Weekly Challenge – Page 69 – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Weekly Challenge #370 – Play

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

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

The topic this week was PLAY:

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

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

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

THOMAS

He didn’t learn how to play until he was forty – not an instrument, but the recreational activity usually engaged in by young children that is meant to entertain. His father was a chemist and his mother was a physicist, so little Moritz had no guidance or demonstration as how to play. Moritz’ time was spent reading and experimenting with various apparatus his parents gave him. He recorded all his experiments. He burned the house and parents to the ground, and wrote down everything he heard and saw in his log. Today, he plays table tennis in the psyche institution.

Arum played the Sousaphone; loud. She did hours of lip slurs every day to strengthen her embouchure. Arun did some other things, too, but you will have to use your imagination. The result was the invitation to play first position in the local Tanjidor group. After rehearsal last night, Arum thought her instrument needed its water emptied. She lifted it up, so the bell faced the sky and pressed the valves repeatedly, failing to pull out the valve slide and empty it. The water rushed into the mouthpiece, the spit valve jammed shut, and she succumbed to a hideous drowning.

The one act play was a little piece that was meant to make a political statement, as the school was in San Francisco and it was 1961. I recall it had one actor, and it took place in the men’s room of a gas station. The character entered the station’s bathroom, did his business behind a closed lavatory door, washed his hands, then went to the paper towel dispenser. A big sign over the towels read: “Rip up and Tear Down”. The actor tore savagely at the towel dispenser, destroying it, tearing it off the tiled wall. The lights dimmed.

[Credit to Prairie Home Companion, of March, 2000.]

Jimmy loved word play. He was half-heartedly applying for a job with a conservative, financial firm, writing: Dear Sir or Sodom or Whom It May Constrict: I understand you are hiring anal lists, and hereby present my amplification for annoyment by your firm. I have listed my accomplishments in ascending order, along with a sample of addition and long division. As you see, I have long expedience in grammar and was medicated in the best schools and my dream is to grow fat with your company. Enclosed, my most recent consomme. Please feel free, as I remain your humble serpent.

RICHARD

#1 – Win at all costs

“It’s just a game to you!”, she hissed…

“You play with my emotions, lead me on, lie to me, cheat and mess with my head. I’m sick of it and I’m telling you, buster, I’m not going to be your doormat – so go ahead and do your worst, because I’m in this thing to the very end.”

I’d seen her like this before and I knew there was simply no reasoning with her; still, I had to try:

“Look honey, you know the rules… we’ve gotta stick to them”

I guess we do take Monopoly pretty seriously in this household.

#2 – Shakespeare

I’m not a huge fan of Shakespeare’s plots, or the historical context of his writing – not that there’s anything wrong with them, but rather, I appreciate the way he uses words far more than I do the twists and turns of fate that he manages to contrive, and the fortunes of his characters.

I’m intrigued and fascinated by his use of language, by the tongue in cheek manner he manipulates words to mock and entertain.

When I go to see Shakespeare, I don’t go to watch actors performing on a stage, no – I go to see a play… on words.

#3 -The Pianist

“When you play, he said, you must become one with your instrument. The strings should vibrate in tune with your soul and the keys must respond, not only to your fingers, but to your very emotions. Understand that the piano is not the instrument – it is you from which the music flows.

Then and only then, can you truly play.”

Enraptured by his music, I could only gaze in helpless, horrified fascination as there before me he sacrificed his very being at that ivory and ebony altar, until finally, with one fatal, final chord, he breathed his last and died.

#4 – The light of day

Blinking in the sunlight, George breathed deeply, savouring the freshness of the open air.

He was unsure what he should do – having made the decision to strike out, he now realised how woefully ill-equipped he was for the task ahead. He felt the embarrassment of being completely out of his depth and unsure, something he’d not experienced since a child. In his minds eye, he saw himself as a young boy: invited to play with the big boys, but ignorant of the rules or his role in the game.

OK – he’d just have to make up his own rules.

JEFFREY

The Ride
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Oh, just play outside by yourself, Bobby. Mommy has a headache.” Six-year-old Bobby knew that meant the “my grains” had come on and any noise would make his mother cross, so he stood in the front yard practicing with his yo-yo. He didn’t hear the car roll up to the curb.

“Hey, you’re Bobby, right?” called a man from the car. Bobby nodded. “Neat yo-yo, Bobby. I’ve got the neatest yo-yo you’ve ever seen. Hop in and I’ll show you.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“But I’m not a stranger – I even knew your name, so it must be okay.”

Bobby cast an apprehensive look back at his front door, where his mother slept the last good sleep of her life, and opened the passenger door.

This is Your Life
by Jeffrey Fischer

The invitation was hand-written and slipped under the apartment door. “Come to the premiere of a new play, ‘This is Your Life.’ This card is your VIP ticket.” A date, time, and place were below.

Louise threw away the card, but, intrigued, pulled it from the trash can. No doubt this would be amateur hour, but she had nothing to do that evening and decided to attend.

As she entered the theater, her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was alone. Frightened, she turned to leave, but heard the doors lock behind her. The stage lights came on, the curtains opened, and a shrouded figure said, “Louise, this is your life. Tonight is the last scene of the last act.”

Wrong Note
by Jeffrey Fischer

The sax man played a note-perfect solo before the rest of the band rejoined him in the chorus. Kevin enjoyed the musicianship for a moment before turning to the problem at hand: getting the girl next to him at the bar to go home with him.

He met her earlier in the evening, and they hit it off. Two drinks later, he thought he could close the deal. “The band is great,” he told her, “but we could make some music of our own back at my place.”

She rolled her eyes. “I had rather hoped you weren’t just a player, but were looking for something a little more meaningful. Well, live and learn.” She stood to leave.

Play’s the Thing
by Jeffrey Fischer

The last play of the game. Five seconds on the clock, down by six, forty yards to go. Coach had called Marvin’s number, a deep route to the end zone with the ball ending up in the wide receiver’s arms. That would be Marvin’s arms.

He lined up on the outside and got a good jump as the ball was snapped. He faked left but stepped right, then was a flash of lightning down the field. The ball spiraled into Marvin’s outstretched fingertips…

“Marvin, stop daydreaming and get off that couch. The garbage isn’t going to take itself out.”

MARDRA

Daddy’s Game

“Can’t you keep that kid quiet?” he yelled through the apartment’s paper-thin wall. “All she wants to do is play, play, play!”

“Why can’t daddy play with me?”

“Oh Sarah, daddy’s busy.”

“Why?” The three syllable wail cut through his concentration, making him crazy.

“Please…I’m trying to concentrate.”

“He just needs to get through the library, then he’ll feel better,” she explained. “Come with mommy, we’ll go outside and wait for daddy.”

“Just because mommy got through the library first does not make her the Halo queen!” he yelled, feeling her lingering smug smirk as she closed the front door.

CLIFF

I stood in the wings and went over my line again.
“Who?”
That was it. Just one word. The main character runs up and asks if Nicholas Nicklemeyer lives near here and I simply say “Who?” while looking confused. It shouldn’t be hard. I’d volunteered to help build the set, not act. When Jeff got sick, I was handed the bit part. I only had time to read this one scene.

That’s how I ended up standing there, waiting for my cue. Before I knew it, it was time. I stepped onstage, listened to the question, and loudly asked “What?”

TURA

Play
——–
Peter Jackson is squeezing six hours of film out of The Hobbit, but for me, nothing can beat the 45 minute stage play of Lord of the Rings (Without the Boring Bits). Who could forget John Cleese’s arresting preformance as Gandalf? (“Don’t mention the ring! I did once, but I think I got away with it.”) And Terry Scott was born to play Frodo! Ant and Dec were Pippin and Merry, and Sam Gamgee was none other than Martin Freeman, Sancho Panza to Terry Scott’s Quixote, and currently starring in Jackson’s attempt to wring a flood from a damp cloth.

MUNSI

Play

(among others)

By Christopher Munroe

I’m white, male, and from the ‘90s.

As such, in high school I owned one album each by Moby, Weezer and The Offspring.

You know the ones.

They were ubiquitous pieces of music at the time. Everyone owned and loved them, they were inescapable.

For women my age it was the first Jewel album and Alanis Morrisette. Every girl I dated in university had them both.

I’m at best lukewarm on the artists nowadays, but I’ll admit, I still smile when I hear those particular records.

They’re the soundtrack of my youth.

And I need that reminder now and again…

LIZZIE

If he played his cards right, he’d be granted a fortune. That’s what hopeless bachelor Ben thought, after his grandmother fell ill. That last Sunday at the hospital, she raised herself slightly from the pillow and told Ben “Grateful to Nurse Mary. Money goes to her.” She winked and died. Ben was appalled. He visited his grandmother faithfully every day for years, twice a day at the hospital! But, being a pragmatic man, he invited Nurse Mary for dinner. They got married and were very happy. It was only many years later that Ben understood the meaning of that wink!

TOM

The Gap

I played the tape over and over. I couldn’t believe what the old man had said. I was only 19 and it was clear to me this was not a good thing to have lying around. The worst part was it kept popping up over a 19 min chuck of tape. No way to edit it out. So I copied it to a second reel to reel and cut the volume for 16.5 minutes. Later I learned Rosemary had fallen on her sword over the gap no doubt at the prompting of Colson. A simple relabeling buried the evidence in plan sight

SERENDIPITY

Does God play dice?

He most certainly does – anything to get away from those tedious choirs of angels.

He used to play World of Warcraft but fantasy isn’t really God’s forte, he’s more a reality sort of guy, so he switched to Second Life, before leaving in a huff when he found that ordinary avatars weren’t allowed god powers.

He gave poker a try, but ‘having the boys round for a game of cards’ meant inviting Old Nick too, and things tended to get a bit heated!

So, dice it is…

Anything to get away from those awful celestial choirs!

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The lights dim, the crowd silences.

He strides out from the wings – his shadow overlarge, distorted in the few paces before the blue spear of the spotlight catches him. Surely it is just a trick, an illusion.

“You have come for a show!” His mouth smiles, wet and wide, not reaching his eyes. He gestures toward the curtain.

The red cloth pulls back as the shapes behind it lurch and gibber and thrust their way forward through the crowd’s screaming flesh.

“So have they,” he says through his too-wide smile. “Because all the world’s a stage.”

“And all-you-can-eat buffet.”

ZACKMANN

I thought I heard about an app that could save me money on live theater productions but I can’t remember the new name for Android Market. My kid is upstairs practicing drums and guitar. What a racket. I wonder if he is using both instruments at the same time. His mom just pressed that button with the sideways triangle on the DVD player. His brother is on the picnic table in the park near the place where the slides and swings are. He is likely in the middle of a game of Munchkin. Just what is Android Market’s current name?

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Oklahoma

Mollie had her ritual. At lunch, she sat on her front porch,
sipping steaming, milky and just slightly sweet tea.
She watched the energetic children play in the school yard yonder.

Mollie’s own were all grown, living several states away raising their families.

She was away when it hit, it seemed so surreal.

She saw the aftermath on the news. She barely recognized her beloved home and playground.

No point returning there if all was demolished.

Her memories would serve her well, of sunny days,
on her porch sipping tea, hearing the musical sounds and laughter of children at play.

The Play

Sitting in a darkly lit room. I am entranced in the play.

Blending into the background, fading to black, no longer glancing at newcomers, waiting for the name call.

Then they arrive.

One vibrant and stealthy strong, pushes a wheelchair of another, just the opposite.

The vibrant man checks in, does the talking and endorses paperwork.

Looking at the others, at first watch then turn their heads.
I watched him maneuver so they could sit side by side.

I once read of the Sacred Band of Thebes. Where lovers showed bravery in the face of death.

This was bravery facing life.

