Weekly Challenge #325 – Life (RFL Challenge – Part 1)

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

This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Twenty-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 Life, a special Weekly Challenge for Relay For Life.

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

  1. Jeffrey Fischer
  2. Vivienne
  3. Botgirl
  4. Lette Ponnier
  5. Ann Mina
  6. DMom2K Darwin
  7. Chanté McCoy
  8. Chris “Munsi” Munroe
  9. Saffia Widdershins
  10. Grace McDunnough
  11. Mistletoe Ethaniel
  12. Veridian Frog
  13. Kayden O’Connell
  14. Abernathy Button
  15. Cady Everdeen
  16. Kristine Kristin
  17. Thomas Pitre
  18. Lauren Weyland
  19. Zackmann
  20. Lizzie Gudkov
  21. Lelani
  22. Gideon McMillan
  23. Cinnamon Mistwood
  24. Serendipity Haven
  25. Shaduw Farspire
  26. Explorer Dastardly
  27. Jeffrey Hite
  28. Tom
  29. Seicher Rae
  30. Bonchance Longfall
  31. Severina Halostar
  32. papillon coberts
  33. DrFran Babcock
  34. Derry McMahon
  35. Bear Silvershade
  36. Julie
  37. Marianne McCann
  38. Justin Swapp
  39. Queen Bluestar
  40. Guard 13007
  41. London Junkers
  42. Big Sean O.
  43. Dr. Thomas
  44. Cliff Lowe
  45. Teresa B.
  46. Spunky Young
  47. Kimberley R.
  48. Anne G.
  49. Cathy G.
  50. Mark K.
  51. Marx Dudek
  52. June Faramore
  53. Rails Bailey
  54. Anhayla Lycia
  55. Fleep Tuque
  56. Shawna Montgomery
  57. Riven Homewood
  58. Haley
  59. Uncas Watkins
  60. Annija Magic
  61. Prad
  62. Atget Adored
  63. Dionysus Clowes
  64. Natasha Jolbey
  65. Pam Renoir
  66. Amalia Broome
  67. Ace
  68. Sharon Lee
  69. Selina Greene
  70. Pamala C.
  71. Steven the Nuclear Man
  72. Anima Zabaleta
  73. Scott
  74. Eshi Otawara
  75. Snigdha
  76. Daisy Mae Mae
  77. Whiskey Day
  78. Hope Clary
  79. Feline Slade
  80. katfancy Kiergarten
  81. Tish Coronet (read by Loadmaster)
  82. Sarah Hans
  83. Shinigami Kayo
  84. AlexHayden
  85. Ishtar
  86. Logan Berry
  87. Cicadetta Stillwater
  88. SeanMcPherson
  89. Brokali
  90. RedGoddess
  91. Hugh J. O’Donnell
  92. Landon Haefnir
  93. Taralyn Gravois
  94. Strawberry Singh
  95. Sarah
  96. Alexandra Fallon
  97. Celestiall Nightfire
  98. David
  99. Danny Zagorski
  100. PrettyKitty Gumbo
  101. Shandon Loring
  102. Dirk
  103. Caledonia Skytower
  104. Danny Dwyer
  105. Jaimy Pinkerman
  106. Norval Joe
  107. Dann Numbers
  108. Matthew Sanborn Smith
  109. Tura Brezoianu
  110. Salome Strangelove
  111. Planet Z

The entire show is available here: https://docs.google.com/open?id=0B-8mB8LyHDc2Y2ZCbmhOZWRqZkU

If you’d like to contribute to the Relay For Life in Second Life, the Relay Wizards For Spunky is the team that I was hiding behind while putting this together.

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post…


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Sunlight seeps through the darkness into her dream. She is young again. She wakes up smiling and excited. She is at her Grandma and Grandpa’s farm! She jumps out of bed and climbs onto the chest in front of the window. The clothes’ line below is filled with birds, cheeping and squawking. It is a new day and anything can happen.

Across miles and time, another girl wakes up in that same bedroom to the morning song of the birds. She screams for her mother. The ghost is back, kneeling on nothing in midair, looking out of the window.


“Stop!” Jim gasped, struggling to free himself as the sizzling red hot poker inched its way towards his spasming sphincter. “That was a fucking rhetorical statement.”

“I’m sorry Mr. Jones, but I’m a literalist,” Satan said without even the faintest trace of sarcasm. “You humans talk about hell LIKE it’s some sort of metaphor. How quaint. But a promise is a promise . . .”

“It was a stupid bar bet,” Jim interrupted in urgent desperation. “You didn’t tell me who you were.”

” . . . and a bet is a bet,” Satan continued. “You bet your life. Now it’s mine to use as I please.”


She’d play Laura Nyro in the car. These days it’s mostly talk radio. She wasn’t expected to have these days. Years ago she wasn’t expected to have a daughter either. On the way to her last treatment (for half a decade), she heard Laura had passed, when she herself was becoming a survivor. Again. But not the last time.

Some take their second chance at life and follow the cliches up mountains and pyramids, down the Nile or out of a plane. By the fifth, it became simpler, about cherishing the gifts of music, talk, and her grown, improbable family.


In 1966 he gave me a silver ring.

The ring was tight, but I got it on.

I wore it on my right hand for years.

Then I took it off.

None were fooled.

I put it back on and bought him a silver ring for his right hand.

He wore it for years.

Then he didn’t.

I repaired his ring, giving it back to him for our 10th.

In 2009 I said, “Buy me a silver ring that fits, like the one you gave me years ago.”

I tried on every ring to fit my older fingers.

_one fit.


Quality and Disaster

We had storms and lost power for several days. It amazed me that without power how quiet it was. Once the storm damage was cleaned up I had little to do so I sat on the front porch fanning myself, watching life go on around me.

It was business as usual for the robin on her nest who had survived the storm. Neighbors walked around chatting about the fallen tree that blocked our street. They wondered when power would come back or where the best place was to find ice or food.

Quality of life was still there, just different.


Moss lay on the floor, eyes clinched. Her legs stretched parallel while her arms extended at ninety degrees. She breathed shallowly to control the rise of her flat chest. Now Momma and Daddy would feel bad for grounding her.
“What are you doing?” Daddy asked. His toe prodded her.
Momma joined him. “What’s going on?”
“I think she’s dead.”
“We’ll miss her.”
Moss fought a smile.
“Well,” Daddy said. “I’ll put her in the garbage can.”
Moss resurrected. Her eyes popped opened. “I’m alive!”
“Thank goodness. The can was already full.”
He winked, and she forgave them with a smile.


It’s been said that life’s what happens when you’re making other plans.

And that’s why I make a lot of plans.

Some general plans, moving in with the woman I love, reworking my schedule to include more time to write, those sorts of thing.

Others are grander plans, building superweapons, using them to subjugate mankind, world domination.

I’ll tell you, the second thing’s better.

With that in mind I’d like to offer an addendum to the expression.

Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans.

Living is what happens when you’re blackmailing the United Nations using an orbital weapons platform.


That summer before the war in the cottage in Provence. Father fighting with lecture notes and Mother with the domestique. Bobo, Josh and I running wild in the lavender hills with Lily and Veronique from the Villa Remin, and Martin, the schoolmaster’s son. Lovely Lily, so adored by Martin – yet it was me he kissed that night. As I felt his lips, I was already preparing the story for the girls at school.

