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.
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
Lynda
Dearest Eliza,
As I’m sure you recall, our cousin Jack has been undertaking the peculiar task of collecting bits of thread for the past seven years, and I am grateful to you for your contribution of the clippings from your pantaloons, however I must report the tragic news that our dear cousin was crushed beneath his great ball of fibers this past Thursday.
Do not grieve, as Jack prized your threads above all others and had little interest in anything save that hideous tangle. Had he not rejected my advances I would have happier news for you.
Regretfully yours,
Gertrude
Stephen
I loved Sally, though I couldn’t understand why a model like her would
be with a nerd like me. I told myself I would do anything to get a
girl like her.
That’s why I didn’t object when she squished the bug during sex.
“It’s what gets me off,” she said.
It had been so long, I didn’t care. And at first, it was a little exciting.
Then it was spiders. Centipedes. Mice. Birds. A hamster.
When it was finally my own head squeezed under her stilleto heel, I
realized I didn’t really love her.
It was only a crush.
Anima
“Once there was a little girl that did not like to go to bed. She’d do anything to stay up past her bedtime, even if it was only a few minutes extra.
She’d turn the clocks forward, just a minute or two each day, so by the end of the week she would have a whole quarter of an hour more, all the sweeter because the time was stolen.
Slowly the minutes accumulated into hours, the hours became days, and in the end, the little girl was crushed by all the time she had on her hands.
Good night, sweetie”
Zackmann
Like the mailbox under the snowplow, like the Balikbayan Box marked Fragile, like the shellfish the bird hit with the rock, like rocks into cement, like the peanuts for my sandwich, like the bug under foot, like the corn under the grinding stone, like the grapes for the wine, like the oranges in the juice, like the flowers in the pages of the dictionary, like the olives for oil, like the garlic in the press, like the aloe vera for ointment, like the Mercedes in the bailer, like the acorn under the steamroller, like the whiskey rebellion, I am crushed.
J Radimus
He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.
Jim
He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.
Norval Joe
The disco ball continued to spin; spots of colored light whirled around the dance floor. Abba sang “Dancing Queen”. Kevin lay, supine on the empty gymanasium floor. His midnight blue, crushed corduroy, three piece, suit soaked the blood as it poured from the bullet hole in his chest.
The crowd rushed away from the sound of the gun to reveal the pistol where it was dropped among the confetti and crushed carnation corsages.
Kevin’s date rushed back to his side and knelt, crushed. All her hopes and plans were just destroyed. The after dance party would have to be canceled.
TJ
It could be a part of the wing in a 747. It could provide a key element in the housing for a lightweight, life-saving nanotechnology. It could just become another beer can, the materials for which we didn’t need to first invest the energy to dig up and refine. It’s a crushed, very old Pabst Blue Ribbon can at the side of the road. You can see where it used to be one of those pull-tab jobbers. It could still be any of those things, however. All that’s missing is for you to pick it up and turn it in.
Guy David
The crush test dummy looked pissed. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked indignantly. The tester just looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “You are not real” he said, “you can’t be real.” The dummy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should teach you a little lesson” He said. Soon the tester found himself in a test car running at 150 MPH towards a wall. As he screamed the car crushed into the wall and two air bags opened, saving his life. “Oh – that looks like fun, let’s do this again” said the crush test dummy.
Jeffrey
Being crushed is no fun, ask Clark Kent. He was crushed by evil superman in Superman three. But really being crushed doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart crushed. If you’re really crushed, unless you a Clark Kent, there’s an end in sight. If you get your heart crushed that’s a different Story. Remember in junior high when you asked that girl to the dance and she dumped you right there. Had to explain where you date was to your dad. Then she had the gall to invite you to her birthday, expecting a good gift. Too much sharing
Planet Z
Crushed in a hydraulic press, the evil robot from the future reached out at his assassination target time and time again, barely missing her with each thrust of his powerful arm.
“Must… terminate… you…” said the robot.
Then, he stopped reaching, and his scary red eyes faded to darkness.
His target, a bloodied and battered woman who would be the mother of the future resistance movement, sighed with relief.
As she got up, the robot’s arm grabbed her by the neck.
“Fooled ya,” it said.
Its fingers crushed her throat, and then tossed her corpse to the ground.