REDGODDESS

All work and no play has taken a toll on Lola’s life. Her eyes are tired and sad. There was a time she assumed fun was overrated, but now…she’s throwing caution to the wind. She invited her lover to her new place for a surprise indoor picnic, filled with mystery games, and tantalizing exotic foods. First, she blindfolds him the moment he walks through the door. They hug for what seems like hours before she leads him on the bed for a sensual massage. She has no plans to take it beyond touch, good food and conversation tonight. His smell fulfills her in ways beyond any sexual satisfaction. By the third glass of wine, they were half naked and sharing secrets. Suddenly he became serious, “truth or dare?” he asks. Truth, she whispers playfully. Why are you afraid to be mine?

NORVAL JOE

“Are you ready to play?” Kirk asked and threw his heavy sack onto the sand.
“Is that what this is to you? A game?” Conner asked, bouncing his own leather sack in his hand as if comparing its weight to Kirk’s.
“Ok. Call it war, then,” Kirk said, drawing a line in the sand with his heel. “Are you going to fight or just talk about it?”
Anger rose on Conner’s freckled cheeks and he narrowed his eyes at his opponant.
“Fine. School rules, no cat eyes, and playing for keeps,” Conner said and tipped his marbles on the sand.

DANNY

Every rational definition dictates I am supposed to be nothing more than a stereotype, but I am not. I’m way to busy living, creating, writing. My life, if nothing more than a mad dash, throwing every thought on paper, creating every digital design I can create, photographing every profound thing I see in nature. I’m trapped within this urgency that I must complete all of this before I die, because even if there are literally still decades yet before me, there really isn’t that much time left. I must hurry, there is simply not enough time for me to play.

JUSTIN

One problem with making massively multiplayer games is you can have all your best people try and make everything work correctly, but someone just might forget one little thing and create an exploitable bug. Then the masses play the game, and a few will discover the exploit, and some will report it, but others will take advantage.

That’s why we couldn’t play Neverwinter last weekend. Some people exploited a bug so badly we not only lost a few days to try and play, they had to roll back the servers a week, deleting progress.

Thanks exploiters. Die in a fire.

PLANET Z

Years ago, I had every Doors album, and a few bootleg tapes.

Everyone would gather at this one guy’s house to drunk and stoned, and we’d play that music all night long.

I couldn’t sing for shit, but I didn’t care.

Put in a tape, any tape, and hit play.

When I got to college, I bought “The Best Of The Doors” on CD.

I’d given up trying to out-sing Jim, but I sure as hell tried to out-drink and out-smoke him.

Now, my iPhone is Doors-free.

No smoking. And no way I drink that much anymore.

Amen, Reverend Jim.

Weekly Challenge #369 – Smell

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

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

The topic this week was SMELL:

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

A story by Miata Stardust was rejected because it included me as a character.

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

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

JEFF

Strange Bedfellows

Her words were fraught with love and lust as she caressed him.
« I caught a whiff of my wife’s presence, she will be crazier than a shithouse rat if she sees you here, please vanish »
« What ! you said she wouldn’t come home tonight?»
« I know; I must be cursed »
She glared at him with a frown, thought of spilling the beans, then said « Listen to me carefully shapeshifter, do this to me again and I will make sure to suck your blood until the last drop and bury your companion alive»
Then she warped; blood in the eyes.

TOM

Since I gave up dairy and meat the lack of their proximity has led to a dimming in my memory. There is nothing like a stroll through CostCo’s meat kingdom to tap into the visual aspects of meatness to trigger the joy of grilling bacon. At either end of the gantlet was three count them three sampling kiosk pumping out burning animal. Then someone opened a door to the glassed refrigeration wall I swear I could smell the ham right through the wrapper. I do not doubt atomized meat gas is being pumped in the air ducts

God Bless them.

TURA

There was once a monk, who never washed, and so he became odious to his fellows. But he was perplexed by this, for he could not smell himself.

He spoke to the head monk, saying, “The other monks tell me that I stink, but I do not perceive this, although I can smell them.”

The head monk replied, “Can you see the hair on the back of your head? And do you not allow the work of the barber?

“With your nose, you can smell your brothers. With their noses, you can smell yourself.”

Thereafter, the monk washed every day.

JEFFREY

Roses
by Jeffrey Fischer

When I heard that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I wondered if the opposite was true, that any other Rose would smell as sweet.

I tried Abie’s Wild Irish Rose, but she smelled of booze.

I then tried Rosey Grier, but he smelled of sweat. Pretty rank.

Next I tried Rose Kennedy, but she smelled dead.

Finally, I sniffed a tea rose from the botanical gardens. It smelled like old lady perfume.

Now, Doctor, can you please get these damn thorns out of my nose?

An Unsuccessful Revival
by Jeffrey Fischer

In the 1960s, Smell-O-Vision made a brief but unsuccessful debut in theaters. In the 2020s, the technology made a comeback. Movie studies tried to generate revenue from older releases by adding smells.

At first, things went well. In “Chocolat”, Juliette Binoche never smelled so good. “Days of Wine and Roses” was another hit: the smell of the roses, the fruity aroma of wine, and even a hit of lemon every time Jack Lemmon appeared on screen.

The trouble started when audiences gagged at the smell of blood in “There Will Be Blood”. The last straw came with the re-release of “The Trouble with Harry”. Every time Harry was in a scene, audiences received a strong odor of decomposition.

The audience provided the accompanying smell of vomit.

THOMAS

The worst thing I ever smelled was the morning the dentist pulled two, abscessed front teeth…from directly under my nose. The putrid smell leaped directly up my nose, and on to the olfactory receptors and my brain. The smell was amplified by my pain and fear. I’ve never had any episodes of phantom smells–smelling something that’s not there, because phantom smells can be triggered by temporal lobe seizures, epilepsy, or head trauma. If you start to smell rotten eggs, bad perfume, garbage, a gas leak, a wet dog, body odor or spoiled fish, or poop, get to the doctor.

My job for a realty chain in Washington is to help the crew “stage” the home for an open house. Staging involves furnishings, flowers, and scents. I’ve engulfed homes in the smell of freshly-baked cookies, and the yard with the smell of roses and lilacs after I’ve fogged the area with an industrial machine I carry with me. Some of my recent research shows that a home scented with a simple orange essence is more effective than the cookie and flower aromas. I use real, fresh orange zest prepared with my own blender, and earn high fees for my expertise.

I assembled a box of manly smells for my pal’s sixtieth birthday party. It wasn’t the usual aromas associated with the “manly man” like: leather, gun powder, after shave, a campfire, shoe polish, or a hardware store. It was a unique assortment of smells that he would associate with his years of work on the docks in Seattle. I arranged the collection in a wooden box, starting with a small bottle of bourbon, a couple of cheap cigars, a bit of stale beer in an atomizer, some antiseptic wipes, a glop of bag balm, hand salve; and a new condom.

“Once you can get by the smell, you have it licked.” This sign was posted on the blue-veined cheeses in Uncle Kenny’s delicatessen. Other signs adorned some of the exotic cheeses and meats in the shop. “Check out our rump”, “Squeeze this pork butt”, and so on. Kenny thought he was a comedian, but he made his customers uncomfortable. He vowed to lighten things up a bit, and quit using the coarser texts. He made some signs and posted them above the cheese: “What happened after an explosion at a French cheese factory? All that was left was de brie.”

TARALYN

I love memories of those times that make you smile inside. Most of them are associated with a smell. I love the smell of a new can of tennis balls. It reminds me of my youth when I played tennis all summer long. But the smell I love the most, is the smell of my husband when I’m lying in his arms, in the silence of the night. His eyes are shut as he sleeps, and I secretly snuggle up to him. Breathing him in slowly to remember that moment. The smell of love, I can’t explain but why try.

MUNSI

Cologne

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve released a cologne!

No idea why. A company offered to create one for me and it seemed the thing to do.

Many public figures market a signature scent, for people who inexplicably want to smell like Lady GaGa or Justin Bieber in spite of never having been near enough them to know what they smell like.

I was surprised at the offer, honestly, what with the fact that I’m not famous and all.

Still, I will admit, I’m thrilled to help bring my new cologne to market.

…should any of you buy it, let me know how it smells.

ZACKMANN

Uncle Boy tweaked Charlie’s face saying “I go your nose, I got your nose.

Charlie decided to get his uncle back for this so feed his toddler cousin chili and gave some dried fish to his uncle’s dog.

Uncle Boy explained that the nose thing was only a joke meant in fun then Charlie told him that he was very sorry which Boy knew was true because the dog had come in from the rain and started licking Charlie’s face smelling of wet dog and fish sauce while Boy changed baby’s diaper. Charlie then wished uncle had taken his nose.

RICHARD

#1 – The smell of fear

They do say that fear has its own distinctive smell – I’ve never really believed that to be true. I’ve been in situations where I’ve been mortally afraid many times, and I can honestly say that, whilst fear pervaded every other sense, I’ve never caught the slightest whiff of that elusive scent.

Certainly there have been other smells that I associate with fear – many of them quite unsavoury and generally related to the body’s automatic reaction to being frightened: naturally, I always make sure to tightly hold my nose.

Coming to think of it, maybe that’s why I’ve never smelled fear!

#2 – On the market

The house filled with the wonderful smell of newly-baked bread and fresh coffee – I’d pulled out all the stops this time – completely de-cluttered, used minimalist, neutral colours for the decor, rehearsed my sales patter, and even shipped the kids off to their friends for the day.

Surely I’d get a buyer today?

Sadly not – as the last couple left mumbling that the property ‘just isn’t to our taste’

It looks like I’m doomed to stay in this property forever!

I simply can’t think of anything else I can do… although, I suppose I could try painting over the bloodstains?

#3 – Distant Lands

Every destination has it’s own distinctive smell.

Whether it’s the drifting fragrance of incense and frangipani, the aroma of beef ribs cooking over smoky wood barbecues, the scent of wet leaves and hot, fertile, soil, or even the stink of open sewers and decaying roadside rubbish. Every place has its own unique smell that tells you more about the culture, lifestyle and attitudes than any glossy photograph or travel agent’s polished prose will ever dare to reveal.

The smell of a place always tells the true story.

If I had my way, every travel brochure would be ‘scratch and sniff’!

#4 – Old Jack

“I’m looking for Old Jack”, I announced to the men stood at the bar, “does anyone know where I might find him?”

“And why would you be doing that, matey?”, asked a grizzled old seadog.

“It’s fishing I’m after, and I’ve heard he’s the best – they tell me he’s practically a fish himself!”

“Aye, that’ll be Jack! He’s down at the harbour – go out the door, turn left, down the hill, turn second right, then left, then just follow your nose.”

“You mean, go straight ahead?”

“No, I mean, follow your nose – you’ll smell him, afore you see him!”

#5 – Into the Open

His shock in the mortuary convinced George he should leave the hospital. The putrid smell of decaying bodies lingered in his senses, causing him to feel profoundly nauseous. It struck him that a hospital would likely contain numerous shocks of a similar nature, and he was determined to leave in all haste before encountering further unpleasantries.

Finally, he found himself at a doorway signposted ‘Exit to Street’.

With thumping heart, he eased the door open a crack, this time sniffing cautiously for any noxious warning smells. Then, pushing the door wide, he stepped with some trepidation, into the open air…

SERENDIPITY

The hunter cautioned me to stay silent and keep low: our quarry was no more than a few yards away – a family group, in a small clearing.

Carefully the hunter tested the wind: it was blowing towards us.

“We have to stay downwind”, he whispered, “if they should smell us, they’ll panic and flee, and we’ll not eat tonight.”

We’d masked our scent with earth and plant juices, and tonight the wind would be our ally.

Stealthily, we crept forward, closer still, paused, then sprang at the group!

