Month: June 2013

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

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

The topic this week was STAGE:

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

• Thomas Pitre
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy Haven
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Tom
• Zackmann
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Justin
• Danny
• Caledonia of Seanchai
• RedGoddess
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Singh
• Planet Z

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

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

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THOMAS

The microscope’s stage held a sample of the material gathered from the bottom of the wine cask. The technician twisted the turret around to the highest magnification lens, adjusted the fine focus, and saw the squirming worm-like, life forms. The wine, a 2003 Shinn Estate Merlot was medium-bodied red, composed of eighty-eight percent Merlot, five percent Cabernet Sauvignon, three percent Cabernet Franc, two percent Malbec, one percent Petit Verdot and one percent mystery worm. The nose was enchanting, with faint plum aromas and vanilla, while the palate offered plum and berry flavors with smooth tannins and well-integrated oak providing structure.
#

She was on the stage at three years old. Her father and brother were also part of the act. They would go on to the stage dressed as a happy, nonchalant, little family. Her father and brother wore sport coats, and she wore a handsome, pink dress. They would dance a little, then they would turn around, drop their pants, and moon the audience. The man that booked the act was shocked and upset. Spittle formed in the corners of his mouth as he grabbed the collar of the father, screaming, “What do you call that outrageous act?” “The Aristocrats.”

#

He staged the demo in order to convince the woman that the vacuum cleaner was powerful enough to lift heavy steel nuts and bolts off the rug. He dumped a bucket of fasteners on her fancy, Turkish rug, plugged in the machine and started his demonstration. The first bolt was whisked into the hose. Klank! The bolt jammed itself into the works and destroyed the motor and the only sale he might have had since joining Chinese Vacuum, Limited. He should have known. The majority of the major components were made from beer cans exported to China from the U.S.

#

At this stage, young Grissom was determined. He carried his rifle and pistol, and several grenades on his web belt. Grissom told his wife that if anything happened to him, his love would be powerful enough that he would be able to materialize at any time, and he would leave a message with her. Stepping on a mine, Grissom was blown to a ragged mess, and all that remained were some shredded bones in his limbs. His guts lay in a pile next to him. He looked down at himself, deciding he would rather go than stay. He let go.

#

Still riding the stage coach between towns, Tom Mixx was the brave shotgun guard that accompanied the chests of valuables that were transported between Western Washington towns. Slower and more vulnerable than the armored cars operated by Brinks, required the coach to use back roads and be disguised as a church hayride. Bales of fresh straw covered the stage, and Mixx had a bulletproof niche in the corner of the coach. Three dummies, dressed as parishioners were seated inside. The coach was the brainchild of an eccentric owner, who loved the wild west and all the adventure inherent in it.

#

During the third stage of the journey, Tania neglected to switch on the waste liquid recycling module, so the crew did not have clean water. After three days of desperation, the crew began capturing liquid from other sources on the craft. They began with the hydroponic gardens, finding the water used as a nutrient solution was not recoverable due to the addition of all the chemicals. They began extracting from the plants, using a modified juicer and jerry-rigged press. The liquid extracted from the cucumbers, carrots, cactus, succulents, was sufficient, and lasted until the recycling apparatus was back on line.

JEFFREY

Intervention
by Jeffrey Fischer

The empty bottles stacked up in the recycling bin that Barry never seemed to remember to take to the curb. Bottles with liquor still in them lined the shelves of the pantry, with others conveniently located about the house for ease of access.

Outside the house, Barry was always the life of the party – for the first half-dozen drinks, that is. After that number, insults, lewd behavior, and broken glassware became more likely. Invitations became scarce, though Barry’s ability to accept also declined after he lost his driver’s license.

Even so, when his friends and relatives came to his door one morning to stage an intervention when Barry was still in a hung-over fog, he was surprised.

Career Opportunities
by Jeffrey Fischer

Theresa strode across the stage in her graduation robes, her cap cocked back at a jaunty angle and held in place with a dozen bobby pins. She accepted her diploma from the Dean with a handshake and a broad grin. She snuck a glance at her parents who were, if anything, smiling even more than Theresa, no doubt delighted to get their youngest child off the payroll and out of the house at last.

As she walked off the platform and started contemplating her future, Theresa began to wonder whether going $75,000 in debt for a major in Gender Studies was a wise decision.

