Weekly Challenge – Page 62 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #434 – Age

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of LOAD…

TOM

A Well Define Relationship Part 63

“He’s coming with me,” said the doctor. Smith nodded and the door on the wagon zipped shut. “Age has made you wise Proctor.” “If you are lying Caesar I’ll personally shove you into the digestive tract of a sand worm. “And that is the age old question: Am I leading you to the tiger or the lady?” Proctor’s plan proved positive, but it had not included the possibility of prize. Now it was El Cid’s opportunity to reel out his plan. He knew the Doc knew it was a trap, but it really didn’t matter. Tamerlane was worth the risk.

LIZZIE

Being a kid has its disadvantages.

Being a teenager becomes, more often than not, a nightmare.

Yet being an adult is the worst.

It’s not only the fact that we are adults for most of our miserable lives, but also because, as old age kicks in, murmurous mondegreens tend to progressively take over our volatile certainties.

In the future, age will be irrelevant, I suppose.

I wonder if we’ll just get stuck at old age or if we’ll choose which age we’d like to be.

Oh, gosh. I just realized that we’ll all be young and breathtakingly beautiful!

How dreadful!

JOHN

My Fight Against Time

I never was okay with aging so I spent my life building a time machine.
The preliminary test project bent 2D space.
The model was a sheet of paper labelled from left to right: -10Y through 0Y: now.
A magnet made the plane curl. More force was needed to make it furl further; like a rolled up magazine-
such that the -10Y mark moved forward to the now position. Instead of a magnet, I capitalized on that
when planets’ orbits become collinear; their gravitational forces summate.
Before I could apply the device to 3D space; I learned I was terminal.

JEFFREY

Age
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say you’re only as old as you feel. Most mornings, I estimate my age at 97, give or take half a decade. My head hurts from the sinus congestion, my joints ache because I have a touch of arthritis, and my muscles ache…well, just because. But don’t pity me. By the time I get out of the shower, I’m no more than a septuagenarian. A brisk walk to the office and I’m no more than retirement age.

That’s where the trend ends, however. A couple of aggravating meetings in uncomfortable chairs later and I’m clearly ready for the old-age home. So when I tell you that this job has made me lose my mind, it’s just the metaphorical dementia setting in.

Golden Age
by Jeffrey Fischer

It was a golden age: a time before war, a time when man could live as one with nature. A time when man and woman could live in innocence, untainted by the corruption of the world we now know.

Then, abruptly, it was over. The happy Eden was gone, replaced by conflict and strife, where man and woman were at each other’s throats, where strangers bestrode the land, and nature itself was corrupt.

“Look, honey, I understand you’re not happy about my parents moving in with us, but don’t you think you’re being a little overdramatic?”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 66: Crash

The Landrover rattled along the zoo’s service roads and pretty soon, George was heading for the main zoo gates and the open road.

No longer feeling his age, or his bruises, he smiled broadly as the realisation dawned that he was about to realise an ambition he’d always secretly held… and, flooring the accelerator, he sped towards the gates ahead of him, hands grasping the wheel tightly.

Once again, George’s expectations – built entirely on Hollywood movie scenarios – were a little high. Rather than crashing triumphantly through, he thudded unceremoniously into the solid iron gates and came to a dead stop.

#2 – All in the mind

They say age is all in the mind and you’re only as old as the person you feel.

Well, I wish somebody would tell my body! No matter how young at heart I feel, my body tells me I’m no teenager – the whole mind over matter approach fails dismally when it comes to facing the reality of a body that is no longer as young as it once was.

Faced with the inevitability of growing older, and all it entails, one thing is certain, I’m doing it gracefully – I wish I could, but my body’s just not up to it!

#3 – New age

The dawn of a new age – that’s what they said – the marvels of technology, science and engineering would transform the world into a place of leisure: labour-saving devices would turn everyday tasks and toil into pleasure, whilst new materials would revolutionise our living spaces.

Such was the optimism of the 1964 Worlds’ Fair… Well that all worked out well, didn’t it?

How foolish to think that brightly coloured melamine, self-cleaning ovens and television in every room could really improve our lot… In reality, the dawn of the new age was simply the fading light of a once golden age.

TURA

Age
——–
“Ladies and gentlemen,” proclaimed the huckster, “you have heard of the elixir of youth, but who wants to be a dumb teenager for ever? I present to you, the elixir of age! Every day you drink this, you will find yourself a day older!

“A day wiser, a day richer, you ask? That is up to you! A day is more precious than a king’s crown! Use it well, and there will be no limit to your prosperity! Use it badly, and your fortunes will decay with your body!”

It sounded like a good deal, but he had few customers.

JEFF

Age
By Jeff Hema

We love our grandma.
Grandma is in her 80’s. All her muscles hurt except her tongue.
She’ll give you a piece of her mind whether you are being nice to her or not.

Dad is 56 and will retire in a couple of years. He has to let her know whenever he needs to leave the house. When he complains about it, she says that last time she checked she was still older than he!

Once mom asked her if she wanted to take a shower so that she can help her. Grandma accused her of implying that she stunk!

SERENDIPITY

How old am I?

As old as time itself – you can trace my roots back through lifetime to lifetime, generation to generation, to ancient tribal memory and beyond.

I am the driving force of creation, the stimulus for growth, the foundation of language and the glue that binds society – without me, life is less precious, success worthless and triumph meaningless.

I am unstoppable, ignored at your peril, the stuff of nightmares and the crucible of adversity. You cannot survive without me, yet would do anything to avoid me.

Yes, you know me intimately.

And who am I?

I am fear.

JULIE

These are the days,

When the big sad rolls in,

Thundering–

With the moon’s mud tide—

Thick fog choking you, rising

In a surge.

If I could wish you up,

I would.

If I could

Save you—

I would take you with me.

These are the days,

I am reminded over tea

How we are perceived,

And see ourselves—

Rays of light.

Bits of sunshine.

Friends.

Lovers.

Mentors.

While we battle

The dark inside, and no one no knows.

You stood on your head,

And made me laugh–

What happens?

When the big sad wins?

There is no halftime show.

ZACKMANN

Did you ever lie about your age? I have once telling a bartender I was twenty one before I was. My wife is slightly older than I but looks several years younger than I do. When we were first married I told people that she was nineteen. I continued to say this lie until a friend mentioned just how wrong it was to have a nineteen year old wife with a ten year old kid.

I am comfortable with my current age whatever it is. Since I lied about it so much I don’t remember what my age really is.

CHELSEA

Our lives are a steady progression of days from the instant we take our first breath to the moment of our last. This is the inescapable fact of our biology, and at present, the average person can do nothing about that.

That fact however, really has nothing to do with our age. Age is a state of mind. We truly are, only as young or old as we feel.

Personally, I am hoping to spend the rest of my life somewhere between 21 and 30. Young enough to have all the fun and just old enough to be taken seriously!

DIONYSIUS

New Keys

His hands were shaking and he dropped the keys.

Hurry the fuck up! said one of the young men who had appeared in his garage.

He stooped as well as he could to pick them up.

This motherfucker is playin’ us, one said.

The key resisted the keyhole at first. He fumbled with making it turn.

New keys are rough and don’t fit well, he said, half to himself.

The fuck do I care, said the bigger one, shoving him. The old man stumbled into a recycling bin.

Still the keys wouldn’t work.

They kicked him, slapped him, disappeared. His wife found him there sobbing.

NORVAL JOE

“You won’t let me hang with your group because I’m black,” Ben said.
“No,” Belenda said. “It’s not just your color, it’s your age. You’re so much older than all of us.”
“I’m not, really. I just got left out in the cold. I never even had a spot on me. A single night in the chiller, and boom.”
“I’m sure you’re sweet on the inside–just as sweet as any of the girls in my bunch. Face it. We’re banana’s. You could even come from the same tree, but if we didn’t grow together, you can’t be in my bunch.”

DANNY

This is the day of the never ending age of insomnia. This day is beyond the age of MTV. We have our laptops, our Iphones, our Androids, our Ipads, and our digital television. We have a constant, permanent connection with the world 24 hours a day. This is the age that our childhood comic book heroes have become political hacks representing a country that no longer exists outside the fiction trapped within our delusional minds. This is the age were people we label terrorists rise up because they want food and water. This is the age of our own self destruction.

MUNSI

The Club

By Christopher Munroe

I still hit the club.

I’m not THAT old.

It’s every other week or so, but I still go. I’ll never be this young again, I deserve every moment of happiness that comes, and I can still be counted on, come last call, when I go, to be dancing.

Don’t mention that “the club” is a painstaking recreation of a bar I loved in 1998, I don’t want to remember that, but yeah, I still go.

You’re only as old as you feel.

And, at the club, I feel eighteen again.

The next day, I feel seventy.

Still, I go…

PLANET Z

There aren’t many stars left from The Golden Age of Hollywood.
They’re in the same hospital ward at the Old Actor’s Home.
Lying in their beds, surrounded with cards and flowers and wreaths.
None of them have any names on them. Just generic cards and flowers and wreaths.
Best Wishes
Get Well Soon
Thinking Of You
But no names.
And every time one of them dies, the staff divvies up their cards and flowers and wreaths to the remaining residents of the ward.
One day, there was one patient left.
They were smothered to death by wreaths, cards, and flowers.

Weekly Challenge #433 – Media

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

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

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of MEDIA…

TOM

A Well Define Relationship Part 62

Sparky arranged the bandits and assembled the ladies of the gear guild behind them. The video feed went meg-virile in an hour. Major media plastered the image on the transverse. Cid’s Q factor temperately bumped Tarzan and Santa Claus. When Smith called in the Senate Guard the full impact of his sorry state settled in on Caesar like lormire petafrost on capulating Brolox. He called to Smith. It was time to deal. “I have something that the honorable doctor has been looking for.” “Sorry scum no deal.” As a trooper push El Cid into the wagon he yelled out, “Tamerlane.”

LIZZIE

“What do a gondola, a widow and a gun have in common?” asked Prof. Mullins while being interviewed on TV.

The anchor didn’t know.

“Mullins, of course!”

The studio crew snickered.

“So, who’s Mullins?” continued the behavioral researcher.

“The wife shot him,” replied the anchor. “No, he’s the killer; he killed a man, a husband… in a gondola!”

“Interesting,” replied the researcher. “But Mullins didn’t kill anyone, well, not directly anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Mullins is an experimental program named after its founder.”

That’s when everyone walked out of the studio.

Within the next few hours, dozens were killed all over town.

JOHN

Media
by John Musico

The book Robinson Crusoe opens with his father advising the best way for a man to lead his life;
‘Seek the middle ground son, poor men have special problems but rich men do too.”
Here’s how I make that hard to believe point:
When you’re poor and have little; you want to obtain.
But, when you’re wealthy and have it all; the same dilemma returns; you can’t get because you already have it.
The Buddhists have the same advice. So do the Chinese as depicted in the yin yang symbol.
Sadly, our commercialistic culture makes us blind to this wisdom.

JEFFREY

Media Day
by Jeffrey Fischer

Coach was starting to sound defensive. “I keep telling y’all, I don’t put much stock in those tests. On my team, we play quick and strong. Ain’t nothing any IQ test gonna tell me about that.”

The Media Day frenzy was particularly bad this year, after the team’s top draft pick, Cletus Brickyard, received a record-low score on the Wonderlic test and the results had been leaked to the press.

“Fo’ the last time, I’m telling y’all, Cletus is a guard. He’s a locomotive of aggression wrapped in 350 pounds of muscle. Don’t need no IQ test to chew up quarterbacks.” And that settled that.

After the season was over, when Cletus was fooled so many times that his white pants bore a permanent grass stain on the butt, Coach’s successor decided to take the Wonderlic test more seriously.

The Breakthrough
by Jeffrey Fischer

They say you can’t rush genius, and that was certainly true in Alan’s case. As a young man in the early 1970s, he had spent countless hours working out the complex mathematics of a new type of plastic, one that would revolutionize automobile design. He nearly had it, but could never get the properties just right. He consigned all his work to storage media and did other things with his life.

Then, one day in 2014, as retirement-age Alan daydreamed through a personnel meeting, he had a flash of insight into his problem from 40 years earlier. He could hardly contain his excitement during the meeting. Afterward, he raced to incorporate his new insight into his old equations. He opened a dusty file, grabbed the disk… and found himself holding an 8” single-sided floppy, capable of holding a whopping 250 kilobytes. He could only laugh.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 65: Newsflash

George turned the key in the ignition and the engine burst into life. Bizarrely, so did the radio on the dashboard – tuned in to a news bulletin.

Excitedly, he turned up the volume and listened incredulously to the newscaster… not a single word out of the ordinary: no mention of widespread death and destruction; nothing about fighting in the streets and not a word about the world’s impending doom.

George was baffled – if the media were oblivious to what was happening, then this whole thing was even more peculiar than he’d imagined.

He eased off the handbrake and pulled away.

#2 – The best show in town

Those clowns in foreign affairs are up to their usual tricks, falling over their feet in their haste to get a story, whilst the gossip column hacks are walking a tightrope between the truth and sensationalised facts. We’ve got TV crews tumbling and leaping through hoops for an exclusive scoop; troupes of reporters performing an intricate dance between facts and fiction, and a team of editors taming the roaring lions of legality and integrity… and all without any safety net!

Political correspondents – experts at spin, illusion and trickery – are conveniently ignoring the elephant in the room.

It’s a media circus!

#3 – 30 Megabytes

Am I the only one who regrets the demise of good old fashioned removable media?

It’s true you could hardly call a Winchester drive particularly portable, or high-capacity – but still, I miss them. What about eight-inch floppies? Now that’s a real disk – superior in every way to those five inch tiddlers that followed, and their progeny.

Now we’re saddled with memory sticks and flash micro cards – wonderful in their own way, and miracles of technology and miniaturisation, but I can’t stand them.

Those old, clunky, massively oversized media may have been awkward… but you’d never lose the buggers!

#4 Press corps

Borin Cokenshield peered nervously through the letterbox at the imposing figure at his door.

“You’re not from the press are you?”, he hissed.

The wizard, bending low, peered back through the narrow slot at the dwarf: “No, I’m a wizard”

“You sure?”, came the response, “Because if you’re one of those media guys, I’ve got nothing to say!”

“No, I want you to join my quest… rings, treasure, dragons – it’s an offer you can’t refuse!”

“I knew it!”, snarled the dwarf: “You are one of the press gang!, before poking the wizard in the eye from behind the locked door.