Years later I met him again, a famous actor. He didn’t remember me, or the kiss, so I asked about Lily. He shrugged. “They were Jews.”


I’m lucky and know it. Not a single person I’ve been close to has died during my fifty three years life. I haven’t even had a pet die on me. It makes me nervous.

I know it’s only a matter of time. My father was in the hospital a year ago with what could have been a fatal illness. But he o recovered before death could pry my clutching hands from the icy numbness of denial.

I intellectually accept the inevitability of sickness, old age and death. But my heart won’t go there. I will not mourn until I must.


They’ve told me that it’s peaceful. A gentle exhale. A whisper. One final note. But I don’t really know – I have never been there at that moment. Once I had the chance, but I decided to stay safely at home – far enough away so the last pulsating patterns of molecules would dissipate before they reached my face.

Now we have magnets on the refrigerator that remind us: “Don’t let yesterday eat up too much of today.” And “Finish each day and be done with it.” and oh shit, we better use this half off coupon before it too, expires.


When the golden-eyed baby came to the temple, the elders said her destiny was to bless us all with gifts of the gods.

I raised her, alone, sheltered from disease, death, heartache, betrayal. Her soul would remain pure, uncorrupted by life.

But as time and age took my strength and made me frail, she grew worried.

“I will go,” she said at last, “and find a way to cure you!”

Helplessly I watched her walk blindly out the door, into the world.

Now the elders say the girl is lost, that life will destroy her. I say they’re wrong.


They cant always get better..
But this is the dark side of life, it ends.
Sometimes, even the end is a grey area
.Here in this grey, I walk often.
keep them breathing,
. Is that life?
What quantifies the noun?
or just simple function?
The answer varies

These lungs breathe,
this heart beats,
these eyes blink
but the soul lifted out of the vessel, leaving behind what others need.
Giving quality to the term for many
. Perhaps quantifying it for those left here to weep.
Life is a gift
Yours to have, to give.


A Rabbit’s Life

A rabbit must hop. This one was crawling, his two back legs paralyzed. I named him “Earl”, and took Earl to the animal shelter.
“Not good,” the vet said. “He can’t live in the wild with those bad legs. Leave him here. We’ll see what we can do.”
Six weeks later, I went back, afraid, wondering if Earl lived.
“He was shot with a pellet gun,” the vet said. “The pellet lodged next to nerves. Good news, however – the paralysis was temporary, caused by swelling from movement of the pellet.”
Earl went back to the park, twitched, and hopped away.

A Meaning of Life

“It has no meaning,” Tony said. In great pain, he looked at Mary and held the gun to her head.
“They will be here soon, Mary. Our work will be done.”
“I choose to fight,” she responded, with a defiant radiance. “My life, and my death, will have meaning.”
“I can hear them, outside the door,” he pleaded. “An army – cold, soulless and bent with anger. They will pass no mercy or will not care if we offer a show of bravery.”
“Give me the gun,” she ordered.
One shot pierced the air. Then another. And two hearts stopped beating.


As much as Nora wanted to believe this was for research. She knew in the back of her head all research funding had been pulled six months ago, she was just obsessing. At this stage her obsession had taken to watching movies and listening to music. She went on speed dates just to hear what men thought the meaning was. No one knew the answer. People called her crazy. Her family begged her to stop the madness. Nora would not have it. She knew there was an answer. Returning the movie “It’s a wonderful Life.” She was struck by another vehicle and thrown from her car. She lay in the grass. With her final breath she whispered. “Oh. I get it now.”



The estate was to be liquidated and part of the proceeds used to pay for her cats’ care for the rest of their lives. The remainder would go toward her lifedata storage, backup, administration and power costs. The development team agreed that since she had been both an investor and an early adopter, the digitization of the cats would be bundled with her package. They would be a familiar comfort for her once the conversion was complete. Thanking the attorney, the team carefully picked up the carriers. The lawyer silently pressed “Upload” and she began her journey to the cloud.


Mom brought me a cold drink. I had been under her car, ready to tackle the inspection and rebuild of the automatic transmission in her Mustang. I pried the transmission loose from the engine’s flywheel. A couple of quarts of warm, red, transmission fluid ebbed from the transmission tail section as I rested it on my stomach and between my legs. I started laughing. She asked, “What’s so funny?” I said, “I think I know a little of what it’s like to give life to something…you know, a baby.” She laughed so hard, she held her stomach with both hands.

Life begins at 80, or so I’ve heard. Only ten more years, and I can look forward to really letting go, letting it all hang out, and not be arrested for indecent exposure on public transport. I will be born anew, and the memory and consequences of all of my dastardly and despicable acts will vaporize. The abandonment of three families and nine children, a very large, overdue, income tax bill, scores of credit card balances, my military service, the theft of mother’s diet pills, and the promise of the donation of my vital giblets pledged to the organ bank.


Morning light crept through the slivers curtains sparkling the joy of a new day. Wake up. Brush teeth. Shower. Dress. Ready to meet full light. Java in hand I head out to machine ballet movement. Engine purrs. Garage door opens. Roar. Park. Elevator. Office.Daytime noise smart phones, printers, fans, electricity harnessed. Lunch plastic packaged greens. Spacemen squeeze dressing. Green Tea. Afternoon light diffuses through clouded glass. Time clicks by. Elevator down. Shift to drive and home. Dinner, glass of wine, salmon colored salmon. Coffee. Chocolate. TV, Internet as the light turns to darkness. Bedtime. Life one day at a time.


I took a teen who is overly sensitive to noise, smell, sound, and touch, to Independence Day festivities in a Carnival like atmosphere with classic cars built before catalytic converters, diesel engines powering food stands, and crowds.
We watched a parade. The smell of someone smoking who walked behind us displeased the teen. He jumped when someone touched his shoulder to apologize for being too close to him. Sparks from someones illegal firework hit his jacket. As we stood on the pier on the river I thought Maybe life really is what happens on the way to see the fireworks.


I put it in the jar, that glimpse of life I still had, to keep it, to preserve it, to be able to go back to it any time I wanted. But the more life withered the more I panicked. So, I opened the jar and let it fly. I freed life. Go, even if you leave me alone here to struggle with my pain, go. But life would not leave. It floated about and even when it seemed to go away, it always came back to sit on my shoulder and watch over me. There’s hope. And life nodded.


“Life Is Whacked Sometimes,” by Lelani Carver

“Go in health, and come back in health,” she’d say. Then she got sick every time we traveled… so we stopped traveling.

We all texted updates compulsively that last week:

“Dad took Mom to hospice, but only until they deliver the bed.”

Later, “Dad says he might take her home tomorrow!”

But, “Your dad says she’s not going home. Bed delivery cancelled. Headed down.”

After the funeral: “Stopping off for raincoats.”

First shiva: “Your brother is creeping me out right now.”

Second shiva: “The smoked fish tray arrived. AWESOME. ETA?”

Next week: “I got the job! Life is whacked sometimes.”


I paused at the door, glanced back and said “I love you”.

She looked up from making dinner, “Hurry back. I love you”.

We had pledged to always say those words when we parted, no matter the reason or how long we’d be apart.

If something happened, we wanted the last memory in life to be “I love you”.

It seemed silly. I was going to the corner store. I’d be back in 10 minutes. I was.

But she was gone. Her note said it was some guy she met at an RFL fundraiser.

“I love you”. Right. Life sucks.


