Weekly Challenge #327 – Feather – The 100 Word Stories Podcast

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-Seven, 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 feather.

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

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:

THOMAS

He feathered his nest, using his former office and contacts as a politician to find work as a consultant and get booked for a number of speaking engagements. After a few years outside of his political office, he accumulated millions, and a home on the beach in California. All the people he had taken advantage of visited him in his nightmares and reduced him to a sleepy bag of gristle and tendons. He sought salvation by giving to his church and donating to the senior center, but it was too late, and the gods still thought he was an dick.

Macie feathered the prop, as the starboard engine failed 50 miles from her destination in the mountains of Chile. She felt confident that she could make it with her port engine, but she would have to dump some cargo. The copilot, Dan, rushed to the door and started heaving things out of the plane. First, the crate of heavy sewing machine parts, and then crates of tools and spare engine parts for the generator at the orphanage. Still heavy, Dan grabbed the collar of two missionaries and nudged them overboard. Only then could Macie bring the big plane in safely.

She cleaned the body with a damp rag and the feather duster. Carefully, Monica tidied up after the orgy of mayhem she was responsible for. The victim, her boyfriend, teased her and pushed all her buttons. She had put up with his unfaithfulness, his foul mouth, and his careless and selfish lovemaking, but Monica lost it when he burned the strip steak and ruined the ratatouille. He didn’t apologize for the meal, but bragged that he was the better chef. He droned on, until Monica put the heavy cleaver into the back of his neck as he sat, shelling peas.

TOM

The yellow feather was mounted on the sight of his Infield Rifle. At first no one was willing to stand on either side of Lt. Clive Dinsmore. The regimental symbol of cowardness had branded the Young Turk as a man without honor. Long after he had proven his valor Clive keep the feather. In time the yellow feather became the symbol of the regiment. All but one officer flew the feather. Clive realized he was the one who had falsely marked him. Clive removed the feather and dropped it at the true coward’s feet. The regiment resighted and opened fire.

GUARD 13007

I opened the door to my room, threw my backpack on the floor, kicked the door shut, and fell to my bed. I lay facedown for a minute, thinking about how today was, wondering if the school had called my parents for ditching half my classes.

They hadn’t said anything to me yet, but that really didn’t mean anything. They were probably too mad about it happening again to say anything.

I got up again, feeling the slight rush of fresh air after being buried in a pillow. I looked down at my bed, at the small feather laying there.

SERENDIPITY

Considering he’s a genius, he can be a real idiot sometimes… They tell me I’m lucky to be alive.

He gingerly enters my hospital room, smiling apologetically.

“You jerk!”, I exclaim, “Can’t you follow a simple instruction? We went through it all six times… two windows: Right hand window – FEATHER! – How could you get it wrong?”

Galileo shrugged, then broke into a great big grin: “The experiment worked though – they both fell at exactly the same velocity, just as I predicted!”

“Oh, they did indeed”, I responded angrily, “right up until the point that damn hammer landed on my skull!”

ANN

It started as a normal dog walk.

We heard shrieking cries from the end of the street. Was it cries of alarm?

Look! Up in the Poplar!

The large Red-tailed Hawk screeched and swooped, glided and perched, again, and again.

Flight training? We stopped to watch and listen.

Another launch and the bird glided over us dipping his wings….

Look at me!

I craned my neck watching the bird swoop across above us.

What? Slowly spiraling down was a pristine gifted feather.

Could I catch it before it reached the ground?

Yes! Score!

I smiled as the bird flew away.

JEFFREY

Once upon a time there were two princesses. They were very competitive. If Emmaline learned to jump a five-foot hedge riding her horse, Honoria would attempt a six foot jump. Should Honoria compose a sonnet in iambic pentameter, Emmaline would surely scribble sixteen lines instead of fourteen, and write it in iambic hexameter to boot.

It was therefore no surprise that, when Honoria announced she was so sensitive that she could sense a single pea placed in a layer of mattresses, Emmaline one-upped her sister by claiming that *she* was so sensitive she could sense even a feather in the bed. The contest was on.

Servants prepared suitable beds for the sisters. Honoria settled herself gently on her bed, wiggled once, and grimaced. She pointed the waiting servant to the exact location of the pea, to the applause of the onlookers.

Now it was Emmaline’s turn. She climbed on the stack of mattresses. Nothing. Wiggled. Still nothing. How could this be? Surely she was more sensitive than her boorish sister. She left the bed and took a running start at it. Leaping at the mattresses, she went airborne – and missed the bed entirely. “Ow,” she said, to the sound of muffled laughter.

Honoria stood watching, trying to look innocent, a feather twirling in her fingers.