RICHARD

#1 – Rule 2

Rule two: Always look where you’re going.

The lamp-post with which George collided suffered far less damage than he. Once the world stopped spinning, he eased himself into a sitting position. His shoulder, which had taken the brunt of the impact, would bruise beautifully – not a propitious start to his outdoor activities.

Ruefully, he realised that if he was ever going to survive, he needed to slow down, think things through and not run blindly into danger.

“Stage one, George”, he muttered, “get a grip on the basics, or you’ll never get to stage two… whatever that might be!”

#2 – As You Like It

If all the world’s a stage and we are merely players then, Mr Shakespeare, I have a few questions…

Just who is directing this show and how did we get our parts? I for one, wasn’t asked to audition… And, forgive me, but I’ve not been shown a script.

What about rehearsals – do we at least get time to practice our role, become familiar with our props, adjust our costumes to fit, and maybe make some changes to the plot?

Oh, and Mr Shakespeare, if every one of us are the players, then please explain, who precisely is our audience?

#3 – Deception… doubled

“All we need to do is stage your death – I’ll claim the life insurance, then when the fuss has died down, we’ll head off into the sunset. No-one will be any the wiser. Trust me, everything will work out perfectly.”

This was the reason I’d gone into the insurance business and finally, my plan was coming together. I’d pull all the right strings to ensure that Susan’s ‘death’ was dealt with speedily, and then I’d simply disappear with the cash.

As for Susan, I wasn’t worried that she’d find me – according to official records, I’d been dead for years!

MUNSI

Stage Acting for Dummies

By Christopher Munroe

In the theatre, the most important skill you must master is the ability to speak while well lit.

Also: Do what you’re told.

There’s more to it then that, obviously, a certain skill set is required and there are a lot of tips and tricks, but it boils down to, in essence, those two basic things.

Take direction, and take it well. And then, when the time comes, walk onto the stage, find your mark, where the light hits you properly, stand there, and speak.

Not a romantic notion of acting, I know, but it gets you through the show….

LIZZIE

It was long and deep, as any tragedy should be. After a drawn out silly-season, the media gathered for the opening, eager to witness the much awaited comeback of Pemberton’s work.

After two hours, of which one was an exasperating monologue, the journalist of a smallish publication stood up.

“Kill him already!”

Silence invaded the theater.

In a fit of rage, Pemberton hurried across the stage, coming from behind the curtain, and threw one of the props, a rather heavy one, at the journalist.

Unfortunately, having his masterpiece ruined was not the lowest moment of Pemberton’s day… or following years.

SERENDIPITY

The final stage is perhaps the most bizarre, as a shocking transformation takes place.

Facial features become distorted: eyes and nose become pronounced and may discolour; a rictus parodying a smile or grimace forms and hair becomes wild, or may become altogether absent.

The feet may swell massively and movement becomes uncoordinated and erratic. Falls are common, as is gratuitous violence.

These somewhat frightening – though occasionally amusing – creatures tend to gather in groups of their own kind, and are drawn towards children, bright lights, gaudy colours and large crowds.

Love them, or hate them, the circus must have its clowns.

CLIFF

There are five stages of writing
Denial. “They can’t be serious. A hundred word story? That has to be a typo.”
Anger. “They can’t limit me like that! I’m an artist! I must express myself fully and without restriction.”
Bargaining. “How about a thousand words and I’ll split it up into ten smaller stories?”
Depression. “It’s all meaningless. No one will ever read this. I might as well go write a haiku.”
Acceptance. “Alright. I’ll just focus on the most important aspect and write a one hundred word story on that. Now, how much do I get paid for this?”

TOM

The widow Parsons was waiting for the stage. Timothy hung close to mother the transvelt wind swirled dust over his spit shine shoes. They were bound for Evanstown to meet Doc Proctor who’d placed an inquiry for housekeeper/bookkeeper in the Stratmore Hearld. The coach pulled into the station Giff Banister tossed down body armor to young Timothy and released the air look to the stage. “Aim true and hold your breath as you shoot,” the widow reminded the son. “I will,” dutily said Tim as he triple pumped the railgun. Banister pulled the rains. The batlofts pressed into the wind.