They are gone!?!? I had no idea until someone told me. I look everywhere. Some are close by, others scattered and hidden. I pick up as many as I can find – under the couch, out in the yard, the cat is batting one around. I hold them in my hands – beautiful, jewel like, cold and smooth. My Cats Eyes, Steelies, Aggies and my favorite Clearie make a beautiful picture collected together in one place – almost… organized. I let my fingers feel them again. Stunning! I pluck one out, close one eye and let it fly. Another one – another direction… Shoot!


It was the crowning moment in human history – a moment that justified the enormous expense and endeavour of a generation committed to the exploration of space.

First contact? Not quite; but it could be extremely close.

A hushed mission control watched in awe as the images unfolded on their screens… remarkable, unbelievable alien artefacts.

And now, looming closer – a doorway.

The first astronaut approached, paused, then passed into the darkness beyond.

“My God!”, he exclaimed, “it’s…”; his voice cracked…

“What do you see?”, came the urgent enquiry from Mission Control, “is it alien life?”

“Not exactly… it’s full of pizza!”


Rain trickled down slowly. The man didn’t care. He zipped up his jacket, grabbed the handlebars and started to cycle. Gushes of cold wind tried to slow him down but failed miserably. Switching gears, the bicycler rode uphill. He could feel the pressure in the muscles of his legs. Controlling his breathing, he focused on the road ahead. With a quick swerve to his right, the car barely missed him on his left. It did not matter. Clouds broke and a warm blanket chased away the cold. He stopped, leaned forwards and smelled the roses.


On Sunday, at The Perfect Landing restaurant inside a small airport that houses
private jets, small planes, and Flight for Life medical transport.

After brunch, we went to see a traveling B-25 WWII plane. Fanny was
introduced to the pilot, and Fanny said, “I’m a Holocaust Survivor.” The pilot
said, “There’s an older man in the plane who flew during WWII.”

Fanny said to Captain Bond, “In Muhlhausen Concentration Camp, we could hear
the planes above us, and we begged for them to drop a bomb on us.” Captain
Bond flew his B-25 Bomber over the camps.

Life is never scripted.


A New Life in the Darkness

The entire solar system was at war. The pains and horrors of that war stretch from the blistering inner planets to the frozen chunks of rock that no one argued any more about their status as planets. The Earth started it, they would argue that point, but no one was blameless, and everyone had blood on their hands. Father Thomas stood in the center of the room holding the new life in his hands as he blessed it. As the world outside tore itself apart at least this made sense to him. The baby cried as he poured the water.


We of Martin Club Industries Biolabs Division are excited to announce a new product: LYFE a 2.00 bio-linker. Alpha testing proven so conclusive we’ve moved the ordering cue up six week. After winning the X Prize for irrigating the Sub Sahara, the link to Brooms Across Africa YouTube, is up on the web, our founder C B was quoted as saying “Well, what the fuck.” We took that as a big flashing green light.

“How does LYFE work?”

It so easy a child could do it. Just pour a cup of LYFE on a surface, add water, and 1.21 gigawatts.

Seicher Rae

The rulebook was ancient, ornately bound and worn. She spent days reading and re-reading its pages. With finality she closed it, hugged it tightly to her chest, and from memory whispered aloud each page’s content of intricate moves. This time the game was hers to win. With bated breath she waited for the countdown. Anticipation was a fist squeezing her entire body. Starting lights blinded her. It had begun. She could do it! A sharp yank to her abdomen caused her to gasp and cry out while her memory drained in panic. With newborn eyes she blinked, unfocused, into oblivion.


Don’t you just love that expression, “that’s life”?

The world comes crashing down all around you, one thing after the other.
Job stresses, family matters, economy freeze. Usually it all comes in threes!
Yeah shit happens!

Then some bozo who thinks they are being “helpful” spews out from ignorant lips: “Thats life!”
Let’s do something! Take a deep breath…nice, deep, slow…
Hold it! Don’t cheat now! No more breathing come on let’s do it we can do it!
Damn! Yeah we both had to exhale didn’t we? Now let’s take us a nice regular breath. There!

Now that’s life Scooter!

Through birthing
The journey begins
At first, caring essential
To grow strong and independent
Mentors guiding you on your path
You take your first few steps timidly
Confidence builds quickly within, you begin to run
Breaking free, setting your own path, desires dance dangerously within
World full to temptations, teasing you with bright shiny crisp apples
Past care and unconditional comfort, the guiding luminous light
Carefully protecting you from falling too far
Seeking out the worldly familiar wisdom
Floating on protective feathered wing
Light, gently pushing you forth
Purse strings, catch your fall
You are supported
And loved

Pablo and Espi began to rebuild their friendship.
He could not give up the evil scotch, it gave him such amazing dreams.

One star filled night, Pablo convinced Espi to mix a bit with her water.
She had a stressful day of resting in her owners lap, constantly being brushed and cuddled.
The scotch laced water disappeared quickly.

Pablo confessed his undying love for his dear Espi. Two star crossed lovers spent the night under the bright moonlight.
A cloud passed over the moon. A new life was created.

Pablo woke up feeling miserable but at least he had company.



It’s 9am as I sit at the pc staring at blank screen; a hand hovers over a mug of tea, finger pads frivolously caress the warming porcelain shell which gives the outer elements protection from what lays within.

My world consists of walls there set in place to keep me safe from people who want to connect and cause disarray sending my safe world into a shattering tornado of uncontrollable feelings of inadequacy, doubts, fears, rejection, judgmental-ism. Even while typing these words causes me to panic, hands tremble; mouth grows parch fear rising while I type ‘Welcome to my World’.


No text sent.



I live with six females who are much more popular than I am.

Of course they are lovely and sweet with sunny dispositions; so why am I surprised?

The first suitor strolled into the house on Halloween, can you imagine?

He walked right in like he owned the place.

The next lives 3 doors down, he’s got ginger coloring and flirts with me sometimes, too.

Last night a new one arrived…strutting around the back deck, yelling for one of the girls to come out.

Oh Silly cat! They’ve been fixed, they howl for you to go away, not for romance!


Life is what you make it. Unless you happen to be Death. Then, Life is just your smart-aleck sister.

Managing to look harried and blissful all at once, Life looked up as Death ran into their mansion, shouting, “That one was mine and you know it!”

“Oh, you don’t mean that peace treaty?” Life smiled in the irritating manner of older sisters. “I know you wanted a war, but I don’t want noisy gunfire during my big party.”

“No, no. You ate the last Ding Dong,” Death ran a finger along the sharp edge of his scythe. “That was mine.”


Life is not fair.
Life doesn’t owe you anything.
Life hath more awe than death.
In my life, I’ve loved them all.
That’s life.

You only need to spend about five minutes remembering things your mother said long ago, or looking through Wikiquotes to find countless quotes, observations, and aphorisms on the topic. But the bottom line is this: As my eighteenth century literature professor was fond of quoting, “Life is short, nasty, and brutish.” Perhaps we live longer these days than folks did back in the days of Alexander Pope, but in the grand scheme of things, it’s still the truth.


It’s In The Mix

The old worker scoffed, “Every day they truck in four types of flour. four! Sure, you’ve got your oat flour, That’s just obvious. But we have wheat flour, corn flour, and even rice flour in there. There’s a bit of sugar in there too, but it’s not like those guys on the Cap’n Crunch line. That stuff is swimming in it. Rips up your mouth.” He paused, and nearly whispered, “You know, some of the heath nuts complain about us having yellow number five in the mix. Gives it a nice toasty color. Sure, they complain, but hey… that’s Life”


The phone rings.