The humans didn’t stand a chance… and we feasted well that night!

LIZZIE

The ability to trace toxic particles was carefully developed. A whole generation of genetically modified humans with a heightened sense of smell prevented the end of civilization for a century. As their lives expired, one by one, society trusted toxic levels to be so low that there were no replacements. At the turn of the century, when the flow of time shifted unexplainably, humans became lost in a world of mutating units, as they were called, the ones who went outside. They had a vague recollection that there was a solution for the problem but they just couldn’t remember it.

CLIFF

It wasn’t enough for Dave that he’d gotten my promotion. He’d robbed me of it. He hacked my computer, stole my research, and then turned it in as his own. I’d protested and had simply been marked as a jealous spoilsport. But even that wasn’t enough. With his bonus, Dave bought a fancy Italian sports car. He offered to let me sit in it, saying that the interior smelled like money. Instead, I tossed my coffee cup into it. The gas in the cup smelled like money too. When I struck the match, I decided it smelled more like justice.

*****

I love my country. I love the values and ideals that this country was founded upon. I truly believe that America has generated some of the most amazing people and ideas in history. And yet, I am ashamed of some of my countrymen. The final straw was a few years ago in Egypt. We’d toured the pyramids and were approaching the Sphinx when I heard a couple of distinctly American voices behind me.
“Hey, that statue has no nose!”
“Really? How does it smell?”
“Smell? It sphinx!”
I love my country, but when I travel abroad, I say I’m Canadian.

REDGODDESS

It’s been a few weeks since Lola has spent time with her lover. They had been inseparable since the New Year, but now they are slowly seeing less of each other. It’s like they’re playing hide and seek with their hearts.
After months getting to know him, she doesn’t want to play games. Somehow, she has avoided giving him an answer about his proposal. She still remembers his words.
In spite of her resistance, she misses him more than she’s willing to admit. He smells so delicious, she says to herself. while undressing before bedtime, Lola concocted a secret plan to show him how much he means to her. On their next date, he finally will taste a new side of Lola, and he’ll get his answer on the spot.

NORVAL JOE

Ulnar Styloid, warrior and clan chief of the Olecranon Process scanned an empty sector of space represented on the three dimentional holographic display.
He had skirted the costal margins past the illiac crest and warped through a vascular dilation bringing himself into sub-talor neutral alignment.
Thuogh his vestibular class assault frigate purred like a Coratoid from the jungle planet of Vastus Lateralus, something told Ulnar, all was not right.
A smell eminated from the warp capacitor cabinet which made him think of overripe bananas, aftershave and death.
He was allergic to bananas and aftershave. The two, together, would kill him.

JUSTIN

The onslaught of Zerg across the planet is marked by the transformation of the landscape. Comforting vistas of stone, soil, and seed morphed into a nightmare of purple ooze, ghastly spires of bone and sinew, and maws birthing horrors of teeth and spine. This ooze, Creep, smells of fluids alien to our senses. The unfamiliarity causes disorientation and disgust. But as with anything, over time the field of battle on the foreign substance becomes known and familiar, along with the smell of blood and bile of the dead. Even after the Creep is burned away, the scent remains, a reminder.

SINGH

from ‘The Lady Punter’s Nose’

1.
Jocelyn inhaled her asthma spray. The $100 bet also made everything sharper. Inexplicably she smelled tinned tomatoes. The crowds were pushing her up against the rail, not just their colognes but all the acrid pheromones beneath reached out to stroke tentacles against her skin. For no reason she thought of chocolate; looking at the green turf of the track she tasted peppermint drops, and somewhere in the distance the horses were snorting salty and truculent as centaurs entering the barrier restless to run. As the last horse went in the gate something internally signalled tomato-red, she turned her head.

2.
And there he was – flannel suited with dark glasses, head above the crowd. Her eyes lit up, but Davidson, who’d entered as the late starter in the contrived courtship of Jocelyn Enzensberger stood there, crowd-locked so he could remain un-crumpled and aloof. The louder haler coughed its metallic cry like a lasso over the crowd gathering eyes raceward. A gust of wind picked up and riffled thousands of yellow trackside roses wafting spicy musk. It masked the alcohol buoyant crowd. The race about to start, they locked their glance for a moment.

Then, the caller said: “And they’re racing!”

3.
In this gambling fantasia, desire combined with asthma funny gas on an empty stomach was effecting her olfactory sense. A lady’s cream hat smelled vanilla. The security official’s orange vest promised fruit punch. It was her synesthesia playing up. When the horses careered into the home straight the jockeys’ silks were edible pink, green apple, jelly-red and blueberry candy floss. Then, her 20/1 outsider Filly Mignon glided over the finishing line and she could taste the rainbow. She turned to share her secret elation, but Davidson had gone. Everything turned suddenly rancid and she vomited on the rose bushes.

4.
The smell of winning was so strongly with her, heightened by the sense of loss. Why had he gone? Mick Dalby the fellow syndicate member she had erased temporarily from her side took her arm and offered a handkerchief.   “Are you ok? That’s a pretty strange way to celebrate a win,” he said. Between them they had just clocked $4,000.

“I guess,” she answered dabbing her mouth with the handkerchief. She couldn’t quite explain the phenomenon either. Jocelyn had a rare form of neurological synesthesia, but nothing as acute as this had happened before. Some new switch had flicked on.

5.
As Filly Mignon returned from up track to the judges’s enclosure for weighing and presentation of cheque and winner’s cup, she got a strong whiff of horse lather and from now she would always associate this with the sensation of victory, just as the presentiment for selecting winning horses through her inner nose would always smell of tinned tomatoes. $2,000 richer, she was ravenous for Pasta Neapolitan, but couldn’t resist the temptation of sniffing out another jackpot win for the next race first. Strangely, Davidson’s presence was a part of it. To win, did she need to be in love?

PLANET Z

Sister Francis warned the boys not to sniff their own brains, but the boys never listened.

“Who ever heard of a boy sniffing his own brain?” they would say.

You do not laugh at Sister Francis, so they did it on the playground.

“What are you laughing about?” Sister Francis would say to the boys.

“Nothing,” said the boys.

So, she rolled up her sleeve, and punched each boy in the nose, driving bone fragments into their brains.

Any martial arts connoisseur knows that this results in instant death.

And no time for the boys to snuff their own brains.

Weekly Challenge #368 – Old

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

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

The topic this week was OLD:

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

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

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

MIKE

OLD
by mbnels

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Do you have any singles?”

“Why?”

“That girl. I think she wants me to put a dollar in her g-string.”

“We’re at a high-school basketball game!”

“I know, but for God’s sake she’s wearing mesh pantyhose! She has tattoos, a butterfly on her ankle, a tramp stamp on her back and she has flowers that go up her tummy and over her-”

“Dude! That’s Amanda Tomlinson.”

“Wait. Mandy Tomlinson? Andrew Tomlinson’s DAUGHTER?”

“Shhhh, yes. Andy is right behind us.”

“Dude.”

“What?”

“Do you have any forks in there?”

“Just a spork…why?”

“I wanna gouge out my eyes.”

THOMAS

Henry was an old man. In the last ten, maybe twenty years, he realized that he had grown invisible. When shopping, picking a loaf of bread off the shelf, or choosing a couple of oranges at the produce counter, young people would pass by, almost brushing into him, but not making eye contact or offering a greeting. At the front entrance of the post office, an attractive young lady appeared, face to face at the large, double doors. She stared straight ahead, not changing her expression. She looked through the old man as if he was glass in the door.

The geezer was old

but still felt bold

older than dirt

but still the flirt

ogling the legs

with his ham and eggs

checking behinds

through venetian blinds.

Any chance he had

with the scantily clad

at the park

daytime or dark.

He’d wait for the runner

an exceptional stunner

to jog on by

and to catch his eye.

Bright yellow shorts

which barely supports

her magnificent tush.

Her fanny, a bubble

screaming for trouble

to the nasty old goat

tightening his throat

and raising his nubble.

Old, but not dead.

He could still pray

for that magical day.

NORVAL JOE

Before Katie could drag Borle from the hut screems issued from the tropical forest. Through the screen walls of the structure men could be seen leaping from the foliage and rushing to crowd around the small man’s house. Each warrior held a drawn bow aimed within.
“I knew you were O’Malley spies,” the small man whined. As one the women threw their spears to the ground, their bare breasts heaving as they sighed in resignation.
“O’Leary. Send out those thieves and make sure they’ve got the Tahloohlah gourd with them,” someone shouted from outside.
“This is getting old,” Borle grumbled.

“Mr. Dunderspawn. If you won’t sign the paper, there’s not a lot I can do for you. You’re being held on suspicion of being an international terrorist. You have no rights as a US citizen.”
A guard walked up, unlocked the cell door and said, “Come with me. You have a visitor.”
Across the plexiglass divider, Widow Finklestien scowled; an old cardboard box sat on the table before her.
“I’ve been feeding your wiener dogs while you’ve been away, but this one won’t eat.”
The grey muzzle of Long John Silver poked from under the folded lid of the box.

JEFFREY

Parker
by Jeffrey Fischer

The pen was old, a black 1947 vacuum-filling Parker 51 with a blue diamond on the arrow clip. Scratches along the soft metal cap gave the pen character. The rubber in the filling mechanism had become brittle with age, but with some careful work I replaced the diaphragm. After soaking the pen in water to dissolve years of dried ink, the 51 was ready to write.

I sat at my father’s desk, like the pen another antique I inherited, with the 51 in my hand, poised to make a note in my new leather-bound journal. My father thought of his pen as an extension of himself. Does the pen still have that power, or, in an age of electronic diaries and hand-held computers, is it hopelessly anachronistic, mere evidence of a bygone age?

Goin’ Mobile
by Jeffrey Fischer

My first car was a 1982 Mercury Lynx. It was old at the time I bought it, held together more by duct tape than welds, moved from zero to sixty in a brisk ten to twelve seconds or so, and had an annoying tendency to refuse to start when the engine was halfway warm.

Still, a car meant freedom. I loved that. Of course, to a young person, a car also meant car payments, and an old car meant lots of repairs. Did I say “freedom”? I meant to say “prison.”

RICHARD

#1 – The Dig

The team gathered excitedly around the find. The artefact was old – ancient in fact – but that wasn’t its most striking attribute, for there in the trench, surrounded by pottery and tile fragments, covered in mud and scoured by the ravages of time, lay unmistakeably, a Roman timepiece.

This was an historical moment – one that would change forever our understanding of ancient technology… nobody had realised the Romans were so technologically advanced.

Johnson walked up to the crowd, wondering what the excitement was about.

“Hey Guys, has anyone seen my watch? I dropped it around here a couple of days ago.”

#2 – Grow Up!

‘Grow up!’ It’s an admonishment I seem to get almost every day…

Like the time I put itching powder down Miss Turner’s back or the hilarious occasion I slipped those little blue tablets into Sydney’s orange juice. “Grow up!”, they said, in exasperation.

I don’t want to grow up – there’s time enough for that when I’m older.

Today, Louise caught me tobogganing down the stairs on a tea-tray. It was the last straw for her, resulting in a proper telling-off:

“For goodness sake grandpa, will you please grow up – you’re just too old for this kind of behaviour!”

#3 – Hasty Retreat

George’s exit from the mortuary was a great deal more rapid than his entrance – whatever disaster had befallen humanity outside, he’d much rather take his chances with the living dead, than hang around with the dead and decaying.

He cleared the corridor in five seconds flat and tore back up the several flights of stairs he’d only recently made his way down.

Finally, he could run no further and collapsed in a heap on the floor, fighting for breath and wishing he’d spent more time keeping in shape.

Miserably he thought, “I’m getting too old for this sort of thing”.

