Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Nine, 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… was…. um…
It’s Books!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	Zackmann
	Tom
	Steven
	TJ
	Almo
	Norval Joe
	Justin
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Freereed

Double Books
1986) hide that the company was siphoning off funds to pay for the boss’ girlfriend and illegitimate son. hide the tens of thousands going to the fair haired brother’s cocaine habit.
1990) finance holidays for the homophobic marian brother and his ex-cop boyfriend. that came from the Mother Theresa fund.
Triple Books
2004) the sister’s foundation owing £27,000 end of year, I stood apopleptic in the office…
who’s gonna pay this bill? the blessed mother?? Sister Agnes smiled.
the money appeared in a check Christmas eve morning signed by the alcholic gambling addict passed out in the kitchen.

Zackmann

Are you tired of people telling you about well written books you must read. Since Steven
King’s “On Writing” recommends you should read well written books but also poorly written
books, I recommend “Moon People” by Dale M Courtney at least read the first page. Maybe
only the first page. This is a book better to own than read. I love loaning people my copy to see
the look on their face like that of a toddler eating a lemon wedge. I know only one other person
who finished reading Moon People. Best of all there are sequels.

I’m a NaNoWriMo failure and I really need some help.
I’m in love books and writing but i can’t write myself.
I’ve tried listening to I Should Be Writing, Irreverent Muse, Litopia, and DRS
But how to write past chapter two is something I can’t guess.
I’ve tried reading the classic right before bed
I can’t concentrate on them so I’m still not well read.
I’m a NaNoWriMo failure and I really need some help.
Almost November. Quiting might be a sin.
Soon will be November and time to try again.

Tom

“here is the books.”
“No” calmly said Arnesto
“Here are the books.”
“R?”
“No”
“A-R-E”
“ever!”
“That’s Whatever.”
“This sucks.
Why can’t I just Fram the skeen?”
Marie flicked a forefinger
Across the desk. A cloud of Oxygen
electrons pulled rigid into a glowing square
tiny animated glyphs danced in a row
“Better.” Said Marie
“If you’re going to be a scholar
you have to master non – ani – alphs”
Marie raised a finger, at least that usage
hadn’t changed in 600 years. The book
said Marie was the one who would keep
the language alive.
Cervantes had his doubts.

Steven

“So, you’ve had some stories published?” I hate the old, quavering
sound of my voice.
“Yes, grandpa.” I still think of him as the boy, though he’s older
than me when I’d married Martha. He’s holding his book behind his
back. “I’ve got a chapbook of short stories.”
“Oh,” I say, and nod. “Good job. Can I read them?”
“They’re… not really your speed.” I see the knife and blood on the
cover. “Thanks, though. Gotta go, grandpa.”
I shake my head as he leaves, and try to decide between the Poppy Z.
Brite novel or the Clive Barker one.

TJ

Book burnings were almost quaint by the 2030s. Most books were eBooks by
then, and no one wanted to burn their otherwise appropriately named
Kindles. People would gather in cirles and download a Bible or a Quran,
or Dianetics, or Ray Bradbury’s Fahrenheit 451, and then with a
flourish, the payment still processing in some cases, they would delete
the book. Followed by awkward reassurances that they’re sure they wish
to delete the file. This proved disappointing, somehow, so at the same
time, they also burned the books in question in effigy. Naturally,
whatever the book, Amazon made a killing.

Almo

The last rays of sun bounced off the wrecked cars, the burned out buildings, the flecks of falling snow.
Gilbert bent into the bitter wind and walked. He spotted a building with a light in the window. Warmth.
He was pleased to discover a library.
He moved along the shelves and picked out several books. A thin Hemingway. A legal tome. Birds of North America.
He cuddled in one of the overstuffed chairs.
Then Gilbert carefully arranged the books near his feet on the marble floor. He lit them, and rubbed his hands in the glow of the building fire.

Norval Joe

Jake ran from sixth period english, his notebooks tucked under his arm; science was on the other side of the school. He rounded a corner to a narrow hallway, straight into Mark.
Mark laughed and pushed him back.
Silently, Doug had slipped behind Jake and slapped the books out of his grip. They splattered to the ground, loose pages scattering.
At the end of the hall, Janice appeared. “Do it, Jake,” she said.
Tears of embarasment burned Jake’s eyes as he gathered his notes.
“Do it, Jake,” Mark mimicked.
“Ok,” Jake whispered. “Pest, be gone.”
In a flash, Mark disappeared.

Justin

In my hands is the last paper book.
All paper and trees are gone. Giant air cyclers dot the landscape, converting CO2 into oxygen, along with the ocean plants.
The cyclers were built when the trees died.
The trees died when an overzealous ebook reader manufacturer released nanobots into the world to destroy the paper books. Ironically, he did it to save the trees, but of course, something went wrong.
The nanobots were eventually destroyed.
I tear a page from the book and wipe.
They’ve made a substitute for trees, but they’ve yet to make a good toilet paper replacement.