I don’t usually answer, but who am I kidding?

Today, I’ve got nothing better to do.

“Is Mr. Payne there?”

Sigh. “Speaking.”

“May I call you Les?”


“Great. Thanks. Man, Les, have I got a deal for you.”


Its a state-of-the-art digital picture frame, and it comes with –


a high resolution screen,


“Wireless remote,”




“You can surf the Internet…”


“It even has a touch screen. Just flick-”

“What about the pictures? Do they come with it?


Then the Salesmen laughed. “No, ‘Memories not included.'”

Sigh. “State-of-the-art, huh?”


The Primal Gloop was depressed
if it had had fingers it would have tapped them.
Here it was, alone with itself
primal …and gloopy.
Every eon same as the others.
Not even a rib to make company from.
Its only friend more of itself…
which sort of obviated conversation
and any need to dress up.
Then a sharp blob of gloop
playing with its blocks, found it had
made some glup, which replicated more glup.
Soon a tall multiplied Glup-Form loomed
looking down, its hand out-stretched…
PAY YOUR TAXES it whined.
SHIT, thought Gloop, now …HOW do I make Death??

GUARD 13007

In 2070, it was discovered there was a universal field that determined where and when life occurred.

For thirty years, this discovery was a closely guarded secret. It turns out that if you can look at life as a map, you can see not only where it will appear, but where it will move to, and when it will die.

Due to a loophole in the laws of the UFE, the discovery was released at the turn of the century. A new corporation was founded, with the intent to use this field to extend lives. For a price of course.


Everything started in darkness and silence. Then BANG! The universe was created, and millions of billions of stars shone their light. One of those bright suns created a tiny blue ball, 4.5 billion years ago. Within the next billion years a miracle occurred, LIFE. Microbial mats of coexisting bacteria swimming in a vast primitive sea. Years passed, things evolved into bigger forms. Plants and Animals. Synapsids,Archosaurs,Acanthodians, Gastropods, Therapsids,Insects and even Mammals, who we are. A big family alive. After that, Androids came…ooops but that is another story I forgot I only have 100 words to tell this one.


“Yet the French orangutan steadfastly maintained that it was just a matter of time before his countrymen regained their senses, and resumed squealing curses and flinging excrement at tourists, as the French have done for centuries. What he couldn’t have foreseen was the dawn of the Great Banana Warfare gathering on the horizon, or as history would call it, ‘The Day the Split Hit the Fan’…”
“I’m curious, teacher.”
“About what, George?”
“Another war? Why does the split always have to be hitting the fan?”
“That, George, is life. Curse often, fling excrement, and you are guaranteed some nasty split.”


Today I watched my final sunrise and did the things only a mortal can do. Tonight I was becoming. I knew the way of it. We’d planned it for months. He would drain me, fill me with his blood, and I’d rise to my new unlife. Sunset. Dark. There he was, at my neck, drinking. When he paused I was nearing unconsciousness. He looked into my eyes and laughed. His head darted back to my neck. In that instant I knew. Planning was his foreplay. Betrayal was sex to the monster killing me and my death would be his orgasm.


Looking back, I have to admit that skipping college was a mistake. Sure, I got into the work force sooner than my friends, but there was never enough money. Of course, I got married because…well, I think it’s like a rule or something that you have to get married. Then came the kids. Now, don’t get me wrong. I’ve got nothing against children but it would have been so much easier if we’d stopped at four. More than that and they just fall out of the car. Ah well. That’s Life. You spin the wheel and you take your chances.


My Children are my Pride and Joy. I had five beautiful Children. Two Boys that I lost and Three Girls that I still have. I could never replace the boys I lost. But My girls kept me going. I was fortunate to help raise Three Boys that weren’t mine, giving me what I couldn’t have with my own boys. All the kids I’ve raised fill my heart with happiness everyday, my own children especially. Thru the good times and the bad We’ve always been a Family. I love my kids and will always be there for them no matter what.


How Do I Escape

The air is escaping I feel like I’m suffocating. Never getting to leave, always left at home. feeling misunderstood, so alone. It’s like I’m in a box moving through the motions. Things never change, it’s always the same thing. Time flies by so fast, yet at times it feels so slow. I never know what day it is, never know the time. Tomorrow’s just a day away and still it’s always the same. Sometimes I can get away in my dreams. Then I awake and realize I’m still stuck in this body in this Life. When Can I get away?


It’s painful going thru the motions of trying to get Pregnant. Being in Suspense when you take the Test. Hoping, Praying for Positive. Crying when it says Negative or Invalid. Feeling Hopeless when time continues to fly by with no results. I believe every Woman Dreams of being a Mother. Being able to Feel the first kick. Going thru the Pains of Childbirth, just so they can hold their Baby for the first time. Loving them thru the good times and the bad. Being so proud when they say their first word. Almost crying when they take their first steps.


How Long is Enough

My Life was Great, I had everything I ever wanted. A Husband and Three Kids to keep me crazy. A sister to keep me from insanity. A house to run, a car to drive. I did whatever I wanted, when I wanted and where I wanted. I went shopping all the time. Thats just how I was. I may not have alot of time. But I was able to spend time with my Sister on a Cruise. I got to say bye to my Daughter and leave this world to go to a better place. I never had enough time.


He’s crawling towards the couch. He grabs on, pulling himself on his feet. I’m not sure what he’s doing. He looks at me as he takes his first step, still holding the couch. I scream with delight when he takes his second step an lets go. I almost cry when he starts to wobble, fearing he might fall. Then he straightens, smiles and takes another step. I call his name telling him how good he’s doing, saying he’s almost there. Four steps and he’s in my arms. I embrace him, telling him how much I love and care about him.


My Life

My Name is Mark. I am 21 years old. For the past two years I have experienced several hard ships. I have been homeless, hungry, gotten into some pretty bad things. I was pretty much alone. I was forgotten by all of my friends, and neglegted by my family. My life had no meaning. I spent all of my time living and sleeping in a park. That is where I found hope. I met this amazing woman who took me in, even though she didn’t even know me. She gave me a home, unconditional Love, and a life worth living.


The flowers. The trees. The warm grass against the soles of her feet. The weight of the summer air. The steady drone of the cicadas. The condensation on the glass of iced tea trickling over her fingers as she held it. The noise of the world in the distance as it moved along its well-worn path, oblivious to the phenomenal now taking place moment by moment. The hat that covered her bare head. The nausea that followed each treatment. The preciousness of each heartbeat that meant one more moment to appreciate on its own merit. One more moment. One more.



Your death slithered up on me. In life, you were the most vivacious
person I ever met.

In eternal repose, you looked a creampuff, powdered and pink.

This is why I don’t like viewings. I managed to stay for yours. Hers,
I ran, I ran so far away, and knew nothing but tears until my brother
found me.

He’s the cold one. Encouraged by all fronts to swallow pain and make marmalade.

I wish we’d made jam with the peaches that grew next to your driveway.

Did the radiation kill you, or the loneliness?

The cancer did.