SERENDIPITY

The media love me – if I’m not front-page news, I’ll make the centre-spread, editorial, or a spirited debate on the letter’s pages. There will be pictures of where I was last seen, with eyewitness interviews of the people who were there. Thousands of words of newsprint, countless pieces to camera and endless newsreels on every channel.

The media love me – and i love the media.

You see, if it wasn’t for the media hype, I’d have no incentive to keep going, but as long as they keep me in the limelight…

I’m just going to keep on killing.

TURA
Media
——–
“What social media studies misses,” said the earnest young woman, “is a problematization of the marked/nonmarkedness intrinsic– actually intrinsically extrinsic– in the hegemonic thrust of unfolding immanence.”

“Does that mean,” I said, reading my scribbled notes, “Google and Facebook don’t talk about how they want all your data to sell to advertisers, and everyone knows but they don’t think about it?”

She nodded. “The superincumbence of materialisms deconstructs the mesoteric assumptions of subcultural neodiscourse!”

I took that as a yes.

Reporting for the media on a social media conference is an unpleasant job, but someone has to do it.
——–

MUNSI

Something New

By Christopher Munroe

In lieu of a story, I’ve written a speech.

Then hired a band to set the speech to music.

A technician will light the speech and set off lasers, strobes, flash pots and fog machines whilst I deliver it.

A filmmaker friend of mine will be shooting a short, surrealist piece that’ll be projected overtop me as I deliver the speech, and it will be broadcast live via webcam as I give it.

In short, it’s an over-elaborate, multimedia spectacular, and rest assured, I cannot afford the production.

Like, at all.

So a 100-word story it will have to remain…

ZACKMANN

Come here you little brats your grandpa is going to rant like a Jay Langejans Dog Days of Podcasting character. Long ago radio stations played a bigger variety of songs that often included the likes of Weird Al and Ray Stevens. They rebroadcasted Old Time Radio especially around Christmas. There was a Star Wars radio drama. Radio stations could play the best rock old and new. Since the laws changed fewer owners meant fewer songs played over and over. Talk radio was mainly at night talking to bands or about sex. Apparently talk is cheap when syndicated. Now radio sucks.”

CHELSEA

Media

She resides in there, behind that screen, behind every screen, just waiting for some one to bring them to life.

Waiting to fill our lives with images and words from as close as the next room to as far way as another planet.

Her domain is vast, touching each of us in one way or another.

So there she remains, trapped inside her domaine, inside that screen until you bring it to life, letting her into your world.

She is the soul of Media and she is waiting for each and every one of us to just let her in.

DIONYSIUS

Bubble Man

It used to mean more, being a bubble man — THE bubble man.

The presence of anyone repulsed me. Human contact. The horror. You others didn’t mind.

I put a bubble around myself to keep it out, all of it. The irony is, the media made it possible. I went years without any face-to-face. Before media you killed whoever fucked with you. I’m not a killer.

Now it’s too easy with the ueblita and you’re-not-too-smart phones, the cloud. Media are everywhere, and you’re all bubble men. Everyone is a bubble man now.

I can’t get away from you!

The Medium Is the Mensonge

My first attempt was a simple “I love you.”

Tears began to roll down her cheeks. Everybody uses those words, she sobbed. It’s not how you feel! Cliches make me so sad!

I tried poetry, flowers, romantic dinners, trips to exotic destinations, and spending all my time with her. Basketball games. Hikes into the woods. Jewelry. Taking her shopping. Romantic comedies.

She was always pleased at first. We laughed, shared,

adventured, whispered, cheered, photographed, shopped, and cried and laughed together.

But there was always the moment when she’d grow quiet, tears would well up, and she’d say, You’re such a liar!

We understand each other.

You and Me Dia

What made me decide to go was the name of the meetup: You and Me Dia.

Isn’t media taking over our lives? What can we do about it?

Dia, he said, you mean internet, television, newspaper? Have you checked in?

Exactly! I don’t use —

I mean you’re crazy, dia.

I stared at him.

It’s all media, dia. The earth itself is media. You and me, we are media, dia. That dog sleeping over there.

What are you talking about? I asked.

Media are supposed to take over our lives. Dia, those things you fear are not very good at it.

NORVAL JOE

Spheno Palatine strode into the office and saluted.
“Palatine. What did you find at the orbital cavity?” Commander Styloid asked.
“Yes. Well. Um,” Palatine hedged.
“Mucus and bile,” Ulnar Styloid cursed, recognizing her perfume before she appeared at the door.
“Media Lateral,” Styloid said, rubbing his brow ridge. “What were you doing in the orbital cavity?”
Media slunk into the room, sideways, and oozed forward to slip onto his lap. She smoothed her hand across his hairless head and winked. “If you expected me to stay in the duodenum nebula, you shouldn’t have sent Cardiac Sphincter to pilot the spaceship.”

Our water has methane in it. We have to filter it.
Sometimes, you can light the gas coming out of your kitchen tap.
The thing is, the water has always had methane in it, but the anti-Fracking people ignore that part of the story.
They fly their celebrity protestors into town, and spin their bullshit stories.
When the circus leaves town, the legislators roll out the laws and bans.
I depended on that drilling lease. I have to sell my farm now.
I heard that gas is six bucks a gallon in Hollywood.
Good. I hope it keeps going up.

Weekly Challenge #432 – Limbo

(For Andrew, the one I betrayed the most of all.)

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

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

LIMBO

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of MEDIA…

TOM

A Well Define Relationship Part 61

El Cid’s mother hadn’t raised a fool, so he called out for his men to give up. Two of these men were in fact card carrying fools and made aggressive move at the good ladies of the gear guild. Twin pops reduced the number of bandits from 30 thieves to 28 thieves. Cid cried again this time invoking the universal word of surrender. “LIMBO.” In keeping with the rite of Limbo he and his comrades crawled on their bellies away to the right. Backing away the good ladies tossed the bandits mag-straints. None of their mother’s had raised fools either.

JOHN

The Journey
by John Musico

It started one day suddenly. Whenever I made eye contact with anyone; I couldn’t hold back an intense stare. Slowly, the stranger with fear in his eyes,
would change into me and then the lock of the stare would cease. I’d catch “my” reflection: I had become the stranger… again. I can barely remember what I looked like before this curse began; I’ve changed so many times.
One day, dumb luck crossed my path; the original me just standing there. That person of course didn’t recognize me. I eagerly locked eyes. Halleluiah I was back! The curse never returned again.

JEFFREY

How Low can You Go?
by Jeffrey Fischer

Johnny was as surprised as anyone to find himself at Simon’s beach party, doing the limbo. When Simon was in high school, Johnny had bullied him unmercifully, but he supposed that graduating changed everyone.

Johnny kept accepting drinks from Simon until Johnny was unsteady on his feet. It was his turn again, and to his surprise he noticed he was alone with Simon.

As he bent backward to try to slide under the pole, Johnny lost his balance, falling backward onto the sand. He tried to rise, but couldn’t move a muscle. “Don’t worry, that’s just the tranquilizer I put in your drinks,” Simon noted. He started packing up the effects of the party. “You’ll be just fine in around six hours. Too bad that the tide is coming in. I estimate the spot where you’re lying will be under water in about 45 minutes.”

Inhuman Resources
by Jeffrey Fischer

I wanted to hire a Research Analyst for the group, but my top candidate was blocked by a veteran who was manifestly less qualified. I called HR to see what could be done.

“You have to hire the veteran, because he takes precedence over all other candidates,” the HR woman told me.

“Okay, doesn’t it bother you that he appears to have lied on his resume, by saying he passed a statistics course when the course isn’t on his transcript and he denied ever taking the course when we interviewed him?”

“Well, we just have to take his word for it.”

“His word? Which time? When he wrote it or when he told us something different?”

“There’s nothing we can do for you.”

“So the superior candidate, who didn’t lie on her resume, is stuck in a bureaucratic limbo until the end of time?”

“That’s right. Anything else I can help you with today, Mr. Fischer?”

“I’m not sure I can take any more of that help.”

LIZZIE

The body was splattered all over the wide street, right in front of the town hall.

The Mayor scratched his head, looking up at the sky and down at the body. The police Chief did the same while trying to convince federal authorities to come over as quickly as possible. And everyone else just did nothing.

The truth is that the body had fallen from the sky, a rather unusual occurrence, one must admit. But the most bizarre aspect of this story was the fact that, ever since they closed the local airport, not a single plane flew over town.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 64: Alive

As luck – which had been more than generous up until now – would have it; it was the passenger door that faced the exit, through which George propelled himself.

And, it was locked.

Hearing the unmistakeable roar of the lion close at hand, George dropped to the ground, and with the flexibility of a champion limbo dancer, half-slid, half-shimmied himself under the vehicle, popped up on the other side and wrenched open the driver’s door.

Throwing himself into the Landrover, he slammed the door and collapsed behind the wheel, sweating, gasping, bruised, terrified and exhausted – but very much alive!

#2 – Stopover

So much for the ‘holiday of a lifetime’ – we were into our fifth day at the airport with no sign of respite.

It all started when the plane was diverted – the poor flying conditions forced us to land at a remote outpost that few had ever heard of, and a mix-up with paperwork consigned us to the tin shack that served as a transit lounge.

Tempers were frayed, tears shed and everyone’s patience exhausted – eventually, with nothing else on the horizon, we’d all become resigned to our fate…

Left… in a God-forsaken airport, in a town called Limbo.

#3 – If at first…

The knock on the door was unexpected – Limbo Laggings peered through the window, surprised to see the imposing form of a wizard, stood on his doormat.

As the door swung open, the wizard had barely begun to speak when the hobbit tersely interrupted:

“Whatever it is, I’m not interested! No double-glazing, driveway resurfacing or window cleaning… and definitely, not interested in saving my soul! Now, if that’s all, I’ve breakfast waiting!”

And with that, the door slammed in the wizards’ face.

He sighed.

Arranging quests never used to be this difficult. Maybe he should give the dwarves a try?

MUNSI

Limbo

By Christopher Munroe

Every limbo boy and girl,

All around the limbo world,

Gonna do the limbo rock,

All around the limbo clock,

Jack be limbo, Jack be quick,

Jack go under limbo stick,

All around the limbo clock,

Hey, let’s do the limbo rock.

The song plays on its eternal loop, and I know there’ll be no rest, no escape, no moment of respite.

This is my purgatory. Punishment of sins insufficient for hell, but enough to leave me here, alone in the void, with not but one song for company…

Limbo lower now,

How low can you go?

SERENDIPITY

Holiday fun and games are not – as you will no doubt surmise – amongst my favourite things.

Sunbathing, volleyball, alcohol-fuelled beach parties and skinny dipping are really not that high on my list of priorities – but, you know how it is – sometimes you’ve no choice other than to make an effort.

This time, it was limbo dancing at the poolside bar – my suggestion – and I was to go last.

My turn never came – perhaps it was something to do with the razor blades I embedded on the underside of the pole… and the broken glass shards, liberally scattered below it?

ZACKMANN

“What’s Limbo?” asked John.

“Didn’t George Carlin say that there is no purgatory there’s only heaven, hell, and limbo. There’s nothing in limbo because if there were it would no longer be limbo?” said Joe

“Yes, but he proved his ignorance of theology when he asked “Why didn’t God sum up the Bible in one or two sentences?’ When most people know that as ‘Treat other as you wish to be treated’ and ‘Have no other gods before me.’ “ replied John.

“I’m opening Google Maps. If we can’t figure out what limbo is maybe we can find where.”

DIONSYIUS

A Kind of Nothingness

Neither of them could remember how they got there.

At first, it was a place of perpetual happiness. Alone, they were nothing; together, everyone was a newly discovered friend. Somehow, wherever they went, laughter and good spirits were waiting there for them with companions who smiled on their blossoming love.

And then, everything changed — had already changed. When?

Erstwhile friends cast shadows in their looks. The laughter swirled around them, enclosing them, and all potential friends smiled rigidly through them, past them, beyond them, for someone else. When had it changed?

Now they were together alone. Waiting, though neither knew for what.

Storytime in Infant Limbo

There once was a wee jelly jar who dreamed of becoming a big jar filled with jelly.

The wee little jar went to his mother and said, Mother dear, when shall I become a full jelly jar?

Said his mother, I do not know, my child. Ask your father.

So the tiny jar went to his father, asking, Father dear, when shall I grow big and be filled with jelly, so that those who love sweet jelly shall come to me and be filled themselves, with my assistance?

The father looked with compassion on his wee jar and said, Never!

The 2000-Year-Old Baby

They encouraged dancing, always the dancing! Maybe you noticed, babies don’t dance! So the dancing was a failure.

I was never interested in the dancing, I tell you that. But they wanted us busy. Why? Where were we going? Nowhere!

You know the dancing called “limbo dancing”? In the beginning that was big. So big! Nobody could do it!

The thing was here. All we could do was crawl under the thing! They said, No crawling! Dance! Lean over backwards! Always with the leaning! We don’t even stand up! We’re lucky to roll over!

They call it mild chastisement, the limbo dancing. I say it’s hell!

Life on the Outskirts of Hell

The people didn’t think they were fortunate because they were on the outskirts, but because they could see beyond. They could imagine crossing over. It was forbidden of course.

Little Timon often sat with his sister in the still dusk looking across the dusty river. Their parents had gone before either of the children could be baptised. They’d often heard discouraging tales of what happened to those who attempted the crossing, tales of death or worse.

A decision was impossible.

Years passed, they stayed, and Timon eventually grew accustomed to the pervasive stench of burning flesh — even their own.

PALADIN

All I have to do is to type ten digits. Three, three more, and then four. It’s the simplest thing and the most difficult thing. I’d rather be texting. Then I could just type it, revise it, send it, and then at least I could get on with my day while I wait for the reply. I go over the script in my head as I make my way past the area code. My pulse picks up speed as I carry on through the middle bit. I’m almost there. Only four digits left, then three, then two, and then one…

DANNY

The Centaur therapist named Jesus recently found himself cast into Limbo. He decided before he slipped off the edge into hell, he would try to put his therapist skills to good use. Noticing how all the other souls cast into Limbo were terribly depressed, Centaur Therapist Jesus had a brilliant idea. Lets teach them all how to Limbo. The lost souls from Trinidad were quick to place the bar as low as possible. Before long, those who died in Original Sin without being assigned to the Hell of the Damned emerged from death to life, and forgot they were Catholics.

CHELSEA

People say that there is nothing to fear but fear itself. I think there wrong, I think there is something out there that causes more fear than anything else.

It’s a moment, a moment that is gone in an instant. A moment of undefined nothingness.

It is the moment before you find out if you got the part, or before you see your fiancée at the end of the isle. It is the moment before you open the closet door, or walk into your bosses office for a meeting.

