Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twelve, 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 selected by Elisson, and we went with Whiskey.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
ARMINASX
Whiskey was not a great online player, but good enough. I’d beaten him several times. Well, once. I guess he’s better than I want to admit.
I had to figure out this mysterious guy, since I can’t stand a silent player who wins. That’s right, Whiskey never uses voice when playing.
So I played him often. One day I caught him with his mic on. But all I heard was scratching, wimpers and an occasional “woof”.
And that’s when I realized who Whiskey really was. You know what they say: “on the Internet, no one knows you’re a dog!”
SPARROW
She watched the golden liquid splash over the ice and breathed in the heady
scent of whiskey. Her thirst ignited with a power that surprised her.
She meant to sip slowly and savor this drink, but when it touched her
tongue, she could not help but swallow greedily until the ice fell against
her lips with the last of the liquor. And though she swore she would not,
she reached for the bottle and poured again.
As she drank, tears slowly rolled down her cheeks. I never meant to, she
thought, but it feels so good.
She was only thirteen.
MICHELLE
“Rode hard and put up wet.”
She heard it very clearly, chose to ignore. What good would come of confrontation? “Hell,” she thinks to herself with a chuckle “that weekend in New Orleans, 85, rode hard and put up was exactly what we were, and damn proud of it.” Her smile fades with the expression of remembrance, that was a long time ago, so long ago.
Years of the chase made her somber, not sober, somber yes. Head in hands now, red dreadlocks brushing the table, sagging bosom heaving with sobs. Another smoke, another shot, another night. Whiskey & me.
POND
“Another”
The whiskey glass slammed on the bar in the best cheesy western fashion, predictably anguished eyes peering out from under the lank, dank, hank falling in front of them.
The bartender looked up and refilled the glass, smearing stray drops with this week’s rag. His lips parted, the tip of his tongue heavy with the obligatory question. Thirty years behind this bar made the reply to that word a reflex; an occupational hazard.
Thirty years of tales of woe, of the betrayals of brothers, of failures and mistakes, of stolen sweethearts. He soaked each one up like a sponge; his heart long ago filled, the misery of his customers seeping into his muscles and into his bones.
He was full, saturated.
A second glass joined the first and he filled them both. He sighed before washing the question from his tongue, and the silence was broken only but the sound of the glasses on the bar.
And another.
A
This wasn’t his first go round. He knew that sensation where you feel the whole world spinning while you and you alone hold fast. A roar in your ears that starts loud and gets louder. White noise. White knuckles. White Lightning memories. None of them good.
His stomach heaved up, but there was nothing in it. As empty as his head, they’d all said.
He wasn’t a man who learned from his mistakes. Like Father, like Son, they’d all said.
His fall was swift and painful.
He shouldn’t have tried to ride the Colt called Whiskey. Sired by White Lightning.
GUY DAVID
Old Mama Chirapa died of old age. The Chirapa live a very long life by human standards, though The Chirapa themselves, don’t view this as something out of the ordinary. Chaketo Chirapa, her son, inherited leadership, as is the way of The Chirapa. He had to abandon the computer networking project, but he never forgot it. He kept his own computer and scanned the internet for a way to earn the trust of The Humans. Leadership was taking most of his time, and they where running out of gold for their machines, though they discovered whiskey was just as good.
ELISSON
The old bottle had lain in the alley for” who knows how long? For years, it had managed to escape the attentions of neighborhood dogs, children on bicycles, skateboarders, and other passersby. But when Wino Willie saw the glint of glass peeping out from beneath a mound of trash, his first thought was, “Booze!”
Willie grabbed the heavy, filth-encrusted bottle. He rubbed it on a threadbare sleeve”
“and amidst a cloud of smoke, out popped the Ty-D-Bowl Man!
“It”s been thirty years,” Ty-D explained. “I was looking for a toilet and fell into a whiskey bottle. Been there ever since.”
TOM
I met Angus in the 80s. He told me about this movie where a ship full of whiskey runs aground on this island. Well the inhabitants grab the bottles and hide them everywhere. The movie was call “Tight Little Island.” When the film made it to France they changed the title to Whiskey A GO GO French ain”t got a clue what tight means. Some Parisian nightclub owner thinks the name is way cool starts to open these discoth”ques called Whisky a Go Go. Well Americans think discoth”que pretty cool open a Whiskey A GO GO in LA. They got these dancers in cages called GO GO dancers and of course they got go go boots which are in fact the boots Nancy Sinatra is sing about In the these boot are made for walking. Well it seem the night Frank Sinatra is dyeing Nancy sneaks off to watch the last episode of Seinfeld and the chairman croaks. By the way “Nancy with the Laughing Eyes” was written for her on her fourth birthday by Phil Silvers the guy who played Sergeant Bilko. Same night Frank dies Angus dies so I take pint of Bushnell pour it on his grave.
STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN
“Aw, hell. Zombies.”
Professor Heath laughed from across the bar.
“No, they’re whiskey sours.”
He drank his, then poured more gunpowder into his shotgun shells.
Nicole poured another round of whiskey, then passed out rounds for our
pistols.
“I thought,” she said, “Romero’s zombie movies were a commentary on
the mindless nature of modern American society.”
