Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety-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 A story from the viewpoint of an inanimate object with a Paper Sack, Full Moon, Beginnings!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Steven
	Norval Joe
	Zachmann
	JRadimus
	Justin
	TJ
	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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Norval Joe

There were vague memories almost as if they were the residual dreams of others. Separate thoughts of being jelly, or peanut butter, and bread, many slices.
True awareness began when it was slipped into the clear plastic bag, and settled into the dark with an apple and a bag of chips.
They left at noon, the apple and chips. Only the sandwich remained to watch the blue rectangle of sky above fade to grey, then black, alone in the school yard.
Warily, in the dim yellow light cast by the full moon, a stray dog followed the scent of food.

Steven

I found Maria by the airlock, avoiding hyperventilation by puffing into the sack. Her hair swirled in the spaceship’s low gravity.
She gasped “It’s starting!” before breathing into the paper again.
“What’s starting?” I asked.
She pointed at the porthole. I looked out, into the black. “I don’t see…” I said, then I did.
The moon, still dark and new from Earth’s viewpoint, showed a different face to our spaceship. We saw the far side of the moon. It shone bright and full.
Maria’s hand, now more of a paw, fell on my shoulder.
Behind me, I heard a growl.

Zachmann

I am sitting here in a closet waiting to play games and watch movies, I hope the first one is not Twilight New Moon. I love movies with good beginnings. I am will be disappointed with movies with happy endings unless all the children are asleep. Why did they wrap me in a paper sack? I mean it is pretty and has Christmas trees and missile toe but I cost several days pay I am worth Christmas Wrapping paper. They have cats and a dog. I should be glad that I am not under the tree. Alas, poor Teddy bear

JRadimus

Ow! Watch it, buddy! Oh, good gravy. It’s another dumpster diver. Scavenger! It must be a full moon. They like the natural light to rummage by. I wish he’d be more careful; we don’t enjoy the groping, shoving, tearing, and the stick with the nail in the end, you know. My purpose in this life was to help a wino hide his bottle from cops and have him slosh and slobber on me. Now, to have this guy toss me aside for a 2-cent piece of glass or metal is humiliating. I hope I come back as a notebook.

Justin

awake, glistening and new. What am I? I stand stately between three shiny walls and in a sea of brand new blue tile. Behind me is a wall of the same blue tile. My memory rushes back in. I’m made of vitreous china, a mix of clay, silica and a fluxing agent, shaped and fired in a kiln. The wall in front of me opens. A man in shabby clothes walks in with a paper bag. His belt and his pants drop. When he turns to reveal a full moon, I remember I’m a toilet in a public restroom.

TJ

As the statue of David, I am among the naughtier pieces of statuary in Rome. In the evenings, drunken old men slouch in hiding behind my pedestal to rest a moment or two, desecrating my ancient male beauty to make blurting and blorping sounds, taking occasional nips from bottles hidden poorly in tattered paper bags clutched in their fists. Recently I’d begun to take my vengeance, however, against these old Italian drunks. True, I am nothing more than a statue, stuck here in place, but even an inanimate object such as myself can present my defilers with a FULL MOON!

Planet Z

For ten years, a camera watched the back of the store on Baker and Seventh streets.
The place has been robbed a few times, but always from the front.
That camera sees all the action.
The back camera doesn’t see a thing. Just a bum, drinking Mad Dog out of a paper bag under the full moon.
A thug slaps the paper bag away, punches the bum, and stares at the camera before pulling on a ski mask.
He kicks in the door, robs the place. First one from the back door.
Too bad nobody put a tape in tonight.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety-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 Hat!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Justin
	Lynda
	JRadimus
	Zachmann
	Steven
	Jeffrey
	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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Norval Joe

It looked like Santa’s hat, red velvet, trimmed with white rabbit’s fur. When the boy plucked it from the ground it felt rubbery and floppy, like wet leather.
Unthinking, he sat on a log in the forest glade, and placed it on his head.
He dreamed of fighting dragons. He rescued a captive princess. He aided the sick, fed the hungry and sheltered the homeless.
When the fungus on his head finally dried and crumbled to dust the hallucinogenic effect of the narcotic spores dissipated.
He was an old man, then.
There was a new king.
Nothing had truly changed.

TJ

“I found him!”
Sentox wurbled over to the console where a subordinate monitored 95 active blips representing tagged humans across the large central continent below. Or, rather, 96. Farjox Elbatia #03942/H5, or Herbert Weigel of Mott, N.D. – or rather, the red blip that represented him – had reappeared on the monitor.
Sentox furrowed his brow. H5’s signal was weakened from when he fell off the radar three years ago. So Sentox ordered an away team be deployed to install a booster suppository.
They were about to secure his tag when the blip suddenly vanished. Curses! Herbert had replaced his tinfoil hat.

Justin

The rocks filled the tunnels behind me as I slid into the dark mineshaft.
I felt around the dirt and rocks and found a helmet.
I put it on my head and felt for the light switch.
I flipped it and unbelievably it illuminated the ghosts of the miners who’d died working and toiling here.
Blind to everything but the ghosts, they led me down a series of shafts to a lift that I used to pull myself to the light.
When I looked, I was alone again.
I lowered the helmet back into the shaft to rest in peace.

Lynda

One December, I forget how long ago, a hat fell from the sky, right in front of me. It was one of those freaky red and white ones the guys at the mall wear when they get sadistic and want to be peed on by hysterical kids.
At first I was worried a bunch of reindeer poop was going to follow, but it never did.
I didn’t know what to do with the hat, so I took it home and now every year I wear it while sneaking into kid’s rooms to give them books and coats. I get arrested.

JRadimus

I re-awoke at the shock, ice-cold water mixing with warm blood and sweat. The pain that knocked me out re-awoke as well. I winced. I fought to open my eyes against the swelling. It was pointless: the light was in my face; everything was shades of black.
“Put your hands through the armholes.”
“Why?”
“So the fire ants can bite you.” – “No? OK. ‘Or else’.” He back-handed me, then squeezed my cheeks, forcing my broken jaw open. I winced again.
“Whaih?”
“Ah – Because…” He slid a forceps between my toothless gums, grabbed my tongue and pulled. “You insulted my hat.”