Planet Z

I have no idea how some of these celebrity chefs make ends meet.
I mean, there’s several that have endorsement deals in the millions, but the B-listers look like they’re bright in the spotlight, but their restaurants aren’t filling tables anymore.
After a wide undercover investigation, we found the reason why: they cheated.
Cheap ingredients.
Tax dodges.
Paying illegal aliens to work in the kitchens.
Now, there’s a new show on the Food Network about bad accounting practices in the restaurant business called “Cooking The Books.”
These B-lister criminal chefs all agreed to star in it.
Fame’s such a bitch.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Eight, 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… was…. um…
It’s Muffin Basket!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	Tom
	TJ
	Murray
	Abigail
	Zackmann
	Steven
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Freereed

“Yer ass looks like a heart-shaped meatloaf in those pants.”
He always had a parting shot … umm… compliment.. before they went out.
“Louie, yer a goddam jewel,” she murmured while patting down the last strays of her up-do.
Arrive early, leave late. It’s all so predictable.
A game to see who could not hold their liquor and made a complete jerk of themselves.
Who would be first to break out crying.
“C’mon Muffin Basket, drive me home,” he breathed beerily into her ear.
“Sure, baby, sure.” She reminded herself to remove Cliff’s phone number from her bra first thing.

Tom

In order to increase attendance Sally Rand Junior College
decided to add a burlesque class to its fall schedule.
On a dare from her friend Ida Hampton Muffy Wainwight
signed up for Neo Stripteases 101.
“You Gotta Have A Gimmick” reminded the instructor
referring back to the music Gypsy.
Muffy turned to Ida,
“What’s your Gimmick?”
“I’m thinking Ida and her Ipad.”
“You know techy titillation.”
“What about you?”
“I’m going Martha Steward
a sort of pop n fresh theme.
Muffy and her muffin basket.
As the footlights rise
Hi Boys
I’m Muffy want to be my muffin man

TJ

I don’t know exactly what I expected. I figured, per your
president’s announcement, active combat would end and probably forces
would rotate out as needed. Probably there’d be some violence but
mostly because of the instability. We don’t have water in some places,
still. We jokingly call those places “New Orleans.” We have TV here.
I’m sure we will get the electricity and water going soon. But I was
surprised, finding on my doorstep this morning as I rose for morning
prayers, that the U.S. sent everyone a muffin basket with a card signed
“Sorry about the war. Love, Obama.”

Murray

I’ve been working for years on my compound. Odourless. Tasteless. Highly explosive.
It hasn’t been easy to find a compound that is so volatile, yet resistant to heat and impact. There was only one way to test the prototypes. Thankfully, I’ve got all my fingers. Mostly.
When the first demonstration is complete, I’ll be rich. It won’t matter that the Defense Department fired me.
“What’s this?” the baggage inspector asked.
“Just muffins. Blueberry.”
He eyed me suspiciously, taking one and breaking it apart.
“Huh.” He waved me through.
I left the basket in the bathroom. Armed, of course.
Demonstration time.

Abigail

Ooo baby you know I love how you move that muffin basket. Oh come on honey shake that sweetness. That’s it , spill that hot and good my way. Yah gimmee some of that. I gotta have some of what you got. Bring it on over here. Bring it. Bring it on.
When the paramedics came Verdene jus said, he’d” teetered on off his stool “,and “Hey,can you folks hurry on I got kids to get to and I still got the grill to scrape down” , her thighs fighting the length of the counter . She swabbed unmercifully .

Zackmann

Dearest Guido:
Thank you for the Muffin Basket complete with the Little Wicker Basket brand container. I think
that since I am currently involved in no court activities that you may have sent them to the wrong
address. I sincerely hope not to be mistaken for your target. Thank you again, blueberry muffins
are my favorite and I was overjoyed until I read the card.
“Hope youse enjoy these blueberry muffins just like youse will enjoy a long life iffin youse don’t
testify and youse should knows that No one alive has ever testified against me or my friends”

Steven

Hansel shoved the girl up against the rough tree. “This ain’t what I wanted.”
“I don’t have anything else,” she whimpered, the red fabric of her
cloak draping over her eyes. “Grandma just made the muffins. No
cookies. No cake.”
Hansel looked back toward his sister. “Whaddya think?”
Gretel walked out of the shadows. “I think we have a little girl who
brought the wrong gift and now can’t find her way home.”
“Oh,” Red Hood said, “all I have to do is take a left here and-”
Gretel drew her knife. “Not can’t. She won’t find her way home.”

Norval Joe

I struggle back up the dingy aisle, across greasy, grimy linolium tiles, toward the door, and the light.
Memories of past events, stories, vague and rotting, like the decaying cardboard containers abandoned amid the debris of collapsed soup can piramids, and piles of worm eaten wicker muffin baskets.
I look back. How far have I come?
100 aisles, 10,000 steps.
Each week another aisle along, yet I am farther behind the old man, the guide, the master.
He waits at the exit, his midget and his monkey at his side.
He teases me and calls, “Don’t forget the bacon salt.”

Planet Z

The moment we put the wicker basket in the window, Muffin decided that it was hers.
She climbed up on the table, crawled into her basket, and curled up for a long nap.
She wouldn’t let anyone or anything near that basket.
When she saw Mister Tigger sniffing the basket, she screeched and angrily chased him off.
And she shredded any magazines and shoved away any balls of yarn we put in there.
One morning, she crawled into the basket, went to sleep, and never woke up.
It’s hers forever now. We buried her in the back yard in it.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Seven, 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… was…. um…
It’s Masks!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Abigail
	Lewis
	Freereed
	Zackmann
	Almo
	Graceful
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Abigail

Her sister was tapping on her cheek,” Hmm, not done yet.” her fingernail clicking dissatisfaction. Beneath hooded eyelids the slim view of sleeves flourishing, the sleight of hand, “Don’t move.” She had given her a light therapy kit too.”This flashing causes the molecules on your skin to scurry and bombard into each other and then they hold one another close. Wrinkle free! Smooth!” These words peeled off as thoughts of her sister telling her she was an Indian Princess, the igloos they made, and the double angels in the snow when she held on to her tight, scurried and bombarded.