“What, nihilism?” I snorted. “It’s all mindless and will eat you in the end?”
The Professor stood and smiled.
“There is only one effective response to both nihilism and the undead.”
He took aim through the boards on the window and fired.
“Decisive action.”
JUSTIN
You don’t need whiskey to drink away sorrows if you can’t remember them. I have a hard time remembering. I wish I could drink to remember, because I have many more good memories than sorrows. My memories are fading. I’m doing my best to keep it from slowing me down as it slowly erodes my memory. I’ll keep going, but it terrifies me to forget. I would rather have a cancer eating away my body before having my mind stripped away. I’ll live like I’m about to die, even though Alzheimer’s might take all that I’ve done before the end.
EVAMOON
Thunder cracked and we retreated a little farther into the the meager
protection of a rocky overhang. Four days into the Yosemite back country at
a high lake and it was cold. A sudden storm crowded the sun out of an autumn
afternoon and now lightning stabbed granite peaks surrounding the lake
continuously.
At the height of the tempest, two more hikers crawled into our sliver of
shelter. We huddled; four little bugs tucked into a crevice, waiting to warm
our wings. Then one of our new friends pulled a fifth of whiskey out of his
pack.
Let it rain.
FEMME BLEU
One New Years Eve Whiskey and Bourbon fell into bed and mixed drinks. Thus was Little Whiskey born.. Little Whiskey ran with horses, broke pool cues, lost at poker, was addicted to jazz music, dark poetry, runnin with drunks, and the pursuit of more Whiskey. Till she got to Ireland, and found the ultimate Whisky — Green Spot. Uisce Beatha ” the water of life. Little Whiskey nearly drowned@! “Whisky is the pool into which Narcissus gazed” said Little Whisky. “Whisky will get me killed” said little Whisky who lost her Dad Big Whisky to whisky a long time ago.
ANIMA
Simple, still sitting here at the Wishing Well? Some things never change”
You’s Wrong!!
Lemme tell you about change” I done changed jobs, changed diapers and changed the locks on my door.
Joyce, she going thru the change, and that be changing our relationship.
I been short changed all my life, leaving me feeling mighty changeable.
I have changed my party affiliation for a man who is ready for Change.
Now, I’s changing the subject. You gotten me all riled up, buy me a whisky ” beer won’t do.
Simple, I said, after all these years, you haven’t changed a bit.
THOMAS
The sun shone through the dark amber liquid, casting lucid rays about the room. His entire life lay inside the glass, dazzling his swollen eyes.
A universe unto itself, moving slowly in time. A million emotions dancing and making love, within; happiness and misery, love and hate, peace and remorse. Conscience, regret, longing and memory lie beneath it’s golden surface… waiting.
He lifts it high, toasting past, future and this dying moment. Peering into its’ depths for one last look. Its’ twenty year journey from field to perfection was nearly over. The whiskey sending warm tendrils numbing his thoughts. Smooth…
ALMO
“Well, do we have a deal?” Nicky asked, pouring three fingers of whiskey into the tumblers between the men.
Roger hesitated. He knew this happened a hundred times a day in his business. The odds of being caught were nil. The loser would be the insurance company. That impact was less than a flea bite.
His mind flashed to seventh grade. The difficult spelling test he had received such lavish praise for. He had cheated. He had felt ill when the teacher singled him out for recognition.
Roger was older; corners weren’t so sharp. He raised the glass. “We do.”
PLANET X
Recently, at a movie premier, Jimmy Buffet was walking along the gold carpet and asked Steve Jobs what the one brand of whiskey he enjoyed.
Steve replied, that as The Chair of a distillery company that used cereal in the process of creating a lower priced whiskey, he had made it taboo to discuss it with outsiders.
He did say that the actual recipe and process was kept under lock and key in a steamer trunk and was guarded by zombies. The one person who had seen it, now sang like a nightingale and lived a life in the sewers.
JD
Old George was a hell of a man.
He turned 101 Thursday.
That was the day before the night he died.
Most people want to die in their sleep.
No pain, no surprises.
Go to sleep and never wake up.
Not George.
He didn’t want to go at all.
Last Thursday night he got hammered and this cute 19 year-old doll took him home.
Later, when her husband got home, George went out the window still pulling on his pants.
Fell from the second floor and broke his neck.
Whiskey and tail, that was how George wanted to go.
PLANET Z
After reading about the Whiskey Rebellion, my friends and I invented this game called Whiskeypedia.
You log on to Wikipedia and look for the most popular articles. Then, you make funny changes to the articles.
The last change to get rolled back is the winner. Everybody else takes a shot of whiskey, toasting to the last man standing.
The more you drink, the weirder the updates get.
Sometimes, nobody ends up noticing the change and it’s there for a very long time.
The government is thinking of getting involved, calling our actions vandalism.
Perhaps, Tom the Tinkerer will rise again.
Baby Melody farted several times while we listened. Just an FYI. {;0p
Although my story is good… charming even… the recording is crap, Crap@! Tom’s story at 200 words is Doublegood. But Anima!@ Anima gets my vote… a story and a tribute to Langson Hughes at the same time?@!? Like wow, man@!