SERENDIPITY

My coffee table is an heirloom from my grandmother – I remember her teaching me to count the rings in the grain to see how old the tree was. No matter how many times I counted, I always came up with a different number!

We’d sit at the table and she’d show how each ring represented a particular year – “This one was made at the time of the industrial revolution, and that one is around the date of the American civil war”

“What about that dark one, right in the middle?”, I prompted.

“Your grandfather’s coffee cup made that!”, she grumbled.

MUNSI

Dubstep

By Christopher Munroe

I have to admit, I don’t enjoy Dubstep.

Which is weird, I’ve enjoyed electronic music in the past. I liked Chemical Brothers and Prodigy during the ‘90s, I still love Daft Punk. Aphex Twin’s Richard D. James albums is one of my favorites, and there’s a clear line between that and Dubstep, and yet…

I can’t get into it. I suspect the fault isn’t Dubstep’s, but my own.

Because I’m growing older.

I’m always growing older, every minute of every day. It’s the one constant of my life.

And one day I’ll die.

But, more importantly, I don’t enjoy Dubstep.

LIZZIE

To understand

“Preferably,” mumbled the foreigner, leaning against the SUV covered in dust.

Shariq didn’t speak English, but his job was not to understand; his job was to take the man to different locations, like this abandoned old house in a deserted area.

The foreigner checked his watch and shook his head.

Another SUV appeared from behind the house. A man stepped down. They talked for a few seconds.

The foreigner came back, muttering, “The devil’s waiting.”

As they drove away, there was a huge explosion and pieces of the other SUV flew in all directions. Shariq thought “The devil’s at work.”

SINGH

Dante and the Tumult Cards Part 2

9.
Dante looked down at the broken body in the pit. A flicker registered in the face.
“You thought I could forget, Wolfgang? How you snatched my company, my wife and children? Remember our deal done by kerosene lamp? Poetic justice, isn’t it? You tripped into your own bear trap. The one you dug ten years ago.”
“Take it all, Dante. Let me live.”
“Aha? You think I care. I’m way too old. But I will play a last card for you.”
Dante shuffled. The Surrogate Card turned face up.
“Sorry. You lose.”
Dante lifted the trapdoor and let in the wolves.

10.
The alpha dog tore at his throat, the she-wolf his genitals. The others attacked at each limb, ripping him like a rag doll. His neck was spurting red, but Dante was supra-conscious beneath the excoriations of pain.
It should not have happened like this. Had he become his enemies’ understudy? Yes, the Surrogate Card had decided and this wasn’t a rehearsal.
What circle of hell was he in? The leopard, the lion and the wolf were still at his heels. From the shit pit of bodies writhing in human ammonia, a black hand emerged holding aloft the Clone Card.

11.
“Ladies, you can change your spots through the Lady Leopard Sexercise Programme.”
“Francine?” He spun around. ”I never thought I’d see…” and broke off…the once chubby face of his childhood sweetheart had been cloned by wall to wall video screens, She was the Wellness Goddess.
Nothing made sense. Had he been saved from Hell, only to land up at this cheesy mall promotion with a Lady Leopard Lookalike Pageant just beginning?
The future couldn’t be so random. The idea of progress had to exist.
He tossed the Tumult Deck into the air.
Each falling future was a Time-out Card.

12.
Time is a lion pacing the cage, losing grip. The past might have been the tawny savannah of Africa, but the future was a putrid stall of thrown bones.
Shocking, Dante thought. How nobility could be so reduced to an object of pedestrian pleasure pointing and licking its French-fry fingers.
Caged in his consciousness he was no different to the big cat. Sitting on the bench under a tree, he felt truly compassionate and remorseful for the first time. Heavens and Hells, Africas and zoo-purgatory. Were these destinations or stopovers? Wind shook down the leaves and the Power Card.

13.
Dante met his she-wolf on Tuesdays. The circle drummed them into the underworld. Howling and mating as Power Animals, they then returned.
Lycanthia Wolf had founded the Therian Support Group after coming out two years back. Meeting her alpha she was happy.
He was circumspect about Therianthropy. All these drooping tails pinned to backsides.
“Psychiatrists call this ‘species dysmorphia’,” he challenged.
“It’s animal past lives,” she answered.
A newcomer jumped in. “We meet in a virtual world and are in a loving raccoon-hyena relationship now.”
Dante fiddled with the deck in his pocket and pulled out the Buddha Card.

14.
To escape leopard, lion and wolf Dante had backpacked here seeking sanctuary.
Thirty monks sat before the rare monkey wood image.
“Chop off Buddha’s head,” the abbot ordered.
“It is sacrosanct. Unthinkable!” one factional monk complained.
“Just do it!” said the cranky abbot.
Was Dante being ensnared in a power struggle? Who to align with, who would win?
“Why are you waiting, you fool?”
So, Dante swung. A chip flew out. Another card! It was Surrender.
“Now chop and burn it! My toes are icicles!”
Dante understand none of this. Lust, greed and power were still growling beasts in his belly.

15.
She was one hundred with a face leathery as a shrunken doll. But her eyes were pellucid as the mountain river.
Dante had to purify himself in water before Tingri the sky god would revoke the three evils.
Old Grandmother donned her she-wolf mask and danced into trance.
Soon she was howling in an animal tongue. Dante couldn’t understand.
Suddenly, she punched him left and right and left with such force it loosened a tooth.
Later in the yurt after a meal of horse offal, he dreamed of falling stones. On waking the Clemency Card was stuck to his palm.

16.
“Leniency, Sir?” Dante asked. “At Ypres, the beast in man was born from mud,”
Thirty miles behind the Front, General Sir Ossian Quayles luncheoned on.
“Some Christmas clemency please. Trench morale has been gnawed raw.”
Quayles held his tarte d’oignon mid-fork. “In battle Colonel, the lion must be unleashed, then goaded forward.”
Dante clenched knuckles remembering thousands sentenced to machine gun oblivion.
“The three deserters?”
Quayles considered the political implications. Let him carry the shit can in case anything leaks to the press. “Hush it up then, Colonel.”
Dante returned to his rat quarters, cut the Deck, turning up Death.

17.
Inside the coffin he was awake. Scripture re-surfaced: “The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the goat, the calf and the lion and the yearling together; and a little child will lead them.”
Was this death? Dante blinked. The kidnapping came back, being knocked unconscious. Who was wolf, who was the lamb? Even here images of leopard and lion would not leave him alone. Fear’s movie was going on inside him.
Then, a phone vibrated rudely on his chest. A reprieve or ransom demand? No. Just a picture-send. It was the Birth Card.

18.
The wolf woman lived over the pass in Tumult Valley, an isolated place known for storms. She trained animals for Hollywood. Randy the leopard and Tamerlane the lion were caged out back with others, while Half Moon, a she-wolf had slept by her bed since a puppy. Few visited and she liked it that way. A stuntman got her pregnant during her last shoot. She was glad and never told him.
Around sunset the first contractions began. She walked up and down, rocked in her chair, but couldn’t settle. Even the wolf began to fret. Why was the midwife late?

19.
As the storm broke so did her water. She and Moon were on their own. Throwing down quilts she nested beside the brass bed, spread herself breathing and pushing until finally the baby crowned and was in the world. She slumped back and brought it close. She had done it. Alone, Moon licked the baby’s face. The tumult was over. She reached for the Deck on the bed table. As a ritual of significant beginnings she knocked it flying to see what fate would turn up for a newborn girl. It was the clean slate, the heart-shaped mirrorcard – the Blank.

TOM

Timmy smiled at dad. Raised his hand shook two fingers proudly proclaiming “I’M TWO!” The remains of the cake and candles were smeared across the top of the wooden highchair and Timmy’s face. Of the mountain of toys from Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles, Parents Timmy seemed most fascinated by a nerf ball. The Godfather Tom sheepishly apologized for inadvertently up-staging the family. “It’s ok Tom. It’s actually on the list of toys Timmy can take with him.” Mother carefully put the knit hat on Timmy’s shinning head. As they drove to the clinic Tom thought three years old was highly unlikely

To mark my 500th story at Laurence’s 100 World Story Archive I want
to thank you all for the shout outs for my birthday. As one advances
in years the milestones call to celebrate become more distinctly
spaced out. To this end only birthday ending in zero get properly
acknowledged. This is why I brought this to the attention of our band
of brothers/sisters gender correct thank you very much. Turning 60 is
sort of unfamiliar landscape sort of Gallup on acid and I highly
recommend not doing acid in Gallup, for one I feel no wiser or mature
then when I turned 14 but at the same time I am the last living
member of my childhood rat pack.. In the last year my best writing
has been in the form of eulogies. Gail keeps saying I’m just middle
aged, I don’t know many folk 120. I’ve always thought it odd that at
19 you’re a young man at 29 you’re standing at the border of middle
age. Now I’ve double 30 my goal is to care half as much about what
other think of me and have six times as much fun as when I was 10.

TURA

“Say, how old *are* you?”

I usually leave before people start asking, but it’s getting harder to disappear. Time was, I’d get on a ship and go missing, turn up somewhere as a stranger and start over. It’s not so easy under the eye of Google Earth, the Internet, and CCTVs everywhere.

I recently gave a DNA sample to a research survey. I’d like to know what they find, that’s kept this body going three thousand years, but it looks like I can’t stick around to find out.

Time to leave, time for a new life. That never gets old.

CLIFF

The book store was a collectors dream. Leather bound volumes lined the shelves. The older books were in display cabinets under lock and key. I loved it. I chatted with the owner for a bit and bought a first edition of 1984. He was obviously a huge bibliophile and grew quite animated when talking about his collection.
“I have a first edition bible. Would you like to see it?”
Of course, I said yes. I’d never seen a Gutenberg up close.
“Oh, it’s not a Gutenberg,” he said as he unlocked a door. Inside were stacks of stone tablets.

MIATA

I was young. I saw an old woman at the park. At first, I was afraid of her, that is, until I saw her eyes. They were like the Mediterranean Sea, and they were sparkling at me! Her voice cracked as she spoke, but after listening I caught the lilt, the music from her soul. Had she been to all the places she sang about? She was my grandmother, and the love I came to have for her had no bounds.

I am old. I met my grandchildren at the park. At first, they were scared of me….

ZACKMANN

“Hey Pops, Did you hear that new dubstep song on the radio?”

“No young man, and I hope I don’t. Back in my day music didn’t have to sound awful for kids to dance to it.”

“Pops, You know hating new music exclusively because it’s crap is a sign of old age.”

Pop winks and says “I’ve always hated bad music and I told you to call me Uncle when we go places without your mother.”

“Yeah, thats like so mature”
“Your mother assures me that I might have become responsible, maybe even old but I will never be mature.”

STEVEN

You don’t want to, you really don’t. But the scab – dried platelets and blood – can’t be ignored.

Try to concentrate on the smooth skin – not the red raised inflammation around the scab – focus, dammit, focus.

Your fingers, your clothes, the air brushes against the scab.

The invisible elephant makes it impossible to move, to breathe, to think.

Dig with fingernails chewed and peeled and bitten with worry. The sharp flashes of pain are relief, any sensation besides the crusted deadened dread.

You are surprised by the blood, by the wound.

It will stain your clothes.

It will leave a scar.

REDGODDESS

Lola can count the number of awkward moments at the hotel in both hands. Most guests are cordial unless they are in one their bad moods. You know, “the my problems are bigger than yours” look. They walk around like zombies with blank stares with the scent of rage. Lola feels like an invisible sculpture in the lobby. On other days, they seek her out like a lost friend, spilling their repressed secrets to her like a designated Therapist. The next day, some zoom by without saying a word. In spite of their indifference, Lola will remain the most reliable stranger in their lives.