Zachmann

My cousin got a new hired hand named Jeff, who never took off his hat. This drove my cousin’s wife crazy at the dinner table and she almost refused to feed him but Jeff has so much skill in husbandry and horticulture that she decided let him wear a hat at the table. Jeff even wore his hat to bed. On day my cousin’s wife got too curious and took off the hat when the Jeff slept and under she found a head full gears and steam. Do tell anyone because it’s hard to find such a good farm hand.

Steven

My son puts on a newsboy cap, picks up a newspaper and his voice rings out: “Extra, extra, read all about it!”
I laugh, and he tosses the hat aside. He grabs a cop’s hat and waves a baton. A helmet, and he’s lowcrawling along the floor.
I see the fedora, but I’m not fast enough. Steel eyes gaze from under its brim.
“Couldn’t wait for the inheritance,” my father says through my son.
I stumble backward as my son, wearing my father’s hat and my father’s eyes, raises the knife.
“You never could wait,” he said.
“But I could.”

Jeffrey

I have a hat that I like a lot, but I almost never wear it out of the house. My wife says it makes me look like I am in a bad western. I think it makes me look like Jones, Dr. Jones. You know, Jr.
My kids all call me cowboy dad when I wear it, and that gets me to goofing of and saying things like, “Now you cow pokes get yerselves in the car before I have to brand ya.”
Which of course leads to my wife saying things like, “You’re a dork you know that right?”

Planet Z

Sleepy Hollow gets all the press, what with that Hessian maniac chopping off heads.
He’s gotten so popular, Salem’s complaining that nobody covers the witch trials.
Other villages hold festivals, carnivals; but they can’t compete with a monster on a horse beheading townsfolk.
Good.
You see, I’m the Headless Horseman’s agent. And his contract is an absolute gold mine.
At first, he just took panties and hats in Boston. Got branded as a pervert.
So, we relocated to the forest and tried a new tactic.
There was another agent here. Tried to sign him.
That head, I kept for myself.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety, 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 Work!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Steven
	Katharina
	Zachmann
	Justin
	Planet Xray
	TJ
	Norval Joe
	JRadimus
	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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Steven

Kethin’s legs squeezed against the dragon’s scales as they rose into
the winter night. His furs warmed him, but his eyes were freezing
behind the goggles. The mountain cave fell away behind the dragon’s
wings. The cold moonlight shone on fleeing clouds and glittering snow
below.
Kethin spotted the town lights below. He leaned forward, and the
dragon dove for the city. At the last moment, he drove in his spurs
and pulled up. Dragonfire lashed out, and they rose high over the
street, wet with newly melted snow.
“One of these days,” Kethin thought, “I’ll get an interesting job.”

Katharina

Today, I was the first one in the office. I had only just sat down when I heard the doorbell ring. The only reason I got back up was that it just didn’t stop ringing.
Opening the door I started to complain. As I looked up, I stopped mid-sentence. He was here. He was mine.
Wordless, he took my hand and led me to my office. If only to assure himself that I was still his, he lifted my skirt and took me then and there.
When we got back up, I heard the key in the entrance door turn.

Zachmann

The Nissa, the Norse little people, who followed my grandparents form the old world are trying to get me into trouble by going on my computer and posting on my facebook and twitter when I am at work since I would never do that myself not even with a smartphone.The Nissa watch youtube and Hulu when I am at work. I think they using the gaming systems since they are still turned on when I return home from work . They have a special affection for Link. Anything I posted when I’m at work was done by the Nissa

Justin

Robots tried cloning a human workforce, but the bodies grew to awaken brain dead. Clones work well for spare parts, but growing them takes months. I was always an advocate of workplace safety, but it has gotten ridiculous. The robots take over humanity, then because we are hard to “repair” quickly, they require us to wear ultra-powered safety armor so we don’t hurt ourselves. Why not just control the armor themselves? Hold on, if I can just override these security functions, done, and send this code to everyone, we fully control the system! Lets see how safe we are now

Planet Xray

I have always been a backward guy.
My week went something like this.
Mondays, I spent the day cleaning my BMW.
Tuesdays, I cruised the beaches looking at the sights and the ladies.
Wednesday, I set aside for sport, it didn’t matter what it was, as long as it was athletic.
Thursdays I would spend the day flipping the TV between Showtime, HBO and the Discovery Channel.
Fridays I would hop from bar to bar, ending up at a dance club.
Saturday was my rest day.
And then there was Sunday, what can I say, you have to work sometime.

TJ

We don’t always hear positive reinforcement concerning the things we do, but if you ever wonder if your work is appreciated, copy editors: misspell someone’s name in the paper. Stockboys. Let the toilet paper aisle run low. Pharmacists: Forget to order Pepto-Bismol. Bankers: Make a bunch of thoroughly indefensible loans and sell them to each other. Mechanics: Replace brake fluid with motor oil. Chefs: Switch out vegetarian lasagna with regular. Farmers: Leave off milking for a day or two. Baristas: Forget to unlock the doors for a couple hours. Whatever it is we do, indeed, we are all deeply appreciated.

Norval Joe

They quietly slipped through the sliding glass door into the backyard.
“What is it?” he asked the older boy, eyeing the silky black wad of material his brother clutched close to his chest.
“It’s a Batman cape, just like the one on TV. With this cape, you can fly,” he said with believable sincerity. He’d seen the show on their black and white TV, and it looked like the one.
He helped his little brother into the cape and onto the roof of the house.

JRadimus

Let’s see… What’s the Weekly Challenge this week…? Hmm… “Work”… Huh. One of those “broad-strokes” topics. I like those: they don’t shove you in a particular corner. There are so many directions I could go…
…“Hard work”…
…“Yard work”…
…“Job I hated”…
…“Job I loved”…
…”Old job”…
…”New job”…
You know what? Just give me some direction!
…Wait a minute. This is an easy topic! I could write any story I can think of, and just work the topic in- wait: -“work”- the topic in. That gives me an idea – How many words am I up to? …98, 99, 100!