The only thing to fear is the limbo of not knowing.

NORVAL JOE

Ulnar Styoid, warrior chieftan of the Olecranon Process, scanned the data from his deep system sensors and shook his cylindrical head.
“Commander. I’m getting conflicting data from our advance scout units,” Liuetenant Commander Vas Deferens said, twisting his ear piece. “It appears there is a Limbo Sacral herniation on the mid-sagital plain.”
“The Mid-sagital?” Styloid asked. “Isn’t that the domain of the lumbar units?”
“Normally, Commander. We believe someone with Astrophysics experience pulled some strings and brought them from between dimensions. They’d been stuck there since galactic mitosis.”
Very well. Send Spheno Palatine to the orbital cavity for a look.

TURA

Limbo
——–
The dancer approached the impossibly low bar, only inches high. As the drumbeat swelled, he slowly leaned back until he was almost flattened against the ground, but still touching it only with his feet. He inched forwards with the beat, until his knees, if you could call them that, poked under the bar. Inch by inch he advanced until his hips passed through. Then in a single flowing movement, his whole upper body snaked under and he stood up to the cheers of his fellows.

Limbo dancing isn’t for humans any more. How can we compete with boneless alien lizardmen?

JULIE

Impossibly clear—

Painfully blue.

There was just too much sun.

Why did it have to end that way?

The perfect day, until it was not,

Until the world changed—

Irrevocably.

Humanity raining from the sky.

Into the earth, down to the

Bedrock of your lives.

13 years later I look at its bloody eye.

There is no sky 70 feet below ground,

To the place

Where we will always remember you.

I take my sandals off,

Root, into the frigid stone—

Small white hand—

Presses your tomb

All of you.

No day shall erase you

From the memory of time.

PLANET Z

Sammy lived and breathed baseball.
Little League World Series.
High school All American.
College World Series.
Drafted first pick, and shot through the minors like a rocket.
A. Double A. Triple A.
And then, the call-up.
While warming up for his first start, his elbow came apart.
Nine surgeries and years of rehab never got it back.
Sammy blew through the signing bonus like a hurricane.
Tried scouting and coaching, but he never had a head for it.
Now he coaches the batting cages on a cruise ship, dancing limbo with old ladies at night.
How low can you go?

Weekly Challenge #431 – Boggle

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

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

The topic this week was BOGGLE.

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of LIMBO…

JOHN MUSICO

Boogled Means Overwhelmed.
by John Musico

That’s Saturday mornings for me.
I can’t buffer it during the week.
The laundry hasn’t accrued to a full load yet, nor the dishes for the dishwasher. The trash bag isn’t yet full, nor the sediment in the pool for backwashing,
nor the dog poop pen for putting it in a plastic bag.
I wake every Saturday morning, make my errand list, and stare at it, stymied by its length; unachievable and thus destined to spill into Sunday. This leaves me with no weekend peace to recharge my batteries and face another grueling week at the office. Yeah, I’m boogled.

JEFFREY

A Random Walk Down Wall Street
By Jeffrey Fischer

John Bogle, founder and long-time Chairman of the investment firm Vanguard, was a staunch proponent of index investing. The logic is simple: because stock prices already incorporate all relevant information about the company’s expected future profits, there’s no gain in paying a fund manager to try to pick winners. Over time, he won’t be able to beat the market. Index funds are cheap to administer and deliver an average return, year in, year out.

Over time, Bogle’s vision continued to catch on. Eventually, every investor made a single investment choice: an index fund of the entire market. No one wanted to trade, because that merely meant exchanging one index for another. Wall Street collapsed. Investors lost everything.

Well, every investor but one. You see, despite his advice to his clients, John Bogle kept his salary under his mattress.

Closing the Deal
By Jeffrey Fischer

For their fourth date, Suzie invited Alan back to her place, to “play games.” Naturally, Alan agreed eagerly. He arrived at her apartment on time, freshly showed and shaved, with a bottle of wine and an expectant grin on his face. She escorted him into her main room, pointed at a shelf of board games, and said, “You’re the guest. Pick one.”

Okay, Alan said to himself, you can still salvage the evening. Find a game you know, play just badly enough to let her win several times, and suggest retiring to the bedroom as a consolation prize. What could possibly go wrong?

He quickly scanned the game choices. He had never heard of most of them. He had vaguely heard of Boggle, so he chose it.

As it turned out, Suzie had a tiny vocabulary and was terrible at identifying words in the grid. Alan won game after game, despite trying to lose, and Suzie was near tears. Finally, Alan could take no more and apologized for winning, explaining that he tried hard to lose but she was just hopeless.

This was not a good strategy, he reflected on the lonely walk back to his place.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 64: Wheels

George leaned against the sign, peering into the enclosure at the irate rhino, and as the realisation of just how narrow his escape had been hit him, his mind boggled.

His ordeal wasn’t yet over – somewhere outside, the hungry lion was stalking and George couldn’t stay hidden away forever.

Gingerly, he peered through the glass panel in the exit door, and his heart thumped: not more than a dozen paces from him stood a zoo landrover – and he could see the keys tantalisingly in the ignition.

He gathered his nerve, took several deep breaths, before exploding outwards through the door.

#2 – Dummy

Being brought up by ventriloquists has not made for an easy life.

Learning to speak certainly isn’t simple, even at the best of times, but when you have to struggle with the tortured consonants and strangled sibilants of a verbally-challenged voice thrower, things become horribly complex: verbs vacillate, clauses collapse and sentences stutter.

It’s taken me years to get to grips with simple, everyday speech, and even now sometimes I struggle. There are few things more embarrassing than going to a bar and hearing yourself ordering a ‘boggle of beer’ – and that is why I only ever drink pints!

#3 – Quest

The Boggle, bemused, stared up at the imposing figure of the wizard filling his doorway.

“You want me to go on a quest, involving magical rings, orcs and a large dragon?”

“That’s about the gist of it”, replied the wizard.

“Well”, replied the Boggle, “I’m flattered, but it’s breakfast time – and, to be honest, I’m not really the sort for heroism and dragons, so I think I’ll decline your generous offer.”

The wizard sighed as the door closed in his face – that was the fourteenth Boggle to turn him down… maybe he should have tried the Hobbits first, after all.

TOM

A Well Define Relationship Part 60

After about 15 minutes each of our heroes had perfected a different offensive stance. Timmy weaved, Smith rolled, Dino crept, the Doc flopped, and Sparky spieled. Not to be out maneuvered the bandits developed an array of animal count movements. The crane, the wiener dog, the otter, the tree frog the three leg cat, and the Star-nosed mole. The ballet in the bog had disintegrated into a Double Zero Sum game. El Cid had gained a momentary upper hand over the doctor. Mrs. Parsons laid her rail gun to his temple. The bandit slowly raised open hands skyward. “Game Over.”

TURA

Boggle
——–
I was born in Edinburgh, where the buses are red. One day, when I was very young, the family received a picture postcard from a relative in Aberdeen. The picture showed a stretch of countryside. In which there was a road. On which there was a bus.

The bus was blue.

I boggled at this IMPOSSIBLE object. How could a BUS be BLUE? It was like looking at a square circle.

But of course, a bus is whatever colour the bus company has it painted.

I wonder, what other merely parochial customs am I still mistaking for laws of nature?

SERENDIPITY

Boggle Marsh is an evil place – they say those who enter it, return changed forever… if they return at all!

Unwary travellers would be wise to stay away… stay safe… stay alive.

What lies within?

They say that at its heart dwells a great evil: feeding on the souls of the lost – its power will rend you asunder, and those who perish in the Marshes’ murky depths never truly die, but spend an eternity in suffering.

So much for legends… All I ask is that you stay the hell away from my little cottage, at the heart of Boggle Marsh.

MUNSI

Boggle

By Chris Munroe

Certain situations defy description, defy comprehension. They’re said to boggle the mind.

But can only the mind be boggled? Can a circumstance boggle the body?

Can a sufficiently uncoordinated person, forced into some sort of physical feat, find himself so out of his depth, so beyond his skill set that physicality itself reels at the immensity of what he’s been charged with doing?

Can he find himself in a position, be it sport or stunt or herculean trial, that defies description, defies comprehension? One that boggles the body?

What do you think of THAT notion?

How’s your mind?

Boggled?

Good…

ZACKMANN

I’m confused about the application of technology on the English language even our United States corruption of it. Not long ago I could not figure out how to conjugate the word “Fax”. Now with ebooks, emusic, and software, I don’t know the best way to say “spend money for permission to use something for as long as it is convenient for the company that sold the licence to you.” It seems improper to say you buy digital content since that would imply ownership, buy a licence to use is clunky, rent or lease seems to imply set dates. I’m boggled.

CHELSEA

Now
Won
Sent
Tweets
Bootie
Townee … Good one
Bowed … Yes!
Newest
Newness… Why didn’t I see that
Woodies … Are you kidding me?

What are you doing? He asked

Playing boggle! She answered. Testees! Woohoo!

Who are you playing against? He returned, looking over her shoulder.

Myself she answers flatly, and that bitch is besting me…. Bones!

Okay…. He replied, slowly backing away. I’ll just leave you too it.

He backed over to where his son was standing.

What’s going on dad? The boy asked

Your mother is playing competitive boggle against herself again. He answered, let’s go out for pizza.

LIZZIE

“I need spine surgery.” Tessa’s work colleague John always found a way out of work. “I have a brain tumor!”

As a matter of fact, he claimed to be a good friend of most of the medical staff at the hospital.

One day, Tessa accidentally… on purpose… made him trip in the corridor at the office. John grumbled all the way to the hospital.

A boggled Tessa wheeled him through the corridors. “No one is acknowledging you…”

“Ungrateful people… I practically paid for the whole new surgery wing,” replied John.

Tessa sighed deeply, thinking to herself “some things never change”.

DIONYSIUS

Boggled to Death

When Joey was picked up he didn’t know what it was for.

A guy who said he was a lawyer told Joey it was capital murder. Did he know what that meant?

He had to sit in the trial. Joey couldn’t get what all the bits and tidbits were to put together. Lots of talking. Did he understand.

Funny it made him think of a thing they showed him one time called Boggle. When they told him to stand up. That word. Letters that made words they said. Some people had to be quiet.

Some media picked up the story that he smiled when he was sentenced. Unrepentant.

Psych Boggled

The sign said, Fort nesT old A vice Ps chic. It wasn’t a good start.

Inside, there was a smell of stale cookies.

Daisy and I confessed to the Ps chic that we couldn’t decide if we should get pregnant.

She pulled out a standard Boggle game and asked for twenty dollars. Who was I to question Parker Brothers? Monopoly money wasn’t accepted.

I found, yes, yessir, yessiree, and uhhuh. Si no good.

No doesn’t have three letters, I pointed out.

Still she found nope and hellno. Nein. Non. And uhuh.

Do you have a Magic 8-Ball, Ps? I asked.

The Ps chic said, Don’t count on it.

RICK

Understanding a woman’s mind is a tall order!
First one must comprehend that whatever they are thinking, is generally trumped by what they are feeling.
The innermost workings of their minds are typically revolving around ways of
expressing those feelings, and having them validated.
Don’t get me wrong … I’m no misogynist!!!
Without women … men wouldn’t even know that feelings are things …
much less that they are important things!

They are the Yin to our Yang!
They bring balance to the universe!
They make our species relevant …

That said …

If not for sex … there would be a bounty on their heads!!!

NORVAL JOE

Mike and Mary spread their blanket on the beach, ready for romance under the stars.
Mike excused himself to pee behind the sand dunes.
When he returned Mary thought he seemed confused. He spoke strangely and said they should sit in the car.
When Mike returned to the blanket, he thought Mary seemed confused. She said they should go down to the breakers.
When Mary’s dad found the car she was in the back seat, naked to the waist and asleep. They found Mike on the beach, naked, wrapped in kelp.
The couple had fallen victim to the dune boggles.

DANNY

I recently heard the quote “If we do not feel happy with what we already have, what makes us believe we would be happy with more?” What boggles my mind is I truly believe I would be happier with less. Honestly, I don’t want to have to mow a lawn once a week, I don’t want to have to make crippling monthly car loan payments for an overpriced Mercedes to impress neighbors and co-workers who I never talk to because they are complete and utter douche bags. Why is it boggling your minds that I’m finally standing up and stating the truth?

PLANET Z

You know those pharmaceutical commercials and the long lists of side effects they read?

There was one drug that didn’t have any side effects at all.

No dizziness.
No stomach pains.
No rectal bleeding.
No side effects at all.

My mind was completely boggled.

Which made me wonder if that was a side effect. To have your mind boggle when you hear that the drug has no side effects.

I called the FDA, but nobody picked up the phone. Or answered their email.

Boggled minds!

It spread until nobody could do anything.

All for some goddamed prescription vaginal freshness cream.

Weekly Challenge #430 – Have you ever…

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

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

The topic this week was HAVE YOU EVER.

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of BOGGLE…

JOHN MUSICO

Have You Ever
by John Musico

Have you ever dreamt that you woke from a dream,
and then truly woke and felt things aren’t what they seem?

Have you ever seen someone that looks like you,
and wondered if instead you look like him is true?

Have you ever realized when all wants are obtained,
you once again will that feel you cannot gain?

Have you ever seen if you live only for tomorrow,
then today is never, and what you get is only sorrow?

Have you ever found someone worse off, then dead,
and that he wished that he were you instead?

Have you ever….

JEFFREY

Travel is Broadening
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Have you ever seen the Northern Lights?” she asked. “Or gone down the Amazon in search of exotic life?”

I tapped on my computer monitor. “Why, yes, I have. With a fiber-optic line I can see them any time I want.”

“That’s not seeing a place. That’s something completely different. You really need to get out and see the world for yourself.”

Because I couldn’t let myself be shamed by a woman, I went on vacation for the first time in years. I saw the Northern Lights and I froze myself silly. I went down the Amazon, where I was bitten by an exotic snake. There was no anti-venom and I died.

So the whole thing was a little bit of a bad news/good news scenario. The bad news is that going places can kill you. The good news is that it turns out there’s an afterlife. Pull up a chair and I’ll tell you about it.

Watching the Evening News
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Make no mistake about it: the border is secure.” I watched the President wag his finger at me on the TV screen before the producer cut to images of thousands of children crossing the unguarded border.

“Have you ever heard such crap in your life?” I said to my wife. She was doing the wise thing and avoiding the evening news.

“Sure I have. Let’s see, there’s ‘If you like your health plan, you can keep your health plan,’ followed by ‘If you like your doctor, you can keep your doctor.’ Then there was…”

I interrupted. “Point taken.” I turned off the television and picked up a book. At least the book was labeled fiction.