I’m teaching myself how to do Kumihimo this summer. It’s a form of Japanese braiding with beads. There is something soothing, almost meditative, about the rhythm and repetition: pull thread, slide bead, cross, rotate, lather, rinse, repeat. Also? It’s time consuming and a little boring. The thing is, at the end you have this lovely, intricate length of beaded rope. I think it makes a nice metaphor for life. While you are in the process, actually living it, it may seem like you are getting nowhere, but then one day you realize you have really accomplished something intricate and beautiful.


100 words

As life goes it wasn’t a very spectacular one. I was born, I skipped through childhood always one step ahead of trouble.

I wasn’t well educated, I didn’t like sport, I was more a hands on type of person. Destruction was my forte. If it was breakable, then I was the person to break it.

I should have refused the challenge. It was only a van. Locked and silent. Begging to be broken.

Now I sit on the bed in my cell and ponder the thick door that keeps me in prison. Maybe I should have read more, that’s life.


I didn’t realize it, but I was actually holding my breath. I’m not sure what I thought would happen, I just knew something once said can’t be unsaid. I must have re-read it a hundred times, searching my heart – did I REALLY mean that? Could that be phrased better? I can’t think of anything I’ve written that I agonized over more. I wanted people to understand, not just be angry or knee-jerk, but really get why what happened happened. It wasn’t because we didn’t care, but maybe because we cared too much. SLCC was always complicated that way. I’m sorry.


Striped yellow and black, a creature crawled onto the warm ledge. She shivered, as if with pleasure and unfurled her wings to the breeze. Her feet held tight as the ledge moved violently, and strong air currents buffeted her. Finally, the gentle breeze returned. The ledge stopped shaking, and sanity returned to her world. The delicate creature eagerly crawled off the ledge, back into the safety of her nest.

A gentle rocking and a loud noise as happened sometimes. The unintelligible noise grew fainter, “What the hell am I going to do about the wasp nest behind my truck mirror?”


RFL Campsite — The Steelhead Salmons, 2012

She turned her radiation therapy tattoos into a game. Connect the dots.

Four birds played major roles, all locked within their cage as she was locked within these walls.

The robin spoke of hope, but she could see his breast was red like hers.
The cardinal prayed and reassured her none of this was punishment for sins.
Two mocking jays dispensed advice, discussed her past mistakes and loudly squawked out clues.

A busy squad of shining robots kept her warm and clean, her faithful golden caretakers.

Above them all, the black cat stared and waited for the game to end.


Second life friendships are an ever changing stream of loves. Love
for your best girl friend….. love for your queendom and for your partner.
love for your relay team ,for your many many best friends.
the . loss…… is like a empty stage with the scenery
still there. …… as friends fall in love …..get married .
in good and bad ways …….
they fade away and my second life is
never the same
I AM happy for them but will miss them always
.this is dedicated to the ones that stay ..they are the jewels in my


The wizard of the village said the world will end at sunrise. So tonight we dance, play and remember how this world is amazing, beautiful and full of wonders and tell ourselves that next time we will love it more. But the sun came up. So we did it again on the following night. Sun came up again. And again and again. It’s a small village lost in the forests of Hungary,we have been doing is for over 3000 years, waiting patiently. When we meet in the morning we say “It’s tomorrow the end; today… have a good life”


Just a few more clicks and she would be finished. Vacuous blue eyes stared back at her underneath a cute upturned nose at just the right angle.

The mouth was a pout with just a hint of a smile …Perfect! She adjusted her hair placing the tendrils framing the face.

Clothes next: jeans,t shirt and sneakers twisting and turning examined from all angles..Yes looked OK.

“This way ! Come on!”

Is he talking to me? “ How ?”

Slowly she tottered along walking in a straight line was not so easy. Already he was a blur in the distance .

An addiction was born.


I woke up this morning, and lay in bed pondering life. It’s a strange, bizarre world which is constantly moving, yet nothing ever really changes. Then, I realise that life isn’t about the various things in the world that we live in. It’s about creating ourselves.

People were created to be loved. Things were created to be used. The reason the world is in chaos, is because things are being loved, and people are being used.

So then I got out of bed, and smiled at everyone I saw that day. And stopped caring about the materialistic things in life.


He stood by the cathedral. Things around him weren’t the same. It took him some time to understand what was happening. He had gone to the past achieving his dream. Time travel. He felt euphoric and decided to sit in a cafe . Looking at the people going by, he drunk and thought to himself how easy things were going to be ,yes!! . From behind the columns, two men, in military clothes walked towards him. Sir, the War has started, you have to come with us. He was drafted, and boy, you bet his life was certainly going to change now!!.


Praise Dirt

Life? Still a mystery.

In the beginning, we got together Fridays, and He talked, whatever came to Mind. Something to do. That’s where eating and drinking came from.

This time, He started about how He came up with it — the Crown, the telos, all that. Never thought of us as life.

Said He had all this dirt, rocks, water, etc. etc. etc., and He thought, It all wants to go somewhere meaningful.

We didn’t get it either.

But we were throwing rocks in the lake next morning, and Lucifer skipped this rock about a thousand times, and said, Praise dirt.


One of my three grandfathers approached life as speculation — he speculated in oil, in land, in hogs, in securities, and even in women, which partly explains why I had three grandfathers.

One early morning I found him on the shore of Batousis Lake, going to run his lines with his brother-in-law.

We were both hard drinkers in our younger lives, and I happened to be there after a night of carousing.

My grandfather hardly noticed me. He said, What are you doing here?, pushed out onto the lake, and left me standing there, speculating, as I still am.


The night had been tremendous. Apart from drinking and laughing , he couldn’t remember a thing . The bathroom tiles were cold and dirty. The light fought to penetrate the rotten ambience. A mirror on the wall hung from a rope. He washed his hands and stared at the face reflected in the mirror seeing a stranger. He jumped back and fell to the ground closing his eyes. He breathed in and out quickly. From the other side of the door he heard a knocking. Hello? Are you OK Son? It was his mother, suddenly he remembered everything. Oh what a life!!


The old man was heartbroken watching what his granddaughter went through;
Loss of hair, daily injections, chemo, missing school – all she had to endure;
Grieving and desperate, he prayed;
All his choices carefully weighed;
Take me lord instead of her;
My decisions made – I’m absolutely sure;
This child’s life has just begun;
While for me – well, mine is almost done;
After a few months, healthy and cancer-free;
She watched them bury her grandfather in the cemetery;
And within the year, her grandmother was also gone;
For you see, the price of this life was actually two for one.


Life is a blink of the eye. A moment on a cosmic clock. Humans are dawdlers and as such they miss the best of life. The smile. The happy tears. The giggle of a child at play. Humans are plugged in, logged on, connected. To machines. Not to each other. Afraid to touch or feel, unless it’s the click of a cursor or the push of a button. And when it’s over, it’s too late to go back and start over. The moments are lost, gone like wispy tails of a dandelion blown into the wind. Scattered over the landscape.

Next week’s challenge suggestion: looking down the well

I don’t have a recording of this but would be pleased if it’s read by someone.


THE FIRST THING THEY told him when he emerged from the catastrophic healing unit was that his wife had died in the accident.

The second thing they told him was that her Clan was pursuing retribution to the fullest extent of the Code.

They left him alone, then, the med techs, with instructions to eat and rest. The door slid closed behind them with the snap of a lock engaging.