Lewis

the hideous creation oozed itself
around the lab. The doctor’s
experiment was getting out of
hand. It was scary, except
it wore silly masks of
three cartoon characters. He told
one person of his experiment.
It was after he injected
her with nanites to cure
his fiance’s terminal disease. Before
their very eyes, her arm
turned a dark purple. It
later became shiny and then
started to droop as if
it were geletan. A few
days later, she was just
a mess of purple ooze
moving around, longing for revenge.
As she absorbed him through
osmosis, he turned purple too.

Freereed

“i want you to paint my wife. money’s no object.”
“Send her in next week; we’ll make a start.”
He’d never worked with anyone so sad or still.
The first five months he enjoyed the opportunity to really paint a face.
During the last month he started talking to her ~
“Signora. tell me please, why are you so sad?
“The week I came to you I lost a baby. It would’ve been my first.”
“Ohh, my sympathies…”
“My husband doesn’t know.”
“I will paint your secret into the mask of your portrait. I will never say a word.”
“Mille Grazie.”

Zackmann

Have you seen my house and if you have will you help me find it. I bought a new house cheap
but it was not in the best neighborhood and my insurance guy said I could get a fifty percent
discount if I bought a cloaking device as an anti-theft measure and it works really well as long
as the batteries don’t go dead in the remote before you memorize your address. Until I recharge
the batteries in the remote, I can not unmask my house. I may never find it since the neighbors
have cloaking devices on too.

I walked into Jen’s Wax Candle Emporium, a shop that sold candles by the scents they masked.
I saw “just ate beans”, “wet dog”, “old kitty litter”,”dirt diaper” and almost any smell you would
like to cover. She even had nosegays just in case you don”t care what other people smell.
Not finding the one I need I asked Jen if she had anything that masks the smell of tuyo. She
replied sorry so far I have found nothing to cover the smell of warmed dried fish but this sample
of “mouse stuck in furnace” might help.

Almo

John got out of the van and opened the back door. He smoothed his hands over his new blue coveralls. Stanley called from the driver’s seat, “Get the tools.”
John looked quickly through the neat stacks of equipment in the boxes.
“Make sure we have pliers,” Stanley yelled.
“What kind?” John called back, pawing through the various implements.
“Needle nose,” Stanley said. “And tape.”
“Tape?” John said.
“It masks the screams,” Stanley told his rookie assistant.
John got the tape and the pliers and closed the doors of the panel van with the “Torture Inc.” logo emblazoned on them.

Graceful

She logged into the online store and reviewed the products list.
Scanning the names running down her screen, she watched for the one
she had heard about.
Anger
Ball
Behind
Burn
Carnival
Catcher
Ceremonial
CPAP
Data
Death
Demon
Dennis, Rocky
Dionysus
Diving
Effect
Female
Face
Fencing
Fluid
Gas
Goalie
Groucho Marx
Halloween
Hidden
Iron
Janus
Japanese
Jung
Mardi gras
Mobile Armored Strike Kommand
Munch, Edward
Nixon
Odor
Oxygen
Polycarbonate
Tape
Welding
Zorro
Maybe she had missed it. Scrolling back she found it, and clicked.
“Pain, Masks”
Upgrading to priority mail, she would have it next time he said those words.

TJ

AHA!
They don’t show this in the comics.
My heroic alter ego, AHA!, has a knack for anticipating where the bad
guy is going to be and then getting there ahead of him. I’m assisted
by logic, vector awareness and basic math.
So when I intuit the bad guy’s escape route from the bank heist will
take him through this nice lady’s living room and I get there ahead of
time I trip her Brinks home alarm. The police pull off my mask and I’m
just Harold Feinstein, math teacher.
They got the other guy too. We’re sharing a cell. AHA!

Norval Joe

The warbling call to prayer echoed from the minarets of the city’s mosque. Those close by made their way quickly inside. Faithful believers, too far away to reach the building by the appointed hour, rolled out prayer rugs in their homes, businesses and even in the dusty cobbled streets.
A man walked quickly from his truck, away from the mosque, his hood pulled down to mask his face.
Still others, far away, gathered around a table and two cell phones, in a small stuffy room.
They awaited the word.
One phone rang.
A voice said, “You may make the call.”

Planet Z

The face of the first CPR mannequin was modeled after a beautiful woman who had drowned in the River Seine.
Her death mask was a popular addition to many homes, and one of those led to its use on the dummy.
The most important lesson one learns with the dummy is only to administer CPR to someone who is not responding.
So when the dummy turned to me and moaned “Let me rest in peace!” I fainted.
And the entire class tried to administer CPR to me.
A broken nose and three cracked ribs later, I threw out the dummy.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Six, 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… was…. um…
It’s Autumn!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Freereed
	TJ
	Zackmann
	Graceful
	Abigail
	Norval Joe
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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Freereed

the most famous clown in the world
no-one remembers his name
born on the spring equinox
died on the autumn equinox
came in at the beginning
with white caked face
exited at the ending
with dusty feet
he hid little children in a theatre caravan
the holocaust fires did not burn them
the clever clown was a good liar
demeter’s arms flowed over
white birds fluttered
bones to ash to snow
snow to light to flowers
flowers in the hand of a dusty clown
he blew and blossoms filled the air
each petal lit on a bright face
tears
laughing

TJ

Jay’s cubicle was gray. His monitor was monochrome and his hourly
printouts to the gray-on-gray corporate letterhead had in sixteen years
become as routine as a Thursday afternoon. The ticking clock at length
read 5:30 and he sighed, pulled on his warm but shabby slate overcoat
and took the elevator to the subway level and bumped and jostled along
the three-mile commute home. Trudging up the steps to his tiny beige
apartment he glanced up at the normally sad little tree on the corner
and was startled by a fiery, festive orange spray of foliage. Autumn had
come at last.