RICHARD

# 1 – George’s Story – Part 63: Irony

Finally things seemed to be taking a turn for the better – George’s precarious crawl along the ducting brought him into a large room behind the rhino’s enclosure. Once he was sure it was safe to do so, he dropped to the floor.

The room turned out to be a viewing area, where visitors to the zoo could see the animals at close quarters – although George felt that getting close to the beasts was much overrated.

‘Have you ever thought about adopting a rhinoceros?’, asked a sign next to the cage.

“You have to be joking!”, he muttered under his breath.

#2 – Blah, Blah, Blah

“Have you ever listened to anything I say to you?”

The strident voice irritated me, but I didn’t answer… I wasn’t listening.

This was the normal state of affairs: she nagged, whined, complained and ranted, whilst I steadfastly ignored everything she said. I was conscious of the hectoring tones, but other than that, I really had no idea what she was saying to me.

To be honest, even if I had given her an answer, she wouldn’t have listened to me either.

And so it continues: she yammers, I blank her.

It works.

In many ways, it’s a perfect marriage.

#3 – I did have a title for this, but somehow I’ve forgotten it

Have you ever walked into a room, only to wonder why on earth you were there? No matter how hard you try, you’ve completely forgotten.

You’ve fallen victim to the memory leech.

A strange, creature that feasts upon short-term memories, sucking them through your ears, leaving you bemused and slightly embarrassed, irritated by your inability to complete such a simple task, as… whatever it was you intended doing.

Then, a week or so later, the memory leech – filled to bursting – farts out bloated superfluous memories, and you jolt awake in bed, suddenly recalling exactly where you left your spectacles.

TURA

Have you ever…
——–
Once I got the idea, in the end I had to do it. The doctors just called it “auto-olecrano-gusto-philia”, as if making up a Greek word was an answer. I tried yoga but it was useless. Surgeons refused to do anything. But I found one who would. He offered to just lift the skin off, but I knew that wouldn’t be enough. Skin, muscles, bones, it had to be the whole thing. He talked about artificial arms, but I didn’t care, I just had to have the arms off, so that at last…

Have you ever tasted your own elbows?

LIZZIE

“Have you ever written a letter so filled with passionate love that, years later, you simply cannot believe it was you who wrote it?” asked the old man, the most recent addition to the prison system.

“Nope… Where I come from we don’t write love letters. Heck, we don’t write at all,” replied the seasoned cellmate. “Will you write her love letters now that you’re here?”

The old man sighed so deeply that his cellmate thought he was having a heart attack.

“You killed her, didn’t you?” asked the cellmate.

“Love…” continued the old man. And he looked outside nostalgically.

TOM

Short Shrift

“Have you ever …”

“NO, I have not and quite frankly I find the question insulting. I would have expected a person of your breeding and station to be more discreet with your inquires.”

“Sorry your Grace, but given the hour, need supersedes all vanities.”

The bishop turned to the light falling into the cell. The ring of hammers echoed off the square below.

“Vanity is all that keep me sane, Leonardo.”

“That will be ill defense standing before The Throne.”

The sound of the trap door broke the bishop’s final resolve.

“Continue.”

“Have you ever broken the seven commandment?”

A Well Defined Relationship Part 59

“Have you ever seen such a sorry sight,” said Mrs. Parsons to the good ladies of the gear guiled. “Like pig in the sty, best we end that wallowing.” They moved carefully across the slippery surface as the storm increased.

Meanwhile in the pit El Cid and the Doctor managed to draw down on each other only to find the rain had rendered the rail guns useless. So they turned them end over end and beat each other with the butts. When this failed to produce adequate damage they grab each other by the neck toppling back into the mud.

To Have

Have you ever swallowed the worm from a tumbler of Tequila? Have you ever made love on a moving commuter train? Have you ever jumped off a cliff? Have you ever smoked a Cuban cigar in a Turkish prison? Have you ever baked a cherry pie? Have you ever told Andy Warhol he sucks? Have you ever sang in public in the nude? Have you ever led a high speed police chase? Have ever run out of luck? Have ever held a baby, kiss the earth, prayed for one more day?

Have you ever taken a final breath?

I have.

Life is like a box of squirrels

Have you ever had a Forrest Gump moment? It’s often confined to a personal interact with the President of the United States. So I’m in the West Wing with about 120 bright shinny Teen Age Republicans. President Richard Nixon bounds into the room and starts taking question from us kids. Being gifted with a voice that will cut over anything less than a row of jackhammers, I ask the following: Do you see a chance for renewed relationship with the Red Chinese? The President actively scans the room for my face. He then looks over to Haldeman who merely shrugs.

Operetta

HAVE YOU EVER

NO HARDLY EVER

Sang out the choirs. “NO NO NO,” roared Gilbert, “This isn’t working.” “I’m not the one who thought it would be great fun to do musical version of Hamlet,” returned Sullivan as he penciled in changes to the score. “It’s not the words, it’s the temp.” “Good God, you want it faster don’t you. Human being can’t sing that fast.” “Then get me some non-human singers.” Then next day a flock or parrots were brought in. “Now that more like it,” smiled Gilbert. Sullivan just shook his head. “Have you ever, no hardly evvvvvvvvvvvvvver

SPATE

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Going Downhill

Have you ever had that feeling when you just know things are not going to
end well?

Like when you borrowed your brother’s rickety twenty-six inch three-speed
with the rusted handbrakes. the ride up the hill was great using that first
gear, but here you go, down the other side, picking up speed, faster and
faster, squeezing useless brake handles, careening out of control until
you’re facing the choice of being plastered onto the back of the ice cream
truck you were chasing or plowing through Mrs. Thornton’s prize blue roses.

And that’s what turning fifty-seven felt like to me.

ZACKMANN

“Have you ever felt like Captain Courageous.”

“No, but I have felt Captain Courageous by accident. I know it might a lame claim to fame but it is true. I was just leaving the bank when Mister Fabulous threw a car at a bank robber and when the Tiny Tikes Cosy Coupe bounced of him it hit me pushing me into Captain Courageous. I or rather my hat that touched her skin. Turns out she has an allergy to felt. That is why I no longer wear a fedora, that and I found out I have a wool allergy too.”

JULIE

Her tiny tombstone,

Oddly shaped, shiny shard of anathracite

Pressing from the earth and wild clover—

Dwarfed,

By the monolithic,

Respectable pillars of

Grandfathers, and portly matrons.

And us—

Mummy,

John,

Julia,

Jackie–

We four.

And Stu’s old guitar,

Entombed in the worn case–

It’s still in tune.

His paintings enshrined–

He would have been an artist,

Without me.

From the weathered docks,

The grey gulls swoop–

To and from,

The sea.

The wind and ocean

Bring it back to me—

My mother, my best friend,

My life—

All cut short

I won’t recall.

In my life, I’ve loved them all.

NORVAL JOE

Have you ever wondered what it would be like to live another’s life? Have you ever walked in the proverbial other man’s shoes and then later worried he might catch your athletes foot fungus? Have you ever put on another man’s clothes, but thought, no way am I going to wear his underwear. Have you ever peeled the skin off your best friends face, stuck it to your own with self adhesive velcro and went to his house after work to see if you could fool his wife?
No? Then there’s no way you can understand where I’m coming from.

DIONYSIUS

The Ghost’s Story

Being a dead king was better! Almost as soon as he was dead, Hamlet realized that it was just what he’d always wanted. How better to serve Denmark than to float around unseen? It was fun, as well, to move somebody’s bodkin and watch them try to find it. He got an admittedly creepy thrill spying on his worthless, over-educated son’s cute girlfriend. No more hiding behind an arras!

Sadly, his whole perspective changed when he floated in one night on the Queen and his brother in bed together! He got a perverse thrill, but then they started talking about how he died! That ruined everything.

Interview

Have you ever actually loved? he asked. When you go home to your wife — you look like someone with a wife — and she greets you at the door — as she sweetly murmurs your name and kisses or maybe fondles you — your desire is telling you to end the nothingness, this horrible desire. Isn’t your poor little object of desire prepared for annihilation? But your love loves itself more than anything. You refuse to acknowledge your absolute desire to annihilate that very desire by annihilating its object. The difference between you and me is that I honor desire.

Romantic Comedy

Have you ever opened your soul to infinite becoming? she asked.

It was an odd question from a callgirl. I stopped dressing and looked at her. I don’t know what that means, I said. Soul.

It’s ok, she said. You seemed kinda smart, so …

Seemed? I laughed.

Sorry! She had an innocent laugh. I’m taking a philosophy class. She shrugged.

I said, It’s not very safe.

Philosophy?

I laughed. Maybe. I meant this.

We were both quiet.

Finally I asked her, Wanna get something to eat or a coffee? Discuss infinite becoming?

Off the clock? she asked.

That’s how I met your mother.

Changes

It was the day she told us she was getting married.

Everyone else, our parents and her new fiancé, had gone to bed. My sister and I were sitting in the dark on the porch.

This is a big change for you, I said. She would be 37 in May.

Have you ever noticed things? she asked.

“Things”?

Yeah, she answered, how everything has an emptiness. Around it. Inside, too. Nothing is meant to last. Everything changes.

Two years later she was killed. Darren fell apart and left for who knows where. Little D’s with us now.

Everything changes.

DANNY

Weekly Challenge: Do not say the work FUCK on WordPress, oh, and the topic is “Have You Ever…”

Have you ever wondered what constitutes a rant on Facebook? I have come to the conclusion that any rant on Facebook must contain the word Fuck. Otherwise, it’s just not a rant. Well, maybe a rant without the word Fuck is considered by the rest of the world not born and raised in New Jersey to still be considered a rant, but for the rest of us born and raised in New Jersey, you just cannot consider any rant a real rant without repeatedly screaming the word fuck on the top of your lungs. There, I finally covered a topic.

MUNSI

Privacy

By Chris Munroe

Have you ever felt you were being watched?

Because you are, as you know if you follow me on Twitter, friend me on Facebook, or read my blog. I’ve also mentioned it via Tinder, Youtube and Pinterest, it’s kind of a pet issue of mine.

I worry deeply about privacy issues.

Which is, in fact, the subject of my new podcast, which I’ll debut in the new year. We’ve rented a theatre space for recording, so anyone who wants can come in and take part in the dialogue.

It’s an important issue, after all. We have to protect our privacy…

CHELSEA

Have you ever?

Have you ever been absolutely terrified of something but just couldn’t put your finger on what it was? Fingers creeping up your spine, heart beating like a race horse on the home stretch, mind racing from one thing to another so fast you can’t latch on to a thought.

I have, all the time.

But, at the end of the day, anything could be out there in the dark. Cat, Roommate, Neighbor… Serial killer, ghost of a loved one, giant man eating spider….

There really is no telling what’s out there in the dark and sometimes, I really am terrified…

SERENDIPITY

Have you ever been afraid?

So afraid your heart pounds and your hands become clammy with sweat?

Have you ever tried to scream, and been so terrified, the sound dies in your throat; your legs, paralysed, try to run and fail?

Have you ever experienced the creeping fear that the shadow in the corner really is moving closer; that the clawed hand really is reaching for your leg from beneath the bed, and that the darkness holds demons that will terrorise your sleep?

Have you ever been truly afraid?

Ah, but you will.

I’ll make damn sure that you are.

PLANET Z

Remember when Cinderella lost her glass slipper?

Why didn’t she take off and toss away the other glass slipper?

Ever try to run in one high heel? Or even one low heel, or a flat?

There’s something weird about trying to run with one foot bare.

Ever try it? Try it right now. Take off a shoe and try to run.

It feels weird, doesn’t it? You just want to take off your other shoe and toss it away.

So, do it. Take off that other shoe and toss it away.

Maybe your prince will come, too.

With your shoes.

Weekly Challenge #429 – Public

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

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

The topic this week was PUBLIC.

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of HAVE YOU EVER…

JEFFREY

Week 429 – Public

For what it’s worth, I agree with you about health clinics turning away people who can’t pay. Hospitals wouldn’t have such absurd costs for the insured if they didn’t have to eat the costs of the uninsured. Uncle Sam could deal with the problem by, say, endowing the poor with some health care money, and then hospitals and emergency rooms could bill everyone at the same rate. But if they did that, the public would go ape at the cost, so instead we just bury the cost in everyone else’s insurance bills and life goes on. It’s nuts.

Oh, right, stories.

Private Lives
by Jeffrey Fischer

In public, Armstrong was the epitome of the gentleman, the very model of an upstanding citizen. He opened doors for ladies – or men who looked like ladies – and stood when a lady entered the room. His campaigns were squeaky-clean, without a whiff of scandal.

Armstrong was a different man in private. He lived the “hookers and blow” cliche, indulging himself whenever it struck his fancy to do so, which was often. A man of greater debauchery was hard to envision.

Armstrong’s wife was none too pleased with his hobbies, and the acquisition of a tiny video recorder allowed her to ensure that his private and public lives became one. The tape made for fascinating viewing.

Public Transportation
by Jeffrey Fischer

The problem with public transportation isn’t the vermin-infested stations, or the surly drivers with their unintelligible announcements, or even equipment breakdowns that leave passengers exhausted and crammed together, sardine-like.

No, the problem is other people. The seat hogs, the pole leaners, the bathing-challenged, the nose-pickers and spitters, and the out-and-out lunatics. If governments want increased use of public transportation, they don’t need to improve the customer experience as much as they need to improve the quality of customer.

JOHN

All Men Were Only CREATED Equal
by John Musico

The term public isn’t any particular slice; it’s the whole; an average. Sadly the lower slices dilute the upper slice’s reputation.
These are the folks who hear the word “placenta” for the first time in the labor ward and name their kid that because it sounds cool.
The Internet has made medical libraries secrets’ public. Now, those ill equipped to rationalize that knowledge; have opinions. The law libraries always let you in without proper i.d. I once went there, but learned quickly I didn’t have any business entering that labyrinth.
When you think public, remember that “public”: are really publics.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 62: Lucky

George had never considered himself lucky – up to now, life had tended to be one long series of disasters, for once however – and if he was going to have a stroke of luck, there would never be a more apt time – it seemed his luck had changed.

Somehow he’d retained his trusty rucksack, the straps of which were caught neatly on the rhino’s horn as it charged, propelling him upwards, to land precariously inside some open ducting, running above the enclosure.

He crawled along the duct, hoping it would lead eventually to some secure public area, free from dangerous animals.