Lola has come to accept the reality that old age is like death, both are inevitable. After turning 30, she stops counting. It’s a waste of time considering she feels older than she looks. Sadly, the media won’t let her forget either. Everywhere she turns, there are ads for wrinkle and cellulite cream. Her friends shower her with complements but she’s skeptical.
Henri, a French hotel guest with a permanent tan, greets with air kisses and spins her around like a ballerina. . “You look younger by the minute!” he squeals for everyone in ear shot to turn and stare. Lola blushes but feels oddly convinced by this drunk man’s flattery.

JUSTIN

Delbright traipsed across the Capital Wasteland, enjoying no longer living in the Vault. Sure it was a big giant mess, but not boring. Bright sunlight glinted off something in the sand. Delbright picked it up. It was old, but still new and shiny. Looked like something from the vault museum. It was amazing something this old still looked good out here. He fiddled with it trying to decide how it worked. It fell from his hands when the back of his skull cracked. Delbert fell and saw his killer. The sneaking bandit took it back, as well as Delbright’s things.

Carson goaded his brahmin along the path between Megaton and Bigtown. The wagon they pulled was his life, goods to trade. Travelers needed items of all sorts, and he needed caps to put food on his plate. Something that looked valuable laid in the sand ahead, reflecting the harsh sunlight. Carson picked it up. It was old, and it was in mint condition. Far too mint to not have been placed here recently. He took cover against his wagon. When a bandit came around the corner, spiked bat in hand, he shot, and added the bandits things to his own.

DANNY

An Old Man tried to commit suicide by carbon monoxide gas. The old man carefully hooked a long tube from the exhaust pipe of his car into the rear window of his four door sedan parked in his garage, then thoroughly sealed the back window with duct tape. Unfortunately, the car the old man used was a hydrogen fuel cell car from Honda. The Honda was so well built, and the duct tape job around the exhaust was so brilliant, and the cabin of the car was so well built, it rapidly filled with water. The old man drowned instead.

PLANET Z

Whenever I find an old ornate bottle that looks like it might contain a genie, I pick it up and wish that I never found the genie’s bottle in the first place.

This guarantees that my life will either stay the same, because the bottle isn’t magical at all, or that it will get better.

How will it get better?

Because with all this crazy shit going on, there’s no way I’d wish for the life I have now, so it stands to reason that the genie made my wishes backfire on me.

No bottle, no crazy shit.

(Fuckin’ genie.)

Weekly Challenge #367 – Blank

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

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

The topic this week was BLANK:

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

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

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

THOMAS

Stanley’s mind was a blank. After two weeks of meditation, taking no food, and only sipping water, his mind was clear and thus so vacant that the natural operation of his brain that controlled breathing and movement had stalled to the point where all autonomic functions that sustained life had put him in jeopardy. His friend intervened, putting earphones on his head, and blasting Pink Floyd into his ears, while force-feeding him chili, shots of cinnamon whiskey and tickling him with a feather duster until Stanley’s mind exploded with stimuli and his breathing changed from life threatening to normal breathing.
#

Nick had no offspring. Nick shot blanks. A stuntman for a B film maker, he was responsible for weapons, explosions, and flames used in productions. When the set opened for a father and son day, Nick asked his brother, Don, if he could “borrow” his son to tour the studio, meet the actors, and help him do the set ups for a car chase and gun battle that was being filmed. Don’s son was quiet, but unknown to anyone, was the spawn of the devil, and intent on causing harm when the opportunity presented itself. You know what happened, right?
#
All the pages of TJ’s new book were left intentionally blank. Everything he had wanted to say, was already said in his other books and papers. The book, sold by Amazon, was intended as a novelty, but it soon jumped to number ten spot on the 2013, best seller list. People bought it and used it as a journal, or a notebook. Others put it in their bookcase or displayed it on their coffee table. The cover was made in China, of recycled automobile tires, and titled with gold embossing. Black, thick and malodorous, the books cried out to bibliophiles.
#
TJ’s next book contained blank verse. The first piece, dedicated to his lady friend, was his favorite:
By this morning sun, among red tulips
He stooped to pull weeds, and his knees cried out
Not up to the task, nor willing to submit
To more discomfort , for a glorious yard.

The book of mediocre verse sold one copy to his great Aunt in Waterbury. She had three of her Canasta Club members write fantastic reviews, and asked the congregation at Saint Luke’s if they would also write reviews that she would dictate to them. The author sold three more.
#

He was shot, point blank. Many have heard the phrase, but do not know that point blank is the distance between the gun and the target, such that the bullet in flight is expected to strike the target without adjusting the elevation of the firearm. If the assassin has to raise his pistol as little as one degree in order to strike the victim, it is no longer a point blank shot. Therefore, to avoid being shot point blank, it is recommended that you leap into the air as fast and as high as you can, as the hammer falls.
#
Joe’s assignment was to write a 100 word story using “blank” as the queue word. He wanted to please and impress his writing teacher and coach. He thought of a piece of metal used as a blank to form a car part, analytical blanks as it relates to chemistry, and the expression on a woman’s face when he complemented her on her shoes. He settled on writing more about his uneasiness when trying to engage a beautiful woman. His work as a Gynecologist in a woman’s prison had more to do with his lack of social prowess than anything else.

JEFFREY

Caroline
by Jeffrey Fischer

The first thing people tended to notice about Caroline, before the unkempt hair and jaundiced skin, was her blank stare. She gazed into infinity, not bothered by a visitor’s presence, not even acknowledging it.

Yet behind the unblinking eyes Caroline lived entire lives, free from the institution. She loved, married, bore children and raised them to adulthood, mourned the loss of loved ones. She grew old and died and was reborn, all this in an instant as she gazed impassively at the beige wall. She looked at nothing – and everything.

Shooting Blanks
by Jeffrey Fischer

The doctor looked at me kindly as he told me I was shooting blanks, that my wife and I could never have children, at least not the old-fashioned way.

When my wife could no longer hide her pregnancy, I was confused, then angry. I may be slow, but if I couldn’t knock her up, someone else must’ve done it for me.

When my son was born, the doctors did another test and said he was really mine. Those earlier tests were wrong, they said, or my stuff got better. That made me very happy. I apologized to my old lady for thinking she whored around on me. But I couldn’t stay long – just a few minutes at her grave then the guards took me back to prison.

LIZZIE

Blank Humans

“This is a nightmare,” the man sighed. “We all died. Some of us came back. So what?”
The woman sat in silence.
“Who’s your government source?” she asked, scratching the paint off the table.
“Frank.”
“A fool.”
“I’m afraid we are past that.”
“Just type it, then. Some of us will die again. No one will come back. There aren’t many of us left.”
“They’re…”
“Producing them, I know.”
He started typing – Project for Sector X75: Production of Artificial Humans – Top Secret.
“Were we ever really humans once?”
“Life’s not fair,” she said, the word “Alive” on the rusted table.

TOM

A vague recollection of a breakfast conversation with my beloved Anne connecting the name I saw with a chain of familial reference that lead to the realization that through law I was related to Mr. Poe, the author. In Ernest I repeated, was there need to summon a doctor? He took my hand. The fabric of his coat was thread bare and seemed ill fitting for a man of his station. “Give this to Lee,” he said, a gray shroud fell across his eyes. I tore a blank page from this very journal, hastily penned a note to Dr. Snodgrass.

TURA

I don’t actually know how to say my last name. After choosing it, I googled it. It’s Romanian. There’s a main street in Bucharest named for one Ion BREZoYAnu (or should that be breZOYnu?). He is famous for having a street named after him.

At first I read it as “BREzoYAnu”, but the other week, I thought of saying “breZOIanu”, which I quite like. Or maybe Romanians would squeeze it down to “brezWAnu”? Or “BREZwanu”?

I’ve googled up some Romanian tutorials, so I know what sounds the letters stand for, but as for the stress patterns, I’ve drawn a blank.

YORDIE

The Samurai’s Poem
by Yordie Sands

I approached the samurai seated in my teahouse. I bowed with respect, saying, “konnichiwa honorable sir.”

He looked at me with inquisitive eyes, unlike the blank stares of those warriors who engage in battle to feel alive.

He bowed and said, “Honorable lady, please sit by me. I’ll read the poem I wrote for you.”

If of love I die
then above my grave mound, dear
Yordie come and cry

I smiled and bowed to him.

I’d read many haiku and recognized the one he read to me. It was by the courtesan Oshu, except she didn’t use my name.

MUNSI

He was blank, of average height and average looks, favoring neutral hues in his clothes and uninteresting hairstyles.

He was friendly, personable, but never took a stand on any issue, never offered an opinion that was in the least bit out of the mainstream. He kept to small talk and platitudes, and listened more than he spoke.

Once he left a room everyone immediately forgot he’d ever been there.

He was invisible.

And it was only later that they realized their jewelry was missing, never making the connection to the fellow who’d been with their crowd but not of them…

THOMAS N

She sent me an apology tape. Our relationship began that way, with a mix tape. I declared my love through others’ poetry set to music, encased in plastic. Hundreds of tapes, each song carefully selected to send a message from my heart to hers, or vice-versa were the artifacts of our history. How to respond to this latest betrayal, and the apology? I should be depressed, relieved, angry, something. But I was just tired. I unwrapped the cassette, labeled it, and contemplated the eventual contents. I closed the box, addressed the envelope, and dropped the tape in the mail, blank.

SERENDIPITY

Turn on laptop and stare intently at the blank screen in front of you.

Chew fingernail reflectively.

Let attention wander; distractedly tidy desk. Stare intently through window.

Type for a moment – tippy-tap, tippy-tap.

Pause.

Backspace, backspace, backspace, delete.

Critically examine chewed fingernail. Chew into more pleasing shape.

Sigh.

Make coffee. Drink coffee.

Strengthen resolve… fingers poised over keys… brow furrowed with concentration.

Nothing happens.

Run hands through hair in frustration.

Stare, and stare, and stare at the blank screen, willing words to come.

But the words stay stubbornly silent.

There’s nothing today – my mind is a complete blank.

SAM

The sheriff stood facing the outlaw, hand poised over his pistol, ready to draw.

“When both y’all are ready, I’ll start counting,” said the impartial judge. Both men inclined their heads, in the barest suggestion of a nod.

“Ten, nine,” he counted, while sweat trickled down the sheriff’s brow.

“Two. One. Draw!”

Both men drew and fired but the outlaw was just a smidgen faster. Yet the sheriff stood, and the outlaw fell.

“What happened?” The judge exclaimed in amazement.

“He must have been shooting bl…. shooting blan….what’s the word?” Asked the sheriff.

“I don’t know. I’m drawing a blank.”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

This isn’t a story.

You want purpose? You want some kind of reassurance that there is meaning?

There is no evidence that there is meaning. None.

Faith, maybe, but no evidence.

As far as we know, there’s just a huge, empty, terrifying blank. A vast nothing, throwing your brainstem into survival instinct protective recoil. It’s terrifying, no matter how many times you look at it.

You want to just give up. To give in to the nothing.

And then you get up. You go on. You do something awesome anyway.

Then it gains meaning.

Only then does it becomes story.

CLIFF

I’m not saying it was my idea. It wasn’t. I just asked a question, that’s all. It would just be nice to be in the footnotes somewhere, you know? You see, I was working with the boss on the big project. No one knew what the project really was. The boss didn’t like to explain himself, even back then. Problem was, you couldn’t even see the thing. It was just a big blank his studio. So, I said “Why is it so dark?”. That inspired the boss. He sat a moment and then said the words.
“LET THERE BE LIGHT!”