ZACKMANN

Nice to see you back Nunzio, how was your wild west vacation?”

“Great, I robbed some stagecoaches.”

“Do you mean you reenacted stagecoach robberies as part of the vacation activities?”

“No Guido, I mean I was able to send two stagecoaches and a utility wagon through a dimensional gate before anyone noticed they were missing.”

“Did you send unattended animals through a dimensional gate?”

“No, they would have noticed missing horses right away and not every world that doesn’t use cars uses horses as their draft animal.”

“Nunzio where you going for your next vacation?”

“Somewhere with my cousin Guido”

STEVEN

Your lover twists silk around your wrists, pulls it taut. The soft,
unyielding resistance is numbing your hands.

“It’s a little-” you say before your lover presses a sweat-salted
finger against your lip.

“Stage one,” your lover says.

Your heart races, pumping love and trust and fear.

Then your ankles – not soft silk, but the cold clank of steel
handcuffs, metal edges biting your skin.

“I-” you say. Your lover’s silencing hand is a stinging slap.

“Stage two,” your lover says.

Your heart races, pumping love and fear.

“Stage three,” your lover whispers, drawing the knife.

Your heart races.

JUSTIN

All the world is stages,

And all the players merely gamers;

They have their powerups and their combo moves,

And one man in his time has extra lives,

His acts being seven ages. At first level,

With low hit points and few powers.

Then the apprentice, with his new abilities

And shining with temporary invulnerability, blinking momentarily

Unwillingly to long cutscenes. And then the equipment reset,

powerups removed, with a woeful ballad

shouted at the TV screen. Then a Game Shark,

Full of strange codes and skipping past bosses,

Jealous of high scores, sudden and quick in quarrel

during multiplayer.

DANNY

The past disappeared into the ether as the stagecoach raged forward across the barren Mojave desert landscape. “How soon before we reach San Francisco?” I anxiously inquired. “Well, at this stage of the game, I’d say we should at least get there with 2 to 3 days to spare,” the stagecoach driver replied. “We must hurry, my Stage debut at the Filmore is scheduled for June 18th!” I implored. “Well, wouldn’t it have been more efficient to rent a car instead of a horse draw stagecoach during this day and age if you were that concerned with time?” the stagecoach driver sneered.

CALEDONIA

She tripped over the lip of it and fell flat on its aged wooden surface with a painful thwack!

“What’s this? Who put this here?”

An ethereal voice came out of nowhere, “Welcome to a rarefied world where art and life collide. Welcome to the great forum of thought and emotion.” The voice raised in pitch, and intensity, “Welcome to the deep reality of emotions reflected with …”

She interrupted impatiently, “Yes, yes, get on with it. Where’s the ladies loo?”

“Backstage left, and down the stairs to your right. Push the handle twice, please, or it won’t flush properly.”

***

The veteran and the neophyte stand in the wings watching, and waiting.

“Do you ever get nervous?” the young one asks.

“Every time,” is the curt reply.

“Really?” the young one croaks, hand shaking as he raises his water bottle and slurps, hoping to not botch his very first line out on the boards. He twitches. “But all those people, all those eyes watching you!”

The veteran turns a slow, patience gaze on the young one. He very softly, very deliberately whispers, “If you hit your marks and stand in your light, you will not see them. Do not look.”

***

Bette reached for the shiny statuette. It was a local award, but it sparkled like a Tony. As she sputtered out her humble gratitude, the past entered her mind.

It was a sunny, hot bee-buzzing July afternoon. She hid high amidst the fanning branches of the old backyard swing tree. Mamma and Auntie on the back porch sipping huge, foggy tumblers of supposed lemonade.

“I wish I knew why Bette needs so much more attention than the other children. She’s always performing!” her Mamma cried.

Her Aunt’s patient reply, “Don’t worry, dear. It’s just the stage. She’ll get over it.”

RED

After years of failed campaigns, Emily, a conservative home grown teacher was ready for a 3rd chance in the political ring. Teaching is her calling but she’s compelled to work from inside the system. She’s been a good citizen, reaching out to local politicians and engaging her neighbors. She even started a petition at her school with the support of the PTA. Her frustrations led her to challenge the incumbent. She deters all decision about her image the campaign consultant who plans to stage a get out the vote rally in front of City Hall. The more she focuses on her political appeal, the clearer it becomes she has entered a popularity contest. Win or lose, the kids will pay the price.