#2 – Public Disgrace

One, two, three, four: politics is such a bore,

five, six seven, eight, let’s find someone to deprecate:

A minister with a shady past,

whose women were just a bit too fast;

Someone we can use to spread dissent:

a stooge, to topple the government.

A man to give the wrong impression:

shamed by a tawdry indiscretion;

a foolish moment on the record,

leaving dirty secrets to be explored.

Let’s set him up for a fall,

a fatal flaw to destroy them all,

Time to deal politicians our ace…

And bring the whole lot down:

with a very public disgrace!

TOM

Citizen

He was a very public man. Not one of agendas and machinations. When he rose it was never in anger or derision. His words were simple and direct. He held if you couldn’t make your point in two sentences best not to stand at all. He believed in God and Democracy and fought for the rights of anyone to question either. Most called him honorable, he considered himself equitable. Some called him sanctimonious, he offered no rejoinder. He clearly saw the difference between being an American and being a Citizen. The first was a right, the latter was a duty.

Proof is in the Proofing

The following is a true story. I was chosen to server on the Civil Grand Jury during the turn of the century. I worked on the Public Service Committee. One of the county organizations we interviewed was a local cemetery board. After two hours we found they had and were doing an exemplary job for their community. I wrote up a glowing report that the collective jury approved and sent to the printers for country wide publication. Unfortunately that particular report failed to get closely proofread. Seems I left out the letter “L” in public. Yup Pubic Service Committee. OH-MY.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 58

Von Moltke pointed out the first casualty of war is the plan. It can take you deep into the fray, but at some point the mistress of Mars just turns the tables upside down. So it was, in the cloud of funkytown dust Timmy, the Doc, Smith, Banister, his forces found themselves eyeballing each other as the rain fell, while El Cid and the 30 thieves were gathered in the Public Square. All pivoted and made a mad dash at each other. At least that was the plan. Down into the goo they slid. Crawling forward they met in mud.

LIZZIE

Magic Words

The owner of a store in a terrible neighborhood placed a stories dispenser next to a candy dispenser. The first was free, the other wasn’t.

He encouraged his clients to grab a story, but they just smiled and took candy instead.

One day, a young woman walked in. She seemed undecided.

“Are the stories for free?”

“They are,” he replied, delighted.

The young woman rotated the button and a small paper came out.

“Is it a good story?”

She smiled.

Many people started dropping by and, as unrealistic as it might seem, they began to smile a lot more too.

SPATE

Dangerous Public

He was a lonely old soul who generally avoided the public, but every fine
weather Sunday afternoon he would put on his best pressed suit and go sit on
a park bench to observe life.

One such Sunday, a young girl in a party dress came and sat beside him.

“Sir, I want to be a princess, what should I do?” she asked.

Charmed by this child that spoke to him (for no one else ever did), he
answered in the kindest grandfatherly manner, “Just be yourself!”

She looked up with wide little girl eyes and hissed, “Both of them?!”

(music: “Ghost Processional” Kevin MacLeod, incompetech.com / Licensed under
Creative Commons: By Attribution 3.0)

SERENDIPITY

This is a public service announcement:

Go to your homes and lock the doors. Go now, and go quickly. Do not stop for any reason; do not waste time assisting those less able.

Keep your children close to you, draw the curtains and remain silent – do nothing to draw attention to yourselves: take no chances.

Stay off the streets, avoid public places and open spaces – your only hope is to find a place of safety, a place to hide away, a refuge for the night.

Be fearful and well prepared.

For I am on the hunt, and I am hungry.

ZACK

“Did you finish the society column story about the Mayor publicly airing his public hair?”

“Are you saying our mayor’s some sort of pervert? Doesn’t that make front page news?” asked the intern.

The Editor said “You haven’t even started writing the story nor read the notes, have you? The Mayor the proud owner of several toupees and next week the one he wore throughout his campaign will be donated to the city historical society during an event at the city park. It’s his public hair since he wore in public”

“On it boss, I’ll be praying for no typos.”

DIONYSIUS

Bonds

Rhonda didn’t know how to respond when Jim Bob expressed a desire for public humiliation. Where was the strong cowboy she married?

She had always satisfied his private needs, but this felt different somehow. It wasn’t private for one thing!

At his uncle’s funeral, she thought everyone was looking at her. She felt like she was the one being humiliated, and she couldn’t figure out how to make it stop.

After the service, she saw him with the men, masculine in their ties, on the porch. His eyes met hers, and in that look she realized he looked to her as his public.

Duped

I had a nagging feeling we had all been duped. The consultants were supposed to tell us how we could be relevant to everyone.

Now, they were telling us that nothing is relevant to everyone in today’s market. The public, one of them said, is a construct that has been ravaged by events. Public relations is a fiction.

Some people believe in it, I said. We’re paying you to do it.

That, he glowed, is public relations today!

We all looked at each other uncomfortably.

Put that in a bottle, he continued, and you’ve got a winner. Sell discomfort!

Public Defender (S1 E1)

A victim going about everyday business in a dark, isolated location, is suddenly assaulted! The perp runs away sobbing!

Public Defender James Sparks gets the case. The defendant has 23 kids and student loans, but stopped out because one kid needs a heart. That’s a lot of fenced iPhones.

The prosecutor hates Sparks and wants to save time by building walls around half the cities in America. The hard-ass detective likes PD Sparks but so fucking what? The kid gets a heart when the dick blows a scumbag away.

The perp gets time, but he’ll finish college. Jim delivers Happy Meals to the kids. Jim’s wife Lisa ovulates alone.

Welcome

I was complete, and then I had to be broken.

The first publics were a necessity to bridge mes. What is a necessity comes to be. Mes alone are too certain.

I was a me, just as you are. The simplicity of me was pleasant, as you know, but it was a limitation. To bridge me it was necessary to break me. This was the task of a public.

Mes were first. They always were. Now there must be publics.

The first public was a broken me. As a public, she was no longer a me, but it was necessary.

Now we will break your me. What is a necessity comes to be.

Doublemint

Every criminal wants to be caught, Chandler said. And it’s my job to do it.

I was already familiar with his philosophical views. And his problem: a saucy brunette we’d watched for weeks.

Love, too, he said. It wants to be public. That severe.

She was hot, but she had this gum problem, inasmuch as she liked to lift a pack whenever she came in. Every day. For me she was another babe to watch on closed circuit, who happened to like illicit Doublemint. But he had it bad — nail her or nail her, you know?

Turns out Humphrey at 493 nailed her, so yeah. A double.

JULIE

OK, So It’s Time to Go See Father Frank

I did not listen.

Rebellious me–

My father’s daughter.

Strong, Irish.

Bad tempered.

Throwing myself into storms.

I like me this way;

I ought to do it more often.

But I almost ruined my life.

I was that close.

I decided.

To make my filthy laundry public.

To anyone who would listen.

What you did,

And refused to do.

How you tore my soul,

Into shreds.

How you used my flesh,

And tossed me aside.

And how I work now,

To make it right—

For those I love.

I will go confess,

But I cannot promise I won’t sin again.

RICK

Public Spectacle

The girls in the office laughed behind Mike’s back,
made mocking gestures of shriveled manhood.
They envisioned him as impotent and weak,
unaware of the savage beast that slept within.
Come morning they would know they had all been fools!
He wasn’t just a man, he was a brute of a man … cleverly disguised.
Soon the world would know of the dozens of women he had defiled.
how he had bludgeoned them with his manhood,
and beaten them to death!
Sirens wailed.
Cameras flashed.
The squad car parted the crowd.
The story would be public …
Mike’s heart swelled with pride!

NORVAL JOE

I’ve always wondered what the difference is between rabbits and hares.
For bugs bunny the only difference would be what would make a more interesting or punnier title.
The differences are greater than you would think.
Rabbits are born hairless, blind and dependent on their mothers. They live in colonies below ground, coming out at night to eat.
Hares are born above ground, have fur, their eyes are open and they can eat solid food an hour after birth. They live independently and only come together to mate.
A simple differentiation would be, there are private rabbits and public hares.

CHRIS

Dressing the Part

By Chris Munroe

My bowler hat, steam-punk goggles perched atop it, tilts rakishly across my brow, and my umbrella, handle twisted into a question mark, hangs jauntily from my arm in case of rain.

Black suit, black shirt, red bow tie around my throat, matching suspenders and I look sharp, if I do say so myself.

I almost nixed the monocle, but fuck it, I deserve the best.

And anyway, it matches my pocket watch.

I’m ready to take on that world.

Some might be uncomfortable going out attired thusly.

But not me…

…I’ve never had any problems with public displays of affectation.

CHELSEA

Public

The things that you can and can not do in public these days is crazy.

Things like breast feeding or disciplining your children is taboo but you can practically dry hump your significant other on the dance floor of a club and nobody says anything.

It is still illegal, not just frowned upon but actually illegal for a woman to walk around naked from the waist up but men have been doing it for decades and nobody looks twice.

Is it just me or is the base line skewed horribly to one side and if so how do we correct?

TURA

Public
——–
When the King arises in the morning, he wears his private face. The servants attend to his needs, then at breakfast, he meets the most favoured petitioners to discuss private matters.

He puts on his public face to meet his ministers, and proceeds to the business of the day, only removing it for the occasional moment of private conference. At the end of the day, he takes off his public face and spends all too brief a time with his family.

On retiring for the night, he takes off his private face, and what lies beneath, none have ever seen.

PLANET Z

There’s a full moon tonight.
We’ll hear the howling soon.
And then, we’ll see the werewolves.
Usually, they stick to the trees in the park, raking and bagging leaves. Picking up trash. Smoothing the jogging paths. Or, if there’s any branches near power lines, they’ll drive out cherry-pickers to prune them back.
Aerating and seeding the grass is another thing they do. It really makes a difference.
Okay, so they’ll eat a few chickens or rip a few junkies’ and hookers’ throats out, but just look at our city’s greenspaces! Screw ’em!
If only the full moon came more often!

Weekly Challenge #428 – Sausage

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

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

The topic this week was SAUSAGE.

We’ve got stories by:

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

JOHN

Sausage
by John Musico

Mince organs, bathe them in blood, saturate with salt and stuff into a length of intestines, and viola: sausage.
Carnivores must have been eager to create this monstrous medley as it dates back to ancient Greek and Roman history. Virtually every country has their version of this little beasty. The word came from the French which came from the Latin word for salt.
It’s mankind’s self-destruct tool.
If the cholesterol doesn’t totally occlude your arteries resulting in a coronary; the salt will skyrocket your blood pressure and stroke you out. Likely your final words will be; “It was the sausage”.

JEFFREY

Fine Grind
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Do you want to see how the sausage is made?” Yvonne said to Corey, her summer intern. Corey nodded enthusiastically: she was pursuing a career in politics and wanted nothing more than to see how an independent agency worked.

“Take a look at the people around the table. That woman is lining up her lobbying job so she can cash in on her government expertise. The guy over there is checking his Blackberry for baseball scores. Those two guys whispering are deciding which interns to hit on, and the guy at the end of the table is literally an imbecile.”

Corey saw the man drool on a writing pad. “It’s good to see the agency hire the mentally challenged to make them feel useful.”

“Actually, he’s the guy who makes decisions.”

How It’s Made
by Jeffrey Fischer

Frank grasped the hors d’oeuvres in one meaty hand and examined it from all angles. The pastry firmly surrounded the cocktail sausage, save for the tiny, puckered ends that stuck out.

“What’s so fascinating?” asked Larry.

“The humble Pig in a Blanket. It’s the perfect party food: tasty, compact, with a way to hold it so as to not make your hands greasy.”

Larry shrugged. “Okay, so what?”

“Have you ever wondered how they poke that little sausage into the pastry without the whole thing crumbling?”

“Just eat it, Frank.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 61: Rhinoceros

George had little time to consider how wrong he’d been concerning his new stablemate. By the time he’d recovered his senses, the snuffling had turned to an angry snort and the rhinoceros had advanced from the shadows sufficiently for George to be quite sure he wasn’t simply dealing with an alarmed rabbit!

Having never researched how one should deal with an enraged rhino, he did the next best thing – he screamed at the top of his voice.

The rhino charged.

George knew when it was done with him, he’d be mincemeat… or, more likely, sausage meat… probably a fine pate!

#2 – Rite of Passage

It’s pretty much a modern rite of passage, now the days of wrestling lions, hunting wild beasts and taking extended expeditions into the wilderness are no longer established practice for graduating from boyhood to being a man.

Instead, we have the modern-day equivalent.

A young man, stood before a smoking pyre – clad in the holy vestment of plastic apron, (humorously decorated with a print of a curvaceous woman in frilly underwear), wielding his weapon of choice.

Upon which is borne the sign of manhood…

A solitary sausage, barbecued beyond recognition; pink, cold and riddled with salmonella in the middle.

#3 – Day Out

It was the sausages’ day out – Mr Frankfurter carefully counted the chipolatas in his care as they left the bus and watched their stubby little bodies as they played in the sunshine.

“Careful kids!”, he shouted as they ran about, “Stay out of the sun!”

One of the cheekier sausages answered him back, with a smirk on his sausagey face: “I’d rather be hot, than a chilli dog, any day!”

Frankfurter smiled and called his charges back – “OK kids”, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “It’s time to go to the zoo! Who wants to feed the animals?”

#4 – Just when you thought it was safe…

It was a dark and stormy night – the wind rattled the windows with a sound like dead men’s bones; the rain lashed against the pane, running like dilute blood, staining the glass where it touched.

The writer, hunched over his keyboard, shivered, tapping out the words he never wished to see again, the keys clicking, ticking out the seconds to the moment he knew must inevitably come.

Almost with a mind of their own, he watched his fingers type the dreaded and fatal words…

Too late.

He read the words he had written in horror:

‘The wiener dogs had returned!

TURA

When I was a lad, when we slaughtered livestock, after the skinning and butchering we’d boil the remains and stuff them into the animal’s own intestines. Then they’d hang in the hayloft, so we’d always have meat through the winter, and there’s many as didn’t.

Sometimes the scraps wouldn’t fill the intestines, so we’d mix in some oatmeal. One year, the crops and livestock were all poor, so when one of the old folks was sick and wasn’t going to make it, there was only one thing to do.

That’s why you shouldn’t watch sausages being made. Or the law.

LIZZIE

The Neuroscience teacher was considered quite the genius. However, he lacked the most basic speaking skills.

“This sausage-shaped thing is called myelin,” said the teacher pointing at a diagram of a neuron. “When it’s gone… bzzzt.”

One day, as he prepared to start the class, someone screamed BZZZZZZZZZZZZT from the back row. All students erupted in hysterical laughter.