Zackmann

I have been to the Land of Autumn where every day is autumn. Every day is warm but not hot.
Every night is cool but not cold. The weather can suddenly change due to see breezes or fog
banks. The land has two weeks of summer but one is in July and one is in October. Having
spent most of my life in the Upper Midwest, an area of the country that has entirely too much
weather, I would have liked to have stayed in the Land of Autumn but I was unwilling to pay
South San Francisco house prices .

Graceful Aeon

It was snowing the night he told her the woman’s name. His look told
her the rest. She felt the knife penetrate her heart.
Snow gave way to lilacs. Dresses were fitted and vows were written.
She noticed his look as he addressed the invitation. She felt the
blow to her solar plexus.
They were dancing in the garden on that June day. The song changed,
followed by his look. She felt submerged in a sea of pain.
They walked through autumn chill past his favorite restaurant. He
slowed and glanced downward. She faced the look and whispered
fiercely, “Enough!”

Abigail

Mornings start blue and broody. Boots cracked stiff with old shit and spent leather
shush cross the floor. Outside hiking up her flannel nightey burrowing her hands as
thin steam rises. The ax handle always slick, “Whore Frost” she thinks, splitting
kindling. The sorrel kicks and farts, for the same hay, same crack in the ice. The
same dogs work circles round her feet, snow trickles against her calves. Kicking the
boots soft and wet by the stove, she calls him, “Coffee’s on.” The fire picks up-
the coffee slow to boil. “Put another log on the fire…” Waylon Jennings

Norval Joe

Everyone assumned she had taken fertility drugs when she bore quadruplet girls.
Born in fall, the first girl had auburn hair. They knew she must be named Autumn. The second daughter with hair, white as snow was named Winter. The third had no hair and was named Spring. The fourth daughter had hair, yellow like the sun, and was named Summer.
The neighbors found more was involved than simple fertility drugs. When Autumn cried the winds blew, when Winter pouted, the snow fell, Spring smiled and the sun shone, but when Summer passed gas, you didn’t want to be around.

Planet Z

Some tropical islands try to create snowpiles for Christmas, but that’s expensive and doesn’t last.
We get fallen leaves shipped in and then airdropped over the island.
Sure, we’ve had a few accidents, like one guy falling out of the cargo plane when it hit an air pocket, and another dropping a full bag that ended up hitting a kid.
And then there’s the mess they make. Leaves don’t melt in the sun like fake snow.
We came up with a solution. Get the kids to rake ’em up. Whoever bags the most wins a prize.
Isn’t the Fall wonderful?

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Five, 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… was…. um…
It’s Friend!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	LizzieBeth
	Kelley
	Kristine
	Zackmann
	Freereed
	Almo
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	Arri
	Petlove
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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LizzieBeth

“Sally!” cried Teeghan as she rushed towards her friend of twenty-two years. “Where on earth have you been?”
Whirling about, Sally’s eyes widened as she gazed at her with surprise. “Um . . .” she stammered, “I’ve been busy.”
Clapping her best friend about upon the shoulder, she claimed her spot in the line that had begun to form before the Starbuck’s coffee counter.
“We’ve a lot to catch up on,” Teeghan continued.
“We do?” Sally sputtered, absently rubbing her right temple in hopes of alleviating the headache that had begun to rise.
“Yes, we really do.”
“What about?”
“Everything!”

Kelley

His arms and legs were broken in a car accident.
For four weeks I’ve been safe.
But he is getting better. The abuse will start again.
I shoot him once and keep shooting until all that remains is the click of the trigger.
He lies crooked and bleeding.
It does not look like self defense.
With trembling hands I pick up the phone and dial.
“Hello?” says a familiar voice.
“I need you.”
It’s been fifteen years since I’ve seen her, but I know that she will come.
She is my friend. She will know what to do.

Kristine

Wiggawiggas were the toys we invented. Cute little fluffy puff creatures named for the sound they made when they moved: “wiggawiggawigawigga”. They were really just a square inch of white rabbit fur, but in our hands they were adorable and curious creatures with a love for sassafras tea and trips to the bathroom sink beauty parlor. At the time, I didn’t think we were poor or anything. I guess, maybe we just weren’t as easily conned by marketing as kids are today. In any case, Eric and I, we had the wiggawiggas. The best toys ever.

Zackmann

Victor’s parents asked him to go and make a friend because they were worried he spent too
many hours every day with his face in books. His parents asked “Don’t you think you should
take a break”. “But it’s science” he told his parents. They sent him outside hoping he would play
with other children. Oddly he took a sewing kit with him.
Later, father said “Have you made any friends?”
“Yes, but it is hard to find enough good parts”
“Young man, I told you to make friends not fiends. We should have never bought you a
chemistry set”

Freereed

backlit in the doorway
dressed in white again
she’s in pain
rheumatoid arthritis is
twisting her bones
she cant take our holiday to the sea
cant take that trip to paris
i got something for you not feeling well
i unwrap elouise
a nice clean copy
oh read it to me
read it to me
she flops on my bed
i cant read it to you my rooms a mess
no read it to me
i read her elouise at the park plaza
she’s laughing
i send her home with it
now you can get the illustrations
she’s only fifty

Almo

Billy lifted his glass and took a swallow of his beer. The barroom door opened and mid-afternoon light streamed in.
Billy and Sam shaded their eyes against the intrusion.
“When did you find out?” Sam said.
“Tuesday,” Billy answered flatly.
Sam grimaced and drank his beer. He made sure the bartender wasn’t close enough to overhear.
“What tipped you off?” Sam said.
“You know how Fred always wears that American Legion pin,” Billy said quietly.
Sam nodded.
“I found it in the bedroom,” Billy said.
“And you never suspected?” Sam said.
“Nah,” Billy answered. “He’s a friend.”

