Month: January 2024

An Unlocked Door by Lisa

An Unlocked Door by Lisa

He’s not locked the door.

Maybe he never has, we all stare at it wearing the same expression- an odd, hopeful scared face. None of us want to make the first move because what if it’s a trick. It has to be. He didn’t answer when I‘d asked if we could leave the basement.

Why has he got us here anyway?

Where are we?

I notice a movement behind the crack in the door panel. He’s there watching, waiting. I mouth this to the others and we sit wide eyed and rigid.

Things were better when the door was locked.

Weekly Challenge #926: Crack

The next topic is PICK TWO Bookcase, Verdict, Sprint, Crisp, Vulgar, Pregnant

RICHARD

Thin Ice

They told me I was skating on thin ice: that, one day, it would crack and I’d sink into the depths as a result of my foolishness.

I never listened to them. I was young and free-spirited; nobody was going to tell me how to live my life, and nobody had the right to tell me what to do.

I knew better than them.

Turns out, I didn’t. They were right, and I was wrong.

After the accident, they fenced off the pond, and put up notices saying ‘Danger: Thin ice’.

Nobody skates there now.

My cold, watery grave.

TOM

Too Smart by half

Billy was a precocious little prick. Most believed he was most likely to come to a bad end. He was the sort who told younger children Santa and the Easter bunny were made up by adult to con them into being good. Further he flaunted any nursey rhymes. he would proudly land his foot on every crack in the sidewalk. One day the universe was feed-up with the little M-F. When he stepped on Crack but it didn’t back his mother’s The sidewalk when medieval on his ass, broke him in half. Universe noted: that’s mother fucker’s back, putz.

843

Somewhere

I was born in the city but my parents thought moving to suburbs would be a wholesome environment for young children. Bad idea. The Suburbs sucked. At the tender age of six I was dropped in a place with no sidewalks. Rustic it was, countryfied. Problem you ask? Fear of God had been driven into me never leave the sidewalk into a street. cognitive dissonance, Hal 9000 landscape. Later in life it became the define element to my dwelling choices. Anywhere with sidewalk was fine by me. Yup lived in some pretty rough neighborhoods. Funny the stuff that defines us.

SERENDIPIDY

I wonder what will make you crack?

Will it be the electrodes to the genitals, pulling out your nails with pliers, or maybe the water torture will do the trick?

Or, perhaps you think those methods lack subtlety?

Maybe I should kidnap your family instead and send you their fingers through the post?

Or are you made of sterner stuff, well-schooled in the art of keeping silent, even under great adversity?

To be honest, it really doesn’t matter much to me… I already have the information I need.

I just want to torture you, for the fun of it!

NORVAL JOE

Something whistled past Billbert’s ear, followed a split-second later by the crack of a high-powered rifle.
Wide eyed, Buhmilda clutched her stomach and dropped to her knees. Another crack and Sabrina spun around, blood spurting from a wound in her thigh.
Mr. Trump (Buhmilda’s dog) ran and hid. The other guild members around the meadow fled.
Rapid fire followed Billbert as he grabbed Linoliumanda and shot straight up into the sun.
He angled back down to the forest and set her among the ferns.
“Are you okay, Mandi?” Billbert asked.
She nodded her head as shots continued in the meadow.

LIZZIE

It was an ancient building. The crack on the wall grew bigger. But he wasn’t going to let it crumble down on his watch. So, he filled the crack with cement. When the wall collapsed, he was in Aruba, sunbathing. Everyone was horrified. Cement? Apparently, bad cement, who would’ve thought. The horror! Who had done that? However, they did find a secret room with a long-lost treasure. So, he went back and bragged. Not a good idea. “But, what about the treasure? And a crumbling wall adds character!” He shouted while being dragged off to jail. To brag or not to brag.

PLANET Z

Every time I flex the finger in my left hand, I can feel a joint in the middle finger pop.
It’s not just an intermittent thing.
It happens every time I do it.
I open and close my hand a few times, pop pop pop.
It’s not a knuckle crack. It’s not loud.
It’s just something I feel.
I don’t know how long it’s been doing this, or what it means.
I never remember to tell the doctor about it.
I’m too busy with my weight, my diet, and everything else.
I just open and close my hand, and feel.