SHRUTI

“I met someone”, she said taking off the mask. “We danced together all night. He’s meeting me for coffee tomorrow.”

Arya listened to her daughter gush about the boy and looked at the mask.

She had needed to stick a few feathers back but it looked as beautiful as when she had worn it.

It was party long ago.

He had asked her for a dance and they had stayed partners the whole night. A month later he asked her to marry him.

She dusted the tinsel off the feathers and smiled. It looked like another love story was beginning.

CIRCE

I searched the grid for a red feather I’d seen in an ad. It was brilliant and dangling from an earlobe. This happens a lot to me, and now, retired, I have time to hunt. First, go to all the stores you can find that carries that item – in this case, earrings… Then obtain a snapshot of the item, which might involve buying something you dont want at all, like the loathsome hair this particular feather showed up with. Then show it to shoppers in a jewelry store.. then count to see if your story is 100 words long yet.

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Spill

George worked frantically from dawn to dusk before the talking heads emerged. The coverage was sure to stir
interest. People would come to help, they said.

“Look pretty boy, if you want to help, pitch in. If you are afraid to get your hands dirty, get the hell outta my
way.”

Exhausted, George stepped away from the oil soaked shore with a bundle in his hands. Suddenly, a camera was pushed
in front of his face. Fed up, he tiredly held up the bundle presenting two dead birds en-meshed in oil.
He smiled despairingly saying, “Birds of a feather stick together.”

Feathered Hope

Emily listened to the surgeon. In shock, vaguely hearing the words, locally advanced, surgery, colostomy and six
months of chemotherapy.

Emily was now looking for hope. She remembered somewhere that hope was made of feathers. She walked absentmindedly
and happened upon an old Chinaman with a peacock. He was selling it as food. Emm bought it thinking only of its
feathers to make a soup of hope.

Ten days later, she called 911 in agony. “Sorry Emily we need to operate immediately!”
For saving her life, she presented Dr. Lancet with a dream catcher made of peacock feathers.

MUNSI

His bangs feather like the wings of some majestic bird, even at forty-five.

The hair’s thinner now, but the bangs haven’t changed.

He’s gone to this pub since nineteen, since his last hit, though he didn’t know it’d be his last at the time. People here leave him alone.

Mostly.

She, nearly forty herself, works up the courage to approach. She’s been trying all night.

“I’m sorry, but aren’t you?”

“Why yes, I am.”

She blushes, fourteen again, and he smiles that same smile from years before.

And taking her home later, he can’t help thinking: Life isn’t so bad.

TURA

Day 37.

I found a feather, as long as my forearm.

Since cast up on the coast, this is the first sign of any sizeable animal. The poor fruits and insects I have been eating cannot sustain me indefinitely. I am hoping the bird is flightless. Might the dodo survive here?

Day 39.

I found another feather, longer than I am tall. The root was bloody, as if torn off in a fight. Then I saw how the ground was torn up, as if by huge talons.

The question is not, can I catch them? but, can they catch me?

PAM

Don’t Pick up that Feather

Martha had always been fascinated by feathers. She longed to touch them, turn them, and watch the sun reveal their hidden colors. But Mother had always said, “Don’t pick up that feather!”

“It’s dirty.”
“You’ll get a disease.”
“It’s full of germs.”
“You never know where it’s been.”

Mother was gone now, but if alive, she would be so proud, Martha thought as she sat in the midst of her collection of thousands of dead and mummified birds. All her life she had never picked up a feather; good thing Mother never said don’t pick up a dead bird.

ZACKMANN

Lawrence wonders if anyone ever takes him seriously.
He sees a man in his early thirties walking up to him.
“Crap,” he says “when I joked about spoiling for a fight I did not
expect a featherweight champion to suddenly show up.”
“That is Featherweight and seven other weight class titles but Dont
worry man, I know you were joking about wanting to fight especially
against me. I am looking for someone called Zackmann to have a little
talk with him about a comment he made on my youtube channel saying
“As a singer, Pacquiao is a really great boxer.”

LIZZIE

“Write it down, son, write it down” said the blind Maester.

It was the will. Rowan the apprentice tried to keep up, furiously writing with the feather. It was unique, a feather of the extinct giant eagle, and if anything, he wanted it as his Maester’s legacy to him.

“…the feather is to be given to…”

Me, he thought.

“…Jeremiah.”

Rowan frowned.
He wanted to tell his Maester that Jeremiah would never return, he made sure of that, but his courage failed him and the anguish of seeing that precious feather have no certain destiny made him scribble “…Rowan” instead.