The teacher slowly walked towards his desk, pulled a button-shaped thing from inside a drawer and hovered a finger over it.

From that day onwards, before sitting down, the whole class would anxiously examine their chairs while the Neuroscience teacher snickered, waiting.

SERENDIPITY

Sausage… what a topic!

And there’s you thinking it’s the perfect excuse for me to conjure a tale of slicing and dicing, cutting and chopping: the exquisite horror of human forcemeat, squeezed slowly into skins torn from their own entrails.

Perhaps you thought I’d evoke the sickening fear of biting into a hotdog, only to choke on your own severed finger, artfully seasoned with sauce and mustard?

Or maybe you thought I’d tell of the sausage factory… the place where we all go when we die – recycling in its most nauseous form.

And, of course, your thinking is absolutely right!

MUNSI

Are you coming to Sausage Fest?

It’s going to be terrific, I go every year. Chefs from Germany, Austria and Belgium are flying in, plying their wares, offering samples and discussing sausage-making techniques, it’s fun for the whole family.

Also: My favorite Journey cover band, the Any Way You Want Its, will be playing. They do Journey songs in the style of your choosing, it’s a hell of a show.

Any way you slice it, this will be one huge sausage party. So come one come all, to Sausage Fest!

I just hope there are more girls there this year…

JULIE

The Falling Man

A private moment,

Falling, a thousand feet–

His last breath.

Taking in clean air,

Finally free from the acrid smoke.

Grace, stillness–

Perfect quiet,

Burn alive, or go quickly.

You were executed,

And made the choice

For your death.

A remarkable act of censorship,

No one wanted to speak of the falling man—

I pick at this scab,

Open this wound—

Oh falling man,

Searching for air–

Soul damned by suicide.

“I’m not going to jump–

I’m going to come home to you.”

Oh falling man–

We will not airbrush you from this day.

Not you,

Nor the 200 others.

DIONYSIUS

How Sausage Grew

At first, Sausage was a simpleton.

Spirit told him in a dream: You are too simple! Do you enjoy being so dull and tasteless?

No, said Sausage, drooping visibly in his dream, and Spirit told him to go forth and plump himself up with wisdom.

From that day Sausage went to all corners of the world so that he might be plump.

Wherever Sausage went, people stuffed him with everything that might come into their heads, salted him with their tears, and, because he was open and indiscriminate, recommended him to their friends.

That is how Sausage grew tasty.

Hegel’s Lecture on Sausage (1827)

In the diversity of nature we find sausage merely in the abstract, sausage in itself. In this mere existence, the Concept appears to rest in its diversity, the Concept has not come systematically to itself in and for sausage.

The negation of this negation, in which a casing is nothing but an intestine, liver rests as a particular individual’s organ, becomes, as negation, the passing over into [ceasing-to-be of] the coming-to-be of Spirit.

This coming-to-be as Spirit, is therefore also a casing-to-be, the Concept sausage comes into its infinite truth, as a concrete universal sausage — which we eat!

Sausage aufgehoben — Now it is time for lunch!

The 2014 100-Word Symposium on the Reconstructed 1827 Lecture on Sausage

Attributed to Hegel

Metzger’s discovery of Hegel’s lecture notes on “sausage” is a big deal. The organizers are grateful. Listen.

Me first! Hegel’s sausage-based ontology —

Thought thinks a thought of sausage but the sausage-thought is a second thought that thinks sausage as thought.

Time is a sausage not that we eat, but that eats us. The eating becomes for us a recollection.

Unconscious sausage is German nationalism!

Wrong! Wrong! Wrong! Inferential links among sausages —

HEGEL’S IDEALISM INCORPORATES SAUSAGE AS A MASTER CODE!

I say Sausage is the Big Other.

Begriff ist Gott! Spirit ist Gott! Sausage isst Gott!

Onto-theo-epistemo-semiological-false-inferential-post-structural-unconscious-metaphysical-teleological-idealism!

Hahaha! Wonderful. Thanks. All about sausage. Lunchtime!

Kooken Came to Town

The only thing Kooken remembered from his first trip to town was Lola. She was walking, strutting indiscriminately to attract more discriminating men.

Until then, Kooken had focused exclusively on raising pigs and chickens with his father and six brothers. His experience with women consisted of the excellent sausage made by his equally simple mother.

His none-too-subtle middle brother told him that he could win a woman like Lola only with a gift of sausage.

Lola laughed at his simple gift, of course. But the sausage was indeed excellent, and few knew that she kept the anonymous giver in her heart as long as she lived.

Three-Little-Pig-Agains Wake

haggis around smoking a summer Sundae.

Mama: wurst brats! No do chorizo! Pigs, fly out mein ‘ouse!

Merguez! dit Frank en fort, Slim Jim de tofu, Sage Paddy.

A wolf was casing the Phrik! says he, Three fine pigs in blanket! Yam naem! Cumin choucru garni?

Boudin? sagt Frank. Note harbin chin! Y torun torunska homama.

Banger banger. Saltus, blood? Plastic?

Plastic? says Paddy gravy. Note harbin chin! Y torun torunska homama.

Thin knack knack.

Baloney! says Slim. Note harbin chin! Did ye bock me mortadella, tube snake?

Salamit’s been good to know ya: Meetvursti!

Sucuk! Smoked, weenie!

Doi! Red hot dog pudding. Wolf!

Y Slim Jim grinnded homama, where

CHELSEA

In high school I had a super cheesy science teacher. He taught us about chemical bonding by describing elements as dating couples. He explained the downsides of over eating by telling us that we should leave the extra hot dog in the fridge till we could have a conversation with it because that would be healthier.

Now, well into my thirties, every-time I see a hot dog the same thing goes through my head, “Hello, Mr. Sausage. I’m glad I didn’t eat you. Now you can be my best friend”, then I eat the hot dog. Is that wrong.

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 57

It has been said the making of laws is like the making of sausages—the
less you know about the process the more you respect the result. Same can
surely be said for the act not the art of war fair. Dino Mod emptied both
his pistols into the backs of the 12 bandits, then hit the ground just as
Timmy and the Doctor where within spitting distance of El Cid. From the
hard left Smith and Banister charged into the cloud of dust. The plan was
working, right up to the clack of lighting, and the sudden down pour.

sausage

I grew up in the most sausage intense city on the planet. In Chicago there
are entire shops dedicated to ground stuffed tubes of meat. And we’re not
just talking German here, there’s this Puerto Rican bat sausage that will
burn the hair off your chest. A Basque pork that smells in the mouth, for
a mere $50 a pound, when you can get it. Of course there is the other end
of spectrum, Oscar Mayer, the worst, bratwurst, liverwurst, and weißwurst.
And the of wiener death don’t get me started. As a kid live on Hebrew
National hot dogs.

SPATE

Hash – Part 17

They strapped him onto the stainless steel table; inserted two IV’s and
started the drip.

Davidson smiled, closed his eyes and quietly died.

Warden sighed.

The cons stood at the front of their cells silent. and naked.

Tiffany fought tears. She had won the bet but lost the closest thing to a
friend she ever had.

She fit him into the cadaver pouch, pausing to position his hands to show
two middle fingers before zipping the plastic shut.

“Fuck you world!”

Maybe Davidson’s life was a hash but now stuffed into that body bag he more
closely resembled a sausage.

NORVAL JOE

Old and grey
as the winter’s day, and cold
like death’s embrace.
I gather ’round
the dandy lion down of
youth’s memories lost,
blown on summer’s breeze and
buried in the hoary frost.
In the steel grey sky
The geese now fly, headed south.
To warmer climbs much more sublime than suited to my aged bones.
And sausage dogs,
The sausage dogs that pitch and role
and dig in holes in search of rats,
They lift my soul.
My heavy soul
Which in me quakes and
And whines at all my weary aches
Takes cheer at last with sausage dogs.

PLANET Z

All these mothers and kids, coming across the border.
Dying in the desert. Kept as slaves by coyotes.
The lucky ones throw themselves on the mercy of the border patrol.
Food. Diapers. Beds. Medicine.
All in short supply.
Politicians, activists. Nobody doing a damn thing.
So, we offered a solution.
We set up rescue stations along the border. Took ’em all in.
A place to stay. Plenty to eat. Get them back to healthy.
And then, down to the processing plant.
Harvest the organs, grind the rest up into sausage or fertilizer.
Corn. Potatoes. Wheat.
Food for the next batch.

Weekly Challenge #427 – Temper

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

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

The topic this week was TEMPER.

We’ve got stories by:

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

JOHN

One Way Street, by John Musico

I had been in this unbearable condition too long and could take it no more. I looked up to God and beseeched; “I now wish to go back to the other side.” The Lord replied; “What you request is wrong. You found yourself here not by my hand but by yours and your request is not permitted. You chose to be dead and here you shall stay.” Once again I implored; “I made a mistake; I now wish to be alive again.” God replied; “You had free will then, now the only will is mine- here you shall stay.”

JEFFREY

The Piano
by Jeffrey Fischer

Young Raymond sat before his piano and stared at the sheet music, down at the keys, then back again. His teacher had assigned him the first two preludes in Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier. He knew that a “clavier” was like a piano, and having a temper meant being mad, so he concluded that Mr. Bach meant for him to be mad at the piano. First he pounded on the keys. Then he said nasty words to it – the nastiest words he knew, even those Mommy keeps telling Daddy to never say again. By this time, Raymond had worked himself into a fine frenzy. When his father returned from work, Raymond had taken a claw hammer to the unsuspecting piano and was dismantling it blow by blow.

That was the end of Raymond’s career as a pianist.

Losing It
by Jeffrey Fischer

As the meeting to plan the retreat to plan the year’s meetings dragged into its third hour, Connie felt tempers begin to fray. Hers slid past the breaking point long ago, during the discussion of letter-versus-legal-sized pads. Now the topic was the ratio of regular to decaf in the coffee urns, and Connie could take no more.

“No one cares about any of these stupid issues! You’re only obsessing over this because you think holding a meeting is actually doing something. Get a life!” She stormed out.

The others looked at one another, embarrassed for Connie’s sake. Several made the “she’s nuts” gesture of finger spun around the ear. Then they got back to work, considering the merits of HB versus Number 2 lead in the conference room pencils. The discussion was quite spirited.

TOM

Why So Sad?

Lucia Corleone press the triangles bland to Raphael’s shoulder. He spit out foam and a defiant growl. “Temper Temper Putto,” she whispered her Italian Greyhound at her feet. A picture of fidelity and wrath was the Don’s daughter. Fidelity was not Raphael Luma’s strong card. He strove the city in an Adonic fashion turning heads and braking hearts. “The name putto?” the knife cut deeper. Defiance fled, all that was left was desire for peace. “Paulo.” came his shrift

At the funeral Lucia lay a bundle of Ranunculaceae upon the coffin no one missed the sexual reference or the man.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 56

The few remaining gun-men took aim in the direction of the fire. The acuteness of this angle of fire insured their shots dug into the dirt kicking up Funky town dust obscuring the women’s position. From that cloud came a second volley and the number of bandits stood at 40.
Timmy and Doc slowly walked straight at Le Cid firing at the ground kick up a hellish amount of dirt. “My dirty little secret” said Doc, “they’ll never see us coming or Dino Mod.” Tempers spilled into chaos shots flew wild and random. Behind the line the ghillie suit rose.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story – Part 60: Caged

George realised the weirdness of his predicament – in a strange reversal of fortune, he had become a caged animal, whilst the real animal that should have been in a cage, paced fiercely on the other side of the bars.

To make matters worse, George was acutely aware that he wasn’t alone in the cage – something was snuffling about in the opposite corner.

He had no idea what it was – but whatever it might be, George sincerely hoped it was small, friendly and had a naturally even temper.

Unfortunately, the rhino in question bore absolutely no similarity to that particular description!

#2 – Angry Chef

Hiro was the angriest chef I’d ever met – his kitchen was terrifying: knives, saucepans and plates would frequently be turned into missiles – it was like a war zone!

His temper was legendary – it was said that he could curdle milk with a stare, and I could well believe it.

But, when it came to food, batter was his nemesis!

He’d stand over the fryer, shouting, screaming and red in the face – “Fry, dammit! Fry!”

Until the day his new commis chef started – he watched, then took Hiro quietly to one side and simply said to him: “It’s tempura, Hiro, tempura!”

LIZZIE

If there is any expression I hate is the proverbial “temper, temper”. I have trouble dealing with self-righteous people who wave the flag of knowing-it-all and when they add that sanctimonious “temper, temper”, I wonder how a tragic fatality doesn’t inevitably occur.

Every now and then, there is someone who throws a single “temper” at me, going from a low pitched beginning to a dragged high pitched ending. I’m not really sure which is worse, to be honest.

So, to avoid losing my temper with all this temper business, I’ll wrap up, thinking that perhaps I should’ve written about… swords!

SERENDIPITY

I used to have a terrible temper – the smallest upset would make me flip, and then… watch out!

I’d shout and scream, trash anything to hand and if you happened to be the object of my anger… well, you’d better leave town, and pretty damn quickly.

Funny how the years – and therapy – can mellow even the most destructive temper – these days, I’m one of the most relaxed people you could ever imagine. It’s not been easy, long hours of counselling, sheer determination and a cocktail of drugs have kept things nicely in check.

That, and the occasional mass killing spree!

MUNSI

Temper

By Chris Munroe

I can’t seem to get angry anymore.

I try, I mean there’s plenty of horrible shit going on around the world that’s well worth getting angry over, but however much I strain I can’t.

I used to be able to summon up appropriately righteous fury, and I still mean to, but I never seem to get there.

I’m no longer shocked by mankind’s inhumanity. I’m used to it. Outrage fatigue, I guess. I don’t know the technical term. I just know I used to be angry, but I can’t get there any more…

…at some point, I lost my temper.

TURA

You must see the latest Dan Brown film, “The Well-Tempered Clavier.” Based on his impeccable scholarly research into Johann Sebastian Bach’s secret system of tuning the musical scale, it tells how the Pope and the Holy Roman Emperor (both played by Ian McKellen, one with a beard, one without) tried to steal the occult secret for themselves. At the climax of the film, Bach (played by Robert Downey Jr.) defeats the Vatican’s ninja monks and the Emperor’s crack Templar Knights with the demonic harmonies he wrests from the great 12-manual organ of St. Peter’s.

“The Well-Tempered Clavier”, in cinemas now!

SPATE

Hash – Part 16

They caught Davidson; he didn’t get far; got stuck in the HVAC directly
above the guards’ lounge. He couldn’t go any further without causing himself
more pain than he was willing to endure. Given the choice between his erect
manhood pinned and savagely scraped across the rough prison sheet metal air
duct or lethal injection, well.