TJ

Fran from her formative years felt a fondness for ferns, and she figured
she’d flourish as a florist. She founded her flower shop with her
friend Fiona on a firm handshake but with a flutter in her heart. She
needn’t have fretted. “Fran, Fronds and Fi” became famous for
finding just the right ferns for films. They had a falling out, however,
when “Frisco Today” featured Fran, but not Fi. Faux pas. Fiona,
furious, flipped out and flung fertilizer into the fountain in the
foyer, asphixiating Fran’s fish. They ran the business 50-50, but
their friendship proved flimsy. How unfortunate.

Norval Joe

Fifteen minutes after he was born, his brother was too. From then on, he never needed a friend; he had his brother.
They slept in bunk beds, ate side-by-side at the dinner table, and even sat in the same over stuffed chair while watching tv.
They were inseparable, until junior high school.
An eighth-grader told his brother, they looked so much alike and were always together, they must be fags.
His brother never told him. Just hated him for it.
He didn’t understand what happened, so he just hated his brother back.
It was years before they were friends again.

Arri

Wardel stuck his thumb out again but by this time had pretty much given up on landing a ride out here in the middle of nowhereville. WHOOSH, didn’t even look. Just like most aspects of his life felt recently, he’d been abruptly dropped off. Wasn’t very inclined to enthusiasm or faith anymore either.
Behind him a forceful voice said, “Ride?”
Wardel jumped a foot. “Shit you scared me! Where the heck did…?”
“Or company?”
Wardel meekly replied, “Err Both?
“Done. There in 20”
“Whaaa?, how’d you know where…?”
“Your friends care. They know. You only knew them virtually. Till now.”

Petlove

Met Charlene at Hunter’s. Both great creative people. The meeting over, Charlene said ‘let’s go hear some music.’ We went to hear some blues. Good music. Good time. She left… I hung out.
There was s a huge praying mantis hovering around the ceiling. The thing was almost on my head. As I backed up away from it I stepped on a foot. Oops. Apologized. Turned around to look and it was this blonde god. He laughed.
It’s been four years. He turned into a wonderful friend. Every day is fresh and new with him. Amazing how things work out.

I had some fun with Verti today. Can’t stand her. I sat next to her cage where she was lying down, pretending to ignore me. Didn’t look at her. Didn’t try to get a piece of her. Just sat there. I know she hated every second of it. HA. I’m glad she was in the cage though. She’s a tank. And she’s fast! Who would have thought somebunny so solid could be so fast? There’s no getting away from her and you can’t fight her. I wanted to be friends with her but she’s so grumpy! She had her chance…

Planet Z

Trust issues.
The therapist said I needed to become my own best friend.
“But I have no real friends,” I said.
“None at all?” said the therapist. “Not even me?”
This was new… strange… “I never thought of you that way. You’re my doctor, not my friend.”
“Well, think of me as a friend, someone you confide in. Someone-”
That’s when I hit him with the shovel.
I buried him in the back yard with my files.
I look like him. I sound like him.
I will become my own best friend. I will become him.
My trust issues gone.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Four, 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… was…. um…
It’s Everyday!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	LizzieBeth
	Matt
	TJ
	Kelley
	Zackmann
	Jeffrey
	Norval Joe
	Justin
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

---

LizzieBeth

Devastation lay everywhere. This was not something that one saw everyday.
Rubble littered every part of the city, a sign that something big had taken place.
Overturned cars. Empty boxes. Broken windows. Abandoned homes. There was no sign of life wherever you looked.
Thick layers of grime and dust covered every surface. It was hard to believe that the town had prospered, just moments ago. To see the remnants of life extinguished in the town within the blink of an eye was astounding.
Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.
All was still.
A nuclear bomb had fallen somewhere, taking everything with it.

Matt

Every day my alarm clock goes off like an air raid siren during world war three.
Every day my water heater produces just enough hot water to last half of my shower.
Every day I end up late for work because some moron can’t understand the fundamentals of driving. The left lane is for going fast people!
Every day the problems I deal with at work are more complex and idiotic than the one before.
Every day the dog leaves me a gift when I get home.
And every day I feel better when listening to a hundred word story.

TJ

Every day, another piece arrived.
Small items, insignificant in themselves, had been arriving in the daily
mail for as long as I could remember.
When I was 10, a manual arrived. I could see the items were in fact
components for a large, complicated machine.
Machines, rather. I’d construct the machines – odd monstrosities I
couldn’t quite understand. Every day more pieces, new manuals, me
fitting them together. The machines themselves were combined into
something even larger, but I still didn’t know what it all was.
Today, a key arrived. I turned it. The machine killed me.
The pieces stopped coming.

Kelley

Everyday I see him, but he doesn’t know I’m there.
I dyed my hair, fixed my nose, but he didn’t even care.
I wave hello, give a nod, offer my brightest smile.
I wait for him to say, “Hello. Come sit. Let’s talk awhile.”
I’ve never seen his eyes, the glasses he wears are dark.
He strums the guitar and sings a song, his voice is like the lark.
Today I will approach him, make him notice me.
He says, “Hello? Who’s there? You know that I can’t see.”
I turn around and run. He never hears me flee.