Out of a habit of obedience, he walked over to the table and lifted the cover from the tray. The aroma of glys-blossom tea rose to greet him


Stretching and deep breathing, I awake from a confusing dream to face, the comforts of my familiar room.

Yeah! Another dawn on the shadows of reality, as my life spins the plot of my thoughts and desires.

Life’s new day, is jiggling me awake with the promise of a new canvas to paint my creativity and vision upon.

Give me this life. The joys, the pain, the drama, triumphs, the anguish… all emotions comfort me, that I am indeed alive.

The fragility of life is its value, even if getting up is the biggest hurdle of the day. Transitions suck!


I was fifteen when I first saw a woman naked. My older girlfriend, in her bathtub, holding a bottle of wine.

She took a long gulp of the wine and threw her one-month chip at me. She smashed the bottle against the porcelain, red rivulets of fermented grape running across her pale skin. She threatened to slit her wrists with the glass.

She’d taught me that mayonnaise in cookies kept them soft. Soft like her lips, not like her fists hitting me when she tried to leave before help arrived.

Later, she thanked me.

Wine and flesh and soft cookies.


Get a Life! Jill sneered.
So I looked.
Hmmm… Costco…. bulk purchase… multiple personality. Un-uh.
IKEA? The designs are clean and simple. The assembly instructions are maddening. Do I want a life just like my trendy neighbors?
A Harley life has appeal, all loud and rumbly, but WOW that price tag!!
Hey, look at this… Here’s something on Craigslist. It’s not quite what I’m after, but close enough, gently worn and the price is right – CHEAP.
Think you could give a ride to check it out? I’ve been couch surfing at Sylvia’s, just until the band gets going, you know…



I view your profile, your avi glamorous as ever.


You reserved your temper for those medical incompetents but to us, you were translucent and shimmering, already at peace. You stayed home for your girls, refusing opiates, in a wretched race against rupture to make it to your send-off party. And the very next morning, it all came down to a hundred capsules, a little apple sauce and the arms of those who love you, easing you away from pain and from us. In death, as in life, you went on your own terms.

For that, I am grateful.

(In remembrance of Sandy – one of the bravest people I’ve ever known.)


I was sitting in the comfy medical grade barcalounger watching her administer the chemo when the nurse saw my traitor of a tear.

“Sometimes its the biggest guys who crack a little,” she offered, along a stuffed bear.

I was not ashamed to admit that I clung to that bear when the sludge she pumped into my vein made me so sick I forgot I was doing this to keep living and wished for death.

I named her Mrs. Parker, keeping her on a shelf to remind me that I could stare down any fresh hell life wanted to present.


God took a liking in Wendy because He felt He did a great job putting her facial features together. Also because
she laughed with such reverberance it would make His heart skip from infectuous joy. She was to be fortunate.

“What do you wish to be when you grow up?” – He asked.
Wendy looked up, squinted and wrinkled up her nose – “I wish … I wish to be wise!”

God’s heart started breaking as He ordered a nerve cell right above Wendy’s left adrenal to initiate

“Wisdom AND Fortune would have been too much.” – He comforted Himself.


For the past many years my life had consisted of the following: get dressed in the latest trending outfits from Prada , Gucci, Louis-Vuitton, Chanel. Get up in my luxury penthouse or in a suite in the Plaza or Ritz. Enjoy the best of everything that my talent fuelled.
But all this was about to change. A new species had crept into this world of extravagance. It was a species that wore faded jeans, ate doritos and lounged on the couch, bent over from hours of TV viewing.
Survival of the laziest: that was the new norm for the living.


battle with uterus cancer

in march eight years ago..doctor told me when they were doing a some surgery they found some bad cells and it was stage two uterus cancer. i went in for surgery on the may the sixteenth

came close to deaths door..so i’m so glad i live to tell my story and to give other strength to deal with the battle..istill got to watch because i’m a care of the gene ..so i take one day at a time keep on fighting the battle


Two hundred twenty. Two hundred twenty-one. Two hundred twenty-two. Two hundred twenty-three road signs since the last question. Quiet is a precious commodity, purchased with answers.

“What did you do when you were my age?” she asked with her cheek pressed to the window.

“Did you like middle school?” she wondered from the back seat.

One. Two. Three. Four. Sixty-two phone poles.

“How many books have you read? Like, millions, you think?” she mused, twirling her hair around her finger.

One. Two. Three. Thirty-eight exit signs.

“When we get there, will you hold my hand?” she whispered. “Are you scared, too?”


Life is worth living even on the days you think it’s not! In the end when it comes the wave of triumphs through your challenges will be the light that defines you. The magic key to a successfull life is patience, persistence and personal self love. When you have these three P’s life will become clearer.

Or just say “Fuck You Life” and just not think about it. My “fuck you” stage is starting on its course. I’m learning that without the real risks there are never rewards. Jump in and gamble, you are only going to remember this life.


I sit in the echoing Library of Life, pulling volumes from the dusty shelves.

His book is filled with cramped handwriting, like he wanted to fit extra words on every page. One passage makes me blush, and I reshelve the book.

Her book is a series of sketches. I smile when I recognize that coffeeshop in New York.

The next book is only half-filled, the text stopping mid-sentence. I wipe away a tear and slip the book back onto its place.

What about yours? Are you writing? Drawing? Tearing the pages? What will you contribute to the Library of Life?


Ellie drove her neighbor, Rose, to and from the hospital daily for radiation therapy. The doctors caught the cancer early, so she had a good chance of surviving. Several months passed when Rose told Ellie she was now cancer-free. Ellie noticed that Rose was full of life, but she felt her own health deteriorating. She was uninsured and afraid of medical bills she could never pay off. Seeing Rose happy made Ellie finally get a checkup, but it was too late. Stage IV and no treatment improved her health. She passed away in bed as Rose cried next to her.


My father liked clocks. He would passionately explain what he’d done to get uncle’s souvenir cuckoo clock going again. It was mostly dirt, and he gave all those crusty gears the same bath. But he’d check for other problems as well. The tiniest thing could bring the whole mechanism to a halt just like that.
Like the tiny fibre he picked up fifty years ago, on his knees, carving tiles, carving out a living. He carried that bit of asbestos with him all his working life. Just after retirement it brought his whole mechanism to a halt. Just like that.


The guardbot prodded Tressa in the ribs. “Step into the transport, Prisoner 5386U.”

Wincing, Tressa obeyed. The transport pod’s door slid shut. Tressa’s heart pounded and her secured hands grew slick with sweat. She closed her eyes and thought of her “happy place,” the rolling hills of her childhood.

The pod landed with a thud. The door slid back and flooded the pod with bright sunlight. Tressa blinked until her eyes adjusted.

“Welcome to Penal Colony 56,” the guardbot droned.

Verdant fields spread before her. Women in jumpsuits like hers labored amidst the greenery, unfettered by chains.

Tressa smiled.


Sitting on the edge of the bed, the morning sun bathing the room. I could feel the heat already and knew this day would be a cooker; but my attention as always was elsewhere. The ideas and plans I would line up that gave me a sense of purpose would of course never be started. I needed to organize them in my head, pretending all was still normal. Depression is not about being lazy. Only unmotivated. Empty. You spend too much time here, unmotivated becomes a lifestyle. So if I speak to God sometimes, its because I am lonely; not necessarily salvation.


He knew he was wearing a huge grin on his face, but he didn’t care.

He was in the moment.