KATFANCY

Mark wanted to pay it forward. He thought of ideas and remembered an article about laughter adding years to life. Mark didn’t know any jokes, but he did have a feather collection. It was a hot day and he knew there would be hoards of people outside. He tickled several people at the beach unsuspectingly with two turkey feathers and each person laughed, while he ran away. Later, a lady he tried to tickle didn’t react with laughter. Instead, she turned around and slapped him in the face. Feeling ashamed, Mark walked away with his tail feathers between his legs.

CLIFF

Feathered Dreams
She was born with feathers instead of hair. The doctor said it was extremely rare but perfectly harmless. Her grandmother said that it was because she was blessed by the angels. The neighbors said it was because her mother smoked dope while pregnant. An uncle in Montana swore it was due to government experimentation. Everyone had a theory. Before she turned two, the feathers fell out and were replaced by beautiful curly red hair. Eventually, everyone forgot about the feathers. But even now, twenty years later, she dreams every night of feathers and wings and flying high above the world.

Duck Feather
As a kid, the guys said that if I wanted to learn to swim, I should eat a duck feather. I called them liars. Two weeks later, I declared that I’d eaten a feather at my uncle’s farm while on vacation. I couldn’t wait to hit the pool. Soon, I was at the edge of the deep end, someplace none of us had dared go before. I took a breath, jumped, and swam the length of the pool twice. The guys headed to the park for their own duck feathers. I never told them about my cousin the swimming instructor.

REDGODDESS

Work monopolizes Lola’s time. Even on her days off, she can’t stop worrying about unfinished projects. “What happened to the adventurous Lola?” She wondered. To loosen up, she accepts another invitation from the mystery guy. Tonight, they’re dining at the waterfront sky lounge. Their conversation about food, travels, and work flows seamlessly. He even laughs at her silly jokes. Before finishing her last bite of dessert, he asks playfully, “for our next date, choose one thing I can bring: a scrabble board, feather or ice cream.” Intrigued, she leans toward him, whispers in his right ear, “how about all three.”

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

John and Richard stared across no man’s land toward the enemy position.

Richard’s hands flittered, filled with nervous energy, across his weapon. “We’re in a bad position, sir.”

John gripped his friend’s shoulder. “Don’t talk like that, soldier. We will persevere.”

“But, the enemy is heavily fortified, and-”

“Nevermind that. Ready your weapon!” John gripped his, white-knuckled. “Charge!”

The two leapt together out of the trench and assaulted the enemy fortification.

When John’s mother opened the door to check on the sleepover, a cloud of feathers still floated over the four boys and the shattered remains of the pillow fort.

——-

”I won’t leave,” she said, her voice barely audible over clinking glasses and murmuring diners.

“I… I mean…” His voice splutters, echoing derailed thoughts. “I thought this was nice. Here. Us.”

The soft words of her reply slammed into him. “I have too much back home.” She reached across the table and put her left hand on his twisting fingers. He glanced at her fingers, bare of both wedding band and the ring he’d given her. “I can’t leave there.”

“You won’t leave there,” he said. “You won’t leave him.”

Her silence was that of bloodied feathers falling on snow.

NORVAL JOE

They raced through the forest beyond the dead city, avoiding roads and clearings where the demons could see them from above.
“We can’t outrun these demons. They know our destination,” Owen said.
“We’ll approach from a different direction, but we need to know they’re no longer on our trail,” Shareeka said. She handed Owen a feather.
“I’ll turn you into a bird. Scout the area and return with your report.” Shareeka spoke the spell.
Owen flapped his wings and looked to the sky.
Shareeka cursed and said, “Traveller, pick up the chicken. We’ll try again when the spell wears off.”

DANNY

This story revolves around a college football game between the fictional Darwin and Huxley Colleges. It simply amazes me how eligibility rules have been stretched by collegiate athletic departments for over a century. This permits Professor Wagstaff to hire ringers from the local speakeasy down the street, allowing Huxley to win the football game by taking the ball into the end zone in a horse-drawn chariot made from a garbage wagon. Then, after Darwin figures out the game was rigged, a 60 million dollar fine and 4 year suspention is imposed on Huxley. You could have knocked me over with a Horse Feather.

PLANET Z

Most kids buy coffee mugs or ties for their fathers on Father’s Day.

I was no different.

“That’s your blood on there,” Dad says, pointing at the red crust along the crack in the handle of the World’s Greatest Dad mug.

And inside of it: feathers.

I remember the card. Big Bird from Sesame Street.

“HAPPY FEATHERS DAY”

Bert and Ernie crossing out the E.

I’d torn open a pillow, thought I’d wake my dad by shaking it open over him.

He didn’t think it was funny. Neither did the maid.

I wear my hair long to cover the scar.

Inflict this upon: