humming the melody as they filled the aisles.

After fifteen years in the business, though, Steve no longer left the stage happy. Night after night, in one small room after another in cheap Vegas hotels, Steve sang numbers made famous by the Rat Pack and dreamed of performing his own songs to appreciative crowds. Year by year, his optimism waned as his dream faded.

He gripped the microphone stand and hit the first notes, an upbeat tune but a sad song.

Sixteen Numbers
by Jeffrey Fischer

Barbara handed the cashier her Discover card. She looked down at the meager collection of groceries and household items, knowing they had to last until payday, and that that would be a stretch. Even then she wasn’t sure how she would make the minimum payment on the card, but that was a worry for another day. The items weren’t quite hers yet, though, were they? One more hurdle remained, often the trickiest one: sending those sixteen precious digits through the wires, praying for the word “Accepted” to appear on the cashier’s screen. Barbara closed her eyes and crossed her fingers…

RICHARD

#1 – 3.142
Never trust a mathematician.

Oh, they seem so self-assured and smug, with their proofs and constants – numbers never lie, they say, it must be you who are wrong.

Well, I’m telling you – they’re a bunch of charlatans and deceivers, every last one of them!

Pi – they will tell you – is a wonderful number: it holds the secrets of the circle and is perfect in every way.

Nonsense!

I’ve studied Greek and I’ll tell you something for nothing… Pi is not a number – it’s a letter, a letter I tell you, and that is a simple truth and incontrovertible fact!

#2 – I called…

I found your number in an old address book. In that moment I was transported back through the years, to those happy times we shared together.

I remembered the laughter in your voice and the way your eyes sparkled when you smiled. I remembered how we made our plans for the future and dreamed of possibilities untold. I remembered the promises we made.

But that was long ago.

And I dared to hope that time might heal all things.

With trembling hands and pounding heart I took the plunge, picked up the ‘phone and dialled.

But, just like our lives…

Disconnected.

#3 – Disturbance

George awoke.

Something had disturbed him.

Eyes straining in the grey light of dawn, he withdrew into the shadows, listening intently.

There it was again – a clatter from the recesses of the kitchen.

Steeling himself, he felt the reassuring weight of a cleaver in his hand, and crept towards the source of the disturbance.

“Who’s there?”, he shouted in a cracked, high-pitched voice, to be rewarded with an angry yowl and a streak of tawny fur, dashing between his feet.

He sank to the ground – “A damn cat, George!”, he giggled nervously, “and you thought your number was up!”

TURA

“Gimme a dollar,” mumbled the shabby old man.

“Why?” I asked.

“I will give you the entire universe, now and forever!” he replied.

“Ri-i-ight…” I said. “If it’s yours to give, why are you selling it for a dollar?”

“Good point!” he grunted, “but is it good enough? Do the numbers! How often are you ever wrong? Multiply that by the payoff– if that comes to more than a dollar, make the bet!”

And that’s how I became owner of the universe. But I’ll sell it to you for two dollars. The numbers say I have to make a profit.

MUNSI

Numbers

By Christopher Munroe

One is the loneliest number, but it shouldn’t be. After appearing in a popular song, it could make some friends.

Hotels have no floor number thirteen, but they do have thirteenth floors. The one above the twelfth is the thirteenth no matter what you call it.

That’s how counting works.

When asked to choose a number between one and ten, I choose Pi.

Because I’m a smartass.

These are things I know about numbers, and they’re all true.

But, right now, the only important number is 100.

That’s the number I need.

The number I strive for.

There we go.

TOM

Imaginary Number Aren’t

Don’t ask me why, but I got hooked on the television show Numbers. Watched 18 in a row. In the DVD/Netflexs age it isn’t uncommon for someone to do a Lost weekend or watch the Sopranos till their eyes bled. Since I’m a bit slow on the up-take I failed to note the underlying formulaic nature of the show. Yup, it took me five Tom Swift novels to realize it was always the same novel. Same thing happened after the ninth James Patterson. In spite of the plot rehashing Numbers did an amazing job of highlighting rather lofty mathematical concepts.

SERENDIPITY

They called him the lottery killer – random victims in seemingly random locations, and at every crime scene, lying next to the corpse, a lottery ticket for the following week’s draw.

Police were baffled until the forensic team almost accidentally stumbled across what seemed a remarkable coincidence – the numbers on the mysterious lottery tickets appeared to correspond to the map co-ordinates identifying the location of each successive victim.

The police acted swiftly and organised a stakeout – sure enough, the lottery killer was apprehended at precisely the point where the last ticket said he would be.

The police had hit the jackpot!

MIATA

Numbers
I have always been fascinated with numbers. In numerology, 7 is the number of perfection, 8 is for new beginnings, and 3 is the number of the trinity. Then, there is the humor in numbers. 4 is the airhead, 9 is the brainiac, 6 looks pregnant, and 8 loves snow, or is very sexy, you decide. 1 isn’t the loneliest number, sometimes 2 is just as lonely and that is heartbreaking. 5 is the getting ready to roll number, and finally 0, is all contained and never ending. Numbers, so much to know, so little to see.

CLIFF

The seven warriors stood still as statues, blades drawn and waiting. The seven demons writhed and hissed, smelling of death and decay. The demons guarded the seven gates to the world beyond the living. In the countless years they had maintained their watch, no living person had gotten past them.
The emperor had demanded that the greatest warriors in the land should go into the realm of the dead to retrieve his beloved. Hundreds were summoned. Seven responded. Seven men, brave and true, loyal to their emperor no matter how great the task set before them. They lasted seven seconds.

###

When you’re a kid, fifty seems ancient. When you’re a teenager, fifty is a grandparent. In college, fifty is that stodgy old accounting professor that always seems to have a stain on his shirt. By the time you have kids of your own, fifty is your parents giving advice and laughing about how grandchildren are their reward for what you put them through. Fifty is always someone else. It’s always been a milestone that says “Here is where old begins”. When fifty starts knocking on your door, though, it doesn’t seem all that old. Seventy? Now that’s old. For now.

LIZZIE

There were four seats at the table, three people sat down.
“Where’s D’Angelo?” asked boss #1.
“We can’t start without him,” added boss #2.
“I thought the meeting was to solve our problems and end this ridiculous turf war,” said boss #3.
“It’s a lack of respect to keep us bosses waiting,” they all agreed, checking for their weapons discreetly.
Silence.
All of a sudden, loud sirens.
“The cops… That rat…” the three growled while they were arrested.
In the meantime, D’Angelo was enjoying the tropical sun of the Witness Protection Program.
“I never liked being number 4,” he thought.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Fifteen threads. Fifteen bright timelines stretching into the when.

Fourteen. One disappears: a woman slips on the sidewalk. He hears the crack of bone, her sharp intake of breath before the scream, and ignores it.

Thirteen to seven in a heartbeat. He misses the causes; they could be a butterfly’s wing flapping.

His original timeline is brightening. Probabilities collapse; he shoves through the crowd. Five. Four.

He won’t be scared this time.

Two threads.

“John?” She is there, confused. He’d just left.

He doesn’t know what will happen when the timelines switch.

“I love you,” he says, and kisses her.

ZACKMANN

Father keeps on urging me to take an accounting class. I tell him I don’t want to take over the family business and I can have someone else do my taxes. He tells me after enduring the fights his parents had annually from February through April, he doesn’t want to do his own taxes either. So I ask if that doesn’t maybe make him maybe a little hypocritical. He informs me the CPA who does his taxes is advising him to take a basic accounting class so when he makes a mistake on Quickbooks he can understand his explanation why.

DAPHNE

“Hi, how are you?”

“Four”

“Did you say four?”

“Four”

“Four? Four what?”

“Three”

“What are you doing?

“Four”

“Now we’re back to four? Seriously, what is going on?”

“Ten”

“Wait a second I think I know what is happening here.”

“Eleven”

“You’re counting words. That’s fascinating and annoying.”

“Seven”

“How good are you? If I talk for a whole minute would you be able to tell me if I hit 100 words?”

“Twenty-Three”

“Can we do this on a weekly basis? I have this story writing thing I do and word count matters.”

“Twenty”

“See you next week.”

“Four”

NORVAL JOE

In a clearing in the rain forest, Borle relaxed on a cot while Flerdy counted specimens from the Holo-docs taken at the river.
“Twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine. Species 13B has twenty-nine specimens per cubic meter of water compared to specimen 13A which only has seventeen,” Flerdy said into his voice recorder.
“Why not let the computer count and compare them for you?” Borle asked.
“Where would be the fun…” Flerdy began but stopped when he looked up.
They were surrounded by red-haired, freckled, native warriors wearing only loin cloths. All were woman and each aimed a wickedly sharp spear at them.

Dergle stared at the officer without moving, hardly breathing.
Officer Varkfleis flipped pages in his notebook while Dergle vacillated. He closed the notebook and said, “Mr. Dunderspawn. You implied you wanted a lawyer. Are you going to call one?”
Dergle made a face like he’d eaten something sour, but said nothing.
“If you don’t have a lawyer, I can give you numbers. They’re all dependable.”
“Will they feed my dogs?” Dergle mumbled, turning his eyes to the floor.
“Lawyers advise you. They don’t feed dogs,” Varkfleis said.
Dergle shook his head. “If you arrest me, someone needs to feed them.”

DANNY

The weakest gun control bill in the history of the world failed in the Senate this week. They just didn’t have the numbers, despite the majority of Amercians who actually want background checks for all gun purchasers. “Oh, that would be an infringement of freedoms our founding fathers never intented,” the Senators said. Then they laughed, saying “What difference does it make, our supporters have all the money, we can say “Screw America” all we want. Then the next election cycle came up. All the Senators who voted against the bill lost their seats. Hey, it’s all in the numbers.

JUSTIN

Ones and zeroes, clusters of information, all moving across The Grid. Inside the Grid, I have a disc to fight with, and a light cycle to ride on. There is an enemy, a contagion, a virus, digitized hacker. The Datawraiths. They must be defeated, and in the fight to do so, their code and warez mingle with my systems, corroding them, corrupting my programs and files. Slowing me down.

It’s hard to remember to clean the system, run the anti-virus programs, when the fighting is fierce, and I nearly was derezzed from pure forgetfulness. You’d think anti-virus would run automatically.

SINGH

Dear Palindrome 101

Emergency rings 101
in Argentina, Belarus, Israel, India.
Hello! Hello! (Why can’t I get through?)

Longest highway, Route 101, you’re calling too,
but this is a metaphor
and I’m not an American.

Alright, alright, I’ll offer 101
sugarball bribes to Krishna
(I’m a hotline queue-jumper.)

Please don’t send us back
to the torture room in 1984.
I know that story, because

more 101 Ways are in print
than 100 Whatevers typed with
101 keyboards, the IBM standard.

Meanwhile, I’ll love you from both sides
punching strobogrammatic primes
on my calculator

happily enrolled in Life 101.
Class starts
at sun up.

REDGODDESS

There are days when the hotel is populated with more staff than guests. On Sunday mornings, everyone sleeps late until brunch is served. Lola takes those rare moments to soak in the environment and remember old favorite guests. Before she could finish her thoughts, she heard chuckling coming from the front door. Their door man and the valet guy are chatting loudly.
The doorman has been in the hospital for weeks, since he was shot, feet away from the hotel. The first words out of his mouth, “Does the devil still live here?.” Which one? Lola asks jokingly. He’s a hard-working man with loads of worries but he’s always in good spirit. His number was almost up, but finds the courage to open doors for strangers, like nothing ever happened.

PLANET Z

Everybody says that Neo is The One.

Except Neo. He denies it completely.

Even to me, his bartender.

“Dude,” I tell him. “You can stop bullets in mid-air, change The Matrix like an Agent through sheer will, and you can fly. Only one guy can do that: The One.”

He just stares at me.

Then he shakes his head. “I’m not The One.”

We keep this up all night, until it’s Last Call.

I throw a glass at him.

And he stops it mid-air.

“Okay, you got me,” says Neo. “I’m The One.”

“Good,” I say, smiling. “Here’s his tab.”

Weekly Challenge #364 – Yes

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was YES:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Number – Pick any number.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Thomas

Don was a yes man. He worked as general manager for a large factory and distributor of pharmaceuticals. Anything the CEO or CFO asked of Don was carried out immediately, and without question. Don knew that many of the items shipped overseas or sold to large, big-block retailers was of questionable quality and composed of outdated compounds. Anything in the warehouse past the expiration date was automatically sent to India, Africa and South America. Don had no idea that a large shipment of tainted baby formula found its way into the stores, and onto the shelves of his own kitchen.
#
Steve voted yes on everything. The cause, or the proposition, mattered not. He voted yes when a petition was circulated to build a new sewer plant down the street. He voted yes when they wanted to convert his building into a VD clinic, shelter for street people and a half way house. He voted yes to raise property taxes and approve the school bond– and a big yes on the new city law that prohibited anyone to be out after sunset. Neighbors voted yes at a secret meeting to drag Steve into the woods and feed him to the bears.
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Yes! Yes! Yes!, she exclaimed. His intense and diligent study of the literature, medical charts, illustrations, and current publications paid off. His colleague’s advice was helpful as well. Everything he heard from the crowd of Lotharios at the tavern was spot on. He was relieved, as he had been trying for months to do it right, and to please the women he was serving. He learned to take it slow, not to rush through anything, to ask, politely, for feedback, and not be selfish when he was engaged in an act as intimate as bleaching the undercarriage of stylish women.

RICHARD

#1 Ouch!
I was lucky to be alive! Even more fortunate to have crawled out from the wreckage with barely a scratch on me.

Even so, the doctor was unconvinced:

“Does it hurt here?”, he asked, prodding my stomach.

“Yes!”

“And here?”, poking each of my arms in turn.

“Yes… yes!”

“And what about here?”

“Yes – that hurts!”

He looked down at me, folded his arms and pursed his lips, and I could tell he was completely baffled.

“Could I make a suggestion?”, I offered. Bemused, he nodded.

“You could try poking me with the blunt end of that damn scalpel, instead!”

#2 Yes Men

Even monarchs can become too powerful!

Frustrated at the spineless oafs that most of his courtiers seemed to have become, he summoned his advisors to a full meeting of the Royal Council.

“How am I to run this kingdom, when surrounded by a crowd of obsequious ‘yes-men’?”, he thundered: “Get out, and find me a Council who do not fear to question me!”

Some time later, the new Council was convened – hard-nosed civil servants to a man, they challenged every policy the king proposed.

Frustrated, at their complete lack of support, he had them all executed… for insubordination.

#3 For better, for worse

“Do you love me?”, she asked.

“Yes”, he breathed in her ear.

She clasped his hand tightly, “Then let’s get married… soon!”

Still breathless and intoxicated from the frenzied passion of lovemaking, he succumbed: “Yes, let’s!”

The happy day arrived – the sun shone, everyone smiled and cried in equal measure and the bride looked radiant – and so she should, considering the small fortune that dress had cost, he thought.

They turned to face the priest.

“Do you take this woman to be your lawful wedded wife?”

He looked into her eyes realising that all along, he’d meant to say ‘no’.

#4 Decision
George had often wondered how he might cope if ever faced with a life-changing choice, such as the one he now faced. Now the time had come, the realisation dawned that he was hopelessly inadequate and nothing like the action hero he’d dreamed he’d be.

His instinct told him to leave the hospital, but saying yes to his inner prompting would mean facing unknown horrors.

Commonsense told him to stay put was folly – there was no guarantee of safety here – but he wasn’t yet ready to meet his destiny.

Time to leave? – Yes.

But not just yet… maybe tomorrow.

JEFFREY

Executive Level
by Jeffrey Fischer

Bob the investment banker was a yes-man. He knew it, and learned to live with himself. His bosses all knew it, and liked to keep Bob close to confirm the wisdom of their decisions.

“Nothing risky about these real estate derivatives, right, Bob?” one boss asked in 2007. “Yes, sir, good investment!”

“If the government backs this Solyndra company, why, that’s good enough for us!” said another boss in 2011. “Absolutely, sir, and may I say that tie looks very smart on you.”

Even after the shareholder lawsuit, the SEC investigation, and the short prison stay, Bob was his loyal self. “Gee, sir, an orange jumpsuit really flatters you.”

Peer Pressure
by Jeffrey Fischer

“No.”

“Please, Jessica, pretty please?” I hated the pleading sound in my voice. When you’re sixteen, sounding manly is important, especially when talking to your first serious girlfriend, and I was failing badly.

“No.”

“It’s really important to me.”

“I’m sure it is. And the answer is still no.”

“It’ll be my first time and your first time. I’ve read up on it, so I know exactly what to do.”

“No.”

“I promise, I won’t tell anyone. No one has to find out.”

“I don’t believe you. Anyway, I’ll know. Why should I feel bad about myself just to please you? So, no.”

“That’s your final answer? You won’t play Dungeons and Dragons with me?”

“Yes.”

LIZZIE

“The Art of Conversation” sat on the shelf for years. When Sean grabbed it, the bookstore owner smiled.
“Are you interested in a nice conversation?”
“No, just browsing.”
“That book is fascinating,” continued the owner. “I’ll sell it to you cheap!”
“No, not interested. I prefer, say… Shakespeare.”
“But this book will teach you a lot!”
Sean laughed, handing the book back to the owner. “I don’t think so!” And he left.
The owner turned around and placed the old book right next to Shakespeare’s Complete Works, which was marked “Free, to anyone who says YES once during a conversation!”

MUNSI

Optimism

By Christopher Munroe

It’s my negativity that’s dragging me down, and I’ll have no more of it!

Starting tomorrow I’ll approach each day with buoyant optimism. Where once I was negative, I’ll be positive, where once I was defeatist I’ll charge forward to face my challenges head on.

Yes, yes will be my battle-cry, yes! And I believe in my heart that with this new outlook there’s nothing I can’t do!

I’ll prove as much the moment my alarm goes off tomorrow.

Will I hit snooze? Yes!

Will I go back to sleep? Yes!!!

And by God, I won’t let anyone stop me!!!

TURA

How Gunnar said yes to Helgi
——————————————-

Helgi went a-viking, then overwintered in Denmark. When he returned, he put his finest saddle on his finest horse, and went to visit Gunnar.

“You have a fine bull, friend Gunnar. Will you lend it, to mate my cows?”

“Yes,” said Gunnar, “if you will give me what you ride on.”

“I will give you this saddle, from the King of Denmark. Will you then lend me the bull?”

“Yes,” said Gunnar, “if you will give me something more.”

“It is a hard bargain,” said Helgi, “but I will give you this horse also. Will you then lend me the bull?”

“Yes,” said Gunnar, “if you will give me something more.”

Helgi said, “Do I ride on aught but my saddle and horse?”

“Yes,” said Gunnar, “but you may take the bull, for I have had what you ride already, these winter nights past.”

TOM

It was July 1976 we were packed along the edge of a larger barricaded rectangle waiting for the doors to open. Everything was pretty mellow, this wasn’t Altamont or that ill-fated Who concert, this was an army of YES fans, most, including myself, already tripping on some flavor of LSD. I doubled down with Owsley and some window-pane. From the crowd a Carl Rossi bottle sailed into the center of the barricaded, within seconds hundred of bottles arched and explored in the parking lot. With the help of the acid this was the most beautiful fireworks display I‘d ever seen.

###

Surprisingly after all the glass stopped shattering the Cow Palace security just sent some guys out to sweep up the mountain of glass. Oh San Francisco. The inside of the Cow Palace was like some primordial cave, dark, musty, and old. The opening band for YES was Gentle Giant who ran riot with a stage full of drums pounding out dozens of poly-rhymes who surrendered to three synchronized beats. They did this with ever increasing speed till the three beats fire as one. The light vanished replaced with a single green laser beam sweeping in lazy arched across the arena.

###

At some point during the headlining performance one my one each member of YES stopped playing until only Steve Howe was left playing a harp. As he plucked single strings the laser bank now 20 fold rolled thought the crowd with a hypnotic effect. Howe kept playing slower and softer. A final note echoes of the walls, ceiling and fell into silence. Image if you will silence of 1000s of people holding their breath and hearing a sigh rise to a roar. I could have been the acid, but I’d like to think I gazing into the heart of heaven.

SERENDIPITY

For a time, I simply lay here; unmoving and silent; hearing; experiencing; feeling… but, locked completely within my own, useless body.

Now, I can blink.

“Can you hear us?”, they ask, and I blink in reply.

“Are you in any pain?”

I stare, eyes wide open.

“She’s fine”, they nod.

“Your parents are here – would you like to see them?”

I blink.

They cluster around my bed, clutching my hands in theirs. My father leans close, and whispers, “the doctors say you don’t want to live…”

And, as his tears fall upon my cheek…

My heart breaks.

And, I blink.

CLIFF

Four of us were in Cozumel looking for a cab. We’d been warned to get a driver who spoke English. Charlie said he’d take care of it. We approached a taxi stand where three drivers were waiting.
“Do you speak English?” Charlie asked in a clear voice. All three men said yes.
“Are you good drivers?” Again, all three men said yes.
“Did it snow here yesterday?” The first man smiled and said yes. The second did the same.
The third grinned and said “Man, I never seen it snow in my life.”
Charlie chuckled and said “You’re our man.”

######

My boss brought me brownies at work. No, I didn’t get promoted.
My coworkers brought me cookies. No, I’m not retiring.
My niece drew me a purple monkey wearing a silly hat. No, she’s not a professional artist.
I got a free drink at the bar. No, that good looking woman at the table by the jukebox wasn’t trying to pick me up. Or was she? No, definitely not.
My family all gathered to sing, give me cards, and watch me try to blow out the trick candles. Why, yes, as a matter of fact, it is my birthday today.

SINGH

The Art of Neglect

Yes, being the architect of Now was hard: upholding the view so every leaf, twig and petal stayed in place. No raindrop escaped from the cloud. The grass stopped in its tracks and didn’t need mowing, especially in the shed where he should have laid a concrete slab. Don’t look, he thought, fearing a triffid-like hothouse. Inside might escape and take over. Yes, the idea of hacking and battling with the day to day was unbearable. Better to struggle with neglect than clear one’s conscience. So, he sat, whipper-snipping the heads off his thoughts, perfecting the zen of laziness.

She Waits for Him in the Hotel Room Sleeping with Angels

Pain starts its career path early on.
She traced its pattern, thread by thread.
Sewn now to her sides like angel wings
her girls clung close upon the bedspread.

Now, they slept safe on the quilt of heaven
with a gold shine, but beneath — cold dread
of losing their mother to stepfather.
Yes, the silk of love is painfully red.

In time she might cross-weave him in.
Embroidery starts inside one’s head
with delicacy, tact, firm fingers, care.

To lead, this dad must learn to be led
through the needle’s eye, then finely whisper
in a child’s ear like a thoroughbred.

ZACKMANN

“Are the radios working, Private?”
“Munsi, Yes Munsi. Actually that’s Petty Officer, when I was inducted into Munsi’s Army of the Damned, your administrators said “You’re Majorly Damned.” Then I said “No, I was a US Navy Petty Officer. Major Lee Damned was my division head.” They said “Oh hell, mixed ranks worked for the GI Joe team, You will remain a Petty Officer.
Messages received from March Hare Division and The April Fools, still waiting on The April Showers.“
“Division Drabble?”
“You told me not to repeat messages sent by Division Drabble unless they begin with Laurence Simon Says.”

“Do you really need that cookie?” Select Yes “Now you didn’t think about your blood sugar level. Are you sure you want that cookie?” Select Yes
“You have to be kidding me, well if that cookie is worth sleeping alone for you and think of the example you’re setting for the children! Are you sure?” Select No.
“I am so proud of you, I knew you would make the right choice… eventually.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?” Select yes.
“Are you an alcoholic?” Select No.
“But denial is the first sign?”
“I hate when wife writes me flowcharts.”

TAMMI

Untitled

She retreated to the bar. Odd, this stool felt more comfortable than any seat at home these days.

The cowboy three stools down edged closer.

She relaxed after her second glass. She laughed, touched his arm. He thought he had her.

She said, “No.”

In the parking lot, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel. What if? He smelled nice. His smile was contagious. She hadn’t laughed like this in months.

For a moment, she glimpsed a different evening before her.

Suddenly sober, she went home to pack her bags. She was done retreating.

She enlisted in the morning.

DANNY

“Do you ever question the sanity of your mother for the name she gave you?” Thomas asked his friend Yes. “Why, yes, I question her sanity everyday,” Yes responded. “my mother was a big fan of the band, Yes, and she thought if she named me after the band, I would become a great musician.” “You became a farmer instead,” Thomas replied. ”Mom was proud when I announced I was going to become a Starship Trooper, then she realized Obama slashed the NASA budget.” Yes responded, “hold on, Thomas, I need to feed my donkey, Meatloaf Flying Spaceship, some carrots.”

MIATA

I met a werewolf in Secondlife’s Neverland. I had passed him twice, before looking up to see him on the roof of the house. Waving, I said, “Hey there!” (What else would you say when meeting a wolf?) He jumped off, rolled through the air, landed at my feet. Werewolves are very misunderstood creatures. Sure, they have sharp claws and teeth, but their fur is so soft and silky. How do I know? Well, he asked me to dance and I said, “Yes!” We proceeded to do the robot in a field of flowers, fine footwork for two novices.

REDGODDESS

Lola buried herself in work for weeks. She leaves home early and comes back with just enough time to sleep. No time for a night out or anyone with little patience to track her down. The perfect excuse to decline any dates from her beau. His proposal to take their relationship to the next level, echoes in her mind. She can’t even turn off his voice in sleep. It’s so simple, just say yes or no. That’s the problem with relationships, someone is always explaining or apologizing. Dealing with demanding hotel guests has some common threads. Saying yes would mean making the similar compromises in her personal life. But then, she can get use to breakfast in bed with a fun partner. Who can resist such a tempting adventure?

NORVAL JOE

The two off-worlders walked side by side down a gravel road. Afternoon storm clouds billowed dark grey above the rain forest.
Borle wiped his forehead and asked, “You walked all the way from our lander?”
“Looks that way,” Flerdy replied.
“And we’re going to walk all the way back?” Borle asked.
“What do you think?” Fledy asked.
Borle shrugged and followed the ichthyologist in silence.
Around a bend a skimmer was parked in the foliage. Flerdy opened a door and said, “Climb in. I rented this to get us back.”
Borle raised his hands in the air and shouted, “Yes.”

Dergle fed and watered the dogs in the back yard. Long John followed into the house to watch his master make lunch.
Barking, the wiener dog ran to the door even before the bell rang.
A policeman stood on the porch, clipboard in one hand.
“Hello?” Dergle croaked.
“I’m officer Farkflace. Are you Dergle Dunderspawn?”
“Yes.”
“My records show you have twelve licensed Dachshunds?”
“Yes,”
“That’s a lot of dogs. Do they have puppies often?”
“Yes.”
“How do you deal with that many puppies?”
“Umm. Should I get a lawyer?” Dergle asked.
The officer nodded his head and said, “yes.”

PLANET Z

Back in college, I had a roommate who was into Yes and Crosby Stills Nash and Young.

He had all the album covers tacked up, and he played their music constantly.

All I’d known about the two bands was the fack that Yes did “Owner Of A Lonely Heart” and Neil Young did some really lousy rockabilly crap.

When that year was over, I could ramble for hours about the different lineups of each band, their solo careers, and what was so great about each.

But, really, I was talking out of my ass. I don’t know shit about music.

Weekly Challenge #363 – Carrot

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was CARROT:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Yes.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

She offered him a carrot. Believing a little extra incentive would help Webster try harder and do better on his schoolwork. Miss Tisdale made him an offer. If he did his homework every day for a month, she would give Webster full access to her large collection of French postcards, after school. Webster kept up his end of the deal, but Miss Tisdale reneged, realizing that contributing to the delinquency of a minor was far more than what she was willing to do. In spite of the offer, Webster realized he was capable, so he continued to do exemplary work.

Her new ring was three carrots. She was beautiful, but didn’t know how to spell. Eleanor bragged to all her girlfriends and her family. The diamond was flawless, but Eleanor was not. She was as dense as a post, but her fiancé ignored it, as she was tall, slim, and busty. Her fiancé, Carrot Top, was a well-known, prop comedian, almost as pretty as Eleanor after all his cosmetic surgery. Both of them were red-headed, and to add to the horror, zealous exhibitionists. Carrot Top used Eleanor as one of his props when playing the smaller rooms in Las Vegas.

Carrots are a staple at our table. We have carrots every time we eat supper. Dad was so proud of his garden, he planted several extra rows of carrots, so we harvested bushels. Mom serves the magnificent root: mashed, steamed, grilled, poached, caramelized, braised, boiled, baked into carrot cake, and served raw and peeled. After a month of eating so many carrots, the whole family took on an orange tinge – much like the woman at the market that got spray tans on a regular basis. We looked like players on Jersey Shore, or a half carton of brown eggs, extra-large.

JEFFREY

The State of Education
by Jeffrey Fischer

The Easter Bunny chomped on a carrot, the tension fading from his shoulders. Another Easter come and gone, his work done. He relaxed.

A fat man in glasses with an angry expression on his face walked to the Easter Bunny, perspiring slightly. A camera crew filmed his every move. “What right do you have, coming around to people’s houses and spreading your unwanted religious filth?” the man said, an insane look in his eyes.

The Easter Bunny finished chewing his carrot and swallowed. “Michael Moore, you ignoramus, I’m a candy-dispensing rabbit. Only an idiot like you would think I have any religious connotations.” He chose another carrot from the pile and nibbled at it.

Shiny Object
by Jeffrey Fischer

“They’re best when they’re long and hard,” Stan said to his fiance, Carla. They sat in the cafe next to the jewelry store.

“What are you talking about? Hard, sure, but long? They’re best when they’re big,” Carla replied.

“Well, sure, big is good, but size isn’t everything. In fact, too big and they just hurt your mouth.”

Carla looked at Stan quizzically. “Are you daft? I would never put it in my mouth. And yes, you guys say it all the time, size isn’t everything, but let me tell you, from a girl’s perspective, you’re wrong. Bigger is better.”

Stan bit off another bite of carrot. “We *are* talking about this vegetable, aren’t we?”

“Carrots?” Carla said. “No, silly, we were discussing my engagement ring. Half a carat isn’t going to cut it.”

STEVEN

“Now son, never go near that there tool shed now.” My da tells me
every time I go out to play.
“I won’t.” I would reply.
As I became more matured and my curiosity grew I had a problem
of always sneaking about…and eating all the carrots meant for soup.
I went to the shed and carefully picked the lock and went inside
the shed. It was dark and smelled of wet dog and rotten flesh. I stood
there and waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. Moments later
I could see clearly. There was a man chained to the ground. And there
were bones to many different creatures.

CLIFF

Good. You’re awake. Let’s get started. You have access codes to information that your government doesn’t want to share. I want those codes. No, you don’t know me. You do know my partner though. The tall redhead you’ve been drooling after for the past few weeks? Yes, that’s her. She was supposed to get close to you, flirt with you, lead you on until she could find the codes in your apartment but you didn’t have them there, did you? Who am I? Well, let’s just say that if she’s the carrot, I’m the stick. Now then, shall we begin?

RICHARD

#1 – Uncle John

The high point of the village fete is always the misshapen vegetable competition, which is invariably won by a carrot shaped amusingly in the form of genitalia.

It’s a family joke that Uncle John, despite his best efforts to contort, twist and meddle with the produce he grows, has never managed to come up with a winning entry.

So, it was a bit of a shock to find he’d won first prize this year.

“Although, it wasn’t my vegetables that impressed the judges”, he explained to us, dropping his trousers to reveal his prize-winning, and impressive, carrot-shaped genitals!

#2 – Promotion

When you get to a million carrots, they give you a certificate and a feature in the company magazine – it’s not worth anything, but you’ve got to have some incentive in this job.

There’s an art to packing carrots: six to a packet, twelve packets to a box, fifty boxes a day, with the promise of that certificate and fame after just a year of packing.

Ten million carrots gets you a promotion.

Ten years on the job and I’ve finally reached the magic number!
Another certificate and a brand new career – tomorrow: my first day on the parsnip line!

#3 – Provisions

George’s search of the eerily empty infirmary rewarded him with overalls and a large holdall from a cleaning cupboard; eventually he found the hospital kitchens.

Acutely aware that fresh food of any kind would be in short supply, he filled his pockets and bag with as much as he could carry – handfuls of carrots; long-lasting, full of nutrients and easily digested raw, would be his staple food, at least for now.

Grabbing a tin-opener and a good selection of kitchen knives, George settled down to what was likely to be his last decent meal for quite some time.

MUNSI

The Appropriate Level of Seriousness With Which to Approach Dessert.

By Chris Munroe

Through the window he crashed, in a shower of glass.

He’d have been surprised, had he not been distracted by pain, both from the sudden roundhouse kick and equally sudden laceration of his face and arms from his quick, brutal journey into the street.

But I wasn’t done. I climbed through the now-empty window-frame, kicked him in the ribs, grabbed him by his hair and turned him around, to look him in the eye…

“Carrot cake,” I said, “isn’t real cake. It never will be. Also: I’m ready for the check, whenever you get the chance to print it up…”

BOTGIRL

Carrot as Stick

My maternal grandmother lived into her eighties, her last months bed-bound in a nursing home. Up until the end, she cared about her appearance and insisted she have her hair and makeup done. I couldn’t imagine what comfort she found in the mirror’s reflection of sparse hair and time-eroded skin and features.

Almost twenty years later, the image I see in my own mirror appears decades younger than the person who looks back from a photo of myself snapped moments before.

The permanent self is an illusion. It feels like I’m killing time, but time is killing me.

TURA

I was six when I first helped with the harvest, pulling carrots. My father showed me how to grab the top, jerk it north, south, east, and west, with the whole weight of my little body, then up, ripping it free.

I had never thought about food before, but seeing that first carrot I realised– food is living things! Life cannibalising life! Even the carrot preyed on the helpless earth, thrusting its roots in to suck out nourishment.

I grew up. I studied biology, and this became my research: how to destroy all life. Only then will the horror end.

TOM

No Good Deed is Left Unpunished

The doctor flipped the eyepiece away. “Son you’re going to need glasses.” He scribed out a prescription, handed to me, said, “Eating carrots should improve your eyesight.” I took his sage words to heart ate a mountain of carrots. Didn’t really care for the tastes so I started grafting carrots onto potatoes, pumpkin and apples. The Carrot-Cherry was so popular I was able to start gene splicing carrots into frogs and pigs. The Carrot-Cow was the height of my life’s work. People’s sight improved; unfortunately Carrot-Cows developed a condition called Sad Cow’s Disease. Before people went insane, they went blind.

SERENDIPITY

When you get to a million carrots, they give you a certificate and a feature in the company magazine – it’s not worth anything, but you’ve got to have some incentive in this job.

There’s an art to packing carrots: six to a packet, twelve packets to a box, fifty boxes a day, with the promise of that certificate and fame after just a year of packing.

Ten million carrots gets you a promotion.

Ten years on the job and I’ve finally reached the magic number!

Another certificate and a brand new career – tomorrow: my first day on the parsnip line!

ZACKMANN

“Say kids let’s make some carrot cake.”

“Sure, I’ll grab the box.”

“No, it doesn’t taste very good from a box. Carrot cake needs to be made from scratch.”

“Father, why are these carrots yellow?”

“Those are heirloom carrots people grew yellow first. Now stop pretending they are dagars. It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye.”

“Some of these older carrots look bad.”
“No worries someone on Y!A told me about making finger puppets out of carrots with mushy bottoms. Now put shredder blade in food processor , I hate loosing my skin to a hand shredder.”

LIZZIE

Of Carrots and a Mayor

The Carnival Tunnel was inaugurated by the Mayor, a competitive man who was the heart of the town. The Tunnel became a giant success, until he decided to increase the speed of the carts to compete with the opening of the Carrot Museum in the neighboring town. The result was appalling, several died, and a handful seriously injured. The Tunnel was closed immediately, the Mayor fired. The last people heard of him, he was chewing on a carrot, wearing a carrot top hat, wandering about, muttering “I’m a carrot, I’m a carrot. Hi-ho, hi-ho, to the Carrot Museum I go.”

DAPHNE

My younger brother would leave out cookies and milk for Santa and a carrot for Rudolph. One year my brother insisted we leave out 9 carrots so the other reindeer didn’t feel left out. Santa left a thank you note and some Star Wars Lego figures. The next year he left carrots and hummus. Santa left a Lego X-wing. Last year he left a crudite platter and Santa left a Lego Millenium Falcon. This year I found him cutting vegetables into decorative shapes and flowers. I asked him what he was doing, he said he wanted a Death Star. I don’t know what he’s going to do next year.

MIATA

I remember mama told me to eat all my carrots, or sit at the table for the rest of the afternoon. Looking out the window, viewing the green grass, and the countless colors from flowers, I decided to taste just one carrot cube. I was convinced that these were not real carrots. Carrots should be orange cylinder shapes with fuzzy bright green leaves on the end. At least, that was what Bugs Bunny ate. So, I picked up the fork, and raked them into my milk. I heard mama say, “Be sure and drink all your milk, too!”
Bummer!

REDGODDESS

There is a new fool-proof diet advertised every 10 minutes. “I wish I was exaggerating,” Lola thought. She sees the grocery aisle stocked with a rainbow of pills, powders and liquids. Each one has the secret to quick and natural weight loss. One even promises a bonus, glowing skin after use in 7 days or your money back. A lot of the hotel guests, who are the most body conscious, weigh as much as an adolescent. Nina, a social 20-something law clerk, always complaining, she’s fat. She’s a size 2 and cleansed on carrot juice daily. Until her body hating rants, Lola perceived her as the ideal triple threat: sassy, strong and street-smart. Guess real beauty is a myth.

JUSTIN

Old MacDonald had a SimFarm, and he grew many crops, including carrots, which he planted for some arbitrary reason. After he did that, he bought a plot of land right next to the bustling city with taxis like beetles and big grey walls. Then he put cows on that plot of land. Finally, he removed the fencing that was adjacent to the city. This allowed the cows to roam into the streets. When they got hit by cars, they would get squished flat and run around like black and white pancakes. Old Farmer MacDonald was amused and reloaded his game.

DANNY

I recently helped a distressed woman from my past distraught over a song from the movie, Juno. My response. “You mean your faced with an unplanned pregnancy, and being the offbeat young woman you are, your making an unusual decision regarding her unborn child? Damn, your life is more complicated than I can imagine. Oh, and in less than 2 hours, I’m supposed to come up with a 100 word story about the word “Carrot,” and I have writers block. The best I can come up with is a story about a donkey named “Meatloaf Flying Spaceship.” Isn’t there carrots in Meatloaf?

NORVAL JOE

“You’re saying this stuff is safe to eat? If not, there will be intergalactic repercussions,” Borle griped from his jail cell. His bright orange prison suit made him look like a giant tuberous vegetable. While the food on his plate was supposed to be carrots, but lacked the neon green color he was used to.
The guard grunted, but startled when the hallway door suddenly opened.
Flerdy walked in wearing a five piece business suit, looking for like a lawyer and waving release papers.
“What took you so long?” Borle asked.
“It was a long walk. You had the keys.”

Dergle thrashed fitfully where he’d fallen asleep on the living room couch.
Again, pounding on the front door woke him. He’d barely gotten to his feet when the door slammed open, splinters of wood flying and the doorknob dropping to the floor.
Widow Finklestien stood on the front porch holding a large cardboard box. She dropped it to the floor and snarled, “Here. You can deal with them.”
She stomped away.
Peeking into the box, Dergle saw six black, white, and tan carrots, the size of his shoes, wriggling and mewling.
Dergle woke on the couch in a cold sweat.

SINGH

1.
The man attached a pole to his cart and a tinfoil star to its end. He dangled it in front of his nose and then set off from the city. Dog, Cat and Duck came along for the ride. After three days in the desert Duck was getting worried. “Alright guys, where are we going?
“Relax,” said Cat, “Enjoy the scenery.” There was only red sand, although sometimes skulls and bones.
Finally Dog broke the silence.“We’re following the star, the shining tinfoil star.”
“Oh really?” said the doubting Duck.
The man just pulled the cart of three alone in silence.

2.
When they reached the Craggy Mountains, they saw twin peaks. Duck grabbed his binoculars: “Look! Mountain climbers!”
“Show me,” said Cat. Just as one ice-picked his way to his summit, a shaft of light hit the crag like a sign from the heavens.
Dog took the binoculars to check the other climber’s progress, Seeing the wondrous light, the second climber’s face said “Oh, no!” He was on the wrong peak.
“Poor bastard,” Dog chuckled. “Waste of a perfectly good mountain.”
Oblivious, the man kept following his star. It dangled in front of his bulbous nose like a donkey’s carrot.

3.
Down the other side of the mountains the man stopped beside deep water. Dog, Cat and Duck got down to stretch. The man wandered off while Dog snuffled, Cat stalked, and Duck took a dip in the gorge. The man hadn’t returned, so they set out to look for him. He was in a cave, staring at rock paintings of men with spears being hunted by giant kangaroos. They joined the man like a family back in their living room, eyes glued to the television. ?“Psst! What’s on?” Duck joked.
“Shush!” said Dog. “Sit on your stone,” pointed Cat. “It’s Prehistoric Planet.”

4.
As the man followed his guiding star through the desert, Dog, Cat and Duck sometimes saw disturbing sights. Around a waterhole, they noted all the trees were bare with their leaves turned weirdly white on the ground. Getting up close they realised the leaves were bodies of sulphur-crested white cockatoos. The man stopped to look and observed three minutes of silence. After. no one was confident about drinking the water which had a radioactive glow. So they moved on. Upset, the three glued sad eyes to the guiding tinfoil star. They were glad now of the man, their only family.

5.
As the cart creaked on following the star, a sandstorm appeared.
“Looks bad”, said Dog to Cat who nodded agreement.
“Are you kidding?” Duck said in a flap. “We’re all gonna die!”
Taking emergency action, the man put the star in his pocket. Turning the cart on it side, he lit a candle in its grotto and settled in. They did too.
For three days the storm raged. They were down to their last candle. Then the storm stopped.
“Hallelujah!” Said Duck.
The man just righted the cart, re-fixed the pole star and they set off again.

6.
Dog, Cat and Duck were city slickers. They had been on daylight savings time too long. Tired of schedules it sneaked away into the dunes. Now there only burning days and the Milk Way nights. The man snored lightly as the wind rattled through the grass tree clumps keeping all three awake.
Each day they seemed to recognise places where they had passed, yet they weren’t conscious of shifting direction. Was the man’s cart wheeling in circles? Finally after traversing great tracts, crossing mountains, swimming gorges, they saw the most beautiful sight of their long journey. They had come home.

7.
Yes, they’d returned to the city.
“Heck! We just did a big loop,” Duck stated.
“Depends,” said Cat, “On how you view it.”
Cars were bumping toward Smog City.
When the man reached the freeway ramp he had a choice: to go straight ahead or follow the detour sign which said:This Way to Truth and Beauty. It was pointing to a hole cut in the ramp like a circle cut in a river of ice. Through it, the night sky glinted with stars.
“Uh-oh!” said Duck, “Here we go again.”
And the man tugged the cart headlong into the universe.

PLANET Z

We live far enough North that there’s usually snow on the ground when it’s time for Easter.

Which makes it really hard to keep the snowman’s nose from getting swiped by that Easter Bunny son of a bitch.

Sure, we come out ahead in the deal, getting a basket full of candy and colored eggs for a rotten frozen carrot, but it’s the principle of the deal.

Today, he steals a carrot. Maybe tomorrow he steals a car.

So, I cored out the carrot and put in rat poison.

(I hope he doesn’t do the same with our Easter eggs.)

Weekly Challenge #362 – Pick Two

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was a PICK TWO:

Fix
Cheat
Zone
Books
Normal
Falling
Beside
Dark
Hotel
Nothing
Reason
Benjamin Franklin

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Carrot.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

THOMAS

The cheat books that Mary sold to her classmates were a source of income for Mary’s family. The miniature books that Mary sold were filled with names and dates from her art history notes for the class, and yet small enough to consult during the final exam in the great hall. The first year at State brought several hundred dollars into the family, allowing Mary and her brothers and sisters to eat properly and have some new clothes for school. Mary went on to major in finance and political science. She applied what she learned to business and political parties.

On the way to fly his kite with his son, Willy, Benjamin Franklin kept tripping and falling, having drank a quart of raspberry wine to elevation, as was his habit every afternoon. His first attempt at putting his kite into the stormy sky was clumsy and awkward. He had put too much tail on the kite, and the sail was far too small for the heavy key he attached to the silk ribbon, which served to protect him from any shock. Other curious and enthusiastic gadgeteers and amateur scientists, attempting to duplicate his experiment, met a tragic death by electrocution.

The vacant sign flashed on and off, at the top of the dark hotel. Smedley and his lady friend, Desdimona, took the room at the end of the corridor. They undressed, had their way with each other, ate supper, then retired for the evening. Around two, they were awakened by dogs running back and forth in the hall. Smedley, a curious, and audacious man, stepped into the hallway to investigate. The dogs, eyeing Smedley, stopped short and froze. Smedley was nude, and the sight of this man and the rangy display of his reproductive apparatus, shocked and frightened the animals.

The normal zone was open…set aside as refuge for folks that met the criteria of the corporate sponsors, anyone visiting would have to wear a photo badge. If entering without the ID, escorts would accompany them out of the zone. Once in the zone, conversations were limited. Any mention of guns, violence, Christian dogma, and red meat were off limits. Smoking was prohibited, and drinks in a paper cup larger than 24 ounces was verboten. Half pants, sandals with socks, white tennis shoes, hats with rain condoms, Big Ben Overalls, and black stretch pants on obese women were expelled.

JEFFREY

When Giants Dream
by Jeffrey Fischer

Benjamin Franklin was one of the great thinkers of his time, a man of reason, with a love of books and a larger than normal capacity for nonlinear thinking. Yet Franklin had a dark side, too, one that nothing could extinguish. Although he was a successful merchant, he would occasionally fix prices with his competitors. He also invented the Sudoku puzzle. Sitting alone in his hotel, he would cheat at his own game, though this shamed him. At night he would place his bifocals on the table beside his bed and, falling asleep, would reflect on the untrustworthy nature of man before zoning out.

Void
by Jeffrey Fischer

The space ship fell out of hyperspace into what should have been a well-mapped solar system in the Lesser Magellanic Cloud. Instead, the display showed nothing, a dark void. The instruments were not dead, but gave no readings at all. The hyperdrive did not respond. A small bead of perspiration developed on Barry’s forehead. He was as nervous as he’d ever been in his life, more so than on his first trip into the blackness of H-space. He had heard that jumps between normal and H-space could go badly wrong, trapping a ship permanently in a state of quantum uncertainty. Of course, no one had ever returned from such an event, so the theory had to remain unproven. Until now.

BOTGIRL

Blackout Prayer

Bare trees. Sunlight fading. Snow falling.

The power’s been out for hours now. The slain sounds of the modern world arise like ghosts, manifesting in the empty space they’ve left behind.

I’m haunted in the still silence by myriad gifts that are almost invisible in their ever-presence. My family’s love. My body’s health. My clear mind. The countless comforts of our First World prosperity.

What a waste . . . what a shame . . . to only appreciate the bounty of life in needful retrospect.

May we be fully present within our lives. May we savor the grace of each moment in conscious awareness.

RICHARD

Heliosphere

We were falling… inexorably falling into the heart of the sun.

Scattered around the cabin, an array of equipment and spare parts: tubing, duct-tape, circuit boards, even used food containers – all that we had to work with, and we were out of ideas.

Mission control had their best minds on the job: teams of experts desperately puzzling over how those few items could save our lives.

The radio crackled:

“Guys, our work down here is concluded!”

“Great news, Houston, you can fix it?”

“Erm… that’s a negative. But look at the bright side, guys – you’re all gonna die heroes!”

Wake-up Call

George’s eyes snapped open.

How long had he been out cold? And why had the familiar sounds of the busy hospital been replaced by utter, deafening silence?

Why, indeed, was the ward in disarray, and where were the patients, the staff… anybody?

In hospital gown and bare feet, George limped along the empty corridors. Through windows, snatched glimpses of a desolate and empty city.

George was no fool – he’d seen the films, he recognised the all too familiar signs – what was this? Zombie apocalypse, alien invasion or carnivorous, sentient plants?

One thing was sure.

Things would never be normal again.

MUNSI

Highway

By Christopher Munroe

I was driving unreasonably fast, considering how dark it was.

Still, nobody’d ever accused me of being reasonable. And the music playing had me pumped up, feeling invincible, unstoppable. Like nothing in the world could touch me.

And as I sped through the night, I threw back my head in triumph and joy and sang along as it played…

“Highway to the danger zone!”

…I flipped the car, naturally. I was speeding and singing rather than paying attention to where I was going.

Nobody’s fault but mine.

What did I expect, after all, from a place called the Danger Zone?

LIZZIE

Oh, stupidity alert!

The hotel lounge was covered in bookshelves. At first, he thought they were just shelves.

“Oh, no. Bookshelves,” corrected the receptionist.

“But… where are the books?”

“Oh, no idea….”

The blatant disinterest of the young lady bothered him.

“How do you know these are bookshelves?”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered.

“Did someone tell you?”

“Oh, no…”

He always expected her to say more, how frustrating.

“Right, I’ll buy a book tomorrow and place it on that shelf.”

“Oh, we don’t need books gathering dust here…”

“Bookshelves gather dust too!”

“Oh, not as much…”

He sighed hopelessly and thought “Oh, dear…”

To fix or to cheat

A veterinarian was investigated after the scandal. Hordes of puppy litters were born, despite the best efforts of dog owners. So, the vet was forced to follow the rules, but he would still bend them occasionally, just to make an extra buck. He could always question if the male pets neutered by him really fathered those puppies. The ineffective spaying would be a bit more difficult to explain though. One day, a dog about to be neutered overheard a conversation between the vet and his assistant. To fix or to cheat! All the anxious dog could think of was “Cheat! Cheat!”

ZACKMANN

You see, my partner is very upset. Nunzio is all besides himself because our books say you owes our boss some Abraham Lincolns. Iffin you don’t do something to fix this Nunzio is likely to fall into a dark zone in which there will be no reasoning with him. There is nothing doing but to be giving in to Nunzio before he gets really upset. Sculptures who upset Nunzio normally find themselves alone in hotel rooms. That is a cheat on my part because usually housekeeping finds what is left of them.

“Okay take both the Lincoln busts they’re yours.”

TURA

Philosophers drew burning oil out of the earth. General Wei turned their fire back on them and destroyed them and their works.

Philosophers compassed the nullification of gravity. General Wei seized their flying machines and hunted down the philosophers, destroying them and their works.

Philosophers discerned the fundamental reasonings of clerks and secretaries. General Wei seized their computing engines and computed their destruction.

He said of these matters, “Change brings disorder. Order must be maintained.” Then he commanded his scribes to record these things in a book never to be opened, entitled, “The Critique of Pure Reason By Practical Reason.”

TOM

Colonial MashUP

I Fixed the Cheat
so I added it to one of my Zone Books
Normally I find my advices Falling
Beside the wayside of the Dark Hotel
Nothing under the sun is new
nor the Reason we carry on.
Benjamin Franklin
Was rather fond of writing crap like
This to fill up the space in that damn
Magazine of his.
I for one just want to know
When it’s going to fuckn rain,
Forget the furlongs to forte-nights
Conversion table or pithy commentaries’ on life,
Cram it Benny
Let out some more string on the kit
If you catch my drift.

SEVI and BONCHANCE

Ben by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall

I once read a peculiar story about domestic turkeys. Several of them drowned in falling rain because they looked up. I didn’t research the validity of this tall tale, but domesticated turkeys are not very bright.

It reminded me about how our founding fathers argued over selecting our national bird. It is providence that the eagle won out.
Benjamin Franklin had a great deal of influence in these discussions. Documentation highlights that Ben strongly endorsed the turkey for our national bird. The wild turkey must truly be a majestic bird. I base this on a rather high opinion of Mr Franklin.

Better than spinach! by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall

I found myself in a desert with not much more than water. Spring in the desert is fascinating, delicate flowers debut, peaking thru the silky sand. Tumbleweed foraging across the plain threatens the delicate flora.

The falling sunset and cloak of dark, chills the desert air. A campfire, a steaming warm pot of spiced water can be inviting. Just mix up a spice or two, add water and a small sphere of the youngest windwitch and you have yourself a tasty meal. A nice dinner before curling up under warmth of your blanket before the days heat rises once again.

DAPHNE

Falling Book Zone
by Daphne Abernathy

Be careful this next block is a Falling Book Zone. Well, more of a Throwing Book Zone. There’s a guy on the 5th floor who’s been throwing books for about a week. He screamed something about “I read the books first!” and then pegged some poor guy with a Tolkien. I think it was all the Games of Thrones hype. It just got to him. It’s everywhere and Martin’s so busy with the show he isn’t writing the last 2 books. So be careful. Do not run in a straight line. Ok, Go!

Serpentine! Serpentine!

A Storm of Swords to head, that’s ironic and painful.

SERENDIPITY

We were about to enter The Zone – a warning buzzer sounded, accompanied by amber flashing lights.

Nervously, we looked at each other, fidgeting now in our seats. A bead of sweat trickled down my back and I shivered in fear of the unknown.

Our guide’s voice crackled over the intercom:

“When we enter The Zone, please remember to keep alert – ensure you report anything that doesn’t appear to be normal behaviour”

Thoroughly spooked, I jabbed at the ‘reply’ button: “Define – ‘doesn’t appear to be normal'”

The response was worrying: “Oh, irrational fears, shivers, fidgeting, cold sweats, that kind of behaviour…”

KRISTIN

“Are you ready for this responsibility?” Her father asked.

“Yes, YES!” She shouted.

She had proved herself with the fish hadn’t she? The rabbit was no problem, either.

He took her hand and they walked together toward the giant glass enclosure.

“Now you can only pick two”, he said, “even though I know you want them all.”

She DID want them all. She wanted the big one in front jumping to get her attention, the stripey one going in circles, the shy one in the corner.

Finally she choose a pair of siblings, curled up together.
Best lobster dinner ever.

REDGODDESS

Celebrities often claim they just want a “normal” life, like broke ordinary people. Stars get tired of being followed by fans and photographed in their most vulnerable moments. Ironically, the normal people crave the limelight and the money that afford celebrities a lavish lifestyle. They get in debt buying stuff celebrities sell. The dark truth is, normalcy is an illusion. Lola doesn’t want either one since she’s witnessed the pitfalls of both. What she yearns is to chase her dreams, on her own terms.

MIATA STARDUST

“Pick two, any two!”, the carnie worker yelled as I walked by. Mom had told me never to look at anyone from the carnival. Obedient, I did as I was told and walked even faster.
I got to the trailer, and handed Mama her pills. She was so sick, and this time I was really worried. As she lay in her bed, I went outside.
“Dear God”, I began to pray, “Please help my Mama! Please don’t take her.” I heard a cough. Startled, I turned to see the man from the carnival. His weather beaten lips whispered, “Amen.”

CLIFF

In the end, there was no pain. The world faded and darkness folded over him. When the darkness lifted, he saw that he wasn’t alone. She was with him.
“Hello, love,”
“Hello, yourself,” she said with a chuckle. “Took you long enough.”
He sat up and for the first time in years, his joints didn’t hurt.
“So, this is heaven?”
“Not exactly. None of the stories got it right.”
“So what is it?”
“It’s more amazing than we ever imagined.”
“As long as you’re beside me, I’ll be happy with whatever it is.”
She took his hand in hers.
“Always.”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

He groaned as she rubbed his shoulders. “That’s cheating,” he whispered.

“And you’re objecting sooo strongly.”. She ran her lips along his ear. Her voice grew husky. “Take your shirt off.”

He rolled over on the bed. “Ladies first.”

Later, as they rested on the sweaty hotel sheets, he whispered “I’m falling for you.”

The succubus smiled and turned to kiss him and claim his soul, and was surprised to hear herself say “I’m falling for you, too.”

She was more surprised to find her horns locked with those of her incubus lover.

They laughed and kissed again and again.

TAMMI

M.T.A. Widow

It is not for lack of a nickel, but if he pays to exit the train, he’ll admit I won the bet.

He said he was going to visit his cousin. I knew he was lying. I also knew my Charlie to be a betting man who never read the front page of the newspaper.

Now, he’s trapped on the train. Like any gambler over his head, he prays for a miracle.

In Roxbury, I imagine his doxie watches our story in the papers with growing dismay. Charlie can never leave town since he became a tool of the socialists.

NORVAL JOE

“Slowly now. Lift the visor on your protective suit,” the boarder guard said pointing at Borle’s helmet with his blaster rifle.
“Our visas are in order, but we left them back in the hotel in Dublinville,” Borle said after lifting the visor.
“Who’s we? Do you have a snerkle in your pocket?” The guard laughed.
Flerdy froze. His grey Second Skin Dermal suit blended with the dark, rich, soil of the stream bank.
“I’ve got nothing in my pocket,” Borle said, not understanding the guard’s joke.
“You’re in a restricted zone, funny boy. I’m taking you in. Now, move out.”

Dergle started awake, the bowl of cold spaghetti falling from his lap. He sat on the edge of the couch wondering what woke him.
Someone hammered on the front door.
“Coming,” he shouted, getting to his feet, and hurrying to peek through the long window beside the door.
“Widow Finklestien. It’s awfully late,” he began. She cut him off.
“If you don’t do something about your wiener dog, I’ll fix him myself.” Her face was beet red.
He understood her anger; there’s no cute way to combine the names, Border Collie and Dachshund: Bordachollie? Dockie Collar? How about Wiener Collie?

JUSTIN

Josh and I were playing the new expansion for Jedi Knight named Mysteries of the Sith. It was just the two of us running around a map hacking at each other with lightsabers. I told Josh, who was playing in the same room as me, to find me on the map and that I wanted to take a picture of him. Eventually we found each other on the large map. I told him to stand just there near the cliff, then I tried the Force Push power, and sent him screaming over the edge. I laughed and laughed and laughed!

Now, several weeks late, is my story for St. Patrick’s Day

Games are educational, even the games that aren’t specifically so. For instance, while playing Gateway, I learned two things. I learned that Tom could be spelled Thom, with an H. I also learned some social skills. When I needed some information from Thom, I had no idea why he kept looking at someone else’s drink. So I asked Dad, who had also played the game, about Thom (I was corrected when I pronounced the H) and he said I was supposed to buy him a drink. Now I know a little bit about subtle hints, as well. Education by Gaming.

DANNY

“This is actually a response to a non-sensical post to my WordPress page from a guy named Dennis. This is my response: to exactly what your responding to, I have no idea, but, it seems to be relevant, in your mind. Anyway, in some sad, yet demented way, I get to use an enormous amount of commas in my response to you. Unfortunately, I, in your mind, am only armed with a shovel I can use only in a distinct way, said shovel cannot be used while shopping at garage sales, which only makes sense, since using a shovel to shop at garage sales will likely result in an arrest for assault with a deadly weapon. GREAT POINT. Good luck with your disadvantaged posts to Craigslist. If my legal career has taught me anything, only sexual predators post there, so please beware if your trying to buy a car, the Honda your eyeing up is more than likely just a penis. Sweet dreams.

Oh, if any of the 2 words I was supposed to include in my story were not included, let me finish by stating: FIX THE CHEAT ZONE BEFORE THE BOOKS BECOME NORMAL ENOUGH TO MAKE IT SOUND LIKE FALLING BESIDE DARK HOTELS LEAVES NOTHING TO REASON! That is all.”

SINGH

1. Naming Islands
“These are my two peas in a pod,” she said.
“Yes Madam. After your shipwreck and being in your condition, I have thought of two names,” the Captain, her rescuer said.
With that, he inscribed each new island on the nautical map.
“We are in your debt, Captain. Will you stand also as Godfather?”
A tear fell, spreading an atoll of ink on the parchment, as affectionately he touched the twins, each at the fontanel. Then, clearing emotion from his throat said, “Zephyr and Zephyrean, welcome — children born of the storm.”

“Cut. Good job everyone. We’re done today,” said the director.

2. Kangaroo Rescue
“Multiple breaks. She has to be put down,” the vet said.
He nodded. Unable to hop she’d never survive in the bush.  Her kangaroo mother had already ended up as roadkill.
After the injection, he brought Suzy back in the pillowcase, still doubling as a joey’s pouch, to buried her.
Meanwhile, back home, two other heads poked from pillowcases, hooked to his bedposts. They were hungry.
He filled baby bottles with formula.
“Drink!” he sing-songed. The babies suckled obediently.
Three roos make a mob better able to survive dingos, but fate had cheated, leaving just two.
Why, he wondered? Why?

3. Easter Gift
He’d found five dollars in the loading zone darkness, but inside, the supermarket had too many aisles. He wandered dazed, confused.
Thinking him a vagrant shoplifter the manager yelled, “Hey!”
“I got money. See?” the tramp said, rattled. He grabbed some biscuits and scampered to the checkout.
Now, the hot cross buns on display troubled him. Choose us, choose us.
“Bring them,” whispered the checkout girl ringing up zeros, yet bagging both because she felt his trouble.
“Five exactly,” she said and then returned five dollars in change. “Thank you. Do have a very happy Easter, Sir.”
He gasped.
She winked.

4. Speed Dating

pick one
pick two
pick me?
pick you?

All she wants is money
all he wants is honey
I just had chlamydia
sorry, gotta get rid of ya.
His muscles are spectacular
I bet she bites like Dracula.
Do you gamble, honey-bun?
I bet she weighs a ton.

Would you cheat on your lover?
Will you meet my mother?
I’ve had sex with my brother
I’m a cop under cover.
We’ve met it must be fate
perhaps, but cut your rate
Sex toys might be fun
beware I have a gun

I’ve had a mastectomy
I survived vasectomy
I’m noisy, hyperbolic
I’m limp and alcoholic.
Do you cook do you sing
Are you straight do you swing?
Hey Baby, let’s la Bamba
I don’t give out my number.

Pick two
Pick one
Stay you
Pick none
Chris Mooney-Singh
Melbourne,
Singapore.

PLANET Z

Books keep falling off of the shelf, says the hotel manager. He wants me to fix it.

The shelf looked normal to me. No reason for the books to fall.

Then, in the dark, the ghost of Benjamin Franklin appeared.

And the ghost of a hooker appeared beside him.

“Tell the ghost of my wife nothing!” he hissed, and he proceeded to bang the hell out of that hooker.

They shook the wall, which knocked books loose.

“Can you hire a librarian hooker?” I asked.

Benjamin laughed and vanished.

The next time, she stayed to re-shelf the books.

Thanks, Ben.

Weekly Challenge #361 – Border

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Border.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Pick Two.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

TURA

General Wei quelled an invasion from the north, then returned to the south. He quelled an invasion from the west, then returned to the south. He was asked, “Why do you not institute permanent forces to guard the borders and protect the people?”

General Wei replied, “The general’s vision is wide, but the people’s vision is narrow. When the people have peace, they do not see the use of the army, and their conscripted men serve without spirit. Only when they have fled from invaders, and seen their fields burned and their villages looted, do they understand and serve valiantly.”

THOMAS

The borders were closed tight. They snapped shut at midnight. No one from Canada or Mexico was allowed into the United States. The president thought it was time to clean up some loose ends. He called all the troops home, and ordered all foreign bases closed and deactivated. The airplanes were parked in the desert, and all the warships were put at anchor in the gulf. Soldiers, Marines and sailors were put to work on public projects. Thousands were on task, cleaning cities, alleyways, vacant lots, roadways and beaches. The president was elected for a third term by unanimous decree.

Johnny was a handful for his HeadStart teacher. Like his classmates, the teacher gave Johnny cartoon outlines to fill with colors – crayon, pastel, tempera, felt tips or colored pencils. Johnny never stayed inside the borders. He spent his art time coloring things outside the boxes. It was how Johnny rolled – even into his adult years. He was always outside the box, busting through the borders. After college, Johnny found work with Homeland Security, working on the Washington-Canada border. He helped hundreds of Northern Koreans find the weak spots in the border, and led them to a new life in Seattle.

The situations that Arthur found himself in always seemed to border on the catastrophic. At least that was how he acted. Over the year, he had twenty-nine visits to various doctors and specialists for his back, feet, teeth, lungs, stomach, hernia, and bowels. He had excellent insurance, and soon became addicted to the attention, sympathy, pain meds, and other things that accompanied his medical excursions. He would make everything sound as if he only had a few months to live, and would open the most casual of social encounters with a display of his wounds, stitches, bandages and open sores.

Nina was diagnosed as a borderline psychotic. She drifted in and out of an agitated schizophrenic state, depending on her dosage of Haldol, Dolmatil, and Laractil, and some of the newer, atypical antipsychotics like, Risperdal, Zyprexa and Abilify. None of her symptoms disappeared, but they were less intense and easier to cope with. Nina began attending the “Hearing Voices Group” in town, but their voices and her own gave her contradictory advice when she listened carefully. She found a way to make it work for her, becoming very successful on community television and working on line as a Life Coach.

SERENDIPITY

This is the most god-forsaken place in the entire world, and the crappiest job ever!

Sand for miles in every direction; every day passes without incident – the boredom is excruciating – yet here I am: a solitary last bastion of military might, in the middle of nowhere, watching over an imaginary and invisible line; an arbitrary construct of the cartographer’s whim.

So I sit, in the desert heat, in my little steel hut, day after day.

Did I mention the boredom?

So, every day, I move my hut a little further forward – claiming even more new territory for my country!

RICHARD

Border Control

My holiday of a lifetime had been a long time coming, and now it was finally happening! As with all perfect plans, it rapidly went horribly wrong – a faulty alarm clock leading to panic and a potential missed flight out of Thailand.

“You go on and find a tuk-tuk, while I pack your bags”, ordered my room mate, Suki.

Waving me off, she shouted: “I’ve put a little something in your bag for your journey!”

At the border control: “Did you pack your bags yourself, sir?”

It seems the ‘Bangkok Hilton’ was perfectly happy to accommodate another unexpected guest.

Borderline

George’s wife always said that he was borderline OCD – the constant hand-washing, scrubbing down and boxes of latex gloves scattered around the house drove her almost to distraction. Every day she’d tell him to ‘loosen-up’ and tell him he was crazy to take cleanliness to such extremes.

Then, one day, he snapped!

Driving into work, a pigeon smashed into his radiator grill; having prised the gory mess free, George looked at his bloodstained hands… “I’ll show her!”

Arriving at work, forgoing the traditional handwash and gloves, he breezed into theatre and the waiting innards of his first patient.

JEFFREY

Purgatory
by Jeffrey Fischer

The border town baked in the hot desert sun. The small, abandoned mission wasn’t distinguished enough to attract tourists. The corner store did double duty as a grocer’s and a diner, serving food of questionable quality to indifferent patrons. The ramshackle motel was a fading remnant of the 1950s, renting rooms only to those stuck at the crossing overnight.

The few remaining residents were held there by little more than inertia. Soon they too would be gone, and the desert would reclaim the town.

Urban Renewal
by Jeffrey Fischer

The border between the good part of town and the slums was not sharply defined. Instead, a gradual erosion of buildings delineated one area from the next. Real estate agents sold these houses with the claim that the area was “in transition,” a fib if not a bald-faced lie, unless the transition were to be measured by decades rather than years, and even then the direction was uncertain.

Politicians decried the lack of upscale shopping in the border area, as though the working poor and those on and off food stamps were in desperate need of a Whole Foods. Eventually, enough tax money induced a national bookstore chain to open a store. The teenage gangs were grateful for a hangout, especially one with free Wi-Fi.

MEADHBH

the story: Web War II

“Captain Gecko reporting as ordered!” the middle-age, bedraggled officer said as he reported in. Colonel Layout returned his salute and gave his subordinate a quick glance. After years of Web Wars Gecko was still a solid soldier; frayed around the edges, but still solid.

“Gecko,” the colonel started. “This damned campaign has flipped over to quirks mode and reports are the border: just turned red. General staff fears it’ll be dotted with holes after the next event loop”

“Gecko, you have a right to know. Franky, we have reports…”

The rest was lost in the scream of a page reload.

BOTGIRL

Border Crossing

We transit countless borders

on the path between birth and death:

a severed cord; a breath of air;

a piercing cry; a mother’s breast;

a leaning stand; a stumbling step;

a spoken word; the alphabet;

a sweetest kiss; a cap and gown;

a broken heart; a wedding vow;

a newborn child; a parent’s grave;

an empty nest; a spouse estranged;

a hospice bed; the end of pain.

Waves from an endless ocean

Emerging from its infinite depths,

Rising towards the sky

Falling back to sea.

Form is emptiness.

Emptiness is form.

Such are we.

Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha!

ZACKMANN

There was this billboard ad and I wound up driving this guy to Canada so he could go surfboarding. Since he was paying for gas and meals it was a good mini vacation. We met at Borderlands Books then drove north to the Border.

We saw someone being herded south by a pack of multi colored dogs.

My new friend said “Dude, look at that.”

I replied “That’s the latest measure for border security. Gives new meaning to the name, Border Collies?”

“Dude, isn’t that like that one singer?” asked surfboarder.

“Apparently, there are some people Canada doesn’t want returning.”

###

“And we would would have gotten away with it too”

“If it hadn’t been for us meddling kids?” replied the young man with the askot.

“No, if our getaway driver had not been such an idiot. Before that day I thought only people in Douglas Adams books could actually die of embarrassment until my partner did. She and I were hiding under a quilt with borders in the backseat of the getaway car. She says “ Make a run for the border!” She died as police pulled up our quilt and she saw we were in a Taco Bell drive thru ”
zackmann

DAPHNE

Border by Daphne Abernathy

Run to the border they said. So I ran. I ran over hills, through forests, over cover bridges, into the mountains. I took shelter at night and avoided the bears. It took 3 days, but I made it. They said it would be worth the trek. I hope they didn’t lie, I’m starving.

I walked into the place. It was very crowded but everyone seemed so friendly. I walk up to the counter “I want a Chulupa.”

The man just smiled then said “Welcome to Tim Hortons, would you like a coffee and some TimBits?”

Dammit, wrong border.

JUSTIN

I stood in the warpgate looking at the map. Areas of blue, purple and green overlaid the map, showing the territories and who controlled them. I decided to deploy to a hot zone to support the New Conglomerate in holding a facility.

I deployed in my drop pod. I saw directly below me the onslaught of enemy tanks. My pod headed right towards them. I adjusted the aim, hoping I would hit one and damage or destroy the tank.

Instead, the pod broke apart around me, the tank apparently unharmed, and the enemy cut me down in about two seconds.

SEICHER

BORDER
Warm feet flat against worn old wooden floor
Palms pressed against cold glass pane
Breath up close leaving fog
In—gone
Out—cloud
Views past across the broken lane.

Past the bramble guards and the sentry oaks
Lay hold swells of green perfect cloaks.
Over there, in the sweetly refined air,
Fresh leaves flutter on softest winds.

Over there, as bright colored confetti
Flits cardinals, golden finches,
Idyllic laughter wafting on currents
Kept safely within boundaries.

Keeping stead the literal line so close
To touch, a million miles away,
The pocked pavement is drawn clear between
Containing them — curtailing us.

MUNSI

Bordering on Madness

By Christopher Munroe

We have to secure our borders with Madness, immediately!

For too long we’ve allowed Mad Men to cross freely, taking jobs in advertising from our own native-born citizens, and this must stop.

We must build a wall, and patrol it with drones, lest this unfair illegal immigration continue unabated, to do otherwise would be mad!

If we allow the free travel of the mad into our nation, before long we’ll be nothing more than a madhouse!

A madhouse!!!

Also: Make the wall soundproof. I like Madness, but if I hear One Step Beyond one more time, I’m going to snap…

SINGH

Stories on the Rim

Singh

1. On the rim of light and dark, yesterday and tomorrow, you are the sand and I am the sky. Here between us? A stack of driftwood.

when the tide goes out

I take a fire stick

smouldering in coals,

I nudge an ember

you blow it pink-green

till it flames up

like the core of an opal

fire rainbows on

and grows and spreads

till the rich ember

is sucked dry of its

aurora borealis

lit gas on black coal

lights up the horizon

the pinkish-green and red

fire-break of sunset

like this we glow large

through metaphor

2. On the rim of sea, sand, sky and bay, of dark and epi-dark we see a beach possum. It doesn’t give a damn about us.

the surf has a lisp

the night’s a thug

the wind slaps hard

across the promenade

two walkers think big

yet talk of nothing

a gust is at large

on no-man’s sand

blowing bad needles

across the scrap kingdom

the pizza box flaps

between the tussocks

wafting its grease —

a pheromone come-on

to a lout with a snout

walking this way

this lord of leftovers

with tail skunk-upright

has left the tree

3. On the rim of suburb and surf, the train line rattles at the ear’s border rushing off elsewhere to avoid being relevant.

sunset shared its pink sparkle

now darkness takes no snaps

as phone text breaks news

these breakers pound the shore

o iPad don’t push your message

(yes, beach grass prick my arse)

big receptions, small glasses of sour grapes

the wind blows raspberries

what’s this? a local golf ball

lost ambition in a tussock

governments are wet castles

(pst! who’s dumping down the next?)

take this chocolate bar now

chew a chunk of wow

an election’s coming?

(vote for seagulls)

4. On the rim, sex’s recreational drug…

I won’t say no to lying down with you

letting you fiddle with my weekend fun

when your tongue advances on my tongue

I’ll gladly be your jet ski on a surf run

I’ll give you casual rights to take the bait,

letting you work your sand-butt attitude

rake your nails, ride the moby, yowl

heaven’s beach just wants us to stay nude

rub static from hard nipples through my chest

get strange night vision through the will of two

then see five million body hairs rise up

all erect in unison with you

5. On the rim of sand, the surf rolls in to tell what’s classical.

afterwards, might be a let down — stalking the wave needs strong coffee

recuperate out of earshot while surf breakers blag at the rocks

dogs will be walking owners, snuffling shore crab and kelp scrap

bathers come out to play truant with their nine-to-five jelly brain tiredness

so go steal back coin from the sea that swallows bikinis and iron men

whale-ride the wave of the bay as the muscle that flexes your moment

but know the ocean’s cold shoulder cares nothing at all for us

6. On the rim of the real and the virtual I remember a presiding presence.

was there a lighthouse? where? no one can say

beyond the rocks and detonating white

now seldom do the boats come past this way

there is no scribble, secret map, or essay,

there is no lamp, or flapping weather kite

was there a lighthouse here? no one can say

they claim the beam was visible from the highway

now lit by neon sign and traffic light

and seldom do the boats come past this way

Although its home remains a hideaway

I need to find a corridor to the starlight

if there’s no lighthouse – how? no one can say

did it once shine here, or is it hearsay?

who built the tower once so firmly upright?

now seldom do the boats come past this way

nothing is firm beneath the Milky Way,

yet, I need a bridge to cross from day to night

is there a lighthouse? where? no one can say

if one could see it on this moonless bay,

above the waves – a white road through the night,

if one could see the lighthouse he could say,

and all the boats might start to come this way

7. At the rim of ocean, there is no beach, just the waiting

because the night is thick behind the pines

just wait it out upon your couch

because the waves are ranting over the rocks

fight them back with stereo knobs

because this house is lighting up the coast

why should a boat not come this way?

because the fire logs are made of brass

remember comfort pays your rent

because the night is only half the coin

go make some tea and sit because

sunrise needs to see her in the doorway

for this, you spend your nights with words

LIZZIE

“They’re children, children!” An armed man looked at the bus driver with doped eyes. “No.” The frustration amongst the adults of the convoy was palpable. 375 tired and restless kids kept their eyes wide open. They were so young, piled up inside the buses, uncomfortable and very thirsty. In the control post, armed men held rusted katanas. Suddenly, a local authority talked to them. The convoy rushed away. The children finally arrived at the safety of a border and a foreign home. When interviewed, the man responsible for the convoy simply replied “I only answered the voice of my conscience.”

DONDO

Billy had tickets to see Velvet Crush, the rock band he’d waited to see for years. The car was loaded up for the drive to the club, a couple hours away near the border. The smartphone was running GPS for the trip, which Billy was following closely.
His excitement grew when the GPS spoke in a robotic voice, “Concert Club one mile away”, but his heart dropped when it continued, “200 yards beyond the border”. Billy drove up to the crossing and parked on the side of the road, fearful.
He’d heard too many stories about nausea and crashes at borders, and was afraid to cross.

RICK THOMAS

Clinton and Temple Hills were separated by a forest with a creek running right down the middle. That creek was the border for the young boys of those two towns. At the time we knew each other only well enough to know which side of that border we DIDN’T belong on.

Get yourself caught on the wrong side of that creek and you were setting yourself up for a real good beating!

We weren’t punks or bullies … just instinctively territorial!

50 years later … we’re all good friends now!

ALL good men!

All grateful for the lessons learned in those woods!!!

MIATA

I stood at the back of the room. All the family was crying, but I had seen that many
times before. Actually, there were times when I had observed no one upset at a body
crossing the border to the beyond.
In dealings with passings, I have seen family members counting the minutes until
their inheritance, and that’s when, if I had my own say, I would take them all. But, I have
orders to obey……unfortunately.
The worst deaths, are when no one is there to mourn. Sadly, even though I am the
death angel, I still have feelings.

FRANK

Frank was telling me how, in the old days, there weren’t always clear borders between nations.
“They had what they call marches. There wasn’t a line on the ground as such. It was an area of land between two countries. In fact, the title Marquis was what you called the guy in charge. Things were fuzzier back then. It was good to have some space between kingdoms so if someone trespassed; it wasn’t such a big deal. The border wasn’t so strict, see? That was a good thing.”
I told Frank to keep his damned dog out of my yard.

TOM

Maintain Order at the Border with Mortar. The banner over the wall read. Both sides were fond of lobbing explosives at each other. Over time the deadzone on either side of the wall extended to the edge of their respective capitals. Feed-up with the drum-beat of war all the mothers gathered up their babies made for the border. To punish their flagrant act of disloyalty both sides fired their missiles. The women at the wall watched rockets arch overhead vaporizing their respective capitals. The women cut holes in the wall, but left the banner to fly free in full folly.

RED

How do you miss something you never had? Lola is haunted by a recurring dream where she opens a door and watches her father walks away. She never sees his face, and he doesn’t look back. She heard random stories about him while eavesdropping on grown folk’s talk. Her mother can’t even say his name without anger in her eyes. Her grandmother often says Lola has his wit and wisdom. She’s flattered but frustrated to be compared to an invisible man. Even outside the hotel, she exists on the border. She is exposed to the world, yet lives in fragments.

NORVAL JOE

Flerdy lay on the bank of a small stream, dipping a net into the water. Covered from head to toe to fingertips in his ‘Second Skin’ dermal protective suit, and wearing protective goggles he looked like a giant, grey salamander. Borle stood a meter away wearing the standard-issue orange environmental suit.
“You could have saved yourself a million creds and just worn a flight-issue suit like mine,” Borle said.
Before Flerdy could respond a man stepped out of the rainforest, pulse-rifle aimed at Borle’s chest, and said, in a vaguely Irish accent, “Border Patrol. Put your hands in the air.”

Widow Finklestien hummed as she loaded the few dishes into the dishwasher, thinking it would take just enough time for Missy Angelina Finklestien to take care of her business in the back yard.
On a meager pension, the widow, Wilma, had saved for years to buy the border collie puppy.
The dog was the offspring of two grand champions and tomorrow morning she would be bred with another champion. Wilma already counted the dollars from the sale of the litter.
As she opened the door a streak of silver shot away from Missy and through a hole under the fence.

PLANET Z

If you meet the Buddha on the road, kill him.

I was driving down by the border when I saw him.

The Buddha.

So, I swerved and hit him.

I had to beat him with the tire iron a few times.

Now that I have a chance to look him over, I realize something.

He’s not the Buddha.

So, I tossed him into the trunk and drove out to the woods.

Where I buried the others.

They weren’t Buddha, either.

I’ll keep looking, though.

Maybe, one day, I’ll find him.

The Buddha.

On the road.

And I will kill him.

Weekly Challenge #360 – St. Patrick’s Day

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was St. Patrick’s Day.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Border.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

MARC

B.K. is up much earlier than usual this morning. She has much to do. She quickly downs her coffee – black, scorching hot. She loads up her bag “I can’t forget the cut-outs”. She checks herself in the mirror and adjusts her leprechaun pin, grabs a cigarette leaving the pack on the coffee table. She arrives at the school and takes her last drag. In her room she begins flipping over chairs and desks – placing green paper-cut out footprints all over. Her students arrive sometime later. “We had a visitor last night,” she greets them “I think it was a Leprechaun!”

THOMAS

My uncle Ted was a fat, Irish cop in Connecticut. Every Saint Pat’s day, I would go to his house and watch Uncle Ted get drunk. He would make up stories about St. Patrick, and offer outlandish toasts as the adults at the table downed gallons of beer and whiskey. “May all of your children be born naked”, was the toast I remember most of all, as I was a youngster, and anything that mentioned naked was about sex, and even more titillating and obliging to my wee ears. These were the grand memories I carried into my senior years.

Uncle Ted would squeeze or pinch Aunt Tina’s bottom at the dining table, thinking no one would notice, but she always yelped and batted his hand away. Everyone knew what was going on. He was not the first swollen-faced, boozer to use his cigar to explore a lady’s anatomy, either. Uncle Ted always had a cigar, lit or unlit, in his mouth, and often took a bite of ham or sausage with the cigar still gripped in his teeth. He was an ox of a man. His nose, crisscrossed with red veins, his eyes, watery and swollen. My role model.

Ted loved his cats and his girlfriend, although she spent most of the day on the couch, smoking, playing with her hair…twisting the ends, and sucking on them. She was mad as a hatter. A real nutter. Ted worked part time doing yard care. He whacked weeds, mowed lawns, trimmed, pruned, and raked. With the extra money he had at the end of the week, he’d buy a wad of Lotto tickets, hoping to strike it rich. He never won, but he had hope he’d strike it big. He was struck by lightning, twice, the day he won the mega-jackpot.

BOTGIRL

Bruce is one of the strangest cats I’ve ever known. A big guy with a round face, bulging eyes and an Abe Lincoln beard, he looked like an overstuffed giant leprechaun with a severe case of Graves Disease. Bruce claimed he was a hereditary Druid priest and had been forced to flee Minnesota because of religious persecution. He loved to get drunk and wax poetic about nubile women serving as naked alters in deep-woods rituals of bacchanal debauchery. He hated St. Patrick so much that March 17 was the only day of the year he stayed cold stone sober.

JEFFREY

The Color of Envy
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say green is the color of envy, but that’s wrong. I say it’s blue.

I saw her at the bar at a St. Patrick’s Day party. She was breathtakingly beautiful, and her easy laugh made my heart beat a little faster.

I tried, I really did. She rebuffed my every effort to talk to her, preferring instead to stay with *him*. She touched his arm, giggled at his jokes.

Now I’m blue. Without her, I no longer see the point in happiness. She’s blue, too, lying in the alley beside her building where I strangled her with her scarf.

Blue. The color of envy.

World Domination will have to Wait
by Jeffrey Fischer

Zyrzec felt a meaty hand pound his back and he spewed green beer across the bar. *Dammit, I’m a galactic conquerer, not a mascot.* But he was a short, green, pointy-eared alien on St. Patrick’s Day, so he wasn’t entirely surprised when a group of half-drunk frat boys pointed at him, stuck a leprechaun hat on his head, and dragged him to the bar as their lucky charm. At least they bought his beer, disgusting as the substance was.

He glared at the offender. “Do that again, buddy, and I’ll blast your ass past Andromeda.”

That’s when the crowd turned on Zyrzec. No one likes a grumpy leprechaun. They picked him up, threw him on the street, and slammed the bar door shut. They even kept the hat.

SEICHER

They came, thieves in the night. The livestock panicked but the noise was too late for the sleepers to react. Dressed only in nightclothes, the boy raced to the yard. The last things he saw, before being shoved to the ground, were his parents clinging to each other while the torches and the pack swooped around them like demons of the dark. Bound and carried off while unconscious, he awoke in the pitching, putrid dankness of what he later learned was an Irish raider’s ship hold. He was no longer the son of patricians but cargo with an uncertain future.

TURA

“Well, well, what’s this, a pair of hobbitses? And on this St. Paddy’s Night! Ye’re a ways from home, are ye no? We don’t like hobbitses around here.” The leprechaun grinned evilly and spat. “We don’t like hobbitses anywhere!” The rest of the gang stood up from the long grass, shillelaghs and hatchets drawn.

The fight was quickly over. The leprechauns stripped the bodies and started a cooking fire.

“Elvish swords, elvish cloak-pins, and a big gold ring. Looks like these were two important little hobbitses!” guffawed the leader, sucking the marrow out of a shinbone. “Ain’t so important now!”

MUNSI

The Reason for the Season

By Christopher Munroe

…and Patrick was like “that’s it! I have had it with these motherfucking snakes on the motherfucking plains of Ireland!” and drove them into the sea!

And that’s what we’re celebrating.

Will that be reflected in how we celebrate?

Short answer: No.

Long answer: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

No. Little will be said about Saint Patrick, no mention will be made of snakes. Still, we’ll celebrate.

We’ll wear green, affect fake accents and hit Irish pubs, and fun will be had.

Is this appropriate? Perhaps not, but it’s what we’re doing.

Now get out there and drink!

Shine on, faux-Irish douche-bags, shine on!

LIZZIE

Unlucky 400-leaf clover

A drink or four, then he trotted back home, his paces tick-tacking at the command of his watch. He didn’t remember when he started doing that or even when he started walking the less populated streets. At pace 400, he looked around and found a grin, one who would never grin again. He knew the police was perplexed, struggling to catch him, but this was his day, his routine, wearing some green, doing some drinking, some singing and, to help with his headaches, some hunting. Fortunately for him, it worked. The last look on their faces wasn’t as fortunate though…

SERENDIPITY

The week’s assignment was ‘St Patrick’s Day’: Inwardly I groaned… How many phoney Irish accents would this spawn?

Obviously, there’d be shamrocks, leprechauns and at least one rendering of ‘Molly Malone’ over a glass or two of Guinness, with the inevitable whiskey chaser. Maybe even the odd Baileys’ coffee! And would it be too much to expect not to be handed a harrowing potato famine tale, or political rant about ‘The Troubles’, just for once?

Not for the first time, I found myself wishing the creative writing curriculum could be a little more creative, and involve a little less writing!

TOM

Kissed the Stone Twice

You may find this hard to believe but my grandfather went to school with St Patrick, so course he wasn’t a saint back then. Pat was pretty wicked with a Hurling stick and not one to pass on a pull of the water of life. Grandma says there were quite close being sold into slavery and all. When they final got back It was my grandfather’s idea to round up all the snakes which worked out pretty good for both of them. Patrick converted Ireland and my grandfather became the first man to make a fortune off of snake oil.

MIATA

Jade handed another green beer to a customer.
“Happy St. Patrick’s Day!”, she giggled. Her life of freedom, the one she had fought so hard for, was just coming back.
“Married to a control freak does have it’s advantages.”, she said smilin’, “and when I think of one I’ll let ya’ll know.”
Mike was intrigued by Jade’s light heartedness to her former dilema. He knew what she had gone through to get out. He knew she had left things she’d cherished behind, barely escaping with her life. Now, her wink said it all. She was free and his.

ISHTAR

Drinking Problem: by Ishtar

It was Saint Paddy’s Day when I learned the truth. The sad man sitting at the bar, blood shot eyes, nervous tick.

He was God. So I bought him a beer.

“I had a plan” he said. “A pinch of Artistry here, a touch of hero’s there, but it all went wrong.

He explained creation was like baking. The right mix of ingredients, bake it at a high temperature, and you get life.

“So what went wrong” I asked.

“The ingredient lid fell off, I added to many assholes.”

And that kids is the reason grandma does not drink anymore.

ZACKMANN

“Hello, I see you come in always in the holiday spirit. You get candy on Valentine’s Day, pie on March fourteenth, corned beef and cabbage on Saint Patrick’s Day, eggs and food coloring on Easter, corn chips on Cinco de Mayo, as well as turkey and yams on Thanksgiving. Do you have big Saint Patrick’s Day plans?”
“Sorry, to disappoint but bit more of the spirit of frugality than a holiday spirit since those are the times of years those things are on sale. Other than going to work after listening to some Marc Gunn, no Saint Paddy’s Day plans.”

CLIFF

Ok, it’s pretty clear that he was a very important figure in spreading Christianity in Ireland.
Aye, he brought the faith to Ireland first.
Actually, historical records show that before him, there were …
He was FIRST!
Ok, fine. Maybe he was. And I’ll grant you that the legend claims he drove out all the snakes even though there is no evidence that there were ever snakes in Ireland.
Sure there were. They were everywhere and he drove ‘em out.
Whatever. But, once and for all, Saint Patrick did not invent beer.
That’s a damn lie!
Oh, I give up.

DONDO

The Guinness was ready, and shamrocks were placed everywhere. Billy had his tacky, bright green leprechaun suit dry-cleaned and ready for the weekend.
Business was really tough lately. The regulars were dying of liver failure or “getting healthy” and drinking less, and Billy’s country bar was really struggling. But a couple years ago, he had a brilliant idea. He changed to whole bar into an Irish pub for one week of the year, when all the cowboys claimed to be from the Emerald Isle. Billy was making enough in that week to stay afloat the rest of the year.
This year, he even hired a ginger.

NORVAL JOE

“We’ll orbit for an hour while the drive and our internal organs neutralize. Then we’ll descend to the planet,” Borle said reclining his chair.
“How can you tell if our internal organs have been transferred?” Flerdie asked.
“Do you have gas?”
“Yeah. So?”
“I don’t, anymore,” Borle giggled.
“The planet’s completely green,” Flerdie said, changing the subject. “How do you know there will be fish there?”
“The planet’s named O’Gillyham, terra formed 500 years ago by Patrick O’Carroll, a displaced Irish potato farmer. The green of the planet comes from all the plants. That many plants need lots of water.”

Dergill wrapped Long John Silver in a towel and dabbed hydrogen peroxide on a festering wound on the dog’s side. The old dog squirmed at first, but was soon fast asleep inside the towel. He had cut himself the week before while escaping his kennel to frolic among the females.
Dergill had a silly thought. While the dog slept he saturated it’s coat with peroxide. He didn’t want to hurt the wiener dog, so he avoided the eyes, mouth, and tail.
After fifteen minutes with green food coloring, Dergill decided Long John looked more like a zombie than a leprechaun.

SINGH

The St Patrick’s Day Curse

Chris Mooney-Singh

1. The Pilgrims

I’ve heard the pilgrimage story a hundred times in our local Melbourne pub, looking into my glass darkly filled with Guinness as Dad tells his tale again:

“Lionel and Liam – our long-gone great-grand uncles decided to make pilgrimage to Old Man Wise in the woods. On reaching Flanagan’s Fork, Lionel looked left and saw the house of Tara, the beauty who lived on the hill.

‘“Liam, I will meet you here on your way back. We’ll go together tomorrow, Lad.”’

With that, he made haste for the prostitute, leaving Liam to pilgrimage on alone to Old Man Wise’s campfire.”

2. The Itch

“The next day at Flanagan’s Fork, Lionel again got that itch in his trousers for the flaming redhead.

‘“I’m off to Tara’s, lad. I’ll be waiting here for you.”’

“Liam the serious younger brother continued on to Old Man Wise. He sat, listened, then returned stepping on a blackthorn branch puncturing his foot. He limped shoeless back to the crossroads. There waiting , Lionel in high spirits kicked a rock and uncovered a gold coin with a bust of Charles II on one side and the Irish Cross on the other:

‘”Well, wouldn’t you know it. Lady Luck is smiling on me.”’

3. Fate

“On the third day Liam dragged Lionel past Tara’s infamous house on to Old Man Wise. He couldn’t understand how his brother who’d visited the prostitute twice had found a gold coin, while he, the faithful pilgrim had only earned a thorn in the foot for his troubles. What was God playing at?

Old Man Wise smiled: ‘“Well, Lionel was to find a pot of gold,’’’ he said, ‘“But because of his trouser hunger found but a single coin, while you, Liam destined to be mauled by a wolf, changed your fate to a thorn-prick due to your pilgrim piety.”’

4. The Migration

“My father tells the tale every year. Inevitably someone asks ‘“What happened to the two brothers?”’

“This is where I get really uncomfortable with all this family fable stuff.

‘“Liam’s pilgrim piety hardened into pride,”’ Dad says, ‘“Whereas, after Lionel realised his foolish loss he repented his loose ways.”’ Dad goes on: ‘“Well, the brothers migrated here in 1882 and took up horse-breaking for a living.”’

“This is where I get up to go and relieve myself, but Dad, noticing me skipping out on his story orders: ‘“Bring a fresh round, will you Son. We’ll wait until you get back.”’

5. The Curse

Returning, I plonk the Guinness pints down.

Dad continues: “One day, Liam boasted he’d tame the lead brumby brought in from the mountains, but the stallion threw him and the fool broke his bloody neck.”

“Yeah, yeah. Pride takes a fall, Dad.”

“Son, you think life’s different nowadays? I named you Liam Lionel Fogerty for a reason.”

“It’s like a family curse.”

“We’ve all got a Liam and a Lionel inside. Which one rules you, Son?”

So speaks dear old Dad who has become Old Man Wise.

With that, he raises a dark glass to toast the ancestors and my future.

REDGODDESS

Hotels are the perfect refuge for people who can’t say no to temptations. Every corner you turn, there is a substance that Lola should avoid. There are left over glazed donuts and stale chips in the cafeteria. Cake in the dining room for a staff birthday who’s not even working today. Her Manager has liquor hidden in plain sight in her desk. Standing in the lobby, wearing a green scarf, wishing guests “Happy St.Patty’s Day,” is her best escape. Let’s pretend all is jolly while she rewinds her worries in silence. Some people don’t need an occasion to misbehave under the influence. The bar will be packed with countless lost souls for Happy Hour. She will leave on the dot tonight. She has zero tolerance for privileged drunks with an ax to grind.

PLANET Z

St. Patrick drove all the snakes out of Ireland?

Bullshit. He never drove snakes anywhere.

In fact, he carried a sack of snakes with him everywhere.

He gave them out to kids like Rockefeller handed out nickels and dimes

Kids love snakes. They crawl all over their shoulders and along their arms and eat mice…

Well, okay. They love the crawly not-bitey snakes

Nobody likes the bitey ones.

Even when they’re non-poisonous, the bites still suck.

Maybe St. Patrick got mixed up and gave away a poisonous snake or two.

No wonder why they martyred the son of a bitch.

Weekly Challenge #359 – Idiot

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Idiot.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of St. Patrick’s Day.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

MURPHY

Blood flowed over my linked fingers as I clutched the gash closed. “Get a towel!” I screamed.

Stan stared at me, blinking. “You hurt?”

“Get something!” I pressed hard on my wound, forgetting the masked, knife-wielding stranger bolting down the hallway as I struggled to stay conscious. A wave of pain swept over my glaze of angry frustration. “Call…call 911!”

“Call who? Why?” He gazed at me, his brows knit. Was he in on it? Was Stan’s mild, friendly ways, his vacuous smile and his knit hat all a disguise? Or was he that dumb? “Oh! I’ll get a band-aid.”

THOMAS

Tom was a ninnyhammer, a schlub, an idiot. He was well liked and treated very warmly by the owners of the coffee house that hired him to mop the floor and clean tables – the limit of his comprehension and motor skills. Tom felt that the other imbeciles and morons that worked at the nearby coffee houses treated him badly. Tom was shunned and teased by them. Today, he was told that only a few IQ points separated him from the imbeciles and morons. He had hope, almost instantly. With his newfound hope and confidence, he began to write 100-word stories.
#

Like Dostoevsky’s character, Johnson faced the dark world of corruption and moral decay that he discovered and dealt with. As a member of the senate, entering as an idealist and willing to sacrifice himself for the “good”, he sunk into a deep depression as he realized that the world of politics was not what he had hoped for. He saw his colleagues accept bribes, patronize call girls, and not wash their hands after using the men’s room – only to go to the hallway and shake hundreds of the hands of visitors and politicians from the other side of the aisle.
#

Buzan was an idiot-savant. His memory was prodigious, but he could not make use of the information he could recall. His parents discovered that he was an extraordinary pianist. He would play a piece through, having only heard it once on the family phonograph. He often “composed” pieces on the spot, some derived from the tones generated by the appliances in his mother’s kitchen, or his father’s shop. Most of his day was spent in the corner of the front porch playing rock, paper, scissors, by himself. The hours would fly by, and Buzan would nap on the porch swing.
#

Sarah called the boy that pulled her hair during recess, a “severely mentally retarded person”. Her parents were Democrats, her Mother, a Soroptimist, and very politically correct. They taught their children that words like idiot, ‘tard and retard were rash, incorrect and impolite; and could hurt others, collaterally, if they heard the word or related it to their own circumstance. When asked to dance at the after-game party by a new boy she did not recognize, Sarah told him to “fuck off”! Her parents had not yet gotten to the topic of boy-girl relations and proper etiquette in this regard.
#

JEFFREY

The King on His Throne
by Jeffrey Fischer

The king sat on his throne, surveying his trusted advisors. He had the countenance of an idiot, as though he was considering a problem whose solution was permanently just out of reach. The other ten, sycophantic lackeys all, bobbed their heads whenever the great man opened his mouth. Some, reacting to a particularly stupid idea, may have turned their heads away briefly or sipped their coffee. But in the end the instinct for self-preservation was too strong, and decisions were all agreed to unanimously.

Of course, even a king is ultimately accountable, and ours was accountable to the shareholders. He looked as surprised as anyone when they fired him.

The Heist
by Jeffrey Fischer

“You’re an idiot,” I told Frank, which did nothing to dampen his enthusiasm for the project.

“Don’t worry, it’ll go great. We’ll be rich,” Frank said. I wanted to be rich, and my greed eventually overcame my judgment.

At first, the bank robbery seemed to go well. The tellers turned over the cash without our firing a shot. Things went downhill from there, starting with old Mrs. Fairweather, who turned to face my ski mask and said, “Why, Rusty Johnson, whatever would your mother say if she knew what you were doing?”

“Frank, you’re an idiot,” I told him as we sat in jail, waiting arraignment.

“I couldn’t think of everything. How was I supposed to know the mask went over the face?”

LIZZIE

The cops chased the armed fugitive down the street. He was packing a G18 handgun and a knife. The screeching tires and the yelling sirens didn’t bother him. He was used to running away from the police. At the age of 25, he had been convicted multiple times. Armed robbery, kidnapping, homicide. The media was all over the arrest of this extremely dangerous criminal. Odd thing though, when he was taken away in the patrol unit, he was sobbing like a 10 year old, denying every single crime, his and anyone else’s, for that matter. “A dangerous idiot,” someone mumbled.

TOM

Your Kid is an Idiot

When I was in the fifth grade I was reading at a first grade level. At the same time I demonstrated a totally lack of interest in mathematic operations. This led to three years in the Idiot section of my grammar school. I spent a lot of time with retarded and brain damaged kids. No one expected much from me, so I was pretty much left on my own. Somehow I developed a deep interest in history, ended up reading every book in the school library and the community library. By eighth grade I was reading at a college level.

TURA

My friend, these elections are perfectly free and fair. Our supporters are enthusiastic to ensure the right result. Our enemies call this intimidation!

No, you listen to me, when the will of the people is opposed we must defend ourselves. They are cowards, casting their secret votes against us. We know how to deal with that, we chop their hands off, chop! chop!

Let me tell you, if we were corrupt they would not get even one seat, but we are honest idiots, idiots enough to let our enemies participate in free elections. But after the election, we chop heads!

ISHTAR

First one: Travel Advisory

Excerpt from the aliens guide to Humanity Volume 4

There are three types of idiots on earth.

The first type need a very special helmet to protect their sensitivities. They ride a very special bus decorated with pictures of animals such as Elephants and Donkeys.

The second type of idiot likes to wear fancy clothes, make up, and yell. That’s all they ever do. They look at themselves in the screen and yell.

The third type of idiot is very deadly. They are never wrong. Hate fuels their souls. Travel advisory is in effect for Westborough Kansas at this time.

Second Story: Idiot Boyfriend

Right now I’m laying on back with my back legs around his waist and I wonder “Why do I have this idiot for a boyfriend.”

I mean sure he’s a great guy, treats me with respect like a gentleman should. But why do I keep him.

Sure he’s both part Indian and Werewolf, and when he changes forms while in bed he can be very intense. Yes I’m grinning on that.

I guess this is what every girl wants to know. Are men generally like this. Or could it be the way he howl’s at the moon and at me.

SERENDIPITY

“You’re a complete idiot!”, observed my boss.

I was learning the hard way that whistle blowers got a raw deal: the information I’d passed to official sources meant that tax scams, worth millions to the company and significant personal returns for the CEO – would now come under intense scrutiny, with inevitable consequences.

“Happily”, he continued, “I’ve fixed things so that the evidence no longer points to me, but to you!”

I left the room, pausing only to pick up my pen – the one with the built-in voice recorder…

I may be a complete idiot, but I’m certainly not stupid!

BOTGIRL

The Tibetan Buddhist view of the universe can be visualized as a “Wheel of Cyclic Existence.” Sentient beings wander from lifetime to lifetime between its six realms. Those in the lower Hell, Hungry Ghost and Animal realms are caught up in pain. Those in the higher realms of Demi-Gods and Gods are snared by pleasure. Humans are the only ones fortunate enough to live in a just-right realm that offers the opportunity to escape. In retrospect, I’ve been living like I am a being of the God Realm, feasting in idiot abandon until my good karma is exhausted.

MUNSI

Waxing Nostalgic

By Christopher Munroe

I miss all-ages punk shows.

Sixteen years old, in a WWI-era trench-coat, cargo-pants and a t-shirt with “Idiot” emblazoned across the front, out for an evening of local punk bands in an alcohol, and therefore ID, free atmosphere.

The shirt was bought at a Wonder Stuff show, and it was kind of a trademark of mine. I wore it to every gig.

If I ever see another, I’ll likely buy it.

I’m sure there are still all-ages punk shows out there.

I could probably find one, if I bothered to look.

I could probably go.

It wouldn’t be the same…

ZACKMANN

“I had a cousin whose only talent was teaching small woodland creatures how to sing.”
“Was he an idiot savant?”
“No, he was more of an idiot Seville.”
“Did he do anything with his talent , sir.”
“He formed a band. They became very popular and they worked for peanuts, or actually I guess it was walnuts and filberts. He made enough from the sales of their first album to buy a few nut orchards and was smart enough to hire someone competent to manage the orchards. They became cartoon voices. Do you believe me?”
“I’d be an idiot to, sir.”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Baal blocked Bob’s view of the television.

“The tightness in your chest is probably a little distracting. That’s because you’re dying. No-spin zone time. I’m a demon, yes. You do have a soul. All the rest was a lie. A minute after you die, your soul evaporates into nothingness…or I can absorb your soul. You’ll be part of me, but you’ll still exist. Whaddya say?”

Baal licked his lips as he absorbed Bob. The angel behind him scowled.

Baal shrugged. “Never would’ve thought of it ourselves.” The demon turned off Fox News. “Scare ’em enough and they’ll believe anything.”

DONDO

The Town Idiot
Everyone calls him the town idiot. The man dresses well, never bothers anyone, and nobody really knows whether his intelligence warrants the nickname.
When the carnival is in town, he stands in the shadow of the ferris wheel, waiting for anyone to take a little ride with. Day after day he patiently walks near the amusement ride, as the other folks in the town keep their distance. Even when he approaches someone politely, they run away.
It never occurred to him that the townsfolk were judging him based on his appearance.

REDGODESS

On her bus commute to work, Lola imagines leaving her neighborhood behind. For the past 10 years, neighbors have been fighting for an urban renaissance. Politicians promise jobs, safety and better schools but with each election, less get done. She’s fed up with all the lip service and being treated like an idiot for votes. Even the condition of the bus is a symbol of decay.
The passenger next to her smells like booze, piss and peanuts. The old lady in the front with her two grandchildren, cursing at the bus driver. The teenager in the back shouting on her cell phone. It’s all taking a toll on her. It’s time to take control of her destiny.

JUSTIN

When I played the first Call of Duty game I learned a bit of German. English was originally a west germanic language, and the Normans added lots of French to it, so many people mistake English as being Latin based, as I did. I just looked that up right now as I wrote this, to fact check myself. I bet you learned something, too. The point I’m making is that English and German have similar roots, so I felt like an idiot when I saw a sign that said “Minen” and stepped past it and blew up on a landmine.

NORVAL JOE

“So far you’ve used a Theoretical String drive, the Standard Gimlet drive, and now we’re using the Oopsiedaisy 360,” Flerdy said and glanced tentatively at the closed viewport. Once the hyper-drive had been engaged, the stars outside appeared to burst into a pinwheel of confusion. His stomach quickly turned. “How many drives does this crate have?”
Borle scratched his head and said, “The Galactic Infinity has any number of drives. I’ve only used a half dozen, myself. One I’ll never use again is the OAIWUADLT 13. The Only An Idiot Would Use A Drive Like This 13 was named appropriately.”

Dergill Dunderspawn threw his hoodie onto the couch. The last of the twenty-seven puppies was delivered to another unsuspecting home. He had hoped to hang up the disguise and enjoy his twelve remaining older dogs.
Barking from the kennels told him something was not right. As he opened the door a streak of silver shot from the female kennel to males.
Like an idiot, he’d left the male’s gate open.
The old wiener dog was more grey than black, but age didn’t slow Long John Silver down. In a few weeks there could be as many as thirty new puppies.

CLIFF

Frank stomped the brake and jerked the wheel, narrowly avoiding the car that had lurched out of the parking lot. “Idiot,” he muttered to himself. Frank was convinced that drivers were getting worse every day. He remembered when there were manners on the road but those days were gone. Most annoying were tailgaters. Those fools were just begging for Frank to stop suddenly and see how good either their brakes or their insurance was. The only ones worse were the idiots who wouldn’t speed up no matter how much Frank tried to push them along. A world full of idiots.

SINGH

1. Proposal

They left – he in tuxedo and she in chiffon. His plan? Propose eternal love beside the eternity of ocean. The tide was soon licking ankles and his Italian shoes filled with seawater. Undaunted, he knelt and offered the ring. Crossing arms to warm her icy nipples, she envisioned a laughable life ahead. Neither noticed the big wave. It caught them off guard. They floundered in the back-wash together. Dripping like a spoilt flower, her hair a mess, she gasped for air. It was too funny, but she was ready to say Yes. Unfortunately the idiot had lost the diamond ring.

2. Send

“Darling, c-u on the bench @Chelsea Beach, 8pm,” he emailed his girlfriend. Now, he needed to inform his wife he’d be late. But the hotline rang. Distracted while speaking, he wrote to his wife on the girlfriend mail along with its chain of clandestine emails. The customer dealt with, he hit Send and left for the long drive along the Bay.

Darkness was falling when he arrived, so he couldn’t see her down the beachfront until he was just feet away from the bench. To his horror, there were two familiar faces waiting. You damn idiot! he said to himself.

3. Role-play

They stole a weekend at the resort. At the postcard cove they joined the other couples who had stolen the same weekend.

Two were playing Bikini Model and Photographer, “Lift your arm, pout your lips, reach to the camera,” the man ordered.

The just-arrived couple lay on their jumbo towel, amused.

“Same old role-play,” she said, clicking tongue to teeth.

“You know what John Lennon said? he asked.

“What?”

““As usual, there is a great woman behind every idiot.”’

“I guess that also applies to us.” she added.

For the rest of the weekend, he kept his trap shut.

4. Surf’s Up

He’d come evenings for an hour to dig a hole in the sand, only to fill it and leave, spade over shoulder. What an idiot! said the surfer to his girl. But they soon forgot him waiting for big waves beyond the breakers.

One evening when the sea was calm, the surfer mounted her from behind. Without looking up, the idiot dug faster and deeper as the couple climaxed out on the surfboard.

When their tricky act was done, he filled the hole, mopped his forehead with a handkerchief and left looking a little more redder faced and satisfied than usual.

5. Sand Box

The ex-pop star had survived all – losses in love, derangement through drugs, only to see his popularity slump into obscurity. Although he couldn’t walk to the ocean, he could smell the salt and hear the call of the eternal beach party. Heavily medicated, he played his piano on his patio with a tray of beach sand placed beneath the pedals to wriggle his toes in from time to time. He still wrote the same sappy love songs, yet, to his last dying idiot breath he remained true to the code of those who burn themselves in the name of love.

PLANET Z

I’d call Ted an idiot, but that would be insulting to idiots.

“Idiots wouldn’t know they were being insulted by a comparison to Ted,” said my friend Marie.

We argued about this for a bit, until Marie suggested that we find some idiots and ask them how they felt about me comparing them to Ted.

I called several institutions, but they only allow family to visit. And they said that they preferred the term “Mentally Challenged” these days.

“Do you prefer it, or do the idiots prefer it?”

I’ve wasted too much time on this.

I feel like an idiot.

Weekly Challenge #358 – Storm

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Storm.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Idiot.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

JEFFREY

After the Storm
by Jeffrey Fischer

After the storm, the air became clearer. The stars emerged from behind the clouds. I left the house, damaged but miraculously still standing. Many of the trees were not as fortunate. A large oak had toppled on the car port, crushing the pickup truck and trapping the Chevy sedan. In the distance, I could hear sirens, but knew they would not be coming out this far, not tonight.

*Lucky,* I told myself. *You were lucky, having survived a powerful tornado.* And yet, surveying the damage, the ruins of the house, the outline of the devastated fields, somehow I didn’t feel lucky. I felt as though all I knew had been carried away on the winds.

Storm Warning
by Jeffrey Fischer

I could see the storm in her eyes. When we married, I knew she had a fiery temper, but I loved her. Truth be told, I was also frequently short-tempered, and as passionately as we fought so too did we passionately make up. We were Burton and Taylor, unable to live with one another, yet unable to stay apart. But this time, perhaps, I had gone too far.

“Dammit, Jeffrey, you left the toilet seat up. Again.”

MIRIAM

Not like the sound of a freight train, but twenty giant C-130’s warming their engines on the Tarmac. Not threatening, because to me the sound was familiar. Then suddenly the realization that it was out of place!

“If you can hear my voice, it’s too late! Don’t keep listening! Take cover now! It’s too late…,” pleading, desperate.

Later, after the enormous wall of destruction passed, eerie quiet, then the incessant buzz of chainsaws and hum of generators.

Finally, droll words from politicians, promises made and broken. And television reports; the story was the hype, the hype was the story.

Tornado.

MUNSI

Stormy Weather

By Christopher Munroe

“There’s a storm a’brewin!” Grandpa always used to say.

But, like, always.

He’d say it every single day, regardless of the weather. He went out of his way to wrap every conversation around to the subject of storms, brewings, or the like, just so he could say it.

Grandpa was a little off toward the end, I have to admit.

To make matters worse, whenever there actually WAS a storm, he would claimed that he knew it, that he’d tried to warn us, if we’d only listened to him.

And, technically, it was true, so none of us could disagree…

SEICHER RAE

The clouds started gathering when I learned that mom had cancer. Within weeks she was gone. Then came the divorce from a 25-year marriage. It was same year my younger brother hit the five-year survival date for successful Hodgkin’s treatment, only to start having epileptic seizures and die of a brain tumor. Ozone swelled and crackled—with each gale the sky darkened. General Hospital never had such scripts. Successive thunderclaps rang out for bankruptcy, relocation and unemployment. In a brief atmospheric interlude, the seconds pausing like years, the word “Lupus” soaked in. This was going to be a gully washer.

LIZZIE

His spirit roamed ahead of him while he struggled to walk through the storm. His mission was to deliver the message “Energy levels low in the Old City”. Oddly, communications were down. As he arrived, his spirit returned. No one, he said telepathically. They moved on. And that meant humans would finally have to leave. Their long awaited end on the planet made them less significant to other species. He was not sad to see them go. Ironically, considering the past of the human race, without their recently acquired need to play the eternal peacemakers, the war could finally start.

TOM

Not Normal

The old man sat in front of his house head turned to the north and east. One by one as neighbors passed asked what he was looking at. He’d raise an arm and point at the storm. Soon a dozen people were standing on his lawn staring at the storm. It was rolling in from the Lake at 103rd and Jackson Park. In the Midwest no one stairs at a storm, just too dam many, further no one is going to join a collective and gawk at one. But this was not a normal storm. It was black on black.

SERENDIPITY

Take a good measure of humidity and oppressive heat, mix well and allow to simmer under low pressure until just off the boil. Now you’re ready to get creative!

Throw in some sudden squalls, drench with heavy rain and – for that piquant zestiness – the odd unexpected gust.

Let the mixture build to a rolling boil; carefully add a generous helping of well-matured, full-bodied, thunderous rumbles together with a dash of static charge.

Serve in hearty portions with a lightning garnish, and accompany with sweet hale, fresh from the freezer.

And that is how to cook up a storm.

ZACKMANN

My X Girlfriend

“Dad I am in love and will be proposing to the woman I am dating.”
“I know she is beautiful and a wonderful woman, very desirable but do you not think mixed parentage will be a problem for your children?”
“No father, what do you think this is 1800? Mulatto have become successful businessmen,actors, and even president.”
“That is not what I mean you idiot, I mean if you marry Storm isn’t there a likelihood your baby will bring lightning strikes down on your house before it learn to control its mutant powers but you do have my blessing.”

RICK THOMAS

From afar she watched the storm clouds encircle the village.
They called her “tramp”, “whore”, “WITCH!”
Hauled out of town on a fence rail!!!
She began twirling and swaying in a chaotic yet rhythmic fashion.
Cursing, swearing, spitting.
Her face a mask of hatred and rage!
The storm assaulted the small village …
Hail, thunder, powerful wind.
Each stomp of her left foot sent lightning crashing into the village.
Having leaped, screamed, stomped, and danced to exhaustion she fell to the ground clutching at herself, moaning with pleasure, smile upon her face!
In the distance fires raged, screams filled the air!

THOMAS

The storm in his head was incessant. Steve threw food the last time he ate at the 101 Diner. Dipping into a bowl of tapioca pudding, he threw it at the blond waitress and the mirror behind the counter. He continued to eat his buttermilk pancakes, head down, only lifting it to sip his black coffee. Everyone was stunned, not saying anything. They were shocked. Steve acted as if nothing had happened. The diners wondered if it was a prank. They went about their business. A busboy wiping the mirror, and things went on as usual for a Sunday morning.

Letta Storm was the favorite exotic dancer at The Torso Parlor. Letta could do things with her double-jointed body that made all the customers sit on the edge of their chairs and lean forward, mouths agape. After a warm up, and a few spins on the pole, she would lean over backward, tuck her head under her behind, twist it 180 degrees, and move up a few inches to kiss her own belly button. One day, after a very stressful fight with her boyfriend, her muscles locked up and she was taken to emergency as a hideous, screaming, overhand knot.

He stormed around the room, ranting about the quality of poetry he had just heard at the monthly reading. He sat through the first twenty minutes as the “humorous” guest poet read and mimed his work, then gritted his teeth as four more read. The first poem was about the woman’s cat, the second…read by a portly gentleman…was a poem paying homage to lean meats, the third…a long, erotic piece about the female author’s affair with a Whirlpool washing machine, and the last…a piece by Dottie Aphid…a sonnet about the community garden and her ten by ten plot of rutabagas.

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Tyler Durden was an idiot, two decades late and oblivious to the fact. Blowing up buildings in dramatic, exiting, and useless puerile adolescent dick-wagging.

This is different.

This, now, is the tornado siren, the wavering whine echoing across the landscape.

It is too late to run. Too late to print, to fax, to copy, to burn to disk.

The storm is coming, a maelstrom of artificial life, digital ones of teeth shoveling food – data – into the naught of its gullet.

Already the storm boils through the cloud, races along the highway, flows through the tubes.

Static sounds like rainstorms.

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

A Dark and Stormy Night

Pepe and Fifi were at their hangout when the storm hit. Lightning and thunder filled the air, which pleased Pepe.
Quivering Fifi would snuggle up closer with every bang and flash. At storms peak, the door swung open and “he”
swaggered in. “He” exuded confidence. Glaring sternly, it was clear not to mess with him. His fur looked perfectly
dry entering from the storm. He glanced at Pepe, “the names Poncho. Now that we’re all pals here How’s bout you be
a good mutt and fetch me a drink.” Pepe began to plan as he got the newcomer a scotch.

Timmy

A storm raged in little Timmy’s mind. He looked around to see if anyone saw but no one paid any heed. So many
images, colors, sounds. Too much stimulation! Timmy looked around again still no one acknowledged anything.
Not even Miss Wrong, the math teacher, seemed to notice the difference. Unable to take it any longer he
cried out for help in a different way. He began to hit and bully classmates. In the Principal’s office the
teachers, counselors and concerned parents stood in a circle around silent Timmy, looking for answers. The storm
raged for years until the end.

REDGODDESS

There are three topics hotel guests talk about obsessively: weather, food and relationships. Many won’t even plan their day without the weather report. Lola finds meteorologists to be overzealous promoters using scare tactics for ratings. How the hell is a snow storm breaking news when there are multiple wars waging globally? Lola knows to keep her political opinions to herself. Besides, her role is to please and serve with a smile. Being a smart mouth has dire consequences she’s not willing to pay. Instead, she complements guests on their clothes, hairstyles and jewelry. Blending in, as an outsider, is key to weather unpredictable life storms.

CLIFF

It’s the usual story. A dozen supposed strangers stranded in a country manor, roads and phone lines washed out by the storm. Every one there has a secret to keep and a past to hide. It’s only a matter of time before some desperate soul starts killing them off one by one. So far, of course, it’s just been rounds of cards, cold drinks, and polite conversation. Haven’t any of these people ever read Agatha Christie? It’s almost midnight and no one has died. Guess I’m the only one who cares about tradition. Now, where did I put that axe?

NORVAL JOE

“The system with the greatest potential for aquatic life is in sector 14,26,a,x,” Borle said. “It’s twelve hours by standard Gimlet drive. However, I think we should go to the second best choice which is thirty-six hours using the controversial Oopsiedayzee 360.”
“What makes it so controversial?” Flerdie asked.
“There is a one in 36,000 chance we may experience a temporary exchange of internal organs.”
“And why, then, would we not want to go to the first system?”
“There’s a galactic storm in route and we would most likely die.”
“By all means, then,” Flerdy said. “Let’s take second best.”

Dergle hunched over the steering wheel as if being closer to the windshield would make it easier to see through the driving rain. Water dripping from his sodden hood fogged the glass.
He clicked the knob and hoped. A moment later the blades whooshed across the glass but refused to move again. In the moment of clarity his headlights shown across the gravel road to his house.
“Neither rain nor snow nor dark of night,” he said pulling his wings from his back.
No. That was the postman, not the wiener dog fairy.
He was getting too old for this.

DANNY DWYER

The clap of thunder rumbled from the black, ominous clouds steadily rising before us in the far west of the desert. Both I, and my trusted donkey, Meatloaf Flying Spaceship, were heading directly into the storm, while my ex continued to chase us after I told her, “It’s over, we’re through.” She didn’t take the news well. Now she is closing in, breathing down our neck’s riding on the back of her favorite Clidesdale named “Mr. Sprinkles.” “If she catches us, we’re dead,” I said. Meatloaf responded, “look at us, an ass riding a donkey.” That’s right, he’s a talking donkey.

SINGH

Red Storm Postcards
Chris Mooney-Singh

Adelaide, South Australia
I’m leaving you and Aussie during a dust storm, escaping on my first overseas flight. Toggling music channels, I stop at “Australian Country and Western”. The song takes me all the way back to childhood: Christmas morning presents with Rolf Harris singing in the background “Six white boomers, snow-white boomers racing Santa Claus through the blazing sun” — It was our national Christmas loony tune evoking Santa and sled with kangaroos replacing reindeer, minus the snow. Suddenly I taste all the sickliness of nostalgia, and though I hate admitting it to you or anyone, I feel Australian for the first time.

Singapore
Darling, sending you this postcard between flights. Stepped out of Changi Airport and took a shuttle bus to Orchard Rd. Man! Crazy Christmas decorations everywhere. Shopping madness. Packed streets. A sea of Eurasia. It seems that all people do here is eat in the food courts and shop till they flop. And the humidity is unbearable for Adelaide Hills dwellers like us. The weirdest thing? Ubiquitous Claus left his kangaroo sleigh behind at the equator and arrived here as a Zeppelin Santa tethered above on a giant cable, the ultimate helium balloon being buffeted about by monsoon storms. Signed Intrepid Traveller.

Detroit, Michigan
There’d been a big dump of snow on the front yard just before I reached your relatives. Flirting with ridiculousness, brother-in-law Frank (direct from his Singing Santa gig in an old folk’s home), became the retrenched husband again, while your sister just keeps quietly dealing with the avalanche of bills. Then, guitar-slung over his red suit, lugging a milk crate of songbooks, wires and mics, he waved to me with a flapping elbow like a chicken’s wing. Startled, a red squirrel shot between his legs. Frank, now fully embracing epic failure, let himself topple headlong into the snow.

Manchester, UK
Peter, my Manchester friend told me how a stream of couch-surfing, no-obligation sex came and went regularly from his city apartment. Dusseldorf Frieda for instance, was quick to show gratitude with a blow job within the hour. Yet, the mind hungers on. Massing below, the Sexy Santa Fun Run was a perfect storm about to happen. He imagined girl Santas galore in every gastro pub. Frieda was left like cold pizza in the box as he went down to register. “Quick! Where’s my Santa suit?” he boomed at the starting line like Moses wanting to part the Red Sea.

Ganges, India
No Santa suit for me. Instead a yogi-orange robe. I was living in a grass hut beside the Ganges, meditating, taking dips. After a swim, the locals thought me a bearded holy man with long wet hair. They touched my feet and left water melon offerings, I began to feel more and more fake. Inwardly my perverse mind was defeating tranquility each time I closed my eyes. I kept thinking of some imaginary girl in a sexy red Santa suit. Fortunately the pre-monsoonal storm saved me, flattening my hut, then sending me to Delhi Airport and home to you.

PLANET Z

We own a big shaggy white dog named Blank Canvas.

We’re not sure what breed he is, but he’s big, shaggy, and white.

It’s fun to give him baths, because he runs around and shakes off the water in large wide wet sheets.

Sometimes, we add easter egg dye to the water, which colors the dog blue… or green… or red…

Over time, we’ve gotten fancier with the colors.

Todays? Front dyed red and back dyed blue like a French flag.

It doesn’t matter. There’s a storm coming, and whatever dye we use will just wash off in the rain.

Weekly Challenge #357 – Vacation

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Vacation.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Storm.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

CLAIRE

Vacations were impossible at Bill’s shoe repair shop. Summer drew hordes of tourists to the shop for forecasted sandal repairs, to lengthen belly-bag straps and to sew on extra lengths for leather belts. Most alterations were due to the copious fatty and fried foods served at the street market and pop-up bistros. The shop worked hard to put more pockets and extra clips on the tourists backpacks to carry the extra booty gleaned at local boutiques and curio shops. Ned had to hire an extra man to do the final cleaning and buffing, and holidays for all workers were postponed.

A holiday is another name for a missed spot when painting a bulkhead, hatch, or a hull. When I had to paint the ship on a shaky plank lashed to the side, I had a lot of holidays, since I was occupied with keeping myself from falling into the water between the boat and the pier. The Master Chief Boatswain Mate, Chief Oill, called them vacations. It was apparent to him that we were taking an unearned and undeserved vacation when we missed a spot with the brush. “Back over the side to do touch ups, and finish the job!”

When we got together on the couch, I took a vacation in her hair. I always took the opportunity to take a deep sniff of the perfume in her hair and comment on it. “Sally, you smell lovely! Your hair is so shiny.” She nuzzled my neck and nibbled my ear. I was getting aroused, and felt uneasy. She rested her head on my shoulder and kept looking up at me to test my reaction. She wanted more, and I could tell. Resolved, I pushed her away, got up, and called her to come to the porch for her Milkbone.

TURA

Dear stay-at-homes!

Having a great time on the Sahara Trek. 120 degrees in the shade, and there isn’t any! It’s true what they say, you really do get seasick on a camel, but that passed after a few days. Along with everything else, haha– the local food takes some getting used to. Sheep’s eyeballs really are a delicacy!

We’ll be entering Tuareg territory in a few days, and the guide’s warned us to keep our faces hidden and let him do the talking. They can be a bit touchy about Westerners in their country. Wish me luck– we’ll need it!

JEFFREY

Busman’s Holiday
by Jeffrey Fischer

Beth had looked forward to her vacation for months. She was tired of folding and re-folding clothes at the Gap. She had scrimped and saved, and finally had enough for a week in Barbados.

After a day on the beach, burning herself and drinking too many overpriced trainer drinks, she took a bus into Bridgetown and wandered into a clothing store. The shirts were in a terrible state, so Beth spent the afternoon folding and placing them into neat piles.

She found this so soothing that she returned every day for the remainder of the week.

TOM

500 pound pigeon

I looked at the topic, my mind descends into a blury 80s haze. Go Go music filtered in, I rejected it because it really made me intense. Then there in my inbox a subject line yelled Pigeon Forge Vacations. An image of a 500 pound pigeon swinging hammer to glowing iron raced across my mind. The spam filter snagged the message so I Goggled Pigeon Forge found it was a town nestled in the Smoky Mountains. An isometric map population by bears in pants and point hats floated by. The main attraction of Pigeon Forge turned out to be Dollywood.