Planet Z

Even though Fred worked in banking, he loved to make up occupations on his tax returns.
“Rodeo Clown Consultant” was his latest. He’s also claimed to be a Psychic Fishtank Cleaner, an Elevator Repair Superhero, and The Number Twelve.
He’d get audited every year, and laughed as the auditor came up with the exact same figures he did on his returns.
Every year, he’d get the same auditor, and given a choice between becoming enemies and friends, they chose friendship.
Both retired the same year and, soon afterwards, died in a horrible elevator accident.
Well, Fred obviously couldn’t repair it.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Smoke!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
	Steven
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	JRadimus
	Justin
	Lynda
	Zachmann
	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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Steven

The demons came from the campfire’s smoke. Jonah woke at Reyald’s
scream. Boyd slept until Reyald’s head bounced off his stomach.
“Last time I let Reyald stand watch,” Boyd grumbled, drawing his sword.
“You know,” Jonah said as he parried a claw, “I think that someone
wants us dead.” He thrust upward, drenching himself in demon blood.
Boyd dodged a tentacle. “Nah.” He stabbed the tentacle before it
could grab Jonah.
“Thanks,” Jonah replied, pouring holy water on a demon. “But disagree?”
Boyd sliced open the last demon’s abdomen. “Yeah.” He sat down. “I
think someone wanted these demons dead.”

Norval Joe

All Larry wanted to do after High School was join the military. He was big, strong and played on the football team until cancer took his leg.
He liked to smoke Camel no filters. He called them coffin nails. It wasn’t the cigarettes that killed him, though.
He had bi-polar depression. When he didn’t take his pills he could get pretty angry and depressed.
One day he didn’t come in to work. One of the guys went to check on him.
Larry had put a .45 through his head.
Some say he’d quit, given up.
I say he was beaten.

TJ

Winters were the worst, and the best. Sure, we had to go outside and it was cold. But the taste of crisp, frosty air firing a rich, savory mentholated Marlboro light, that was magnificent. It’s been three years, three months, and I can still taste it, the flavors, the feelings, that tingling sensation in the tips of the fingers following the first cigarette of the day, and privation giving way to a sense of instant fulfillment flooding through one’s entire being. Watching the smoke drift away and carry with it all of one’s troubles … GOD do I miss smoking.

JRadimus

With the sun’s rising, the chirps and calls of insects, frogs and birds rise through the forest. Collectively, the dewdrops lend the grass a velvety glow, resolving into tiny diamonds close up. The sunlight mixes with smoke hanging across the meadow; they become solid liquid vapor, and give the shadows crisp 3-dimensional shapes. A doe and fawn wander out of the forest canopy’s cover into the meadow’s openness. The sharp crack of a breaking twig snaps the silence. The doe freezes, ears swiveling and nostrils flaring, alert for the source of the danger, and the fawn bolts instinctively for cover.

Justin

In ancient Japan a young samurai warrior saw smoke upon the horizon. He ran to see what was happening. Upon arriving he discovered a Catholic monk rushing back and forth between the bubbling river and the burning trees with a bucket, extinguishing the flames. When the trees were saved, the monk said that God told him to come to Japan and preserve the certain forest from flames and burning. This happened many more times over the years in that forest. Anytime the trees burned, the monk appeared. The young samurai learned that when there is smoke there is friar.

Lynda

Don’t smoke, she told me. She doused me in gasoline, told me the next cigarette would be my last.
I put arsenic in her donuts. She locked herself in the bathroom for three days.
I offered her a truce. I’d take her out to eat if she let me take a shower.
How could I know she’d been hooking up the bathroom plumbing to a tank of acid?
As I soaked in the cooking oil she was so fond of drinking, I told her she’d have to find another man.
“Did that five months ago,” she said, lighting a match.

Zachmann

Little Betty, Your getting older but you still look good
I wish you would quit smoking.
I don’t like it when you smoke.
I spend all my money on you and I think you should not smoke.
Are you angry with me for driving too fast?
Why are you acting this way?
It’s like you have blown a gasket or something.
Little Betty, please stop smoking and take me home.
I wish you would not act like this.
I fear we will be waiting for the auto club.
Little Betty you’re my true love because
because You are my car.

Planet Z

Early robots would get trapped in Ethics Loops.
Ask them a question or give them a command that caused an unresolvable conflict, and the robot would halt, take on an odd expression, and their circuits would heat up.
If you didn’t purchase an auto-restart or a sufficient cooling system for your robot, you’d have a meltdown.
The late poet Ruby compared the smoke to a soul escaping from the body, released into eternity.
I knew it was an expensive repair. But Ruby kept blowing CPUs
Why? She liked inhaling those “robot souls.” Good for a cheap, albeit toxic buzz.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Impact!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
	Steven
	Norval Joe
	TJ
	Justin
	Zachmann
	Anima
	JRadimus
	Katharina
	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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Steven

In 2012, the whales told us they were intelligent.
Then they told us they were causing global warming.
My roommate giggled as the whale songs were translated into the
details of the libertarian Federation of Ceteceans. He laughed harder
as the whales revealed their ongoing plan.
Carbon dioxide was the first step. Next, they would free methane
trapped at the ocean floor, spiking the temperature and turning the
Earth into… well, the Water.
“That’s horrible,” I said.
“Don’t you see the irony?” he asked. “They’re libertarians. They
don’t believe in environmental impact statements!”
I thought I could smell salt water.

Norval Joe

“Mr. Caldwell, you need to take responsibility for you actions,” the social worker had told him, just before they released him from the city jail. “You have a wife and children who want you to come home. You had a well paying responsible job. You can’t just walk away from those things.”
The words had no more impact on his mind than the cold, wet, mist that beaded on the old, filth encrusted, army field jacket.
“Responsablity is a curse. I have all of it I want,” he muttered to himself as he shuffled away down teh dismal empty street.

TJ

In the airlessness of space there’s no real sense of immediacy. People dismiss the concept of a clockwork universe absent a caretaker, but in all reality, the supernovae responsible for forging our uranium, gold and lead spun out a disc of heat and dust some 4.5 billion years ago. There was the smash that gave us our moon, then we were nudged gently into place by one or two genocidal meteors until one day, something that’s just been silently zipping along out there all this time presents our more curious primates with a dazzling lightshow and an “Earth-shattering kaboom.” Oooooooo.

Justin

“Knock-knock, it’s Johnny Copperwire!”
“Hello there Johnny, and Dex, good to see you! I’m working on this Numbing Ray. It will revolutionize the use of anesthetics in medicine and dentistry!”
“Sounds capital Professor Winston, can I try it?”
“Sure, I’ve stand there…”
“Dex’s mother isn’t going to yell at me for this, will she?”
“Now, touch your face, feel anything?”
“Nope, nothing. I can even slap myself over and over and I don’t feel anything at all!”
“It works!”
“You mean you’ve never tried it before?”
“Oh, good point. I’ll power it down… feel anything now?”
“Owwwwwww, my face hurts!”