Zackmann

Sometimes you just have to do things for yourself but the Internet can help. Can’t I get my wife to do that for me as an everyday duty? No, it is more of a special favor in today’s busy world you will be lucky if she does you that special favor twice a week. I am not sure you are ready to get married. So we won’t have sex every day? If you mean sex right after you get married but before you have children, the chances are good. Wait, I was talking about your needing to learning to cook.

Jeffrey

The emperor has two wives. In public the are a very loving family. In private it is a different story
Every day the Emperor brings a lover to the palace. Everyday he insists on having tea before they consummate their new relation ship. Everyday he leaves her alone while he goes to the kitchen and puts the water on.
“Hair.”
“Gag.”
“Knife.”
“Throat.”
“Incinerator chute.”
Every day at dinner with his wives the emperor shakes his head and sighs. “Why do all the pages run away from me?”
“I hate you,” whispers the first.
“I hate you more.” sings the second.

Norval Joe

Everyday that summer, the young man waited at the Sycamore Street bus stop of route 54b.
Everyday he awaited the bus, monthly pass in hand, held high like the statue of liberty.
Everyday he wore a bathing cap, swim goggles, speedo swim shorts and a towel pinned around his neck.
Everyday he sat in the first bench and nodded sternly to each passenger that boarded between Sycamore and the mall.
Everyday the driver asked, “Why you dress that way, son?”
“To protect the world from evil,” he replied everyday, until the weather turned cold and he was never seen again.

Justin

The following is an unpaid shameless plug:
Every day this year the Compassion 365 podcast is releasing an episode to raise funds and awareness for Compassion International. The show topics have more variety then Apple has versions of ipods.
There’s shows about movies, music, UFC fights, zombies, and dramatic readings of Wikipedia articles.
Want to help? Record ten minutes of something, or pick a few of your favorite podsafe songs and send an email to compassion365@gmail.com and we’ll put you on the show! Do it for the children. Get more info at Compassion365.com.
Give it a listen!

Planet Z

There once was a time when I loved to hear the song “Everyday People.”
I could listen to it all day, lifting the arm on the record player and starting it back up on the turntable.
When I wasn’t home, I’d request it on the radio.
Now, after all these years, I can’t stand to hear it.
It wasn’t just my song, you know.
It was also hers.
Ours.
It was love at first note, really.
Then, one day, the record player broke.
By the time I bought a replacement, she was gone.
Can’t stand it anymore.
Turn it off.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-Three, 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… was…. um…
It’s Air the fair!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Matt R
	Caleb B
	Steven S
	LizzieBeth
	June S
	Jeffrey H
	Justin L
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

---

Matt

A man named John met Jack and Jill at the fair one fine summer day. John said to Jill what a thrill it is still to roll down the hill down the way. So John, Jack and Jill went over to the hill to race down to the side sans their sleigh. John went first and landed with a curse as his head hit the hardened clay. Then Jack and Jill followed John’s step and rolled down the hill the wrong way. Both Jack and Jill tumbled down the hill and landed hard that summer day. They forgot the water.

Caleb

@thefair: Be thee fair or foul I’d love thee still
more than heaven or all the gods above could know
@shakeybill: Games! Rides! Prizes! Try the funnel cakes! All down at the Chinchilla fairground this weekend!
@thefair: The games with you I’ve played in days gone by
The prize is love; fried and battered tasty
@shakeybill: This weekend at the Chinchilla fairground You’ll have such a great time your life will be changed forever!
@thefair Yes change my life your love would bring me life
Allow me but to taste your lips this night
@shakeybill Yes, I love you too!

Steven

“I don’t want to go on the stupid ride.” Sarah put her small fists on
her hips, staring at her father.
The spin-and-puke (or whatever) sang the same shrill tune as the
neighborhood ice cream truck. “Okay,” her father said. “How about a
balloon animal?” A nearby mime, hearing him, wheeled his tank and
deflated balloons closer.
“I want Spot to be alive again,” Sarah wailed, tears streaking her dusty face.
The mime lifted a finger and went to work. In moments, he presented
Sarah with the inflated dog.
She looked unimpressed, until it licked her and wagged its tail.

LizzieBeth

The smell of popcorn wafted through the air. It tickled the senses, inviting a person to sample its mysteries. To delve into delights that could only be imagined.
Hustle and bustle permeated every available corner. Some people scream. Others start shouting, oblivious to their surroundings. Children squeal with delight, eager to partake of every nook and cranny that lay hidden to their view.
Animals brayed, signaling for the want of attention. Yet their voices seemed to fall on deaf ears as people ran about.
Turn here or there; a new sight beheld the eyes. A new smell captivated the senses.

June

Tommy patiently led his little brother to the dart game, fishing pond, and duck river.
He put his foot down at the ferris wheel.
“That’s slow and for babies. Come on Jason, let’s get on the Scrambler.”
“No! I want to go up high!” A foot stamp.
“It doesn’t go that high, and it’s tamer than the moon bounce.”
Tommy began to drag his brother; away from the puke orange wheel, listing in the faint summer breeze. Jason craned his neck around to see the stupid thing.
Until the ferris wheel fell over, onto the Scrambler merrily spinning beside it.

Jeffrey

“Coin Please.”
“What?”
“Your coin please sir.”
“You have got to be kidding you are charging me to get across. What if I just stay here?”
“You’ll be stuck in limbo all eternity unless you pay the fare.”
“Fine, what is it?”
“One sliver coin.”
“sliver coin, you know how long its been since we used sliver coins?”
“One silver coin or you don’t cross.”
“Your just stuck on this aren’t you. Let me see what I’ve here. Gum, receipt, sugar packet, ah a one Euro. That is the best I got.”
“That will have to do.”
“What no change?”

Justin

I looked over the various weapons; Pistols and rifles. Despite the various sizes, they all used the same ammo: Rubber bands. The man tending the booth had rough hands and a pock-marked face. Several other folks were checking out the weaponry. A crying kid and his mom walked up to the booth. The kid held a broken rifle. Through tears the kid explained he dropped the gun and it broke. The weapons dealer said he couldn’t replace it. More pleading tears. The man replaced the weapon. The kid’s face held joy. I bought a pistol. I reward good customer service.

Norval Joe

She was an unusual child and didn’t mix well with the other teens in the small rural town. None of the kids knew if Shanelle had moved from the city or a forein country. When she spoke, it was a quiet monotone without accent.
They were surprised when she joined 4H.
“I breed rabbits,” she said without producing any evidence to support her claim, until the competition at the fair.
They thought she joked when she asked that her bunnies be judged in an experimental class.
The carnage on opening day made it clear she was serious about vampire rabbits.

TJ

This year’s FFA displays were worth the entire price of admission.
There were some impressive exhibits among livestock and produce, but two
pickup trucks were required to transport the odds-on favorite for
first-place prize-winning pumpkin in from the Mickelson farm. It was
about the size of a shed and had a fiery orange coloring that seemed to
glow in the sunlight. Indeed, it took first, but the cash prize of
$1,000 was ultimately little comfort as the other effects of living
downstream from Globex Biochemitrol began to manifest themselves –
starting when the winning pumpkin sprouted … legs … and teeth.

Planet Z

I do advertising.
But I haven’t worked for a year. Agency fired me.
Every credit card maxed out. No savings left.
Bank’s foreclosing the house.
I’ve sent my resume everywhere, been to every job fair.
Nobody’s hiring.
I thought about killing myself for the insurance, but that’s gone. The policy was canceled when I lost my job.
That’s when I came up with the solution: establish my own agency.
When do I get clients?
I’ll get my old ones back.
The agency’s staff meeting should be starting.
Hillary’s Homemade Cookies. A new client.
I’m Hillary.
Made with love… and poison!

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-two, 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… was…. um…
It’s Two!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Caleb
	Steven
	Zackmann
	Ishtar
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Justin
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

---

Caleb

“This town aint small enough for the two of us” Bart yelled at the Sheriff from the window of the other starbucks. “We got two saloons, two whorehouses, two Apple stores and I got no excuse to call you out you somebitch. Your kids go to the other school, your wife goes to the other church, you go to the other Chinese acupuncturist, and I can’t take it no more.
“What about the art school?” suggested the sheriff.
“There’s two of them too”
“Yeah but mine’s better”
“Oh, you think so huh?”
“Oh I know so.”
“Okay then, Sheriff. Draw!”

Steven

Contrary to written records, Noah’s family did most of the species
gathering. The animals milled in pens all around Noah’s farm while he
finished the ark.
“Advanced degree in genetics,” Noah said, “and the Lord has me sawing
wood. You’d think He likes carpenters or something.”
Upon finishing, Noah realized how little space was inside the ark.
“Lord,” he said as the rain began to fall, “there’s only room for two
of each animal. The genetic bottleneck will -”
The flash and boom of an atomic explosion echoed from the distance.
“Don’t worry about it,” said the Lord. “There’ll be mutations.”

Zackmann

Two. Two. Why did I write two people dead. Justin dead.Poor Justin, I wrote him such a gruesome death, so fitting for Pseudopod, or maybe not it was the first time they posted a file with the Squick tag. And Lovecraft scholars said you could not write a description more gruesome than someone could imagine. I do not understand because Nothing happened to Gary Leeland in real life when Scott Sigler killed him off in Infected. Since there were two stories, I just pray that if Clarkesworld buys my other story Lawrence Simon never tours a dog food factory.

Ishtar

One shot is all it takes. The lights, the sounds, the world as we knew it ends.
I wasn’t there but I was blamed. I was the patsy, the fall guy. What did I do you ask?
Hahaha. All I did was speak up. Tell the truth. No one else
would tell of their dirty deeds. Is this really how it ends.
I shouldn’t have involved you in this. But I had to tell someone. I have to hang up
the phone now. There right outside the door. Remember this. One shot started it all. The second
will end it.

Norval Joe

I woke to a high-pitched, horrifying screetch, and knew it could only be one thing; the vampire moth. I threw up my hands to block its attack. The two psuedo-eyes of its wings appeared to flicker as the malevolent creature fluttered toward me. Often confused for its diurnal and harmless cousin, the blood-sucking butterfly, the moth paralyzes its prey with a unique mesmerizing whistle.
Its antenae transformed into hollow tubes and stretched toward my unprotected neck.
I screamed out in my sleep and woke my two children in the tent with me.
“Dad,” they said, “you’re having a bad dream.”

Salvador Los Dos was born a twin, in Mineapolis, Minisota, during a blue moon. Shortly after birth, his brother died from an infection, secondary to a minor surgery on the proximal inter phalangeal joint of his index finger, and the family moved to St. Paul.
Though he never knew his brother, Sal felt duality throughout his life. As a child he insisted his mother set a second plate for the missing sibling and had his father buy bunkbeds for his room.
As a teen he developed bi-polar depression, dual personality disorder, and was admitted to the second life psychiatric hospital.