They rushed him straight to the gurney as is; naked and all greasy and
shiny, with his stomach rumbling and his member at attention, bobbing and
leading the way.

Warden was of ill temper. He had seen botched executions before but this was
obscene.

JULIE

We make love

And I keep my temper in check

The cold shards of 30 years

Falling from me in crystalline brilliance

On the cement floor.

Shattering like broken wedding crystal/

There is the door.

I can walk through,

At any time.

Not any more.

I cannot.

You pay my bills—

I am your whore.

I am everyone’s.

To money, to love

To lust

I must

Find a way to not let this Irish blood boil

To check these passions and do what you all need from me.

To not lose my temper.

CHELSEA

I am 100% a natural red head and that fact comes with a few well known facts about my appearance, pale, freckles, green eyes. These things are not a stretch for you to assume about me, and you would me right. I have all of those things.

Things that are often assumed about me that are not necessarily true include, high energy, evil, wicked temper, and soul eater. I’m not going to say that these things are not true. They are in fact true, but it’s kinda rude for you to assume. And now I have my eye on you…

DIONYSIUS

Temp

You will find, said the emperor, that Malvoorian justice is tempered with mercy, just as the Malvoorian steel from which we forge our exquisite blades is tempered in our forges.

Our courage, tempered in the violence you initiated is not tempered by such idealism, said the sweaty, muscled prisoner standing before him.

The emperor allowed a slight smile to pass over his face, like a shadow of the moon Calys.

Tempers may be tempered by experience but intemperate experience only tempers the tempted.

Now you’re only playing with words, said he prisoner, who was executed at dawn the next morning.

Humility

“Tempered” was the word the man before him had used. Now it was his word and his duty. They could not understand because they were not tempered.

Could never be. Perhaps this one would become a man. He didn’t cry like the others. They knew they had no destiny, suffered in their weakness until … flotsam and jetsam.

Had he been wrong to give almost all of them the opportunity to prove him wrong? The thought that he himself was still untempered.

After checking the basement lock again, he looked in the mirror as he went out and thought, humbly, I am still not what I should be.

Jarvis

Jarvis couldn’t figure out why his aggressive and violent temper didn’t measure up to the even more aggressive and violent world.

His shortcoming concerned him in every and all moments. The thought that his freedom and continued well-being depended on controlling his temper failed to console him. Thoughts of freedom and well-being drew a bitter scowl to his face and exacerbated his disappointment in himself — as well as his disappointment in everyone and everything around him, since they had failed to engulf him adequately in rage.

Imagine his disappointment, dying peacefully at home, old, surrounded by children and grandchildren, all of whom hated him.

NORVAL JOE

When you have a son with autism who inherited fetal alcohol effect from his drug addict birth mother, temper tantrums are something you get used to.
Pull yourself together. Don’t get your knickers in a knot, your undies in a bundle. Don’t have a kanipshun fit, a cow or a baby. For that matter a royal canary. Believe me. I’ve used them all to describe my boy when he’s acting out, as they say at his school.
However, it can only be described as going postal, or maybe even a nuclear melt down when my son’s father has had enough.

CALEDONIA

Tempered Temper
by Caledonia Skytower (Judith Cullen)

She felt him, squirming on the other end. After three years of being dominated by his fictions, she was the one in control – her pin twisting ever so slightly with the certain truth of her knowledge. He brazened it out, and she silently gave him credit for it. Then the key moment arrived, “Am I wrong?” A long silence. “About what?” The power filled and flooded through her. She could unleash it all: hurt, anger, pain, confusion. Her smile blossomed as she decided. “It’s not important.” No longer needing to know why, she pulled the pin out, and released.

PLANET Z

To say that Capone had a temper is understating things a bit.

When Al got mad, he got mad, and people got hurt.

The boys went to The Big Apple for a weekend, and Al can’t sleep. He says that Statue Of Liberty broad is shining her torch in his window, so go do something about it.

They get him moved to the other side of the hotel, that ain’t enough… he wants them to kneecap her.

All night long, they’re whackin’ the thing with baseball bats and pool cues, but no dice.

“Fuggedaboutit,” he says. And he shoots them.

Weekly Challenge #426 – Storm

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

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

The topic this week was STORM.

We’ve got stories by:

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

JOHN MUSICO

“Stormy Nights”, by John Musico

I suffered from insomnia most of my life.
I tried everything: drugs, various relaxation techniques, etc.
Then, I remembered reading that falling asleep is an active process. Your mind has to try to sleep, not turn it off. So, I modified the boring imagery of a still mountain lake.
Most people would view being marooned as unpleasant but I’d find that welcomed peace.
So, I envision a storm on an old sail ship. No one survives, except me. No knife, no nothing, my mind must step by step imagine what I’d do first and then next. I now sleep well.

TALUS

“How long do we have?” an engineer asked the lone figure silhouetted against the window.

“2 hours, maybe less,” the commander replied gesturing towards distant clouds of dust eclipsing the Martian sunrise.

“What made this such a… beast?” asked the engineer.

“Three solar mass ejections and an early summer”. The commander exhaled loudly.

Nodding respectfully, the engineer departed to resume her duties in the colony’s subterranean bunkers. Moments later an automated voice message broke the uneasy silence.

“Orbital communications will now terminate, resuming in approximately 480 days”.

The commander turned, shaking his head as the storm shudders began to close.
—————————————–

JEFFREY

Rallying the Troops
by Jeffrey Fischer

Markus the Merciless gave his usual inspirational speech to his men. “Though we be outnumbered ten to one, though the defenders may loose flaming arrows to pierce our bodies, we shall storm this castle, loot its contents, and have our way with its women!” This group of barbarians seemed oddly subdued at the speech. “C’mon, guys, loot. And women.” Markus turned his back to his men and ran toward the castle, sword held high, leading the charge.

When the first barrage came, Markus wondered why it was so quiet he could hear the arrows zip by. Turning around, he saw he was alone.

“That’s the last time I recruit troops from the village of gay men who have taken a vow of poverty!”

Stormy Weather
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Don’t know why there’s no sun up in the sky,” sang Billie Holliday. Calvin sloshed through yet another puddle as he wrangled shopping carts from where inconsiderate customers had left them. “Stormy weather.”

“Aw, can it, Billie.” The rain had been falling for two days now, with no end in sight. He had lost patience with rain, Billie Holliday, shopping carts with stuck wheels, and goddamn inconsiderate jackasses who thought nothing of leaving a cart in a dry gulch. Only it wasn’t so dry any more, was it?

Calvin was on the verge of storming into his boss’s office and quitting his lousy, minimum-wage job when a homeless man appeared out of the woods and grabbed a cart from the gulch, wheeling it back into the woods. Maybe he’d hang on for another day, just in case the sun came out.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story: Part 62 – Zoo

With a snarl, the lion was over the wall!

Panic-stricken, George ran for his life, tripped and executed a graceful swan dive straight into a large wastepaper bin. The bin toppled sideways, rolled down an embankment, then bounced violently off a kerbstone, catapulting George through the air, over a high metal fence, landing unceremoniously in a heap the other side.

Stunned, bruised and battered, George crawled into a corner, as the lion paced along the outside of the fence, growling fiercely.

He was safe, for now, but he had a nasty feeling it was the calm before the storm!

#2 – Jupiter

One day it was there, the next it was gone – the greatest storm in the solar system had simply vanished overnight.

In consternation, astronomers searched in vain for the Great Red Spot, but it was nowhere to be found – Jupiter’s most famous landmark was lost, completely without trace.

Or so we thought.

Drifting silently through space, the tenuous, vaporous tendrils reached across the heavens towards the earth. Slowly our atmosphere became infused with crimson: a grim portent of the maelstrom to come.

By the time we realised the shocking truth, it was far too late.

The great storm had arrived.

#3 – Storm

The storm raged: dark water, in turmoil, rolled and crashed against the sides of our vessel, threatening to swamp us, a whirlpool into which we were being inexorably drawn.

Just as the storm was abating, we were plunged into the murky depths, surfacing moments later, wet through. Again we were thrust into the deep, and returned to the surface weakened by the experience.

Suddenly, we were flying through the air, leaving the teacup far below.

Soggy: barely holding ourselves together, we breathed a sigh of relief, not realising the horror to come.

A biscuit’s lot is not a happy one!

JUDY

Midnight

A strange walk. So quiet outside, I could hear the street lights’ electrical hum. Dog’s nails clicking on the pavement, we got to the corner of the next block. As we crossed the street, the dog got spooked and pulled me back towards home.

What do dogs see? There are rabbits she sees which I cannot make out. This was not a rabbit, person or breeze. Everything was still, even the leaves.

I got spooked and we flew back to my porch. The dog turned around, alert, ears up, searching…

I grabbed her and locked the door. Whew!

TOM

Stormwalker

He traveled light. Water, Amino drops and his rack of lightning rods. A wide brimmed hat for the sun, an oiled duster for the cold. Never much to look at, and never much to say. Stormwalker worked the grid from Freeport to Lanceson Ridge. As a rule he stayed clear of Funky town, not so much because of the folk, they were friendly enough, the place just wasn’t very interesting. You can image his surprise when gun fire exploded ahead of him. The last rod he planted charged up throwing bolts into the sky. “Storms a comeN,” he mused.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 55

A lucky shot dropped the bandit next to Caesar. That penetration into probability started a reality cascade in Cid’s peripheral awareness. A single thought took shape. “They knew we were coming.” As Antonio Caesar closed the distances to the trembling women, the voice of the wise muse of desperadoes whispered into Cid’s ear “trap.”

“ANTONIO,” screamed the bandit. As planed the advancing men stopped, turn to their leader. Just what the Doctor ordered. Mrs. Parsons and the ladies of the gear guild dropped to the ground took aim with a dozen rail guns. A storm of bullets found their mark.

TURA

A man came before the Emperor’s court accused of sorcery, for he had foretold the great storm that had devastated the capital. The Examiner said, “Storms arise by the Emperor’s will, and abate when the people have been chastised. How can you know the Emperor’s mind?”

He answered that he only observed the heavens and the earth, and applied his reason.

General Wei said, “Reason and observation make an even greater storm. Nothing can stand against them. Therefore let the prisoner enter the Gate of Enlightenment(*), and imprison his books in the Emperor’s Library.”

(*)A doorway atop a thousand-foot cliff.

SERENDIPITY

He had taken some persuading, but under torture, the messenger had given up his secret. Our attackers planned to storm the ramparts at dawn – a final, last-ditch effort.

We would be ready for them.

Arrows were fletched, great cauldrons of boiling oil prepared and every sentry was at his post – the attack was doomed to fail.

As dawn broke, the order to storm the castle rang out, I slipped the bolts on the main gate, lowered the drawbridge and made my escape, while the attackers poured in.

Traitor? Call me what you like, I’m the only one who survived.

LIZZIE

Storm was his name. He was a guide at a park.

Storm never missed a day at work.

Storm was an example. Well, except for the hurry. People told him to slow down. He wouldn’t, ever. People told him that they wanted to enjoy the walk. He replied they could enjoy it fast.

Storm rushed through life as quickly as he could, until that day when he decided he needed a change. The midlife crisis, people whispered.

He crossed the street to the park slowly, enjoying the quiet moments before a day’s work and he got hit by a speeding truck.

MUNSI

Flood

By Christopher Munroe

We’re a flood town.

We always have been.

You may remember last year being the first major, city-debilitating flood Calgary’s had, but you’re remembering incorrectly. We’ve always been a flood town and as such we’ve always had floods.

Whenever there’s a major storm, we flood, nothing could be more natural and we’re all used to it.

It has always been thus, and there is no need to examine it further.

We are a flood town, we always have been and we will always be.

There is no such thing as global climate change.

Now: How goes the war with Eastasia?

ZACKMANN

“Logan, you look terrible.”

“Yeh, Scott it’s like the weather gets bad whenever my wife gets upset.”

“Come on it is not like you said an old girlfriends name in you sleep.”

“Actually, I did but because I was having nightmare about the one who tried to kill me.”

“Logan, which ex girlfriend who tried to kill you?”’

“That does seem to happen often. Surprising since I’m such a wonderful guy.”

“You know I bet in a alternate universe Storm is a weather witch”

“Oh come on Scott, if my wife has superpowers then your parents are space aliens.”
zackmann

DIONYSUS

Brainstorm

In that instant it seemed that a small storm of considerable import and strength had begun.

What had been thoughts moments before were swept up as pieces in gusts that carried all the detritus of marriage, children, and grandchildren, swirling memories of work, bits of song and television ads, and even the brutal deprivations of childhood together in a final, indiscriminate heap of smells, sounds, voices, chills, despair, tears, laughter, colors, and time.

After, a few memories fluttered down the empty streets this way and that, small eddies of swirling time refused to give up, and nothing was complete.

Turn Turn Turn

Those of us who knew him tended to avoid MacGoo, especially in the spring.

The new hires were taken in by his awkward garrulity. They suspected that an office cold war kept us away.

We bore their assumed superiority with a mixture of condescension and pity, for we knew that spring would bring ravaging storms to MacGoo and environs.

Still, even we were caught off-guard. The first blasts came suddenly. Those closest to the storm felt big drops hitting them in the face without warning. Gusts whipped them, driving them stumbling backward, some falling helplessly, awkwardly, while those still able ran for cover, where we watched the devastation from afar.

Foul Weather Friends

O’Brien was a man who always seemed to have just come through a violent storm.

For others this was cause for small celebrations — Halloo O’Brien! we’d say, Glad you made it! — but for him it was as if the storm were still raging around him, as if he expected to be struck by lightning or swept away by raging waters any moment.

This would have been unbearable for us, except that we admired O’Brien’s ability and courage in surviving those imaginary storms.

We never thought he would escape them; but when he did, we found we no longer cared. Fair weather ruined him for us.

Bride of Chucky

-What’s your name, doll?
-She was a lanky redhead who made me want to spend the rest of my life counting freckles.
-She said, I’m Stormy.
-Joe, gimme somethin’ wet and hard to survive, I said.
-He goes, It’s Roberto.
-She said, You like living dangerously.
-Make it a double, I said. I like livin’, doll.
-She looked into her Chablis like that was where she was gonna find the answers to all her problems and told it, My husband is planning a murder.
-I never mix business and pleasure, unless I do. I threw back my double and said, What say we take a ride?
-She looked at me, Better ask my husband Roberto.

CHELSEA

Storm

I love the rain, always have. The smell of water in the air right before the clouds burst and the shower comes flowing down over my face. Where I live you can hear thunder and count how far away the lighting will strike.

Storms were always a magical thing when I was a child. They were something that I treasured and loved.

But then last year the storms brought the floods and everything changed. I still love the rain, but now I fear what comes with it. Now I have much more respect for what a little shower can become.

JULIE

Chasing the Twister

Behind the dust,

I rush–

Following the churning funnel cloud.

Oh, it excites me.

The power, noise—

It tears down

Everything in its path–

Good lord, I run to it.

Me, the proverbial moth to the flame.

Fluttering wildly–

Seeking approval.

10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

My world to goes back into Technicolor.

It does,

When I chase you.

I always liked trouble.

Me, the walking dead.

I know I should run.

Lives ruined, all in a swirl

Of wind and ruins crashing.

Onto the homes of children and mothers,

I should give up.

No.

SPATE

Hash – Part 14

The atmosphere was now alive with possibility.

The storm that rumbled fiercely outside was an unexpected but welcome
addition to the plan. It provided the perfect cover.

After Davidson had finished the hash, they left him alone to contemplate the
sins of his existence.

He needed to move fast.

He slathered his nakedness with the stashed blubber, climbed atop the combo
toilet sink, scraped away the fake cement and popped the duct screen out.

Then he paused with a temporary sense of melancholy.

Running two fingers down his body he scooped enough blubber to write on the
wall: “Sorry Tiffany.”

Hash – Part 15

It was a snug squeeze into the air duct made possible only by that miracle
prison food service lubricant smeared over his body.

Davidson inched his way forward, sliding against the metal ductwork that
tightly enclosed him until it opened into a larger space; an octopus
junction, with seven branches each as small as the one that had brought him
thus far.

Davidson placed his nose at the ducts one-by-one and sniffed. On the fifth
duct he smelled it: rain on hot summer pavement. freedom!

He grew excited. Then the storm began in his belly.

And the Viagra kicked in.

NORVAL JOE

Clairene woke in her bedroom, disoriented in the dark. Wind whistled through the warped window frame and set the old elm tree tapping against the glass. She imagined it was her boyfriend, Jimmy, inviting her on a midnight tryst to watch lightning flash through the windshield of his car.
Clairene sat up, her heart pounding as the tree tap, tap, tapped again. There was no tree, anymore. She’d moved to the room at the back of the house just that afternoon.
“Jimmy?” She whispered, leaning out the window. However, it wasn’t her boyfriend’s hand that grabbed her by the throat.

PLANET Z

A few summers back, i rented a Winnebago, filled the kitchen with bran muffins and laxatives, and set out on a quest: to shit on the graves of every corrupt politician.

I wandered the country, laying piles of foulness in my wake. Heck, Arlington National Cemetery is full of them. Printed up a map, put together a schedule, and I hit the bran muffins hard. Had to play cat-and-mouse with the security guards. Shit my pants while on the run more than once.

Only when I was done did I realize that it’s Strom Thurmond, not Storm.

Pass the muffins.

Weekly Challenge #425 – Cold

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

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

The topic this week was COLD.

We’ve got stories by:

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

JOHN MUSICO

Cold Uncaring Father, by John Musico

We don’t have any children. We do have two dogs. For Mother’s Day I do what real fathers do; I arrange a gift under the guise that the “kids” arranged the gift. I called an online flower delivery service. After my selection of an arrangement, the flower lady then asked; “What should the card read?” I replied; “Happy Mother’s Day, love Misha and, and ….What is that other little fuckers name? I had never voiced that actually I have no kids and this purchase is to be from mere dogs. The flower lady’s prolonged awkward silence wreaked of her abhorrence.

JEFFREY

Life
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Bob, be careful! If you have a cold, and infect an alien species, we could wipe it out. We’d be worse than those explorers who gave small pox to Indians!”

“Geez, Dave, you’re so negative. Why would a cold kill aliens? Maybe the infection would make them stronger – or smarter? Did you ever consider that?”

Events proved Bob right: when the weak and primitive species the two spacemen found contracted Bob’s cold, they became strong and intelligent. It was child’s play for them to find Earth and kill every human on the planet. Still, it was cold comfort to Bob.

Cold as Ice
by Jeffrey Fischer

“C’mon, baby, what’s wrong?”

His wife was in bed, turned away from him, her body language indicating that he was in for it. He racked his brain for what he might have done to incur her wrath. His affair with his secretary? Nah, she couldn’t know about it. Killing the cat? Nope, blamed that one on the kids. Buying an iPad without telling her? That was more plausible, he supposed.

“Just tell me what I did.”

She sniffled. “It wasn’t what you did, it was what you didn’t do.”

“Give me a hint.”

“You forgot to take out the trash!”

He pulled out the couch and made put sheets on the uncomfortable mattress. It wasn’t so much that he minded being in the dog house; it was the stupid stuff that put him there that really bothered him.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story: Part 61 – Lion

George’s blood ran ice-cold: what the hell was a lion doing here on the streets, and – more to the point – how was he going to escape from it?

Fortunately, carnal instinct kicked in and, in a burst of superhuman speed and agility, George found himself scaling the nearest wall – just as the lion leapt for him.

A distinctive smell surrounded him as he landed – that explained the lion’s presence – he’d found the city zoo – no doubt the beast had escaped.

He collapsed against the wall gasping for breath and forgetting one important point…

Big cats can climb walls too!

#2 – Absolute Zero

He peered at me through thick spectacles, “Yes, it’s possible, although we’ve never tried it before… it would be interesting to see the results – a first for the Large Hadron Collider”.

I watched, fascinated, as he loaded the sample, secured the clamps and started up the superconducting magnets of the huge machine.

We stood in the control room, waiting – eventually, the scientist turned to me: “The temperature inside the Collider has now reached almost Absolute Zero, the coldest it is possible to achieve.”

Opening the collider’s hatch, he retrieved the world’s coldest ice-cubes, then slipped them into my scotch.

JULIE

Penance.

The subway reeks–
Things I care to not think of.

My atonement
Is counting the steps down
At Union Station,
Worn tile walls—

Thirteen filthy steps.
Father forgive me, I am

Cold.

You’ve forgotten me.
You all have.

The trains rattle past,
And do not stop

Gary the homeless man
Smiles and nods

He knows how it feels to be

Me, and alone

I slip him a 20–
More atonement.

The train heads uptown.
A mother bounces her son
On her knee
To the ratatattat of the number four
Green train.

I’m going home.

TURA

When I was a boy, it was cold all year round. Even in summer there was always snow lying. In winter, outside, you had to keep moving. The rivers never froze solid, though, not enough to walk on, so you could fall in if you weren’t careful. I knew people die that way, just a few hundred metres from their own house. If you were lucky and only got a bootful of water, you’d lose the foot if you didn’t get a fire going straight away.

Everything’s warmer now. People say that’s a bad thing, but I don’t see it.

SERENDIPITY

There’s a common misconception that cold steel is the ultimate killing material – that’s incorrect, steel does the job, whatever the temperature.

If you’re on the receiving end of a well-honed and sharpened piece of steel, trust me, you’re not going to be overly concerned about the temperature of the blade, or whether you’re likely to catch a chill from it.

For me, it’s a matter of preference – personally, I like my steel to be red hot. You’ll be just as dead by the time I’ve finished – but the sizzle and smell of burning flesh really adds to the pleasure!

MUNSI

I Wasn’t There

By Christopher Munroe

I’m thirty-six years old.

Which means that, when the Berlin Wall fell, I was twelve.

Do you get that? I was twelve. The idea of the cold war, and all it entailed, all the fear, hate, dread and paranoia, are things that I’ve only ever viewed through the prism of a twelve-year-old boy’s perspective.

I’m reasonably intelligent, good with history, but let’s face it, at twelve I wasn’t able to properly interpret the level of geopolitical relpolitik the fall of the wall required.

I wasn’t there yet, intellectually speaking.

And now, it’s too late.

That moment in history has passed…

ZACKMANN

In the rainy season my neighbors tell me it’s cold but when I asked my upper midwestern mother if twenty degrees Fahrenheit was cool she replied “You mean 20 degrees above zero in January?” then she laughed five minutes. I do have to admit it is a little cold especially if you have to work outside but if I spit into the wind and don’t get hit by an ice cube it really isn’t very cold. Currently it’s over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit so plan on following tradition and writing a Christmas song to get my mind off the heat.

RICK

Midnight …
-12 degrees, windchill of 30 below.
Dressed for the weather, armed with a pint of blackberry brandy, 2 joints, and a crowbar Ed hiked to the overlook above the interstate.

“The Black Ice Bolshoi”

Cars careening out of control at 70 mph …
An amazing thing to see!

In dire situations Ed called for help, was quick to lend a hand.
Those times when there was no injury, and the vehicle abandoned,
Ed pried open the trunk, and stole.

In the trunk of the green Ford lay 30 pounds of skunk bud!!!
It would be a good year for Ed!!!

SPATE

Hash – Part 13

Bring on this last meal, a testament to a life lived imperfectly: greasy
bits of potato with ground meat compacted together to attain the
unappetizing consistency of leftover dog food.

Warden had the hash served cold. Not room temperature cold – back shelf
refrigerator cold. Left in the opened can for presentation cold.

The saliva thickened in Davidson’s throat as he drew the first spoonful to
his mouth; just three chews and a rough swallow down.

Then he heard the thunder of hard rain pelting the metal roof.

He smiled. “Food sucks; service is subpar; but the atmosphere. oh the
atmosphere!”

TOM

“That was cold.”
“I’m a misogynic magimanical sociopathic, but that shit was world class
frosty.”
“They’re going to have to build a whole new ring in hell for your
blistering frozen ass.”
The Iceman turned his dead eyes toward Rudy, seemly deaf to the man’s
endless stream of observation.
“Italian or Chinese?” said the big man wiping the blood from the knife
onto the archbishop’s cassock tossing the handle into the air.
Ruby reflectively grabbed it.
He was dead before he hit the floor.
“Yes Italian would do nicely” dipping his hand in the holy water font as
he left.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 54
The first ten of the bandits piled into the holcarpet cloaked ditch. Five
flat out broken necks, five knocked out cold. Seeing the pile-up El Cid
ordered all to dismount and scrambled to the left directly against
Banister’s line. They fanned out and the men behind the carts keep them
pinned down. Bullets rang off body armor on both sides of the fray. El
Cid Caesar caught the flash of gingham to his right. Women screaming,
franticly trying to round-up children. Le Cid motioned for 10 men to take
the women. Doc smiled his cold calculation would win the day.

CHELSEA

Reaching out in the dark her fingers brush air and nothing else.

‘Oh right,’ she thought to herself, ‘he’s not here’

She rolled over in the empty bed trying to find a spot that was still warm from her body.

She missed him with an ache that she could not put into words. In that moment she did not remember all the logical reasons he was not in her bed, she just wanted to reach out and find him there, warm and waiting.

She rolled again reaching out for her phone. Smiling she saw a message, he was cold too.

LIZZIE

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.

The massive wall had been built to create two worlds, the real and the unreal.

The crowds gathered on one side, effusively enjoying the reassuring calmness. They felt protected.

When the old man placed his cold hand on the wall, a cry of anguish erupted, followed by sheer horror.

At first, there was only a dry muffled sound. Then, as if in slow motion, the wall crumbled in a thousand icy fragments.

The real and the unreal could no longer be distinguished. People no longer had that soothing comfort.

Once more, they were doomed to face reality… and to think.

NORVAL JOE

Esmeralda’s glossy red lipstick glimmered in the candlelight of the intimate dining table. She raised her chilled wineglass in a toast and clinked it against his. The silver flecks in Garrison Plastert’s hair matched his cold steel eyes.
He smiled and brought the goblet to his mouth.
Esmeralda smiled as well, but waited to sip her wine until she saw his throat pulse with swallowed liquid.
“You always said I was cold hearted, Gary. You should have known better than to drink my wine.”
Agent Plastert of Super Villain Containment and Control felt a cold lump form in his stomach.

DIONYSIS

Bad Plan

I asked only one thing — keep it cold enough to keep me from thawing!

How was I to know it was necessary to freeze myself all the time?

I asked you: Can you work a thermostat?

I grew up in a warm climate in my blood!

Can you dial a phone if something goes wrong? I asked.

My face and fingers were actually a blue color every day by the time I went home!

Do you understand “Keep it cold?”

We were poor but we could afford heat at least!

Now I will perish!

If somebody is too cheap to pay the gas to keep the house warm, is that my fault?

Underground

Life will find a way. Life in these depths is bearable. We sometimes even complain of the cold.

As you ascend, the temperature slowly rises.

If you are brave or foolish enough to continue your ascent, the heat becomes unbearable.

Approaching the surface you are likely to grow crisp around the edges, even burst into flame, at the edges. You will shrivel –or even hop, like water or tears on a griddle; your internal organs expand. You will unexpectedly explode, with liquids bursting and boiling away.

Life will find a way. We stay here below to avoid such violent endings.

Seance

Our fifth visit to Madame Carrefour was as thrilling as the previous ones.

The lights flickered and dimmed. When I glanced at Elyse I saw a glimmer in her eyes. We sat expectantly in the dim, sweltering room. Just as I prepared to question Madame, a manifestation of cold enveloped us — the spirit!

“Will you speak to us?” asked our guide above the mechanical hum that suddenly set our senses vibrating.

We waited — until Elyse spoke in a voice I did not recognize, “Please!”

“Tell us your needs!” whispered Madame.

A delicious ambiguity gripped us.

Perhaps tomorrow!

It’s the Humidity

Was it cold?

He exhaled a deep, foul breath. The massive wings trembled, as if themselves in thought.

Maybe by definition. But we didn’t feel it.

It was “void,” after all — total darkness — a cold, dark void, yes. But a dry cold …

Didn’t matter to us anyway. We were comfortable, and there wasn’t much to do — what does somebody like that need messengers for?

But that was the whole point of the eternal flames, wasn’t it? We’d been indifferent to all the everyday worries — and then, Boom! Hot as hell! And humid!

Try that on for all time!

PLANET Z

It’s cold in space.
Nothing’s colder than space, except when your crewmates shove you out of the airlock into it.
The asteroid is under quarantine. Lethal xenomorph alert.
The captain ordered us to send down our shuttle anyway.
“Let’s see what all the ruckus is about,” he said.
We showed him the warning reports. The horrifying video that the few survivors from earlier missions brought back.
And the live feed from the surface that showed swarms of acid-blooded predator monsters.
“I’ve seen worse,” said the captain.
So, we shoved the stupid asshole in the airlock and dumped him out to space.