The Prayer Flags

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Atisha Cho was a Tibetan stripper who’s routine involved the judicious use and slow removal of strings of prayer flags.
As she peeled away the blue flags, the skies darkened.
As she peeled away the white flags, the wind ran through her hair.
As she peeled away the red flags, the fires burned brighter.
As she peeled away the green flags, it started to rain.
And as she peeled away the yellow flags, the ground shook and cracked open, swallowing her up, screaming and naked.
Since then, Tibetan strippers only use veils.
And leave the prayer flags to the wind.

Weekly Challenge #224 – Everyday

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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.

The Minister

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We are a small town on the prairie.
Not many people come here from the rest of the world.
And we really like it here, there’s not much reason to leave.
We don’t bother with televisions, the one radio station’s fine enough.
It plays the same music it has always played, over and over.
Because we grew up with it, and like it.
There’s one church we all go to every Sunday.
The minister starts at the pulpit, gives the same sermon every week.
Then we go home, step on to our recharger pads, and all shut down.
Good night.

The Middle Name

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I don’t have a middle name.
I mean, I don’t have one anymore.
I sold it to someone who didn’t have a middle name, found mine interesting, and offered me money for it.
“Why not just change your name?” I asked.
“We don’t do that in my culture,” he said. “There are only so many names available, and we compete for them. If we cannot win one, we buy it.”
He handed me a check.
There was a large number on it.
I agreed and wrote my name on it.
Then scratched out the middle name. It’s not mine anymore.

Fear

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Final evening approaches: Ramadan.
Father enters, asks “Ready?”
Forty elders and relatives.
Fatima expects a riot.
Find everyone a rug.
Face east and recite.
Fatima’s excited. Allah! Rejoice!
Fasting ends. All relax.
Fried eggs are ready.
Fennel, eggplant, and rice.
Fish, endive, and rosemary.
“Fantastic! Elegant! Amazing! Righteous!”
Friends eat and ruminate.
Finish eating and regroup.
“Fun? Entertainment?” ask relatives.
Farts. Embarrassment. Awfully rude.
Flustered excuses and revulsion.
Family endeavors are rowdy.
Former enemies are restless.
Fighting erupts! Anger! Retaliation!
Flailing everywhere. Angry responses.
Father exclaims: “All right!”
Fighting ends abruptly, respectfully.
Finding exits, all retire.
Fatima, exhausted and run-down.

Knots in my stomach

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I feel knots in my stomach.
So, I swallow a Boy Scout.
He crawls back out.
“I forgot my flashlight,” he says, and crawls back in.
He tries to untie it, but it turns out that his knots badge is a fake.
So, I go down to the docks and swallow a dockworker.
You’d think that a professional who works with knots all day could untie it, but he was stumped.
“I just do boat hitches,” he said, tipping his cap and going back to work.
So, you say you’re a backpacker?
Handy with bungee cord?
Mind taking a look?

My Spy

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An assassin is following me.
He’s an expert at this. Wouldn’t suspect a thing if you saw him there.
Friendly. Polite. Well-groomed.
But I know what he’s really doing:
Following me.
So, I turn the tables on him.
I put on a disguise, cover my tracks, and follow him.
He doesn’t suspect a thing. Doesn’t break cover. Maintains his routine.
Excellent.
I corner him in an alley, a knife to his throat.
He’s surprised and denies being my assassin.
Just like all the rest.
I bury him in the park with the others.
And wait for another to follow me.

The Kraken

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Off the coast of Port Byron, the seas boil with tentacles.
The Great Kraken has returned for its Solstice Sacrifice, part of the pact our ancestors made with the beast.
We load up a boat with murderers, thieves, and the feeble, lowering it into the water and sending its shabby crew to their doom.
Some townsfolk make a picnic out of the occasion.
They toast the ancestors with champagne, and feast on kraken tentacles, boiled in butter.
We give up our own, the Great Kraken reciprocates.
One taste, and you’ll agree that we got the better end of the deal.

Weekly Challenge #223 – At the fair

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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!

Flounce

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It all started with flouncing.
“Gathered or pleated?” asked the forum moderator for The Dressmaker’s Dummy online community portal.
Some dressmakers swore by gathered material, but others insisted that pleated was best.
That’s when the YouTube videos appeared, demonstrating one style’s superiority over the other.
Others used the opportunity to drag out dead horses to beat, deriding materials like suede and burlap, even though they were completely off-topic.
Finally, someone posted “Hitler liked gathered skirts!” and Godwin’s Law was invoked.
Everybody flamed everybody else.
The forum moderator posted a long and dramatic resignation.
I guess it ended with flouncing, too.