NORVAL JOE

The secure channel to Command Base only crackled with static. They’d declared stage four retreat; a complete bug out, every man for himself.
Doorn Van Kirk ran the lunar scan algorithm again hoping to find at least one ship rising from the fourth moon of Spanspek. The flight back to the prime colony ship would be long and lonely by himself.
He initiated the hybrid plasma charge and waited for the moon to go pink. Any remaining colonists would die, but so would the damn Crabs. Human technology could not be left in the hands, or claws, of the Crabs.

TURA

There are so many self-help books now, you can’t compete just by writing a new load of nonsense. So I invented a way of generating unlimited amounts. First, choose a title of the form “N stages of X”. “Five Stages of Wealth.” “Eight Steps to Quitting Your Job.” “Ten Stages of Life.” (People are suckers for bulleted lists.) Google the number and throw together whatever comes up. Pentagram, Eightfold Way, Ten Sephirot, that sort of thing. Chop your subject into however many pieces, and hammer them into the mould. Then, profit!

I call the method “One Hundred Words of Huckstering.”

SINGH

The Boy with the Wild Boar’s Face (Part 1)
1.
When the famous Muzim Theatre closed nightly, Ketut swept the wooden stage and aisles, working his way to the vestibule collection. He unlocked each case and gently brushed the exhibits with a duster made from a cockerel’s tail feathers, remembering when the Master, his old Tuan had procured each on world journeys. There were historical costumes, hats, swords and stage ornaments and props from Asia to Europe and back. Touching the mask collection Ketut recalled his village in Bali. Years ago the Tuan had spotted him in the street wearing one with pig tusks miming a wild boar with compelling realism.

2
Ten year old Ketut was an orphan from a lineage of royal mask makers who had been taken in by his maternal uncle, a barber. The boy proved a financial burden for the pragmatic family, always off chasing street puppets and dance troupes.
Tuan’s two sons had shown no interest in theatre, but Tuan saw a glimmer of himself in the boy.
“If you take him with you, I will give you his father’s collection,” the uncle bargained pulling out a heavy chest. Tuan’s eyebrows raised. This was getting more interesting. “Alright show me these masks and then I will decide.”

3
Tuan gasped at gold foreheads and teeth, a red-lipped Barong with tusks, Garuda, Rangda, a moon goddess wearing snake hair, a beauty mask with a royal Batik headdress, the good Boma demon, another with a gecko crouching between the wooden eye sockets. There was a smiling Buddha with rotten teeth, a white faced topeng monkey mask made from hibiscus wood and more. These were some of the lost heirlooms of the last Jaywarman king who had long ago committed ritual suicide. The royal seal was imprinted inside each.
“Yes,” Tuan said, “I’ll take the boy.” And also gave money.

4
Thus, Ketut commenced traditional discipleship as Tuan’s attendant while doing chores like sweeping the old theatre, while Tuan began the training.

“Look!” he would say going to the wet market to buy durians and mangosteins. “See the man hopping about on the hot road like a crow? Remember that, Tut.” Or when the monsoon pounded the pandan leaves Tuan would say, “Listen to the roaring downpour followed by the last ping-ping of raindrops. You can use that at the end of a dance sequence.” Then Tuan demonstrated a jerky hand movement coming to a standstill. Ketut was aroused and captivated.

5
Tuan also told Ketut to look after the collection which was the pride of the Muzim Theatre. “Be diligent. Many of these costumes and jewelled ornaments were endowed to me by famous people like the Sultan of Brunei and the Count of Barcelona after I performed in their courts. Then there were great makers and artisans from France and Italy with whom I exchanged our kris blades, kebayas and turbans in return for their costumes, hats and weapons you see here. Look especially after the masks from your father. They are the most precious. They will be your best life teachers.”
6
Such favourite attention aroused jealousy among the actors and even the Master’s watchful wife. She still hoped one of her sons would return from the north to manage the family theatre. Puan was from a plain business family. Overseeing management matters suited her, replacing the tedium of art making. Frankly, she didn’t agree with, or understand her husband’s lofty ideas, but she did enjoy the status of being the wife of a great artist. When he formally adopted the Balinese boy, (who still wandered around with a boar mask playfully scaring the children) she did not accept him in her heart.

7
Ketut maintained the Muzim Collection and happily did all the menial chores. Then after two years during the southwest monsoon season, the Master died suddenly from dengue fever. It was a blow for the whole company and Ketut. After the mourning period Puan carried on, yet without Tuan the company began to dwindle. Ketut’s theatre education stopped, too, although he had formed the habit of mimicking everything and everyone around him, and although pure minded proud actors like Azlim, a rather messy rice eater felt offended seeing Tut sit down with younger children mimicking each person in the company including himself.

8
Obligated, Puan kept Tut on, but without Tuan to champion him, he was soon sidelined. Puan read the motives of her actors and rationalised she had to keep things on a tactful footing. The easiest course was to leave Tut on as a janitor boy without any stage prospects, despite the career path Tuan had in mind. Nevertheless, Ketut continued without complaint doing all the menial chores: sweeping the stage and aisles and dusting the collection at night when the doors were locked and all went to their homes. He imagined Tuan still speaking his lessons through each garment and artefact.

9
Put on those pantaloons from France, Tut and the Ming dynasty dragon coat. Take the sword from Toledo and leap onto the stage. Yes, that’s right dance now. The sky is falling. Let your blade flash and slice off your enemy’s head.

Ketut’s role-played his signature boar character being chased by a hunter all the way back up the other aisle. Then he put on a Commedia dell’Arte mask, hat and Harlequin suit skipping and tumbling clownishly across the stage.

Like this he paid homage to Tuan, and afterwards locked up everything up, going off to sleep under the stage.

10
One morning Muzim Trust headed by Puan was having a meeting. Sweeping outside the office, Ketut overheard a familiar angry voice.

“We should sell off the collection. Funds are low, I tell you.” It was Azlim, the lead actor. Secretly, he wanted the company to go bankrupt because a developer had promised him a generous commission if he secured the contract for real estate development of the land. Things were changing in the city. With the money Azlim was going to migrate to Australia.

What would Master say? Thought Ketut.

“No! We must maintain Tuan’s legacy at all costs,” said Puan.

11
The next day Puan found the theatre unlocked and the Collection gone. She called the police.

“Who has access, Madam? The officer asked.

Speaking in her high society voice said, “Azlim and Tut, our janitor boy.”

Ketut was brought. Puan seeing enemies everywhere these days suspected Azlim.

“He has been scheming with the other actors and demanding more pay since Tuan passed.”

Later, they matched fingerprints on the door with Azlim’s, but lacking more direct evidence the case was shelved. Nevertheless, Azlim was forced to resign. In reprisal, he lured away several key actors and actresses to start their own collective.

12
The collection theft turned out to be the saving grace of the Muzim Trust. With the insurance money they were able to renovate and modernise. Media attention aroused public sympathy and new audiences and patrons flocked to the well-funded productions which gained generous newspaper review space because a stream of celebrity actors could be employed here between their film shoots. Thus, the Muzim Theatre regained its prestige as a premier leader of the arts in the city. Ketut was happy. He helped out with front of house before each show, swept up afterwards glad Tuan’s life work would continue on.

PLANET Z

When Ted was in high school, he took an aptitude test to see what career he was best suited for.

The results came back “Hostage.”

Which was perfect for Ted, because he had very rich parents, and he was always being taken hostage and held for ransom.

In fact, the school guidance counselor took Ted hostage and threatened to say that Ted would be perfect for medical testing or janitorial work.

A SWAT team surrounded the school and tried to rescue Ted, but he was killed by a stray bullet.

The guidance counselor updated the test results to “Dead Hostage.”

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

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

The topic this week was ACT:

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

• Thomas Pitre
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Munsi
• Tom
• Lizzie
• Serendipidy Haven
• Singh
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Ishtar
• RedGoddess
• Norval Joe
• Justin
• Danny
• Tura Brezoianu
• Zackmann
• Planet Z

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

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

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THOMAS

If nothing else, she knew how to act. At 5’2”, she was a bundle of energy and talent. Little Dina, “Miss Dina” to her friends, could sing, dance and act. Her roles consisted of little girl and old lady parts. She retired after teaching at an exclusive girls school in the San Francisco Bay Area, and devoted time to her husband, and her beautiful garden. She still practiced the black arts…that is, she and her trio of black, Siamese mixes. Both she and the cats stalked and ate field mice and the hapless song bird that landed in the garden.

#

Tommy cheated on the ACT. He paid an older and smarter boy to take the test. His score jumped from eleven to thirty-five after hiring his doppelganger. The high score would assure his entrance into the college of choice. Tommy was going into the law. Although cheating on an important exam was a bad start for a lawyer, his desire to go into criminal law was an apt fit. Also, Tommy had no conscience, whatsoever. Never did. Never will. Perfect for corporate law, too. He went on to graduate and work with Monsanto, Dow and the El Chapo Guzman family.

#

Foss didn’t act appropriately at church, school, or when riding on public transportation. All other times, he was a perfect gentleman. No one could figure out the connection, but a clever man from Austin, Texas put two and two together and discovered that the seating at church, school, and on the bus had similar properties. Poor Foss had a serious allergy to Naugahyde. Naugahyde was made from the skins of the Nauga…an odd creature, native to Sumatra. Exposure to the off-gasing of the material affected Foss in such a way, that he would babble and recite Bible verses, trembling uncontrollably.

#

The large, block, letters painted on the big, back window act to warn the birds in the garden from flying into the glass. After witnessing a bird, taking its last breath, a speck of blood coming from its mouth, he was sick. He went to the garage, found and old can of white paint and a brush, and immediately painted the words “NO BIRDS” on his window. The warning has been there for two years, and no poor little birds have been hurt since. It is ugly, and the electric meter reader looked puzzled the first time she saw it.

#

Acts, chapter twenty, verse thirty reads: “Also of your own selves shall men arise, speaking perverse things, to draw away disciples after them.” This was on the poster for the fourth Friday poetry reading at the local coffee shop. It was a hook to recruit students for TJ’s writing workshop. It was subtle, but those that read the poster were curious enough to ask what the author of the poster meant, and he shrugged and said he thought it was catchy, and quoting Bible verse might entice some to join or pull in some of the atheists, wiccans, and agnostics.

JEFFREY

Act of God
by Jeffrey Fischer

The insurance company said the flood was an “act of God.” They pointed to tiny print in my contract and wouldn’t pay a dime. Act of God? More like poor maintenance by the water company, letting a water main break. What’s insurance for, anyway?

Well, we’ll see what those suits think of an “act of God” when they arrive at their burned-out shell of an office tomorrow. God starts fires, right?

If they still don’t pay, God and I know where each of those suits lives.

The Heist
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Act naturally,” Jose told me. We lounged against the brick wall of the Main Street Savings and Loan, trying to look like two guys having a conversation, rather than two guys on the lookout for any cops who might wander into the bank at the wrong time.

Everything was cool until the alarm sounded. Buzz and Rodrigo ran out, masks still on, a bag of cash in each hand. Two security guards followed, guns drawn.

Even then we might have escaped, melting into the crowd. Then Buzz slapped a bag into my hand and said, “Nice work, Slim! Here’s your share” before jumping into a waiting car.

Acting naturally doesn’t help when your accomplice is an idiot.

RICHARD

#1 – Dilemma

How should I act?

Always that same question… Should I be bold and brash, or cool and confident; should I project assertiveness or show off my sensitive side? Inevitably, I knew I’d get it wrong and, as always, it would end in complete disappointment.

Whether it was an interview, a first date or that all-important business meeting, you could always guarantee I’d blow it.

People would try and be helpful, but always the advice was the same: ‘Just be yourself’.

The thing is, it’s never quite as simple as ‘just being yourself’, when you suffer from having multiple personalities.

#2 – Acts of heroism

I’ve no time for Superman and his heroic services to justice – he’s not my idea of a hero.

I’d like to see him take on the forces of evil without his superpowers – because when you have the strength to move mountains, laser vision, lightning speed and can fly it’s no big deal; I’d probably be doing the same in his position.

What I’d like to see is Clark Kent have a go, without the cape and bulletproof skin – let’s see him protect the citizens of Metropolis, with only his glasses and briefcase to protect him.

Now that, would be heroic!

#3 – Act 2

My agent glared at me.