MUNSI

All I Ever Wanted

By Christopher Munroe

I haven’t had a vacation in four years.

I mean, I’ve been unemployed, and that’s technically time off, but it hardly counts, does it?

For a vacation, you need to be able to relax.

Similarly, I’ve taken a number of three day weekends, for weddings, comic expos and the like, but is three days really a vacation?

I would put it to you that it is not.

A vacation is a week, minimum, off. In which you vacate. This is the reason it’s called that, after all.

In that light:

Vegas.

Woo.

Now I just need to figure out when…

ZACKMANN

So boss, I need to extend my vacation as sick leave. You see I met this woman and things did not go the way I would have wanted but I think she cared a little for me since she sent me flowers and this card saying
I have not time to hear about my faults in litany
just be happy you can survive with only one kitteny
Wallmark noir collection
We may want to invest in Wallmark since roommate’s card says
Sorry I ruined your trip to South Salito
Hope your arm heals quickly
sincerely yours Guido
Wallmark noir collection

SERENDIPITY

I need a vacation!

All this writing is getting to me: my days are filled with words and plotlines, characters and scenarios… it’s driving me mad!

I need to get away from it all – somewhere I can switch off, relax and unwind. A quiet place in the countryside, with like-minded souls would be perfect; a secluded escape from everyday life to clear my thoughts and do something utterly different.

The question is where to go?

Ah… I have it! A vacation that ticks all the boxes – my bags are packed; I’m ready to leave.

Writer’s retreat… here I come!

LIZZIE

Those memories she pretended to forget became real as she struggled on, yearning to be alone. A soft and tender feeling of solitude was all she longed for. She fought against insanity throughout the day. Yet at night, she hid in a dark corner of the garden where the humming of a gentle breeze healed her. The freezing air tasted of honey and her hands dug into the soft warm sand of her dreams, a seashell barely touching her fingertips. Broken in half forever, all she needed was to close her eyes and travel to distant places and starry skies.

BOTGIRL

“Shangri La” by Botgirl Questi

The resort’s name was Shangri La. That should have been a red flag. But we fell for the brochure’s tropical palms, designer rooms and organic cuisine. It seemed an ideal spot for a last romantic vacation before the birth of our first child.

The lobby was as luxurious as the picture. We paid the week in advance and walked to our room across the complex. Fuck! Threadbare carpet. Peeling wallpaper. Mildewed Shower. Sweltering Heat.

They wouldn’t refund so we called Channel 4 News. We watched our “Dreams Dashed” story the next day from our beachside room at the Holiday Inn.

CLIFF

Bill was too vital to his job to take a vacation, so he decided to use a clone. The clone would fill in at work for two weeks while Bill went to the Bahamas. The trip was wonderful, but when he got back, the police were at his house. It seems someone had raided the company pension fund, e-mailed threats to all the major clients, and run off with the boss’s wife. Bill was in deep trouble. No one would believe that it was a clone that was responsible. So, Bill used his one phone call to order another clone.

REDGODDESS

Vacation by RedGoddess

When the economy went downhill, a lot of people settled for “staycations.” With more Americans unemployed and losing their homes, spending money on vacations was not on the priority list. Lola can only afford to dream about a getaway, and while she gets the gist of “staycations” she realizes without vacations, hotels wouldn’t need workers like her. Lola foregoes any time off and markets rooms for profit to the working poor to stay at the hotel.
Her manager will still take her 2 weeks paid vacation like clockwork, while Lola will convince people to spend money they shouldn’t. Consumption remains the core of the American Dream.

NORVAL JOE

“Well, this looks considerably better,” Flerdy said scanning the view around the ship with the external camera. “How many planets in this galaxy do you figure support life?”
Borle’s jaw dropped visably.
“I can’t believe you. We just hopped billions of light years from the very edge of the expanding universe, using an expiramental string drive, in minutes, and you ask me if I think there’s life in this galaxy?”
Flerdy cleared his throat patiently and said, “The Intergallactic Ichthiological Society didn’t pay you 8,000 Tetranian Gouramis to take me on vacation. They’ll want results for that kind of cash.”

Gravel rattled against the fenders of his Volks Wagon Microbus as the tires spun in the dirt shoulder of the rural highway. Winding out each gear before shifting he wished the old crate had more guts and less personality. His heart pounded in his throat and sweat beaded his forehead.
Dergill Dunderspawn, the Wiener Dog Fairy, made his deliveries and only had to evade any potential pursuit.
A red light flashed in his rear-view mirror, far back on the highway. As the police neared, Dergill eased off the road. When the car sped past, Dergill sighed, “I need a vacation.”

JUSTIN

You know how lottery winners, sometimes with taxes and reckless spending, they end up broke? I have that beat. I won a vacation to the Banoi island resort. It was fun at first, drinking, girls In bikinis, Sam B singing his hit single Who Do You Voodoo, great fun. Then this girl was all over another girl, I thought the drinking was getting out of hand, until I saw the blood. Then I knew something was wrong. So instead of winning the lotto and going broke, I won a vacation to an island paradise, ground zero for the zombie apocalypse.

SINGH

The Mind on Vacation

They said great blessings come from visiting the temple of a thousand goddesses. Golden faces and arms of mercy stood between me and the lowest hell of burning flesh. Fear arrived and peace left. I fled from the building gasping for air.

On the bridge I stood calm again, gazing at a grandfather carp – the ghost of another idea flashing in the water. It made me wonder what makes us need to read heaven or hell or some portentous national significance into ordinary things:

Old white koi you wear a spot of red.
The flag of Japan swims on the riverbed.

PLANET Z

A vicar took his vacations on a small island seven miles off shore.

No phones.
No electricity.

Just an abandoned lighthouse, seven days of supplies, a satchel full of books, and all the time to read them.

His neighbor owned a small boat, and he’d smuggle the vicar out to the island. Seven days later, he’d pick him up.

This year, boat sank soon after dropping off the vicar. The neighbor drowned.

The vicar ran out of supplies on the seventh day and waited… and waited… and waited…

He tried to swim back to shore.

He lasted only two miles.

Weekly Challenge #356 – Suggestion

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was Suggestion.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of Vacation.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

CLAIRE

She had a suggestion box just inside her front door. It was wood, painted bright red, and labeled “SUGGESTIONS”. Theodora was the neighborhood entrepreneur. She had been plowed more than Nash’s carrot patch. The box was there to take suggestions from her “visitors”. Some suggested that she serve tea and sweets in addition to the other creature comforts. Others suggested that she lighten up on the toilet water that she liberally spritzed herself with. All in all, the suggestions were favorable and her marks averaged four stars out of five. Theodora ran for city council and won by a landslide.

The hypnotist made two, surreptitious, post-trance suggestions to his subject as she came out of her deep sleep. That afternoon, when Irene stopped for the light at the crosswalk, the signal beeped for the visually impaired, and set her off. She jumped in the air, clucked like a hen, and did the funky chicken, as she crossed the street. Later, when Irene heard the noon bells at St. Luke, she rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the phantom flames she believed she was engulfed in. Dick Lamente was a hypnotist and a sadist, keeping his sadistic side under wraps.

There was a suggestion of violence in every one of his stories. He was an angry old man, and resented the talent and popularity of other writers that were published. He imagined the other writers and small press editors manacled to his cellar walls and forced to listen to his podcasts at ear-splitting volume, day and night. He was an asshole, but prided himself on the knowledge that he was the biggest asshole in town…maybe the county. Dooty also WROTE IN ALL CAPS, misspelled frequently, and abused all social-media etiquette as he lurked on religious and writing boards and BLOGS.

JEFFREY

In the Bunker
by Jeffrey Fischer

“It was just a suggestion,” Sam said, looking chagrined. The loud ticking was getting on our nerves.

“When you press the button marked, ‘Use only in emergency’ it’s no longer a suggestion, it’s an action.” The ticking continued.

“We’re trapped in a concrete bunker with troops on all sides, no chance of relief, and nearly out of ammo. That sounds an awful lot like an emergency.” Sam tried to sound defiant, but his tone had a defensive note to it.

“Fair point. Still, I wish you’d asked first. We can’t override the self-destruct command.”

The ticking stopped, and my last thought was that silence could be more terrifying than any sound.

***

New Experience
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Come on in, big boy. I know what you want,” said the transvestite suggestively, gesturing to the doorway. He was standing on the steps, clad in gold lame’ top, leather miniskirt, and high heels.

“I… I have no idea what you mean.” That sounded silly. After all, I had come to this part of town, to this very building, of my own volition. I was either lying to him or lying to myself.

“Everyone is nervous his first time. It’s okay.”

Still I hesitated. Then I nodded at the man and trotted up the steps and through the front door, passing the sign that read: “25 large-screen TVs; pitchers of beer just a dollar.”

SERENDIPITY

The summit meeting of the Confederation of Inhabited Worlds was on the brink of disarray.

The Chairman called for calm and made one last ditch attempt to address the problem.

“We have nurtured earth, controlling and manipulating its population, environment and global systems for millions of years – apparently all for nothing, it seems. Humankind appears to be hell bent on destroying both itself and the planet. Time is running out! Is there anybody here who can propose a solution?”

Then, a lone voice rang out…

“I have a suggestion!”

“Has anyone thought of turning it off and back on again?”

CLIFF

1
Ok, people. Settle down. Let’s get right to the suggestion box. First, we got “Let’s have a three day work week.” No. “Free donuts in the break room.” No, I’m not encouraging diabetes in my employees. Next. “Profit sharing.” If you clowns don’t come up with something, there won’t be any profit to share, so, no. “Rank employees by productivity and sacrifice the least productive to Aziok, Lord of Pain.” There, you see? That’s the kind of innovative thinking I’m talking about. But, no. I asked legal and they didn’t like it. Something about human rights or some such nonsense.

2
Using suggestion, I called the blonde to me. My body language told her that I was interested, but my eyes said she wasn’t quite good enough for me. I gave her the half compliment of saying that she was almost as pretty as her friend. I ordered her a drink without asking to let her know who was in charge. I had her right where I wanted her. I used every trick in the book. The problem is that the book doesn’t say what to do when the girl drugs you, handcuffs you, and steals your wallet, watch, and car.

BOTGIRL

It must have been true love. She was going to marry him even though he couldn’t make her cum. Not in years of trying. Two weeks before the wedding, I was her last shot.

She relaxed into the recliner. Eyes closed. Chest rising and falling.

“Go back to a satisfying sexual memory,” I said, watching her eyes flutter as the scene replayed in her mind’s eye.

It took about twenty minutes to hypnotically connect the past orgasms with an imagined honeymoon future.

I saw her a week after they got back. She was still all glowy. The power of suggestion!

TOM

Shared Governance

“On the right of the fiery pit you will note a prominently displayed Suggestion Box,” said Baxster Beelzebub,

“We encourage resident to contribute their thoughts to make this the best hell it can possible be.”

The new inductees tacitly nodded.

“In fact the whole idea for fiery pits came from a newcomer just like you.”

No one nodded this time.

“You may leave an anonymous suggestion, but we encourage any bold soul to take full ownership for their excellent insights.”

“What if it’s a sucky suggestion?” asked a kid in the back.

“See those guys on fire in the pits?”

LIZZIE

“It’s bizarre,” the man said, dismissing the deal.

“It’s a great piece of land.”

The seller wearing a sinister pair of glasses with one lens only seemed eager to sell that land. The number of people dumped at that location was growing alarmingly.

“I don’t want a piece of land with dead people in it.”

“Oh, they have been removed. And the price is extremely inviting!” insisted the seller.

The man hesitated.

“I’ll be waiting in your nightmares,” mumbled the seller.

“What?!”

It was too late. The seller had already found his way into the man’s subconscious to haunt him.

MUNSI

Starting Smoking

By Christopher Munroe

You’d tried everything, but nothing had worked. So you came to me.

I sat you down, made you comfortable.

Counted down from 100, each number causing you to fall into a deeper state of relaxation, each word causing you to sink deeper, trust deeper, fall deeper under the spell of the soft, soothing words I spoke to you.

And once I was confident you were under, I whispered my command in your ear.

“You will smoke.” I told you, and you never smoked again.

You never would have, had it not been for me.

That’s the power of pre-hypnotic suggestion…

ZACKMANN

“Hello Fiendmaster, I am calling in with some questions about Paul Elard Cooley.
First does Paul’s current interest in sex scenes have anything to do with Mixon’s influence?
I heard Paul singing Mimes Mimes Mimes in Dead Robots Society opening and wonder if our subliminal messages that Pauls next writing challenge should be to write a musical are doing any good.
If Fiends was made into a musical who would you wish to play the Fiendmaster?”
Paul’s voice interrupts “This is starting to look like a drabble. Who the hell put you up to this, that puppet effer Jake Bible?”

“I am thinking of buying a new car if I am part of the buyback program. When I asked if our Saturn Vue qualified the salesman said it depended on which transmission it has and each case evaluated separately. After owning three General Motors lemmons, I was not planning on buying another Chevy but five thousand trade in for car with broken transmission inspires forgiveness.”
Dylan says “The Spark is so cute.”
“Son, I don’t have to get a car you like but I do need to get one your mother likes. Lets test drive one before we take her.”

“Son since your parents are going to make the payments on the new Chevy Cruze, I promised your mother to have less fast food and only buy books with credit card points but I keep hearing “Buy the Book”.When I try to go to sleep I hear “Buy the book”. I am going Bonkers. The oddest thing is this voice of my inner torment sounds very pleasant much like that nice Mister Lawrence Santoro. ”
“Dad that is not some odd inner voice, the Nook Tablet is turning on the Stitcher app and playing Tales to Terrify when you sleep.”

TURA

You know when you buy something online, you get suggestions about what else to buy? Usually they make sense, but recently I ordered a book on stochastic differential equations, and Amazon suggested Mathes Roriczer’s “Geheimnisse der Fialen Gerechtigkeit”.

A few days later, it recommended the “Hortulus Animae”, the book for which the Index Librorum Prohibitorum was created. Then the “Apophthegmata Daemonum Deserti”.

There are demons on the net, tempting people with forbidden knowledge. I wondered when God would sit up and take notice, but today, Amazon has suggested “The Way, The Truth, and The Light”, by one Jesus bar Joseph.
—-
And if you enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy “The Book of the Sundering of the Gate to The Things That Should Not Be”, currently reissued under the title “Opening Portals to Hell For Dummies”.

DANNY

“I have a suggestion!” my father exclaimed. “O.K., pops lay it on me,” I replied. “Lay what on you?” Dad asked. “Your suggestion,” I tersely replied. “Ohhhh, I forgot.” I give my dad much slack, he is 85 years old after all. Dad then goes back to staring at the wall in his toolshed, before explaining, “you see, I just sit here staring at the wall, and eventually I figure out the best way to hang all of my tools on the wall. “Dad, I have a suggestion.” “What is it?” “Never mind, just carry on with what you are doing.”

DONDO

All I’m dressed for is a fun night out with the girls. Why does a quality pair of high heels imply anything more?
The sound of my heels clicking on the sidewalk does little to cover the sound of his voice. He mutters under his breath as I walk past him, raising his voice when I ignore him. I tense up when he starts following me down the dark, quiet street.
His footsteps grow louder, and as his hand touches my shoulder, I pray that my knee does damage as I spin towards him.

REDGODDESS

Lola got her wish on Valentine’s day. She stayed home, curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and her new gift. It’s hard to believe she didn’t have to use power of suggestion for him to understand. In moments like this, she’s reminded why she’s still intrigued by their relationship. With each sip of wine, Lola feels a tinge of guilt for indulging without him. She still remembers the first morning of the year, after their date. They sat at his kitchen’s table feeding each other buttery French toast. Looking back, he is her first true Valentine.

SINGH

“No! I want real darkness, chaos and conflict!” thundered the director.

“When you cackle, feel your inner witch. Just listen.”

His switch to a witch didn’t impress.

Darkness went back to buffing her black nails.

Enough was enough. “If you don’t mind, get the hell off my stage Miss Dark.”

“Dude! Be nice!” said Chaos.

“Or else!” added Conflict, punching a butch fist into her palm.

Student actresses! Why the devil did he take this gig?

“Alright, once again before lunch.”

Someone switched on the lighting and special effects. But the three witches just slouched in the spotlight chewing their gum.

The Walking Wounded

“Sir, may I suggest the cuisses de grenouilles.”
“Oui, Michel.”
The waiter left.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Frogs legs, Cherie.”
“Oh.”
“It is your first time in Paris, no? Try.”
She didn’t want to displease. Then, saw her chance.
‘What will you buy me?”
He chuckled. “Anything.”
“A Louis Vuitton handbag.”
His eyebrow rose, but he checked it.
And so it begins, he thought: the dalliance of beauty with money.
“And what will you give me, Cherie?”
“You’ll see,” rubbing her bare foot against his, below.
Soon, the cuisses de grenouilles arrived, steaming hot.
Hungrily, she raised her knife and fork.

*
Halfway through he asked, “You like?”
“Nah. Tasteless, really. Like white rubber. The sauce isn’t bad, though.”
He grinned, indulging her youthful directness, pleased as a bullfrog with a fly.
Then, the kitchen doors banged.
It gave him a naughty idea.
“Mon Dieu!”
“Whassup?”
“You won’t believe it.”
“What?”
“What I am seeing!”
“Spill!”
“A long column of frogs on crutches.”
“Henri!”
“Hobbling out from the kitchen.”
“You’re awful!”
“Under the swing doors, leaving the restaurant.”
“That’s horrible!”
“Turn.”
“No way.”
“See.”
“No way! Poor froggy. You’re cruel!”
“With bandages!”
“Stop it!”
“Cherie. I’m teasing.”
“I’ll never eat frogs legs again.”

PLANET Z

Mounted on the wall of the break room, there’s a suggestion box.

A sign next to it encourages employees to anonymously send in their ideas.

I prefer to send my ideas to my boss via email.

Even though I might have what I think is a good idea, there might be issues with budget… time… or a legal entanglement.

Which is perfectly reasonable. You can’t do everything.

So, I wrote up a suggestion:

“Take down this box. Encourage everyone to work together and communicate openly.”

And I put it in the suggestion box.

Oh crap.

I forgot to sign it.

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