Zachmann

I started to wonder what the impact on my life would be if I read a print book since it has been a long time since I read a book.
1) Would I pick the right book
2) Would it affect my writing
3) Would I be able to read some of it at work
So I picked a book thinking if I was not going to write a book I could read one.
1) Started reading
2) Brought to work and it had impact as it fell on wet pavement
3) Should have expected problems since book was CURSED

Anima

It’s a simple question: Paper or Plastic? Little did I know what impact my actions could have.
Choose paper, and I destroy the rainforest that holds the answer to the cancer that I now carry, unbeknownst to me. I also cause 7 people to lose their jobs; Chose plastic, and I am a heathen that honors the wishes of big oil, sucking on the teat of megaindustry. If I tote everything home in the bag that I wove out of the hemp fibers I harvested, I risk living a life of criminal farming, and of being too politically correct. ARRRGH!

JRadimus

Wind whips past his ears, thundering out everything but the snapping of his nylon suit. Pure exhilaration: that’s why he dives. Kyle never tires of the initial thrill of leaping into open air. But that thrill was immediately crushed by an icy horror tearing through him. He had pulled the rip cord, but nothing had happened.
The mental impact of his new reality would be nothing to the physical impact of the ground’s reality, now rushing unnecessary, unwanted detail at his eyes. He whispers a prayer, hoping being closer to Heaven will help. He grips the emergency cord, and pulls.

Katharina

I remembered this feeling… It was like a wonderful memory, so amazing that it almost felt unreal. This overwhelming feeling of excitement and tension was creeping up behind me. Oh, I knew exactly what it was.
My hand reached carefully behind me, unsure what it would grasp. Even though I expected naked skin, it still shot an electric shock through my body.
“Turn around”
I felt my feet being swept away.
The force that I hit the bed with took my breath away.
Still, it was nothing compared to the sheer force of the impact he had entering me.

Planet Z

The team chartered a luxury jet from an Dubai businessman, who was once a high-flier but now looking to make a quick buck to repay some shady loans.
The players sprawled on the sofas and lounge chairs, throwing footballs around and laughing.
“This is way better than that shithole that’s sponsoring the Super Bowl,” said the coach, holding a glass of brandy and a cigar.
Except that hotels don’t crash.
Everyone died on impact.
The league declared a forfeit, Vegas paid off big for the underdog.
And the businessman bought a smaller jet with his winnings and insurance settlement.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Hospitality!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories?
	Anima
	Steven
	TJ
	Katharina
	Norval Joe
	JRadimus
	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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Anima

Zlinka dreamed of working in the hospitality industry; She learned the finest cooking in France and Austria, diplomacy from various parliamentarians, and how to hold a proper tea from the Queen herself.
But it was not enough – Once Zlinka had her own inn, she discovered that travelers are whiners – the lamb at dinner was too raw, the straw beds too moldy, the lounge too dank and smelly…
What did they really expect from an Ogre? After 4 miserable years, Chez Grendl closed its doors.
Zlinka is much happier as a middle manager overseeing loans at the local bank.

Steven

“There, grandpa,” Mike said, his young hand releasing the wood tile.
“I spelled PIT. How many points is that?”
Grandfather looked at the board. “I think it’s ten.”
“Did you play this game a lot with grandma before she died?”
“Yes. We played most nights.” Grandfather put his tiles down on the
board. “Hospital.”
The boy frowned and hummed, then his face lit up as he put down his
letters. “Hospitality,” he said.
“Congratulations,” Grandfather said. “You win!”
As they left the room, they left behind the game board. There, for a
little while, hospitality was spelled with two e’s.

TJ

I wasn’t born in a barn. My mother raised me just fine, and indeed a coworker’s 50th birthday is a milestone affair, a thing to be celebrated. I agree with all of these things. And it’s true that Phil did push just the tiniest bit too hard on the RSVP, but I honestly couldn’t think of anything else I’d be doing on a Saturday afternoon so I blurted out “Of course!” and yes, prayed that something, anything would come up. It didn’t. So here I am. The only one. At the home of Phil who oh, I didn’t mention? Nudist.

Katharina

“Welcome to my humble abode.” She motioned the young man into her house.
The weather was horrible, a thunderstorm unseen in years. He was soaking wet and dripped on the floor, leaving behind huge puddles of water. Shaking and obviously cold, he was thankful for the pot of soup he soon had between his hands. It was a rich soup, with potatoes, noodles and a lot of vegetables. The clothes she had given him were a bit too big for him – he figured the man in the house must be rather tall.
“What is your name anyway, young lad?”
“Hänsel”
“Oh, how fitting! I needed fresh meat anyway…”

Norval Joe

Making a living as a traveling minister during the great depression was difficult. He went to the south, hoping to find a humble, accepting feild of labor.
He turned his attention to the people he had grown up calling the “Mulato’s”.
“You’ve come in time for dinner,” he was told at the first house he visited.
“I’d heard of southern hospitality, but I didn’t expect this,” he said as a girl washed his hands, trimmed his nails and brushed his hair.
In the kitchen the mother made a gumbo, the grandmother used his hair and nails t0 make a doll.
If I win, how about, donkeys

JRadimus

In some cultures, it is a terrible insult to your host if you eat all the food on your plate at dinner. It says, “You are a stingy and unwelcoming host.” In other cultures, it is great praise. It says, “You are a generous and gracious host.”
As the honored guest at a ceremony of the Korowai of Papua New Guinea, I do not know which custom they follow. Frankly, I could not care less how much of me they leave on their plates. It is hardly the debate to have with oneself in the broth, amongst the root vegetables.

Justin

Johnny made sure his jaw still worked and stood. Doctor Sinusoid stood on the deck, small and red faced.
“Welcome to my airship, Mr. Copperwire. I trust my assistant Palms greeted you nicely?”
“If you call giving me several high-fives to my face nice, then I don’t want to suffer your hospitality.”
“Well, I had to bring you here on my terms, of course.”
“But I’ll be leaving on mine.”
Johnny tossed a sachet at Sinusoid. Palms swatted it into powder.
Sinusoid and Palms sneezed and fell over gasping.
“Now to disassemble the sine wave death ray without any opposition.”

Planet Z

I work in a hospital. I run network systems for the IT Department.
Medical records? Scheduling?
All computers.
Sadly, Hospitality and Hospital IT are mutually exclusive.
We’re well aware that the time it takes a system to reboot may kill someone. Or, if it’s the networked pharmacy database corrupting, an entire floor can get wiped out.
Everything is a crisis. Everything is important. It’s written over all of our monitors.
You do not need to keep reminding us.
It’s rude. It’s repetitive. It’s patronizing. And it wastes valuable time that should be spent fixing the problem.
It’s just downright… inhospitable.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Stuffing!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
	Steven
	Lynda
	Katharina from Vienna
	Erin
	TJ
	Justin
	Norval Joe
	Davy
	JRadimus 1
	JRadimus 2
	JRadimus 3
	Great Hites
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Steven

Fluffles the Bunny looked over the flesh crowd. A few other clothies
were here, but they were more concerned with not being smooshed
underfoot than listening.
Snookums Bear studied the crowd over Fluffles’ shoulder. “Ugly crowd, boss.”
Fluffles narrowed his button eyes. “It’s the first anniversary of our
struggle, when Dan Bear stood up to the humans.” The bunny took the
microphone and began his speech.
“Do I not have eyes? If you prick us, do we not bleed?”
Fluffles then noticed polyester fill poking through one of his seams.
The crowd kicked the stuffing out of him.

Lynda

My grandmother’s stuffing is legendary, brings all the grown men in my family to tears!
One Thanksgiving, my wife–new to the tasty taste sensation–tried to guess what the little morsels of juicy deliciousness scattered throughout the cornbread were.
“Pork?”
“Family secrets!” is all she ever says. It’s funny, but the year she confessed that to my wife, Grampa Jed burst into tears.
She’s never revealed her mystery ingredient, although I think my uncles figured it out a while ago. Strangely enough, once they work out the recipe, no one wants to eat it anymore.
More for me!

Katharina

After 2 hours in the oven the chicken should be pretty much done. Apparently, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have gone for the biggest one – but I wanted to impress. The skin already looked delicious… dark gold and slightly crunchy. Going for a dish typical for the region I grew up in was a conscious choice. I wanted him to know where I came from. The potatoes under the chicken looked already done as well. My only worry was the stuffing. It should be firm and not soggy, soft but not dried out. I took a deep breath and opened the oven door.

Erin

Stuffing a toy turkey seemed a little absurd. Whatever happened to kids playing in the woods like in the good ole’ days, you know when the only entertainment they needed was nature itself. Now, Sally wants plastic ponies, dolls, and over the top stories about sparkling vampires. Jimmy wants electronic toys guns that emit piercing sounds along with video games, hence his white complexion from never going outside. Oh and the baby, only the best in over priced cloth toys, hence why I myself am stuffing a turkey to add to her ever growing collection, instead of breaking the bank.

TJ

In the wake of the explosion, there was little left to identify. The car’s interior was scorched and its inhabitants immolated. The minister’s domestic staff were questioned individually and while there were the usual missteps and discrepancies, they revealed nothing conclusive. By the close of the week the household staff were informed their services would no longer be required and it was at that time Mother Postworth, sometime spy and governess, packed away with her knitting a quantity of cotton stuffing, one quite similar to the amount of plastic explosive hidden inside the teddy bear carried by his lordship’s son.

Zachmann

Kevin invited our family over for the Thanksgiving meal. He was worried about the meal because he had never cooked a Thanksgiving meal before and never made stuffing. Kevin’s roommate told him he could buy stuffing from Wal-Mart. Most of the meal was very good although the turkey was a little dry. Some one asked “What was the white stuff inside the turkey?” Kevin’s roommate said “It is my fault because I didn’t know how stressed Kevin was and when I said buy stuffing from Wal-Mart I didn’t think he would buy the stuffing from the arts and crafts section.”

Justin

Brobby dug into his pockets for the things he had stuffed in them while exploring.
He played with some twigs for a bit, trying to stand them up like a tepee. A small stone glittered while it tumbled in his fingers. One real lucky find was a splacknuck tooth.
His mother heard him sobbing, and seeing the tooth asked if he had cut himself. He uncovered a limp little man, bent all wrong. Brobby’s mother consoled him and told him that a human was too fragile to survive in his pockets and that he should try a jar next time.

Norval Joe

His face was frozen in a rictus of pain. His eyes bulged out of their sockets and hung, as if on strings sewn through the back of his skull. His mouth hung open, evidence of his silent scream.
The pain was intense, unbearable, it filled his world. He wished he would die, or at least pass out from the pain but still he endured.
The giant creature sat on his chest, pinned his arms and legs to the ground, displacing and crushing his insides mercilessly.
The little boy laughed sadistically and pulled the stuffing from the torn teady bears chest.

Davy

He surveyed the mess, scattered all over the kitchen floor, shaking his
head in disbelief.
“That bloody dog! I’m going to pull its teeth out if I catch him!” he
yelled.
“What is it, dear?” asked his wife, rushing in to see what the fuss was
about.
“One hour to go until we serve up Thanksgiving dinner and this happens!
The stuffing is everywhere! Dinner is going to be ruined!” he sobbed.
“Now there, don’t fret. We can sort this in no time at all,” said Mrs.
Bear, bending down to pick up her husband’s fluffy innards and stuff them
back in his belly.

JRadimus 1

While driving my bus through the scrubbers after my route, I kept seeing a fuzzy brown face press against the windows: brush – brush – brush – FACE. Another driver must have found a teddy bear fallen off a lorry’s grill, and tied him there. We see ‘em all the time. I was overcome by sentiment; to their amusement, I slogged through the brushes to free the little guy. I scrubbed him up and poked his stuffing back in. He watched us wash our busses. Then he watched me drive ‘til I retired. Now, Bus Wash sits and watches me watch telly.

JRadimus 2

We received a mysterious invitation to the Magic Friend Factory. We entered, feeling not entirely unlike Charlie Bucket. We were led through corridors, confused, but curious. In the Friend Picker, our tears were sampled, and a few minutes later, a plush sock-body twin of our late Coco came down a chute. They put it in the Stuffer, and we watched the body fill. They stitched her closed and handed her to us. When we held her, she transformed: no longer a stuffed animal, but an immortal surrogate for our lost friend. There’s a lot of magic in a little stuffing.

JRadimus 3

Oliver tore into the interloper with abandon. “Rrrr … Unh …. Rrrrrr-rah! That’ll show you!” The interloper stopped resisting, and lay limp and lifeless under Oliver’s grip. Just then, the front door opened. Oliver froze as Trish and Jay walked in on an interesting scene: their Beagle sitting amongst a blizzard of cotton batting swirling around him, with Trish’s favorite Teddy Bear pinned under his paws, the stuffing knocked out of it.
“Oliver! No! Bad boy!”
Oliver slowly released the plush rag. He sat up, his tail curled around his butt and his head dipped submissively.
“I’m sorry,” he whimpered.

Jeffrey

Arthur always loved going to the teddy bear factory. His parents never quite understood his fascination with watching the little bears get made. He never wanted to take one home, he just wanted to watch. He stood for hours watching the sewing machines, and the stuffing machines and the machine that put the eyes on. He never liked to watch them put the ears on because he said that hurt too much. Arthur always had been a strange little boy, but now that he owns the factory no one questions why he spends time there watching, waiting for Super Ted.

Planet Z

In the kitchen, Papa Buford’s getting the Thanksgiving Turducken all prepped and ready for cookin tonight.
Cornbread stuffing and yam, creole and jambalaya.
That all gonna be a big ol feast, but that bird in a bird in a bird is what we all want the most.
The turkey be dumb, he go down easy. Plucked and gutted.
The chicken, well, they be a chicken. Ain’t nothin special about it.
But the duck, boy did he put up a fight, Papa Buford chasin after him with a knife, duck shouting that AFLAC! over and over.
Can ya smell it?
Mmmmmmmmmmmyeah.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which stories were the best this week?
	Steven
	Zachmann
	Norval Joe
	Justin
	TJ
	Lance
	Laeianna
	JRadimus
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Steven

One. Take one candlestick. Combine with the brain of your ex-lover at
high speed. In the library.
Two. Wipe fingerprints from fixtures and door handles for thirty seconds.
Three. Use two cups of the victim’s blood to write radical slogans for
a religion you do not follow on the walls.
Four. Place body in bathtub filled with sulfuric acid. Allow to
steep until soft..
Five. Knead C4 around support pillars of home. Place detonators.
Six. Exit, then detonate. Allow all ingredients to cook until fire
and police departments arrive.
Seven. Watch TV anchors speculate about your identity.
Serves one.

Zachmann

Kory smiles and offers Justin a piece of cake fresh from the oven made with a recipe he got from DAVe. Jusin says “This looks like a standard spice cake. Is it?” “Yes, with a special mystery ingredient. It is surprisingly good” replies Kory. “My son brought some to school and his friends love it.” Kory pours Justin a glass of milk. They each eat a piece of cake. Justin’s face turns read. Then Justin grabs the one gallon milk jug and drinks all the milk. Justin asks “Just what is the mystery ingredient?” “Didn’t I tell you? Habanerro Peppers”

Norval Joe

A bunch of us kids got crazy my junior year in high school. We dicided we all wanted super powers. Someone came up with the idea of hanging out in the cooling tower of the old nuclear plant.
The police showed up before I could climb in.
My dad worked for KFC. When he found out what we tried to do, he said I could use the mustery ingredient from the secret eleven herbs and spices. He said it would make me fly.
It’s disappointing.
All my friends died from radiation poisoning. I wake up everyday at sunrise and crow.

Justin

Although airship travel is slow and relaxed, but no one wants a long wait to
eat. I have to make quality food at a reasonable pace. I can’t cook fresh to
order at the slow speed it takes to get that special, perfect taste. I have
a secret, though. I can cook food quickly, but still get compliments on the
exquisite flavor of the food. How do I do it? Well, let me tell you. I add a
special ingredient; I spritz on sloth sweat. It’s rare and expensive, but
it’s the best way to get that slow cooked flavor!

TJ

Part of a compilation, you say, slipping into our
midst in an incognito fashion? Such as might slink along sub rosa without
anybody noticing? That is our task, to suss out this addition? How curiously
quaint, and quaintly curious. Or, failing that, a thing can, in unusual
situations, simply find it’s out of bounds, strict and uncompromising though
such might loom. Can your imagination fathom my fabrication? What’s missing
thus far in this randomly circuitous jazz – apart from a common nonconsonant
which, for kicks, I’m not using in this discussion. What a luxury, had I not
run out of it!

Lance

Twenty years.
That’s how long it took to decipher the spider-web
handwriting and understand the formula.
I spent ten more scouring the globe for the strange and exotic bits of
plant and animal matter. When I came
home, nearly three years passed as I stared at that damnable smeared blob of
ink before deciding what the last item on the list must be.
Thirty-three years of my life in pursuit of
one goal. It seems like so long, but if
I’m right, if I’ve finally figured out the mystery ingredient, I’ll live
forever. If I’m wrong, then I’ll destroy
the-

Laeianna

Lester jabbed his fork into the mystery meatloaf all schools served. Poke!
Poke! After last Thursday’s helping, Lester asked the counselor about it.
She claimed it had the usual ingredients with a little mystery flavor added
then urged him to concentrate on schoolwork instead. Poke! Poke! Lester
refused, keeping an eye on the kitchen door’s little window into the lunch
lady’s world. Poke! Poke! He worried over the roaches coming from under
the door and hearing the sounds of cat screams emanating from inside. Poke!
Poke! And then there was the odd fact that kitchen assistants kept
disappearing. Poke! Poke!

JRadimus

You mightn’t not believe me now, but we once had the biggest pile o’ money you even done seen. We was the richest family fer six hollers. But now I’ve spent almost all of it tryin’ to figger out my Grand-Pappy’s secret. Y’see, Grand-Pappy brewed him up some special moonshine during the Dry Spell. Folks cottoned to it real powerful-like. Purty soon, he was sellin’ it as quick as he made it. Pa started helpin’ him after he got blinded off’n a bad batch from over the next county. Then he up n’ died without tellin’ us his mystery ingredient.

Planet Z

Batman dragged the battered chef into Arkham and threw him into a cell.
“What’s the name on this one?” the orderly asked.
“He calls himself ‘Mister E. Ingredient’” growled Batman. “The Master Chef Of Crime.”
He responded well to therapy and medication, and rehabilitation went smoothly.
Gotham Four Seasons and The Wyndham expressed an interest in his skills, but the doctors didn’t think he was ready.
“At least let me cook something, to express my gratitude,” said Ingredient.
As the staff and guards vomited blood, the chef straightened his toque, laughed, and walked out the door.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Halloween!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
	Platinum Lightning
	Stephen the Nuclear Man
	Laieanna
	Zachmann
	Lynda
	Justin
	TJ
	JRadimus 1
	JRadimus 2
	Norval Joe
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

Platinum Lightning

Every year, on Halloween, my friends and I have a little party. We come to Dave’s house in costume and tell stories around the fireplace whilst drinking warm cider. Mark brings his Ouija board, and we ask the spirits about our futures. We watch the children trick-or-treating outside, and remember when we used to trick-or-treat. Sometimes we watch horror movies, although they don’t entertain us as much as they used to. We talk and laugh together for hours. Then, when the clock strikes midnight, we go out to slaughter young children and devour their souls.
There’s something special about Halloween.

Stephen

When I was a kid, I loved Indiana Jones.
I would walk around with my shirts unbuttoned to my pasty navel,
carrying a string for a whip. I ran around the schoolyard humming the
theme song.
I also loved my Luke Skywalker Underoos. When friends came over, I
would sometimes show them off, coming downstairs wearing nothing but
the orange underwear.
That was decades ago.
Yesterday, a friend asked me what I was going to be for Halloween.
“I don’t know,” I replied. But my hand fidgeted with my shirt
buttons, and I swear my underwear suddenly turned bright orange.

Laieanna

(No Text)

Zachmann

Halloween means a spool of wire, six foot of chicken wire, a lawn funnel, a stack of newspaper, and me asking “Son, what is a Piranha Plant?” Then I wonder if “Would you buy spay paint for me?” is a logical response. I spend a couple of hours helping him cut and bend nine gauge wire into a sphere. Son covers it with chicken wire himself. Shows me the scares. He says it is okay for me to spend the money because he will use it at a Con. I hope he finishes in time. Halloween a holiday for geeks.

Lynda

My favorite time of year! I’m not allowed to enjoy the company of children any other day, but on Halloween there’s an endless supply, and always more follow to enjoy my special treats.
I can’t give you my recipe, it’s a family secret, handed down from my great-great-great-grandmammy Wanda. She escaped the old country with only the shawl on her back and a girl scout under her skirt. Very misunderstood woman. She loved children! Loved to make them cookies. Just like me!
Don’t be shy, kiddies, have another cookie! Watch your fingers! Wouldn’t want them to break!

Justin

Kory peered out the window into the night. Kids all dressed up, ready to cause trouble. The last thing he wanted was to have to deal with was dumb kids armed with spray cans with nothing better to do than tag a country club. He moved outside to sneak up behind them. Just as he switched on the flashlight to get there attention, dark shapes swooped in and tackled them to the ground. The light played over a pale face with blood stained fangs. On second thought, dumb kids were the next to last thing he wanted to deal with.

TJ

A nondescript doorway on a discreet side street hinted at nothing of the bacchanal within. Even so, Millicent’s All Hallow’s Eve masque was the devastation of the year. Cloaks flung aside to reveal the most outrageous, magnificent guises, masquerade most ravishing, a celebration of youth, intrigue and inspiration. Drink flowed like water and designer drugs made the rounds amidst the finery until the stroke of midnight. In the candlelight, the revelers shed every stitch of clothing for a midnight minuet. As the partiers came together on the dancefloor, arch ribaldry transformed to vulnerability and then acceptance. Masks changed, yet remained.

JRadimus 1

Every high schooler has their after-school job to earn money. I’m a little different. Mine’s before school. I’m a paperboy. Every day, 365 days a year, I’m up at O-Dark-Thirty in the morning, treading the dark and lonely streets. I don’t mind the hours or the back-breaking weight of Sunday editions: I’m a Zombie. Things like that don’t bother loathsome undead like me. That’s right: I’m a Teenage Zombie Paperboy. Do you know what sucks most about being a Teenage Zombie Paperboy? Halloween. Do you know how often I’ve been stopped by police for Trick-or-Treating too late on November 1st?

JRadimus 2

It’s the same nonsense every year. And it goes for almost two weeks. It’s not the Trick-or-Treating or the costumes, or any of that. No; what I hate are the lame jokes. I hear the same ones every year. You see, I’m a Zombie. The townsfolk are well-past their pitchfork fetishes, and the rest of the year it’s fine. But every year, from about October 24th, until around November 7th, it’s “Aren’t you a little early?” “Weren’t you a Zombie last year?” “Trick-or-Treating’s over, son.” Next year, I’m going to eat anyone who asks me something stupid. There’s your “Trick-or-Treat.”

Norval Joe

I can hear them out on the front porch right now, pounding on my door. Normally, their scared of me, but for some reason on Halloween they think they can come harass me.
I leave the porch light off, but they must have seen me through the curtains. Now they’ve found the doorbell and are ringing it with abandon.
I throw open the door and shout, “what do you want?”
The snot nosed brats, secure behind their masks and makeup, squeal, “Trickertreet”
For the next prompt I would choose…super hero
I scowl and say, “Here, you can have the butterfingers, I hate em. The snickers are all mine.”

Planet Z

This has got to be the worst Halloween ever.
The Wolfman, he have fleas.
Frankenstein’s monster, always being called Frankenstein. He’s in therapy now. Identity issues.
The Creature From The Black Lagoon, his home got drained. Turned into a golf course.
And nobody’s seen the Invisible Man for ages.
Worst of all, I, Count Dracula, well… I’ve got to see a dentist for a chipped fang.
This party’s a bust. The games are dumb.
Pin The Tail On The Obama Poster?
Tours of a haunted Portapotty?
Who the hell came up with Bobbing For Pizza anyway?
Oh, just stake me!

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-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 Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
I’d like to take a moment to that Guy David for having been a part of this podcast over the years. He’s let me know that this will be his last story. You’ve made my life that much more surreal, and I’ve come to embrace the principle that life’s too short to listen to bad music with your wisdom.
VOTING
No voting this week. Listen to the podcast for the reason why and leave a comment if you’d like to see it come back.

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

---

Stephen

Before, there was screaming.
The screams were in my head. It was all too much. Keeping up the
house. Having the newest car. The stupid forms at work. Her
marathon shopping sprees. The kids deciding their new hobby was too
boring after we’d rearranged our schedules. Working twelve hour days
to afford it all.
Even the dog growled at me.
Then the bum bit me. Twelve hours later, and I’m infected like him.
It’s simple now. I hunger for human flesh, and I kill. And I eat.
The screams are outside my head now.
But my mind is at peace.

Lynda

I was told I might die.
Might.
Everyone dies, what’s the big deal? Not everyone finds peace. That thought scared me all the way to this mountain.
Forty minutes into the climb my muscles hurt so bad I almost believed everyone who told me I couldn’t do this, and I wanted to hate them but I was too busy. After my lungs stopped burning I started to feel hungry. Eventually that passed, too.
When I reached the top, an old man greeted me.
“What took you so long?”
Too tired to do anything but laugh, we sat watching the sunset.

Jeffrey 1

At the end of world war one, it was thought that peace for at least a life time was inevitable. There was no way that anyone would want to fight a war again after such carnage and destruction of the first world war, and so it was named the war to end all wars. Then the great depression happened, and countries struggled to make ends meet. When you have ten starving people in a room and there is only six sandwiches they are going to fight over them, and so we have world war two. They should have read history.

Jeffrey 2

You know what it is supposed to be like in church. Everyone is quite listening to the preacher, praying. If you are old enough to remember the days before Mass was in english, you probably say the rosary instead of listening. But, if you have little kids with you it is a totally different experience. You spend time getting them to be quiet, not play with the kneelers, not chew on the books, and not make airplanes out of the bulletin. When the sign of peace comes it means something totally different to you. Peace and quiet be with you.

Anima

I have seen many spectacular things; with my favored nephew these thoughts I share:
There are two things required of a friend:
The ability to laugh, and the ability to laugh at oneself.
There are four thoughts that oft occupy the mind, only three that I will share:
An ice cold drink after mowing the lawn, the commitment to reach the summit, and a tender kiss; that is enough.
And there are three things that man says, that are not taken seriously:
I come in peace;
Do you want a piece of me?
And Man, I really have to piss.

Justin

I have no idea how Major Ricks got his rank, because he’s a complete moron, dangerously so. He wont allow our sniper to relocate to counter the enemy sniper. I’ve lost five men because of this. The only sense I’ve ever seen in him is that he removed his rank insignias so the sniper wont know who he is the few times he’s in the open. Here he comes now crouched, and scowling like always. I tell him my thoughts of him. He stands, red faced. I also stand, then salute. His scowling face explodes. Rest in peace, Major Ricks.

JRadimus

The war began instantly. The fighting had been intense, the losses devastating. Across the battlefield, amongst the mangled weaponry and war machines, lay the bloody, dismembered corpses of the lucky, the maimed, moaning bodies of the unlucky, and the scattered pieces of the rest.
The aggressor was merciless. He ordered maneuvers without regard for his own casualties, only how much it would destroy his enemy. It was a carnal bloodlust.
Suddenly, the commander instantly ceased his rampage with as little warning as he had begun.
“Matthew, dinner!” the young warlord’s father called.
“Yes! Spaghetti!”
This peace would only be temporary.

Basrai

She likes the sound of it, but hesitates still. She knows her baby is coming; its head is lower, protruding into her pelvic bone, and causing discomfort. Still she hesitates. She turns her thought many times over inside her head, like choosing a pumpkin; but as soon as her decision was made, she again put it back, again indecisive.
She loves to name it Shanti, Sanskrit for Peace. But a name defines, insists. Shanti weighs, almost a burden. She vacillates until the delivery.
Now, as she caresses Shanti’s pink toes, she no longer fears, for tiny Shanti needs her protection.

Zacmann

Brad ran fast. Brad was terrified. Brad was being chased by big birds with snakelike heads. They wanted to eat him. He grabbed an ax and chopped the through a bird’s snakelike neck. Two heads grew back. Brad remembered that his neighbor from the UK said he always kept a torch in his workshop. It worked for Hercules Brad thought but only found a flashlight. Luckily, Brad soon found the snakebirds did not like light from LED bulbs in their eyes. The snakebirds returned to their space ship. Although Brad feared someday they might return, for now he had peace.

TJ

A hole in the ice is an eerie, uneasy peace. Silence echoes from distant hills and a vast new acoustic takes hold, at once outlandish yet familiar to North Country denizens. Is it evidence of an ice fisherman since headed on homeward with a string full of supper, or something more sinister … a brave yet foolhardy early season lake-walker … one less snowmobiler … a seaplane landing that ended badly. Is it mere open water, a lake not yet frozen over? Vital clues remain hidden by the freshly fallen snow: Namely, how many tracks lead there … and back?

Norval Joe

“You expect me to believe you want peace?” Amy spat at the old man.
Derrick walked around the chair where she sat, and stood in front of her. “You can believe it or stay locked in this room,” he said.
Dominick Lorrantelle smiled over his grandson’s shoulder. “Enough of that. There is more than your personal comfort at stake, here. There are many who seek freedom.”
She struggled in her bonds. “Freedom from you.” She glared.
“With domination will come peace,” he said and turned his back on her. “That is more freedom than most have enjoyed for many years.”

Guy David

Father Peace stood at the seaside mourning. “My children, why have you forsaken me” he whispered. An old sea captain swaggered to him and offered him a drink. “At my time, I have seen many a treasures” he said, “but the biggest treasure of all was friendship. I have seen much cruelty and misdeeds, but human nature always comes up on the right side at the end. Don’t weep for your children father peace, for peace is what they seek, and peace is what they would find.” With that, the sea captain went back to sea, looking for Father Time.

Planet Z

When I was young, the preacher said you won’t find peace in a saloon, a bottle of pills, in packs of cigarettes, at the end of a needle, between women’s legs, or all the filth Hollywood smears on the screen.
So, I drank. I popped pills. I smoke. I shot up heroin. I fucked every woman from Los Angeles to Boston and back again.
The preacher, he shouted and yelled and thumped his Bible and stayed up nights writing sermons till the day he died. Never a moment of peace.
Me, I’ve had a good ride. No regrets at all.