TJ

It was like a mirror. A scary ass mirror.
Alerted only moments before to the breakout, I felt my eyes looking at
me before I really saw myself. But there I was, striding across the
xeriscape garden, a psychopathic glint in my eye.
I turned to run as I smashed my front window and pursued myself down the
hallway, machete gleaming in my hand, coming for me.
And who could blame me? Created and treated like they were, where did we
get the idea that our donor clones would be friendly?
“My turn,” I said, and chopped myself in two.

Justin

Arthur’s wife, Yvon, had the zombie infection. The greening skin made it impossible to hide, but it could be slowed. They abstained from physical contact. The scientists working on the cure didn’t know why, but this slowed the spread of the infection in the body. Even a small touch accelerated it by days. Arthur watched his wife slowly emaciate and wither and he could not give her the comfort of his arms. She would not attack him, she would just diminish in body, then in mind. When Arthur became infected, it didn’t matter anymore. They made love one last time.

Marty dug through the locker, cringing. Ever since the station started falling apart, everyone hogged the suits in case of accident. Now when Marty needed a suit for EVA, he struggled to find one his size. He found one though. Marty looked at it and frowned. This one had a nametag. Senior staff got priority. Their suits couldn’t be used without permission, unless… Marty sighed. Sure, Barney was dead, but he had stunk. A quick whiff confirmed the suit carried on the legacy. A klaxon blared. Floating outside, ejected through the hull breach, he considered seeing if space smelled better.

Planet Z

The first grave of Ezekiel Piersonstein is on Chapel Hill.
The other is down by the road.
Same dates, born and died.
Why the late Mr. Piersonstein has two graves has been a mystery, as all the town’s records were lost in a church fire centuries ago.
I researched this, and I now have the answer: there were two Ezekiel Piersonstein.
Born on the same day to sisters fighting over a vast family fortune. They named their children after their father to win his favor.
They were raised as bitter rivals.
On their eighteenth year, they dueled.
Both were slain.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Twenty-one, 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… was…. um…
It’s Psyche!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Guard13007
	Steven
	Zackmann
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	Justin
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

---

Guard13007

Psyche was a beautiful princess. She was visited by Cupid at night, and became his lover. She wanted to visit him, but he told her that she shouldn’t seek him out. Psyche wondered why this was, surely the Gods should allow Cupid to visit whomever?
Then one day, after a long time without being visited by the God of love, Psyche decided to finally seek Cupid out. She must find out why he’d been gone so long.
When Psyche found Cupid, there was another women with him. “So this is why I can’t see you!?”
“You have another woman?!”

Steven

I pull off the back door of the paddywagon. A cop flies out too,
thumping hard on the concrete. The supervillain’s last henchman is
ziptied to the seat. Another officer looks back through the window.
My exoskeleton smashes through reinforced glass and cop skull alike.
“I was wonderin’ when we’d get sprung,” the henchman says.
My head swivels toward him. “Who hired your boss?” The ectoplasm
from the villain’s defeat still smears across the San Matias sky.
“Wha? I dunno.”
“Damn.” I turn to leave.
“I thought you were getting’ me out?”
“Psyche,” I say, and tear out his spleen.

Zackmann

The little one claims I am potentially damaging his psyche. Teens are so dramatic. He pleads for me to “Stop calling the dog “Laptop” because of the price of the veterinary bill when he got sick , Stop referring to his grandparents return trip to Manila as “your mother losing her parents”, Stop calling the moment the plane leaves as “the beginning of your mother’s time of mourning” Since they are not dying and although she will miss them she can use Skype to call them a couple of days after they leave. Also Stop cooking food only my brother likes.”
zackmann

TJ

Shawn: I understand you’ve been murdered
Gus: Kidnapped.
Shawn: Your wife’s been kidnapped and you clearly need our help. My name is Shawn Spencer and this is my associate, Tracksuit McBeasley.
Gus: My mother was Mrs. McBeasley.
Shawn: Gus don’t be the entire city of Cleveland, Ohio. I am a psychic detective with the Santa Barbara Police Department. As for your wife I have no idea but I thought I might run around for about 38 minutes cracking wise while various things light up and in the end she would sort of .. turn up and I would take the credit.
Gus: It’s what we do.

Norval Joe

The Psyche or Leptosia nina is a small white butterfly indigenous to Southern India. It’s flight is weak and erratic. The body of the butterfly bobs up and down as it beats its wings. This short lived creature rarely leaves ground level as it flies low over the grass.
For years, decades, (a century?) I bob my way up and down as life beats its wings against me. My psyche, my soul, my breath, struggle for flight, though my body is weak and erratic. My achievements scatter around my feet, pale and colorless like the wings of a dead butterfly.

Justin

Psyche woke up in her room to find Eros standing over her with an
arrow. Startled, he accidentally scratched himself with the arrow,
making him love her. It also made him fall in love with self-harm. Now
hes a head over heels lover practicing disfiguring body modification.
What’s worse is his mother Aphrodite is encouraging it because the
whole reason Eros was there was to cause Psyche to fall in love with
an ugly creature, because Aphrodite was jealous of Psyche’s beauty.
Psyche tried to flee it all, but she could not escape her big fat
Greek mythology soap opera.

Planet Z

Carl Jung wrote extensively on the psyche and the soul, but he had a slight problem.
The German word for psyche is the same as the German word for soul.
Every time Jung tried to talk about one, his audience thought he was talking about the other.
So, he sought out a new word to represent the psyche.
Climbing the highest peak in the Alps, Carl met with an ancient guru.
And the guru told him “I’m an old fool on a cold mountain peak! What are you doing up here? Get your ass out of here!”
Carl left, dejected.