MIATA

This week, I’ve drawn a blank. So, here are some quotes…..enjoy.
“Writing is like surfing – it’s a challenge to stand on the board, but when you do, it’s a glorious ride.” – Sark
“A human being is nothing but a story with skin around it.” – Fred Allen
“Judge each day not by the harvest you reap, but by the seeds you have planted.”
– Robert Louis Stevenson
“If music be the food of love, Play on, play on, play on.” – Shakespeare
“Fire not only consumes; it purifies.” – Unknown
“Write a saying and your name will live forever.” – Anonymous

CALEDONIA

“It is a huge expanse of white, gaping emptiness. It could be so many things. It could not be so many things. How will I know? Fingers drum on the clean, white formica worktable. What is it? Hand sorts through the long clutch of wooden handles in the ancient Taco Bell mega-cup. What size? Digits dance over the bottles crammed into the oversized Christmas cookie tin whose lid is long gone. What color? Just make a choice! It doesn’t matter what. The only failure is the failure to engage. The brush poises over the surface. Contact: embracing the many possibilities.”

BONCHANCE AND SEVI

Ode to…

His name was Mr Cinnamon.
He loved to sing.

Lost among the crowd, yet within the throng,
lifted his head and began his song.

Without thought, the flock would open and part
the burdened would feel an uplifted heart.
His songs, each one, were simple and pure
and none could escape the magical allure

of the one who sang
the one who went
by an aromatic name.

He never rumbled.
Always humble.
Females preened and posed.
Offering needed repose.
His first name was always a blank,
He only wanted to do one thing.

His name was Mr Cinnamon
He loved to sing.

JUSTIN

A piece of paper, a blank slate. This is a character sheet for a role-playing game.

Formless, then with dice and a creative mind: life, an avatar into imaginative, fantastic worlds.

The person’s existence is like a character in a play, and only exists when the stage is set and the lights are on. But what will they be like?

The toss of the dice determine if they are strong or smart, and the imagination of the player determines how they will live. What choices they make.

Use wisdom, especially if they’re a mage. Use strength if they’re a fighter.

DANNY

Whenever I’m in public, I always wonder if I reek of alcohol. Whether others perceive my inebriation. My mind draws a blank. I walk down an empty hallway, then start cursing because the hallway never ends. “This isn’t a hallway,” I proclaim, “it’s a god damn treadmill! I grow tired of walking it!” I go to an open bar, stand with drink in hand, in a loud, crowded room. I’m the lonliest man on Earth. Yet I can go online, letting everyone literally walk through my brain. Then I’m at one with the world, yet that world is a delusion.

SINGH

The Tumult Cards

1.
Dante was always drawing Safe Passage and blank Time-Outs, until the first Tumult Card turned up. It brought real storms. Fresh tribulation. Ongoing trouble.

Last time, a car crash, then two cracked ribs. Before that, an obscure company posting – a banishment overseas. But this time, Dante was determined to crash and burn, or crash through and end this cycle of bad karma, or what ever psychological self-sabotage was going one. Three tumults in a row! Could he break the bad cycle?

Francine dealt. Dante turned his card over with trepidation and then, relief. It wasn’t ‘Tumult’. He’d drawn ‘Shadow’.

2.
The lights blew out.

“Francine,” Dante called. “Joe, Krystiana.” No answer. “Hey guys, this isn’t funny.”

But all he could hear was panting and growling in the shadows.

“Alright, I’m done. You win!”

There was the scratch of a match. Dante still couldn’t see much until the flame became a lit candelabra. He was shocked. A leopard, a lion and wolf were sitting around the table.

Their eyes narrowed about to pounce and rip.

Where was the door? No. He’d never make it.

There was only one thing left that he could do. He reached for the deck and drew ‘Paradise’.

3.
Paradise Beach is a heavenly place for a deckchair and a piña colada beside it on a bamboo table.

Composing a homily to sun and surf in his head, life seemed to have turned a corner since the last Tumult Card.

Not for long. The Three sprang from the palms transformed in swimwear. Leopard Girl dropped a porno DVD on his lap, Lion Man thrust a hand mirror before his face and Wolf Girl fanned the deck before him like credit cards. Choose, their glaring looks said. Why leave Paradise after just arriving? They glared. Reluctantly he flipped the Heart Card.

4.
Dante landed on a dance floor. The neon sign throbbed, ‘The Heart Club.’ The topless girl in leopard skin miniskirt danced up to him, eyeball to eyeball. He felt a chill, but couldn’t help grinding hips with her.

“Why am you here?” he asked.

“To be eaten by desire, Dante.”

Then he realised what the throbbing was. It was his heart. She dug in her red fingernails. Dante felt the moment of puncture, but couldn’t stanch the bleeding.

“Help!” He cried, coughing up arterial blood.

There was a Card tucked in her cleavage. He grabbed at it, desperate. It was ‘Giant’.

5.
Dante heard music coming from The Brobdingnagian Brothers Carnival. Wobbling on giant stilts he stepped over the entrance. The crowds were ants. He would much rather be down there eating hot dogs and candy floss.

While thinking this, the massive crowds began to unbalance him. Then another stilt figure stepped over the ferris wheel. It was a giant lion-head.

“Why are they pushing?” Dante yelled.

“Because they think you are vain and lofty,” the lion said.

By now Dante was toppling over.

“Help me!”

The lion flicked a Card. Dante caught it in mid flight. It was the Credit Card.

6.
“Good luck, sucker,” growled the blonde-headed Lion teller.

Gradually he had emptied Dante’s $20,000 credit card in casino chips. Up $57,000 at first, it was gone. Dante was down to his last.

He returned to the Black Jack table. Leopard Girl attached herself to his shoulder, ready to leap on any gazelle competitor grazing nearby.

Turning up two picture cards, Dante hungering for windfall split them for a double Black Jack.

Wolf Girl, the dealer slid over two. He turned them up. Cruelty and Pain.

“Don’t be greedy,” snarled the she-wolf in her tux. “Choose just one.”

7.
She wore pants, jackboots, SS cap. The suspenders over a malnourished chest made her boyishly desirable. She sang and moved, leopard-sleek and didn’t flinch when his riding crop struck her. So far, prostitution and cabaret art had kept her from the gas showers.

Obersturmfuhrer Dante Engel was not a bad officer, but to love a Jewess had to be negotiated through a masquerade of cruelty in front of other guards, just as her blank face hid her own affection. She bowed theatrically and offered him something tucked in the braid around her visor cap. It was the Pain Card again.

8.
Joy and suffering cohabit. Dante didn’t want to move from their bedroom into the spare room, but she left him no choice., Too accepting, forgiving he’d brought pain upon himself. To leave would be to lose — game, set, house.

It was a matter of pride now. He cared what others would think, so endured their rough trade through the plasterboard. She tortured Dante with her lover’s leonine moves. He felt sick in the gut sitting at the mesa of the table cutting the deck of cards. He didn’t want to play, but fate spoke up. ‘Murder’ tumbled out as he shuffled.

NORVAL JOE

Borle panicked, sweat running freely down his face. Flerdy only shook his head.
Fifteen amazon warriors stood behind the two spacemen, their spears aimed at the two men’s backs.
Before them sat a small man in a wicker chair, his bald pate a mosaic of freckles.
“You see? My daughters very persuasive,” he said and giggled.
“We’ve done nothing wrong. You’re holding us illeagally,” Borle protested.
The small man’s face went blank.
“Don’t lie to me. I know who you are. You’re spies for O’Malley,” he said, calling one of the maidens forward. “Katie. Take the sweaty one for questioning.”

“Mr. Dunderspawn. I’ve been assigned by the state as your lawyer,” a man said from outside his cell.
Dergle swolled as he tried to decide if the man’s wrinkled shirt was originally white or was supposed to be yellow.
“Ok. What do we do now?” Dergle said walking to the bars.
Close up the man’s skin had the same yellow cast as his shirt and his few strands of greesy hair failed to cover the pale baldness of his head.
“You just need to sign this,” he said. “I’ll take care of the rest.”
“But this is blank,” Dergle said.

ZACKMANN

“Your sign says Will Draw Stars Living or Not. Draw me a blank.”
“Like polar bears in a snowstorm?” the street artist asked
“Well you see Doc, I want you to draw me the Blanc. The Blanc, I say.”
“Oh, Sy”
“Si”
“As, Sy?”
“Si. Sorry hard to stop that. Not as Sy but that age. Mel Blanc was the voice or rather voices of my childhood. I remember him better form Man of 10000 Voices interviews but really like the work he did with Benny. Maybe he will be easier to draw since he was in black and white”

PLANET Z

Leo Blankfein was the best accountant, but his sense of direction was total shit.

Hire him for a job in Queens, and he’d call you from Hoboken asking for directions.
Hire him for a job in Yonkers, and he’d call you from Harlem asking for directions.
Hire him for a job in the Bronx, and he’d call you from Staten Island asking for directions.

I tried to test this by hiring him for a job in his own apartment.
And he called me from Riker’s Island.

Okay, so the son of a bitch murdered his wife with a claw hammer.

Weekly Challenge #366 – Journal

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

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

The topic this week was JOURNAL:

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

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

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

THOMAS

I have a large, thick, journal. I didn’t write in it. I used it to prop up the end of a table I bought for the family room. It was just the right thickness, and more attractive than a brick or block of scrap wood. The journal sat there, propping up the end of the table top, until I removed it one day to clean and rearrange the room. I opened it and read a few words: “This journal is the property of Edgar Poe. Please return if found. A modest fee will be your reward for its return.” E.A.P.

#
The ship’s massive, main journal screamed. The bearings had turned to dust, and the sound of the heavy engine indicated it was far too late to repair. The engineer shut the old diesel down, and our ship was left to drift until we could get a tow. Sparky radioed for help, and the captain calculated our drift, based on the wind and currents. We drifted for a full day until a sea tug was sighted, hopefully to tow us to the nearest port. Thirty Somolians were on deck, and they signaled that they were coming on board for our cargo.
#
I read my daughter’s journal, to my regret. She wrote, recently, that she would like to give me “a swift backhander right across my red, steaming face”, and she thought I was “a Hitler worshipping, gypsy scum!” Little Angela had a dark side, and little did I know a web cam was aimed at her dresser drawer where she kept her journal. My indiscretion was uploaded to her web site and stored as a series of still images that she would access the next day. I was busted, and the photos were posted on Twitter, Facebook, and on her BLOG.

My belief for journal writing follows the belief of my literary hero. Walter Benjamin wrote: ulla dies sine linea [No day without a line]. I vowed that I would write the minimum of one page a day in my journal. My muse would be roiled if I ignored my daily pledge. I didn’t always have something to say, and I was too self- critical of my entries – just as I often was with my lovely and insatiable wife. I wrote about that, too. I wrote about how I felt when I didn’t have anything clever or profound to say.

JEFFREY

Birthday
by Jeffrey Fischer

When I was a child, my father was always aloof around me, carrying out his paternal duties with competence but not apparent affection. After he died, I took a week off to clean out his house. In the attic, I found a set of journals in his handwriting, dating from his teens to his early 30s. I spent every evening before bed perusing his old thoughts, trying to come to terms with our complicated relationship.

Like many such journals, Dad’s started off with frequent, detailed entries about all manner of trivial things, and tapered off to the occasional entry of greater importance. His last entry was dated the day I was born. It read, “Should be a happy day for me but instead all I see is a lifetime of obligation.”

Therapy
by Jeffrey Fischer

My shrink told me I should keep a journal. Write down your thoughts, he said, and reflect on them. Every year, look over the previous year’s entries to understand your mental space at the time. Anyway, pen and paper are a lot cheaper than an hour with me, he chuckled in that annoying way.

So I did. I dutifully made notes every day about what I was doing, what I was thinking, what I was feeling.

Truth be told, though, I’m having trouble staying motivated, especially about that year-end review. Well, especially after the computer in this spaceship told me the oxygen recycler was broken, and I have about twelve hours to live. But hey, it’s therapy.

RICHARD

#1 – Good Dog
He’s getting on a bit now, somewhat greyer and slower, but I wouldn’t be without him.

People ask why he’s called Journal – odd name for a dog – but it makes sense to me.

I’m not one of these new-fangled bloggers, putting every trial and tribulation of my life into print, but Journal’s been with me every step of my life: He’s chewed up my achievements and gnawed my trophies. When I feed him my trash, he sometimes sicks it up; other times, he devours it with relish; and, every so often, I’ll throw him a juicy morsel.

Good dog.

# 2 – Unicorns and Rainbows

I remember sneaking into my older sister’s bedroom as a teenager, intent on prying into her personal life. So, when I discovered her secret journal under the bed, I was convinced I’d hit pay dirt.

Seems I was mistaken – after thumbing through pages of girlish drivel, I was convinced that not only was my sister intensely boring, but for a girl her age, it was about time she grew up.

It was only after her arrest I realised that her girly ‘fairy dust’ and ‘barbie doll’ entries were actually detailed accounts of her extensive drug dealerships and lucrative prostitution rings!

#3 – For the Record
Once George had recovered from his cat encounter, he couldn’t help but wonder what other, less savoury encounters he might have, once he ventured outside the hospital walls.

It occurred to him that he should chronicle his struggles, in the hope that his experiences might someday have a greater purpose – he would write a journal! An inspirational account of survival against all the odds – his legacy and gift to the children of the future!

Sadly, for the children of the future, George could find neither notebook or pen, so – for now at least – the journal would just have to wait.

MUNSI

Entry: May 1st.

By Christopher Munroe

We found a battered journal among the wreckage. It’s our first lead to date as to what may’ve happened to the seek/rescue-team sent out mid-February in the aftermath of the initial incident.

No survivors have been found to date, nor trace of the seek/rescue-team.

I’m pouring over the journal for potentially pertinent details while the rest of the response crew combs through the wreckage of the research lab in the hopes that some clue might be uncovered.

Personally, my hopes aren’t high. Still, I’ll give the journal a read…

“Entry: February 14th. We found a battered journal among the wreckage.”

TURA

My dear Dr. Brezoianu:

I regret that the Journal of Neurosemantic Research must decline to publish your paper, “Obstruction of Remote Memetic Excitation by Aluminized Mylar Composites”. It has been closely read by three referees, all experts in the field, who unanimously recommend rejection on the respective grounds that its results are absurd, well-known, or trivially obvious. Furthermore, I don’t care for the over-familiar manner in which you approached my wife at the Oslo conference last year.

With best wishes for your publication, but not in any journal I have anything to do with,

Prof. Dr. Dr. Jarogniew Grzeszkiewicz (Editor)

ZACKMANN

Sue started writing a diary of her new work experiences and some of the unusually things that happen.

Dear Diary: Today I was training as a nurses aide. The senior aide training me took me to answer a call.

Oley, who had pulled the call sting said “Hand me the yournal.”

My trainer said “I sometimes have trouble with Mr Erickson’s accent. He subscribes the Fergus Fall Journal. Oley, would you like to read the Fergus Journal?”

Oley said “No,” pointing to a plastic container near the end of the bed “I need the yournal. Quickly, I have to pee.”

LIZZIE

Wrapped in a magic spell

Alexandra wrote her most private thoughts in her red and green leather journal. To make sure no one read it, she wrapped a magic spell around it. Most of her spells were quite benign so her roommate decided to take a peek. The next day in class, in walks a red skinned young woman with glowing green hair. Everyone laughed. Alexandra didn’t. She stood up and said “Begin”. Her roommate turned into a journal instantly, flapped her pages and clumsily flew away, only to find, down by the forest, a collection of similar journals being pecked at by ill-tempered birds.

TOM

From The Journal of Josef W. Walker

October 7 1849
I met a most peculiar man this evening exited Patterson’s Glove shop on Lombard. He was propped up against a gas post inches away from the gutter. His voice, barely a whisper, seemed to be working through a delirium fancy, punctuated with clearly audible cries to his personal muse. “Cassandra” he said at once a declaration yet at the same time a questioning lament. I asked him if he was in need of a doctor? “Call me Mercutio.” Said he handing me a folio upon which the in most delicate hand the signature read E. A. POE

SERENDIPITY

Who in their right mind would want to read a psychopath’s journal?

Actually, it gained a huge following, and I suddenly found myself acclaimed, ‘bestselling author’!

It seems my readers had a huge thirst for intricate plots, liberally interspersed with graphic descriptions of murder and mutilation, all executed with a callous disregard for humanity, leaving only sorrow, pain and bumbling, ineffective detectives… always one step behind the killer they sought.

The plaudits, and hard cash, came rolling in – nevertheless, I was unhappy with the book’s reception.

It annoyed the hell out of me that they insisted on calling it fiction!

CLIFF

Day 1: Got my assignment. This one should be easy.
Day 2: What was that assignment? Oh yeah. I got this one.
Day 3:
Day 4:
Day 5: Wife reminded me; I have an assignment. Need an idea. What was the word?
Day 6: Going to have to write my story tonight. Can’t get distracted.
Day 7: Get up early and sit down to type. No ideas. Search Wikipedia for inspiration. Latch on to an obscure idea and throw words onto the screen. Record my story and send the email. Send second email because I forgot to attach the recording.

MIATA

I sat at my table, looking out my window. It is a beautiful view, the pinks of the azaleas, the white dogwoods, green grass, and the blue stream. There is no better place to write than this….well, maybe at the beach.

As I look out over the serenity of it all, I’m reminded that my life is so opposite. I love a man. I know he thinks I am a stalker. Love unrequited, but he consumes my thoughts daily. I am getting better, no contact, but only thoughts. It is hard, and my fault. I will love, and live, again.

SINGH

The Mailman Journal

1 Journal
I am recording this, Mailman. Since The Shutdown other channels have closed. I only have this chair, a pedestal keyboard and screen in the wall. It blinks on randomly with a new daily word like a carrot. I am your donkey. Are you pulling me by the golden chain of language, Mailman? To where? I write to keep the will to live flickering like a firefly’s shadow on the screen of my own parochial consciousness. Why am I here? Isn’t that the only question worth asking? I think, I tap. After 100 words, the screen blinks off. Not one more.

2 Burn
I remember Mailman, how the Zen master took a wooden image, chopped it up, and made a fire, warming himself. Seeing this, one of the other monks asked, “What are you doing, setting fire to the Buddha?”
The master replied, “Where is Buddha?”
Before the Shutdown we said — religion? It’s poison. We also wanted to burn the Buddha. That monk was wooden and stuck, just as we were anti-form. So someone shut us down, obliterated us, but that didn’t end attachment. See beyond existence and nonexistence, Mailman, and make a Buddha of gold out of garbage scraps, appearing and…

Whistle
Dear Mailman, do you think I need the future? What use is it when I can reach into memory and pluck out the wind whistling against my old garage. It still rattles the roller-door, it still speaks to me with a taunting sense of its endlessness beating against my puny shelter like a house of straw. Are you telling me to whistle Dixie with folded gum leaf or some other cute tune as if it were a new creed to place trust in? I do not need to believe because the old wind still blows right through my bones.

Pizza
Fortunately, there is tinned food. A small mountain in the corner. That’s my pizza. I have water from underground. It seeps and I lick it up. Rocks glow in the cavern’s ceiling. How long before I am plunged into the full dark? I am adjusting, finding my way, practising on all fours with eyes bound. I must. I do not trust the light. These rocks are emitting a little less, a little less. As for this screen and your daily mail, I can only place trust my own process, not what prompts you try to steer me with, foolish Mailman.

Escape
Are you provoking me? Squinting my eyes, yes I see an empty canoe waiting on the shore, a motorbike ready with a key in the ignition. The word of ‘escape’ is meant to throw up a goldfish leaping out of its bowl. Mailman, you think I am your mouse in the treadmill, the passenger in your a car about to plummet, the hand over my mouth stopping me from uttering the name of the one who caused The Shutdown. Do you think your daily morsel of words can handcuff me? Mailman are you taunting me when such escape is irrelevant?

6. Mailman
Let’s get to the point, agent provocateur. You deliver, I respond, you set agendas, I reject. The Shutdown was my good fortune. Time is a coat on the hook. Whether you are male or female is my fiction. 0h bird-like flutter in my biological heart, I understand everything. Your prompts make me believe in neither the wooden Buddha chopped and burning, nor the golden Buddha sixteen feet high. You’re not, but in. I am your mailman. You only exist to receive these hundred intentions. Knowing this, today, I add one to the golden chain. It’s my gift, the extra factor.

NORVAL JOE

Flerdy tapped his voice recorder and said, “New page. Journal entry number 1685. Professor Flerdy Phlegmbburn in command. Day four on the planet O’Gillyham.
“My pilot and traveling companion, Borle Torquespindle, while availing himself of an opportunity to vegetate, found himself surrounded suddenly by countless Amazon warriors. The women’s lithe frames and bare buxom breasts belied their deadly prowess.
“Sweat trickled down his temples as the women crept slowly toward him.”
Borle cleared his throat. “Ahem. Flerdy?”
“Don’t interrupt me. I’m recording.”
“Right,” Borle said.
“Borle held his breath as the razor edge of a spear hovered above his throat.”

Sitting in a jail cell, Dergle sighed and thought, “Some super hero I turned out to be. Wiener Dog Man? More like, Big Stupid Loser Man.”
Someone in a cell down the hall yelled. He sounded Latino. “Guard. My journal no is working.”
“Keep it down,” the guard shouted back.
“How is that fair?” Dergle mumbled looking around the empty cell. “They didn’t let me keep anything, and he has a journal to write in.”
The man shouted again, “I’m telling jue. I need to juse the journal. If jue no fix it, I going to piss on the floor.”

JUSTIN

Artyom gazed at the sky. Condensation from his heavy breath obscured the gasmask’s lenses, but he stills saw the demon flit across the sky, it’s wings beating against the poisoned air. Artyom sprinted across the roof, leaped over a tripwire and landed hard on the unstable floorboards, leg nearly pushing through. The demon crashes above and peered into the room. Artyom rolled through a doorway and pointed his pistol, firing on the wired explosives. In a blast of splinters and stone, the demon tumbled into the air, where it flew away on tattered wings, dripping black blood onto the snow.

DANNY

Charles Manson started writing a journal after being incarcerated for his crimes. Way to delusional to admit to his guilt, he kept writing, convinced his journal was a novel. Because he has no right to privacy in prison, his journal is read to the parole board everytime he is up for parole in the California prison system. At every parole hearing, Charles screams how fixed the system is, then the parole board simply reads back his own journal entries, and properly denies parole. Charly, baby face, why don’t you know when to drink a cup of shut the fuck up?

PLANET Z

For a hundred years, Middleton was a two-paper town.

The Middleton Journal and The Middleton Chronicle competed for stories, subscribers, and advertisers. The quality of both papers was exceptional.

One day, the owners of The Journal and The Chronicle met to negotiate a merger.

They tossed a coin, it came up tails, and the staff of The Middleton Journal emptied their desks into cardboard boxes as The Middleton Chronicle-Journal began its run.

The journalism got lazier and sloppier, many subscribers of both papers cancelled, and advertising rates skyrocketed.

Sure, I read it. When I steal it off my neighbor’s porch.