He watched her sleep. How many times had his friends told him about this? More than he could count. He hadn’t believed any of them at the time.

Not now though.

He could feel his eyes begin to well up with tears, but again he didn’t care. He was happy. If he did nothing else in his life, he knew today he had done something worthwhile.

He gently stroked her face. And in her sleep his newborn daughter sighed contentedly.


This time of year is very special to me. Behind the camera I see everything.

On that dark desert highway I see a light in the dark. A smile.

Others have asked “Why take photos in a virtual world, none of it is real.”

Through the camera I see the only real answer. I see the emotions, creativity, the passage of time”

Crying and Loss, Tears, Joy, Laughter.

“The people are real, their stories should be told, there not living it up in the “Hotel California”.

Then I take the shot. Click. I am a photographer, It’s what I do.


Jeremiah was a bullfrog who had recently taken to hiding in the far corner of the swamp behind a slimy green stone and protected by a canopy of bulrushes. Jeremiah was afraid of croaking.

The Green Angel appeared to him while he slept and gave him three choices: “Would you rather live and die, have never been born at all, or die and live forever?”

Jeremiah loved life and trusted the Green Angel, so when he awoke from his bullfrog dream, he climbed to the top of the slimy green stone, took a deep bullfrog breath, and croaked.


She poked her long, slender beak into a long, slender blossom. “What are you doing?” the quivering petals seemed to ask.

“Babies are hungry. Gotta go!” The green bird zipped off with a sonic boom. Actually, it was a hum, but such flowers are really quite sensitive.

A few minutes later, the bird was back for more. “You know,” said the blossom, “I just feed my babies through my roots, if I have to. It’s much easier.”

“Yes, well,” the bird replied between gulps, “we all gotta live somehow.”

As the bird zipped off, the vine casually dropped a seedpod.


“Voice chat?” I said derisively. “I don’t have any interest. Besides, I sound like I’m 12. And no one needs to hear my voice. I’ve been communicating through a keyboard since I was 5. I don’t have to worry about the dog sitting on my feet and making me say something in a silly voice like “That’s a good girl!” Plus, I don’t want to worry about someone from work calling where I have to think about privacy. Why should I ever use voice for anything to do with SL?”
“It’s for Relay for Life” she said.
“Consider it done.”


When the judge said the word I couldn’t help but ponder it at length, before commenting for all to hear. “James David Prakter you are hereby sentenced to life without the possibility of parole,” she said. Why use the word life? I pondered. After all what she just said sounded much more like death. I’d never have sweet potato pie again, or make love to my wife. I’d never cry or laugh at a movie while sipping soda and eating popcorn. All this punishment because I killed an intruder escaping from my home, how is this justice? Thanks. I said.


(No text sent)


He found a likely corner and put on the little red hat. It was kind of a cliche, but people expected it. He set up the bucket and rang the bell. Somewhere time ticked by. One more coin, he promised himself. Then, he could get out of the cold. Someone tried to dip their hand in the bucket. He couldn’t have that, So he ran out and jumped on the thief’s head. There was a satisfying bop. Somewhere, a chime rang. That made a hundred coins. Which meant an extra life. The Save a Princess Foundation was finally getting somewhere.


I remember my savior, someone I looked up to for making me a better person. I was bullied quite often as a child– physically and verbally. This person stood in their way and protected me, and taught me how to protect myself. She brought me to the world of charity fundraising and allowed me to coordinate my own carnival to raise money for the American Cancer Society. We raised over 3000 dollars together. My savior was Sheryl Ferguson, my 4th grade teacher, and her efforts will never be forgotten. I was honored to be able to give my teacher Teacher of the Year Award, awarded by the State of Ohio, just three months before she died.


A Second of Your Life

There have been several times when I have wondered, is life worth living. If you let yourself lose track of how beautiful nature is, and how amazing it is to smell a flower and only focus on the pain you are feeling, the answer can easily be no it isn’t. Someone told me you choose to be happy, and in the scheme of life the crap you are feeling is but a second of it. So when you get those thoughts during a bad time, tell yourself. ….I can make it through this second of my life, it’s worth it.


I was raised to always live my life for others, to give as much as I
can and sacrifice for the sake of my family. Until recently, I was
pretty content with that situation.

Lately though, I’ve been starting to feel a bit trapped. Why should I
feel guilt or regret for going after my own desires? Why should I not
be able to live my life, for myself?

Am I being disloyal, disrespectful or ungrateful? Whose life am I
living anyways? Mine, or theirs?

Is it my fault I’ve ended up this way?

It is my life after all.


Sometimes, when things are bad, I pray. That might seem trite, but I figure if God put me here He can at least listen to the crap I am going through. I usually imagine Jesus sitting in my kitchen (barefoot, robes, full beard and all) eating a peanut butter sandwich. He’s just eating and sort of cocking an eyebrow at me while I rant. When I’m done, I imagine he licks his fingers, hops off the counter, hugs me and whispers “I love you.” And suddenly, it all seems better. Maybe it’s childish, but it stops the aching in my chest.


My life is not a story, nor is it entertaining. Yet, it is real. A huge part of my life is Relay for LIfe. Relay for Life has heavily impacted my life. Because of this, I dedicate a great deal of my personal time. Many do not understand the intensity of this. Relay for life has a real meaning. A Cause!
I relay for those fighting, those that will fight, and that no one ever has to make that fight again!
I relay for everyone; your friends, loved ones, neighbors, co-workers, acquaintances, and mine, too. I relay for you. I relay for me. I Relay For Life!


As a small child I was fascinated by my father’s hair. My father had a full head of nearly black hair.
Until, he showed signs of aging. First, there was a touch of grey at the temples, and then salt and pepper colored hair covered his head. Finally, all white hair.
Last month my mother called to say, “Your father still has a full head of hair. Most men his age don’t even have hair, and after two years of chemo and radiation, your father still has all of his hair”.
I was smiling, as my mother disconnected the call.

Dr. Evealine heard the HG’s signal and realized…”Too far back, I’m unraveling too far, MUCH TOO FAR!”
Five years passed before Dr. Eve conceded that she was beyond the known Time-Strand, and there was no way to Rewind the HG’s pod. This Unravel had deposited Dr. Eve into a glorious garden of peace and plenty. In another 300 years, Eve realized exactly where. Despite not aging or suffering, the realization was not joyful. Everyone she loved would cease to be.
In direct opposition to the first 32 years of her life, Eve now spent her time looking for…a Man. Just…one…Man.

Live ansible feeds showed the Exo-Planetary Sci-Lab’s unauthorized experiments. My instructions: Terminate any life-forms created in the Copy Lab.
Three hours later, all live specimens were destroyed. The Copy Lab Synthesizer was all that remained. My hand had barely touched the Synthesizer, when I felt the jolt. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. We both stared, and I saw the cut from my morning shave…on his face. “My name’s David”, I said. He replied, “My name’s David, so let’s pronounce your name… DaVID”.
Our ship ascended, David glanced over, nodded, and I fired the Destroyer Blast.

The package said, “Miracle Seeds”. “Guaranteed to Grow, Like Magic!”
Radiation Suit on, Richard climbed up to the hatch, and stepped into The Desert.
As Richard pulled open the package, a sudden wind knocked him to the ground, and swept away the seeds.
Next day, the hatch would not open. Nor, would it open any other day.
Over time, the seeds were forgotten. One morning, voices from the hatch, startled Richard.
“We‘ve found The Jungle epicenter!” “25 years of growth….oh, bring a chainsaw, I see an old shelter. “
Radiation Suit on, Richard stepped from the hatch, into The Jungle.