I’d promised him a completed draft and now, with only five minutes before meeting the producers, all he had was the first act, which was a shame, because most of the action and my cunning twist in the plot all happened in the second act.

I’d spent weeks working on that second act, poured all my creative skills into writing it, but all I had now was a pedestrian first act that lacked any real merit.

It was there when I caught the bus this morning, but somewhere on the journey….

I’d lost the plot.

#4 – Acting on instinct

Although the situation was completely novel to him, George’s instincts kicked in – almost without thinking he knew exactly how to act:

‘Rule 1’, he thought: ‘Find cover and get to know your environment.’

It was a good start, but it had been a while since he’d needed to rely quite so heavily on instinct, so for now, Rule 2 would just have to wait.

Running in a semi-crouch he’d picked up from the movies, he skirted a wall and, keeping a careful watch rearwards as he ran, failed to see the trouble straight ahead he was about to run into!

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

“C’mon,” the bear says,

gestures with a paw, a grin

“let’s catch some fish.”

The tiger follows the bumbling oaf

– her bumbling oaf –

her deliberate pawsteps behind

the crash and crunch of him

plowing through the bush.

She pretends to learn to fish.

In their cave feasting,

warm fish flesh sliding

gills tickling tastebuds,

the bear idly says he knew the spot

– he learned it –

from a friend,

a she-bear he knows.

His words crash and crunch.

As he lay asleep snoring bear snores, paw across her fur

she plots and plans how best to kill a bear.

MUNSI

Dinner Theater’s More Dangerous than You’d Think

By Christopher Munroe

During act two she had a heart attack.

She collapsed, friends rushing to the lobby to summon an ambulance, paramedics, the whole process.

And nobody told the actors. With stage lights to blind them, none of them had any inkling what was going on amongst the crowd.

So they continued the show.

Though they did realize, at some point, that they’d lost them. The laughter, so freely flowing during act one, had stopped, and they were baffled as to why.

They thought it was somehow their fault.

And I had to explain that it wasn’t them who’d died up there….

TOM

Brush Up your Shakespeare

Ren fairs are more invasive then yeast cultures. But the grand daddy of them all is the Northern California Fair. A few summers ago I volunteered to play in a DIY Shakespeare show. It was a cross between Six Characters in Search of an Author and Dueling Brandos. Random lines deliver from one of the bard’s work would get totally disjunctive replies from another work. My line was: Inconstant Moon, but that’s not what I yelled out. O, swear not by the moon, the incontinent moon, that monthly changes in her circled orb, lest that thy love prove likewise variable

LIZZIE

He hated publicity. Oh, no. No one was going to control him. He only did what he liked and not what they wanted. The problem started when he fell in love. He was not the master of his own life anymore; everything depended on her. He would go to the cafeteria just to see her and he waited for her at the supermarket to help with the heavy shopping bags. This lasted months until he saw an outdoor publicity that said “Act!” And that’s what he did; he simply kissed her! “I didn’t succumb to publicity after all,” he thought.

SERENDIPITY

He doubted that many loathed children quite so fervently – he hated everything about them, from their shrill screams and puerile giggling, to their sticky fingers and snotty noses.

Grimly he wondered how anyone could like the little buggers, yet he knew from experience that parents doted on them and could see no wrong in their ‘delightful’ progeny.

As he trudged through the wet grass, the clamour of young voices reached his ears, and he shuddered.

Grimacing, he straightened his bow-tie, pulled aside the canvas doorway and fell into the ring.

The children cheered, as the clown began his act.

SINGH

“Don’t over act, Meiling. Just go with the moment,” he cajoled.
The shoot was in a luxurious condominium pool next to the jungle.
Floating naked on the blow-up bed she was trying to cover up with a banana leaf. Johnny the male lead eyed her lustfully.
“Aiyoh, Director, first you say you use my dummy for this part. Now you change.
“Sorry. No budget, sweetheart.”
“This is very difficult.”
“Look, you want the job?”
“Yes, but,”
“Take it or leave it.
“But what if…”
“Relax. Believe me, this will kickstart your career.”
“Oh no…”
“Ok, open the crocodile cage, now!”

CLIFF

Acting is in the blood or so the saying goes. There are snobs who say that only Shakespearean theatre is true acting. Others say that you must do the Greek tragedies. On the other hand, those who do beer commercials are technically actors. Most people accept that, if you stand in front of a camera or on a stage and you say words that someone else wrote, then you are an actor. Some of us have more stringent standards. Acting is in the blood but actors are an acquired taste. A wise vampire is selective about the actors he chooses.

ISHTAR

I wanted to write a hundred word story about acting out.

Act out and be who you really are. Express yourself with all your potential.

But I wasn’t sure how it would work. Don’t we all do that every day.

Sure acting out can be fun, interesting or challenging. I want to act out more daily to keep sane while looking for work.

But today I decided, why not have fun doing it. Dress up like a super hero. Dress up in steam punk. Heck even run with scissors.

Act up I say. Act like a dinosaur running with scissors.

REDGODDESS

A warm soapy shower can wash away Lola’s daily aches. This morning though, she has too much on her mind to linger under the water. She stepped out and glanced at the foggy mirror. She can see her curves, the silhouette of her habits. Thirty more pounds before she becomes the mere image of her estranged mother. The stress has stretched to her belly and hips. Even though she grew up a world away from her, when cornered, she acts just like her mother. Her worse fear is now a reality, becoming the woman who abandoned her. Her body too, is steering toward a bigger betrayal, forcing her to face her past.

NORVAL JOE

A girl in a bright yellow, sundress held her soldier’s arm and smiled up at him, tears in her eyes.
Senator Porkpocket wrapped an arm around the soldier, eyed the television camera’s with a broad smile, and made a thumbs up with his other hand.
“Our state stands behind our young men serving abroad, and we stand behind those who return to us so bravely.”
The Soldier, the boy, shifted his crutch to maintain his balance on his new prosthetic leg. He stood tall, brave and stoic, his eyes fierce.
In their own way, each knew it was an act.

JUSTIN

My father went to work one day, but he never returned. Soon mother had sold everything, and debts were due, so the collector man came and took my brothers and sisters away to pay for the debts.

He didn’t take me because I was too small.

I’ll show him, I’ll show everyone! I’m going to rescue my brothers and sisters.

Weather they be on land, sea or air, I will find them, and I will bring them home to mother.

And, maybe, I will find father while I am out there.

Then we can all be a family again. Together.

DANNY

The level of violence is off the scale. “What do you think?” NANCY GRACE asked. “What, right now?” I responded. “No, tomorrow night!” the bitch replied. “What a relief! I hate thinking under pressure, which leads me to realize we are actually doing our children a favor sending them to a cold concrete box called school, pretending they can learn in such a cold cinderblock environment. We are not teaching them how to think nor act, how to stand on their own two feet, we are just teaching them how to behave within an unreasonably structured society.” Then the FBI stormed in.

TURA

When a new emperor is installed, he proclaims his First Act, which is customarily to execute the previous emperor’s advisors for disloyalty. Some also execute the senior secretaries and generals.

When Kang-sheng ascended the Peacock Throne, he proclaimed his First Act against the country itself, for having changed its allegiance to every new emperor down the centuries.

General Wei declared, “Let us truly grasp the significance of this Emperor’s superlative First Act!” That night, the Emperor’s guards imprisoned him, while a new Emperor was installed, whose First Act was only to execute Kang-sheng. Thereafter, the First Act fell into disuse.

ZACKMANN

“Isn’t your friend Paul in the theater?”

“What’s that sonny?”

“Is Paul in Acts?”

“Of Course Paul is in the book of Acts.”

“I wish you would stop acting like you are hard of hearing.”

“Well, I wish you would stop actsing me stupid questions, why does someone your age want to spend time in an old people’s home anyway? Why are you hanging out with your juvenile delinquent friends?”

“Because I didn’t want to serve my community service with anyone who smells like Ax body spray.”

“Too bad, you could have severed it as stagehand for my friend Paul.”

PLANET Z

“The time for debate is over,” said the president. “It is time to act.”

He then left the podium, went back to his dressing room, and put on his costume.

In the meantime, the press secretary handed out programs.

After a few minutes, he flicked the lights to let the press corps know it was time to take their seats.

Three hours later, the curtain came down.

Some applauded.
Some didn’t.

There was much debate about the performance among the press.

Until one reporter stood up and said:

“The time for debate is over…”

They ran to their dressing rooms.