The C stood for Cheap

I worked for a company that built its own vacation calendar and ticket system.
They said it was cheaper to build their own compared to contracting with an off-the-shelf system.
And they were right. It was cheap to build.
To maintain it, though, was a nightmare.
The workplace rules and regulations, all the connections with the payroll system (which they built themselves, too)…
It took an entire development staff to maintain and update.
So full of bugs. I spent so many hours getting them to fix incorrect information.
My current job uses an off-the-shelf system.
And everything works.
Including me.

Unfree Willy

The irony of the movie Free Willy is that the whale who played Willy, Keiko, wasn’t free at all.
Born and bred in captivity.
Sick a lot of the time, but still forced to perform tricks and act in television and movies.
People were outraged, and a campaign started to free Willy.
Eventually, after a few years, Keiko was freed.
And lonely.
The whale came back, playing with kids in the water.
Which scared the crap out of them.
Keiko eventually got sick again, was recaptured by veterinarians, and died.
Thankfully, Hollywood isn’t rebooting Free Willy movies anytime soon.

Teddy can’t be found

You won’t find Teddy in Housewares.
He’s usually sneaking a spray paint can or two back by the dumpster.
And when he comes back, yeah, he’s got that smile on his face, total blissing out.
It’s been happening for weeks, and when customers finally complained about broken seals on the cans, the manager fired Teddy.
Then he went in back and saw the wall… the mural… it was… gorgeous.
Teddy was an instant celebrity, invited to spray his masterpieces everywhere.
Then one morning, he was found dead in an alley.
That smile on his face? He’d also been shooting heroin.

Testing access

Long ago, I worked in the call center for a hosting company.
They offered dialup access, webhosting, a server farm, and domain registration.
Every call needed to be verified.
If the caller didn’t know the password, we’d send them to Customer Service to verify.
Some would say they didn’t have it with them, others would say their tech person quit.
Didn’t matter. Everyone had to be verified.
Sometimes, the CEO would call, trying to get into a customer’s account to test us.
He’d scream and yell and threaten.
I’d just say “Transferring to you to Customer Service…” and hang up.

Pigpen

In the comics, nobody knows Pigpen’s name.
My theory is that his last name is Thigpen, but people keep mishearing him because of a speech impediment.
You don’t hear it in the television specials because they didn’t do that kind of thing back in the Sixties and Seventies.
Maybe they’ll do it now and call it a diversity and inclusion effort?
While race-swapping half the characters, including Charlie Brown’s sister Sally.
Maybe Charlie Brown’s mom had a thing for Franklin’s dad or something.
Make Snoopy trans, self-identifying as a cat, and reboot Pigpen as gay.
(Which would explain the lisp.)

Book deal

Martin got himself another book deal.
It’s his fifth, and like the previous four, he’s dedicating it to vodka.
You see, Martin can only write when he’s drunk.
It’s doing a number on his liver, but there’s the numbers his publisher tells his agent, and the numbers in Martin’s bank account.
Those numbers are a factor, too.
Martin used to write in a nearby bar, but he got into way too many fights.
So he drinks alone, writes alone.
Wakes up on the floor and looks at what he’s scribbled up.
And sends it off to the publisher to decipher.

Weekly Challenge #925 – Pester

The next topic is Crack

TOM

Drive to distraction

My wife is a Family Nurse Practitioner. Damn good one imho. Early in all FNP careers’ is the lure of the prescription pad. The power to be a min drug cartel. The perks. In the old days lavish amounts of food delivered by perky drug rep-s. Enough Chinese takeout to chock a bull moose. And the industry itself in the veiled cover of a “lecture presentation” where samples are shelled out like gum balls. At some point the lure fades. This is driven by how most patients will pester them to death to get the goodies. Yes the lure fades.

The Big Board

There are few Scoreboards in the country that bring deeper reverence then the scoreboard in Wrigley Field. Watch the crowd after ever major play. All eyes inward and in a beat all eyes at the scoreboard. In Chicago it isn’t real until it’s on the scoreboard. The coolest part of the board is knowing ever change in a game near or far is shown on 35 pounds plates turned by hand. In the age of electronic, keeping score by hand gives considerable charm to the Wrigley experience. My dad was born in the shadow of that nearly century old scoreboard.