Jackson looked at the scene. House split in two by a tree, and the family’s cat killed. Man’s wife had survived, but still, bad luck for this Butch guy.
“Hey Butch, looks like 2012 is not your lucky year, but I’ll bet 2013 will be great”. Jackson thought it helpful to say something positive to those with bad luck.
Butch paused, and thought back three years to his colon cancer diagnosis, colostomy bag, being bed-ridden. May of 2012, he was cancer free and ran the Mini-Marathon with his oldest son. “Actually”, Butch said, “2012 is a lucky year for me.”


I like tacos, and you like burritos, lets get together and make chimichangas. This is our mexican food love story. Run! Run! Run! Poliocia! Run for the bell; Taco bell. Thats were our love is safe. Thats were our love is sacred. Extra taco seasoning, extra chipotle sauce, extra love salsa. girl your so spicy, like
my favorite jalapeño. Cola in a glass bottle, open the top and lets float away in the fizz bubbles, just you and me. And we can eat tacos and burritos, and maybe even chimichangas until the night turns to a sunrise fiesta. Good times


Why I Relay

I relay for the wonderful friends who have touched my life, who are fighting this horrible disease… For my dear friend Theresa, who had a huge smile, even when hopelessly sick. A hurricane badly damaged my home, and we could not get a contractor. Another Hurricane lurked, off-shore, and I declined help, not wanting to burden people who had problems of their own. A car pulled up, filled with Theresa, her Husband, tar paper, and tools. Despite the heat, Theresa worked on that roof with the men. I will NEVER forget the spirit and love of our friends!

I Pray for A Cure To Cancer


A rubber ball, two screw eyelets, a broken toilet brush. Did I say broken? There are NO bristles at all! Why would I want that? Tom Sawyer and Nancy Drew.. First Edition?? Nah. Since eBay no more first editions. Aaaagggghhhh!! My ears!! Quit pinching him!! What is that smell? Seven days ago I saw her ride up on that flaming yellow bicycle with the flowery basket. She spoke to me, not a long conversation, Hello. Sorry about your foot. But she spoke. To ME! Seven days ago. Haven’t seen her since. Every Tuesday at the thrift shop – Hope springs eternal.


Each star is the soul of one departed
A bell sings out, an angel receives wings
One close takes a new path where I cannot see
Have they ceased to be?


While the light of their face shines for me
their voice echos in my ears
their memories fill my heart

… they are here.

I travel my own road, but always feel them close
They are gone, but not. They will forever live in me

Hurt mellows, tears dry.
Stories shared bring back the smiles
… some day, I, too, will be a memory

For today, I live.


It’s on the TV. I can see it. At least it seems so. You’d hardly recognize it, all illuminated RGB Plasma (or something), as what I live every day. I flip over to the Hallmark Channel where there’s yet another sappy movie I don’t want to watch. I flip over to watch a travel show on PBS. My attention wanders from “Salsburg and Halstatt” to the bee buzzing around my strawberries on the deck, the sound of sunset breeze in the poplars next door, the cat happily languishing in a patch of bright sunlight. Life in not on TV.


Life is Magi, that awesome Spanish beef, chicken, or vegetable boulion that makes every homemade dish just perfect. Life is the woman you swear undying love for, knowing she will never feel the same about you, but you just go on knowing you had the privlege of mere fleeting moments just standing by her side. Life is spending the weekend with your mother who survived cancer. Life is the pain of losing of your entire lifes work to a faceless corporate bank, only to face the thrill of victory in the Supreme Court.


I have so many emotions going through my head. can’t control how I feel or what I say. I hurt everyone I love, but at the same time I feel like they’re hurting me. I wish this thunderstorm of emotions would just pass, let me free. Sometimes I cry out of nowhere and I laugh when nothings funny. What’s got my world turned upside down, I’m afraid every time I open my mouth I might say something I don’t mean. I worry that I’ll never be the same, never get over my issues. When I get back to normal.


Elbownor sprinted across the field to the castle and skirted the wall to the gates. Owen felt his stomach turn as Spleen, the half-goblin, bolted from the company and followed the elf, running at times on all-fours. Elbownor turned and waved the company to come, even before the goblin shot past him, through the open gates.
“Such a horrible loss of life,” Shareeka said as the company joined the elf. Countless rotting bodies littered the narrow streets of the city.
“But why?” Owen asked.
Spleen trotted back around a corner, wiped his mouth and said, “I’ve found one still alive.”


Maine: The way LIFE should be.
It was sad to watch everyone. Because no one wanted to be sad. They wanted to be normal. Regular. They wanted today to be a regular July 14th, just like 2011, 1992, 1985, when cabins 2 and 9 and the rest paid their bill and went back to Virginia, New York, Massachusetts, wherever was on their license plates.
But for two weeks every July they’re from Maine.
Maine means four pm cocktails on the beach. Maine means a floating cooler in the middle of the lake. People show up and a Fire happens. It’s what they do. I mean did.


“Holy Jesus!” Carla said. “What is that thing?”

“It’s life,” Fred said. “I just made it.”

“That’s the creepiest shit I’ve ever seen! It’s got, like, toes around its mouth!”

“I don’t think that’s its mouth.”

“You don’t know?”

“I just followed the directions on the box, see?”

“This is a box of macaroni and cheese.”

“What? Oh. I guess it didn’t come out right.

“Didn’t come . . .? You’ve attained whole new levels of fucking up mac and cheese!”

“The milk was expired.”

“How expired?”

“Thirty seven years.”

Carla stared at Fred.

“I found it,” he said, answering her unspoken question.


We reinitialised Robbie today. Strange how a robot can work fine for years, then one day it just goes “ur-ur-ur” and you have to wipe its brain and start over.

Sometimes it happens to people. Crackpots, conspiracy theorists, alien abductees.

And then, some just go on getting better. I met this robot in India once, the locals treated it like a saint, and I couldn’t say it wasn’t. It was doing more for them than any stone statue, and all their offerings went into upgrades.

I reckon that life, you’re born with, but a soul you have to work for.


Life’s Defense

It began with the nothing from which all somethings grow.

I was there, vulnerable, germinating. I crept into your dreamery and took what was mine to take; left what was yours to bear.

You walked with me; breathed me in. The fear and beauty. The eternity of every lonesome moment, the ecstasy of each acquiescent howl.

So you invented hope and you invented light. Metrics to account for me. The slow precious pulse. The beat. The beat. The beat.

I am not against you. I have never been against you. I am just the nothing from which all somethings grow.


Sure, the commercial showed Mikey eating Life cereal, but when the director yelled “CUT!” and the cameras stopped, Mikey ran to the back of the set, stuck his finger down his throat, and vomited.

“Can’t I eat Cheerios?” he asked. “I like those.”

“No,” said the director. “Cheerios are round. Life is squares.”

Mikey whined for a bit, and his mother shook him until he stopped.

Ten takes later, the director shouted “THAT’S A WRAP!” and everybody heaved a sigh of relief.

Mikey heaved up his stomach’s contents back into the bowl, and forced one of the other kids to eat it.

One thought on “Weekly Challenge #325 – Life (RFL Challenge – Part 1)”

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