REDGODDESS

Lola reads all kinds of tabloid magazines while at work. The hotel subscribes to the top five fashion magazines and newspapers. The guests steal them like the little shampoo bottles in the bathrooms. She’s repulsed by the tasteless covers yet intrigued by articles that show 769 ways to please a man. She wonders, if these magazines hold the answers to women’s satisfaction, why the majority of their readers are still hopeless lost. Are there magazines that offer men better advice for a better sex life? Recently, Lola learned that the Good Housekeeping Journal is the most reliable source of information for all women, regardless of marital status or income. It occurs to her that women spend as much time worrying about keeping a clean house as they do about pleasing a man. With that kind of obsession, these magazines hold the mirror to women’s angst for generations.

Weekly Challenge #365 – Pick a number

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

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

The topic this week was PICK A NUMBER:

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

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

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

THOMAS

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

EXPLORER

Numbers

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

“Click, sending”

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

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

JEFFREY

The Singer
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

Sixteen Numbers
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

RICHARD

#1 – 3.142
Never trust a mathematician.

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

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

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

Nonsense!

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

#2 – I called…

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

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

But that was long ago.

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

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

But, just like our lives…

Disconnected.

#3 – Disturbance

George awoke.

Something had disturbed him.

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

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

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

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

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

TURA

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

“Why?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

MUNSI

Numbers

By Christopher Munroe

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

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

That’s how counting works.

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

Because I’m a smartass.

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

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

That’s the number I need.

The number I strive for.

There we go.

TOM

Imaginary Number Aren’t

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

The police had hit the jackpot!

MIATA

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

CLIFF

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

###

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

LIZZIE

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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Fifteen threads. Fifteen bright timelines stretching into the when.

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

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

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

He won’t be scared this time.

Two threads.

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

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

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

ZACKMANN

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

DAPHNE

“Hi, how are you?”

“Four”

“Did you say four?”

“Four”

“Four? Four what?”

“Three”

“What are you doing?

“Four”

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

“Ten”

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

“Eleven”

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

“Seven”

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

“Twenty-Three”

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

“Twenty”

“See you next week.”

“Four”

NORVAL JOE

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

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

DANNY

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

JUSTIN

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

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

SINGH

Dear Palindrome 101

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

REDGODDESS

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

PLANET Z

Everybody says that Neo is The One.

Except Neo. He denies it completely.

Even to me, his bartender.

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

He just stares at me.

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

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

I throw a glass at him.

And he stops it mid-air.

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

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

Weekly Challenge #364 – Yes

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

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

The topic this week was YES:

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

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

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

Thomas

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

RICHARD

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

Even so, the doctor was unconvinced:

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

“Yes!”

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

“Yes… yes!”

“And what about here?”

“Yes – that hurts!”

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

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

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

#2 Yes Men

Even monarchs can become too powerful!

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

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

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

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

#3 For better, for worse

“Do you love me?”, she asked.

“Yes”, he breathed in her ear.

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

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

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

They turned to face the priest.

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

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

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

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

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

Time to leave? – Yes.

But not just yet… maybe tomorrow.

JEFFREY

Executive Level
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

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

Peer Pressure
by Jeffrey Fischer

“No.”

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

“No.”

“It’s really important to me.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

“Yes.”

LIZZIE

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

MUNSI

Optimism

By Christopher Munroe

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

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

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

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

Will I hit snooze? Yes!

Will I go back to sleep? Yes!!!

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

TURA

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TOM

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

###

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

###

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

SERENDIPITY

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

Now, I can blink.

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

“Are you in any pain?”

I stare, eyes wide open.

“She’s fine”, they nod.

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

I blink.

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

And, as his tears fall upon my cheek…

My heart breaks.

And, I blink.

CLIFF

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

######

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

SINGH

The Art of Neglect

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

She Waits for Him in the Hotel Room Sleeping with Angels

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

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

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

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

ZACKMANN

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

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

TAMMI

Untitled

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

The cowboy three stools down edged closer.

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

She said, “No.”

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

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

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

She enlisted in the morning.

DANNY

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

MIATA

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

REDGODDESS

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

NORVAL JOE

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Challenge #363 – Carrot

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

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

The topic this week was CARROT:

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

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

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

THOMAS

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

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

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

JEFFREY

The State of Education
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

Shiny Object
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

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

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

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

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

STEVEN

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

CLIFF

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

RICHARD

#1 – Uncle John

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

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

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

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

#2 – Promotion

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

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

Ten million carrots gets you a promotion.

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

#3 – Provisions

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

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

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

MUNSI

The Appropriate Level of Seriousness With Which to Approach Dessert.

By Chris Munroe

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

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

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

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

BOTGIRL

Carrot as Stick

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

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

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

TURA

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

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

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

TOM

No Good Deed is Left Unpunished

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

Ten million carrots gets you a promotion.

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

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

ZACKMANN

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

“Sure, I’ll grab the box.”

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

“Father, why are these carrots yellow?”

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

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

LIZZIE

Of Carrots and a Mayor

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

DAPHNE

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

MIATA

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

REDGODDESS

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

JUSTIN

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

DANNY

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

NORVAL JOE

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

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

SINGH

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

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

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

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

Weekly Challenge #362 – Pick Two

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

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

The topic this week was a PICK TWO:

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

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

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

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

THOMAS

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

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

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

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

JEFFREY

When Giants Dream
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

Void
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

BOTGIRL

Blackout Prayer

Bare trees. Sunlight fading. Snow falling.

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

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

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

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

RICHARD

Heliosphere

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

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

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

The radio crackled:

“Guys, our work down here is concluded!”

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

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

Wake-up Call

George’s eyes snapped open.

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

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

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

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

One thing was sure.

Things would never be normal again.

MUNSI

Highway

By Christopher Munroe

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

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

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

“Highway to the danger zone!”

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

Nobody’s fault but mine.

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

LIZZIE

Oh, stupidity alert!

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

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

“But… where are the books?”

“Oh, no idea….”

The blatant disinterest of the young lady bothered him.

“How do you know these are bookshelves?”

“Oh, I know,” she muttered.

“Did someone tell you?”

“Oh, no…”

He always expected her to say more, how frustrating.

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

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

“Bookshelves gather dust too!”

“Oh, not as much…”

He sighed hopelessly and thought “Oh, dear…”

To fix or to cheat

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

ZACKMANN

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

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

TURA

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

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

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

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

TOM

Colonial MashUP

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

SEVI and BONCHANCE

Ben by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall

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

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

Better than spinach! by Severina Halostar and Bonchance Longfall

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

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

DAPHNE

Falling Book Zone
by Daphne Abernathy

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

Serpentine! Serpentine!

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

Our guide’s voice crackled over the intercom:

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

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

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

KRISTIN

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

“Yes, YES!” She shouted.

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

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

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

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

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

REDGODDESS

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

MIATA STARDUST

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

CLIFF

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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

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

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

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

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

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

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

They laughed and kissed again and again.

TAMMI

M.T.A. Widow

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

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

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

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

NORVAL JOE

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

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

JUSTIN

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

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

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

DANNY

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

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

SINGH

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

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

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

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

4. Speed Dating

pick one
pick two
pick me?
pick you?

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

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

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

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

And the ghost of a hooker appeared beside him.

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

They shook the wall, which knocked books loose.

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

Benjamin laughed and vanished.

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

Thanks, Ben.

Weekly Challenge #361 – Border

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

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

The topic this week was Border.

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

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

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

TURA

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

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

THOMAS

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

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

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

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

SERENDIPITY

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

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

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

Did I mention the boredom?

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

RICHARD

Border Control

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

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

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

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

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

Borderline

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

Then, one day, he snapped!

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

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

JEFFREY

Purgatory
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

Urban Renewal
by Jeffrey Fischer

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

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

MEADHBH

the story: Web War II

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

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

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

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

BOTGIRL

Border Crossing

We transit countless borders

on the path between birth and death:

a severed cord; a breath of air;

a piercing cry; a mother’s breast;

a leaning stand; a stumbling step;

a spoken word; the alphabet;

a sweetest kiss; a cap and gown;

a broken heart; a wedding vow;

a newborn child; a parent’s grave;

an empty nest; a spouse estranged;

a hospice bed; the end of pain.

Waves from an endless ocean

Emerging from its infinite depths,

Rising towards the sky

Falling back to sea.

Form is emptiness.

Emptiness is form.

Such are we.

Gate Gate Paragate Parasamgate Bodhi Svaha!

ZACKMANN

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

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

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

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

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

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

###

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

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

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

DAPHNE

Border by Daphne Abernathy

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

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

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

Dammit, wrong border.

JUSTIN

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

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

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

SEICHER

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

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

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

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

MUNSI

Bordering on Madness

By Christopher Munroe

We have to secure our borders with Madness, immediately!

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

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

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

A madhouse!!!

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

SINGH

Stories on the Rim

Singh

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

when the tide goes out

I take a fire stick

smouldering in coals,

I nudge an ember

you blow it pink-green

till it flames up

like the core of an opal

fire rainbows on

and grows and spreads

till the rich ember

is sucked dry of its

aurora borealis

lit gas on black coal

lights up the horizon

the pinkish-green and red

fire-break of sunset

like this we glow large

through metaphor

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

the surf has a lisp

the night’s a thug

the wind slaps hard

across the promenade

two walkers think big

yet talk of nothing

a gust is at large

on no-man’s sand

blowing bad needles

across the scrap kingdom

the pizza box flaps

between the tussocks

wafting its grease —

a pheromone come-on

to a lout with a snout

walking this way

this lord of leftovers

with tail skunk-upright

has left the tree

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

sunset shared its pink sparkle

now darkness takes no snaps

as phone text breaks news

these breakers pound the shore

o iPad don’t push your message

(yes, beach grass prick my arse)

big receptions, small glasses of sour grapes

the wind blows raspberries

what’s this? a local golf ball

lost ambition in a tussock

governments are wet castles

(pst! who’s dumping down the next?)

take this chocolate bar now

chew a chunk of wow

an election’s coming?

(vote for seagulls)

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

I won’t say no to lying down with you

letting you fiddle with my weekend fun

when your tongue advances on my tongue

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

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

letting you work your sand-butt attitude

rake your nails, ride the moby, yowl

heaven’s beach just wants us to stay nude

rub static from hard nipples through my chest

get strange night vision through the will of two

then see five million body hairs rise up

all erect in unison with you

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

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

recuperate out of earshot while surf breakers blag at the rocks

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

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

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

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

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

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

was there a lighthouse? where? no one can say

beyond the rocks and detonating white

now seldom do the boats come past this way

there is no scribble, secret map, or essay,

there is no lamp, or flapping weather kite

was there a lighthouse here? no one can say

they claim the beam was visible from the highway

now lit by neon sign and traffic light

and seldom do the boats come past this way

Although its home remains a hideaway

I need to find a corridor to the starlight

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

did it once shine here, or is it hearsay?

who built the tower once so firmly upright?

now seldom do the boats come past this way

nothing is firm beneath the Milky Way,

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

is there a lighthouse? where? no one can say

if one could see it on this moonless bay,

above the waves – a white road through the night,

if one could see the lighthouse he could say,

and all the boats might start to come this way

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

because the night is thick behind the pines

just wait it out upon your couch

because the waves are ranting over the rocks

fight them back with stereo knobs

because this house is lighting up the coast

why should a boat not come this way?

because the fire logs are made of brass

remember comfort pays your rent

because the night is only half the coin

go make some tea and sit because

sunrise needs to see her in the doorway

for this, you spend your nights with words

LIZZIE

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

DONDO

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

RICK THOMAS

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

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

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

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

ALL good men!

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

MIATA

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

FRANK

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

TOM

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

RED

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

NORVAL JOE

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

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

PLANET Z

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

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

The Buddha.

So, I swerved and hit him.

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

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

He’s not the Buddha.

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

Where I buried the others.

They weren’t Buddha, either.

I’ll keep looking, though.

Maybe, one day, I’ll find him.

The Buddha.

On the road.

And I will kill him.