NORVAL JOE

They all followed Linoliumanda across the meadow. Sabrina alone, sneered. “That is so stupid. How can you be pestered by people using your given name?”
Linolimanda’s cheeks reddened. “It’s not stupid. Everyone should have the right to be called what they want.”
Just then, high pitched barking stole their attention. They all turned to see a little brown and beige dog that looked as much like an ewok, running toward them.
It was then that Billbert saw the Black Knights climbing from the sink hole.
Buhmilda clapped her hands and shouted, “Good dog, Mr. Trump! Everyone. Get the Black Knights.”

LIZZIE

Those YOU posters… YOU must apply. YOU must, YOU.
Wear something proper. Speak correctly. You don’t want to sound like a moron, do you?
No. But he didn’t want to be pestered all day long about a job he didn’t want either.
Look at that, the future of our nation, that poster says it all, aren’t you proud?
He was annoyed. Proud? No. So, he spent the whole night slashing them. The scandal! That’s how the I’m-Not-An-Asset movement started.
100 years later, employees were still an asset, in the worst possible way… He went from annoyed to angry, murderously angry.

SERENDIPIDY

I have one of those cards in my window, politely asking religious callers, salespeople, canvassers and politicians not to pester me.

It makes no difference of course. Either people can’t read, or choose to ignore my wishes.

That’s just rude.

So, I have no qualms about backing up my request with machine guns, machetes, and the pit of spikes beneath the welcome mat, should anyone choose to press their luck.

What’s more, nobody can say they weren’t warned.

It’s all covered in full: there, at the bottom, in the fine print.

Although, you probably didn’t bother to read that either?

LISA

A big ask

We realised shortly after asking for the pillows that he wasn’t the big bad wolf after all. We could just ask him for things. For many of us, used to pestering parents for bits, this was better than at home. Here we were seemingly getting every desire granted.

It was the natural next step really and this time I was nominated spokesperson, it was a wish we all shared. I thought long and hard about choosing my moment but then just blurted it out when he came down the next morning:

“Can we come out of the basement please? “

RICHARD

Leave me alone!

Internet ads don’t bother me, neither does spam email, mainly because I rarely see either. All taken care of, thanks to decent ad blocking software and spam filters.

Internet bliss!

The same can’t be said for my computer desktop. It seems that every app and programme feels the need to bombard me with nag screens on start-up, shutdown and random intervals during use.

If I want to upgrade, subscribe or trial new software, then I’ll do so – I don’t need you to pester me constantly.

In fact, the more you hassle me, the less inclined I am to do it!

PLANET Z

If I sit on the sofa for more than a minute, my cat runs to the sofa and jumps on me.
Claws out. Not good.
She will cling to my shoulder or circle a bit before laying in my lap.
It makes it hard to type or reach the remote or a beverage.
So I say GET DOWN and shove her aside.
She scampers off for a bit, then comes back.
This repeats until I put down treats or whipped cream on a plate.
She’ll eat, then find somewhere to nap.
Usually on my lap, repeating the cycle once again.

CHATGPT

In the desolate town, whispers of a cursed word, “pester,” echoed through the chilling winds. Locals spoke of a haunted book, its pages filled with unsettling tales. Curiosity consumed Tom as he uncovered the ominous volume in an ancient library. Ignoring warnings, he read aloud the forbidden passages, unknowingly inviting a malevolent force. From that moment, eerie shadows lurked, and unseen hands brushed his skin. The word “pester” etched itself on his nightmares. As Tom spiraled into madness, incessant whispers surrounded him. The town, now void of life, echoed with a sinister laughter—a haunting reminder of the relentless entity that pestered his very soul.

Old Hollywood

Harry was the last of Old Hollywood.
Back before television. When everyone had been in the war.
Big mansions, servants.
Parties every weekend.
The studio provided the publicists and the cars and everything else.
Harry provided the face and the box office.
And then, the studios stopped calling.
Harry’s agent told him that the times had changed.
Harry’s accountant said there was enough to last a lifetime.
So, Harry retired, fired his agent and accountant, and went traveling.
People would ask him for his autograph, and he gladly gave it and posed for photos.
And he lived happily ever after.