Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Twenty, 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 Planet Z, and we went with Olive Loaf.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
I started a page on Squidoo about flash fiction and wanted to invite and of your contributors to send me one written story (up to 200 words) that I will add to the page and each will have their name and a link back to their site. It is a good way to get a backlink ..
if you think it’s something you want to do please announce it on your Sat broadcast. I’ll accept the first 25 stories I get. they can be mailed to firstname.lastname@example.org with something in the subject alerting me to what it is.
I will also be making a spot available on my blog for the stories and links to be published again and there is no requirement for anyone to link to me or the squidoo page, though of course I won’t discourage anyone from doing so.
Thanks a Bunch
“The mailman didn’t come again today,” she said “I doubt there will ever be mail again.”
“We’re just going to have to make due with what we have, Jane. You know we’ve always done okay for ourselves.”
“I miss the children, Frank. Do you think they’re alright?”
“If I know Jimmy, he’s with his friends having a hell of a time. He was a born leader, Jimmy was.”
“Yes, he always put Mary in her place, even though she was bigger. What do you think Mary is doing right now, Frank?”
“Mary sure loved her olive loaf.”
The food supply was beginning to run quite low. The horde of Kaprualy The Chirapa had brought with them from their home planet have been dwindling steadily and the vegetation was to tired from the artificial lighting to grow properly. They could survive on Kaprualy meat loaf with blue Taranka Sarka olives for just that long. They needed to sample some of the local cuisine, and they needed to do this as soon as possible. Chaketo Chirapa knew they would need to earn the trust of the humans quickly, so he continued podcasting while searching the web for an answer.
Every so often, I like to survey the deli counter, looking for disturbing meats. Scary meats.
Headcheese, for instance. No cheese, but plenty of head, chunks floating in a sea of gelatinous goop. I wouldn’t eat it on a dare.
Or mortadella. Sounds like Morticia’s older sister. Looks like sliced cellulite. Ecch.
The most disturbing of all? Gotta be Olive Loaf.
The name’s bad enough, like something Popeye’s girlfriend might drop off at the pool. All those embedded olives, sliced in cross-section, staring out of the meat case like evil eyes? It’s the lunchmeat that looks at you.
“Do you know why I pulled you over, sir?” asked the skycop.
“Not really,” I replied, trying to focus on the holoimage.
“You changed navigation corridors twice without updating your flight plan and exceeded the posted Mach limit. Have you been drinking, sir?”
“No!” I exclaimed. “Look, I overslept and was running late, so I hit the FoodMat for an InstaMeal pellet, then jumped the skyway. I may have …drifted.”
“Which meal?” he asked.
“One with a weird name: A Olive Loaf.”
“‘A’ indicates the meal contains alcohol, ‘OLIVE’ indicates a martini. Disengage your hoverdrive, sir; I’m tractoring you in.”
Three years inside and all I ever got to eat was damned Olive loaf on stale bread. Funny how something you once loved can turn against you. Its not like I actually killed her, this time. At home we were welcomed by my dear sweet mother-in-law, sitting in my favorite chair sans right arm, sewing with her left. Hi Millie. Hello prison bitch hope you’re hungry. I quickly made my way to the kitchen to avoid her lovely improvement advice. In the fridge were over 100 packages of Olive Loaf. Sure hope she can knit with her teeth.Three years inside and all I ever got to eat was damned Olive loaf on stale bread. Funny how something you once loved can turn against you. Its not like I actually killed her, this time. At home we were welcomed by my dear sweet mother-in-law, sitting in my favorite chair sans right arm, sewing with her left. Hi Millie. Hello prison bitch hope you’re hungry. I quickly made my way to the kitchen to avoid her lovely improvement advice. In the fridge were over 100 packages of Olive Loaf. Sure hope she can knit with her teeth.
Becoming a homeless being is the best way to observe anything in the universe. I have been observing the Earth this way for two cycles now.
Yesterday the Supreme Commander wanted to assisted me on an observation.
After five hours the Supreme Commander started getting hungry. We had no local currency to spend so we went to something called a soup kitchen. They had an excellent beef stew. Sadly, the olive loaf bread, killed the Supreme Commander.
Maybe the next planet will be safe for our kind.
Oh well, commence destruction of the Earth in five….four….three..two..one
Bill leaned forward in his chair, trying to focus on the PowerPoint presentation, but the charts, graphs and bulleted lists blurred as if obscured by billowing clouds of flour.
The monolithic high-tech empire he’d built meant nothing to him. Secretly, he’d always wanted to be a baker – knead dough in his hands; make crust instead of code.
Graphs morphed into racks of hot baguettes. Pie charts turned into, well, pies. Even bullets on lists made him dream of olives dotting a fragrant loaf.
He stood up and walked out as they watched him go, openmouthed.
“Olive Loaf is the Twinkie of lunch meats,” descried Armond. “You want the muse to prevail or not?” repeated the shaman. Armond was desperate he had written a word in weeks which is why he dialed Shaman’s R Us. Mumbo Jumbo set the deli cutter to paper thin slices. He draped Armond’s face with Olive Loaf and told him to lie perfectly still and dream of his muse. In the morning the ER doctor finish the 40th stitch on Armond’s face. No midnight muse just one hunger cat with teeth and claws and a mean craving for cold cuts. Nardo!!!
We tried everything. The Nukes didn’t touch them. The Chemical weapons, well they were a waste of time considering those suits they wear. But we tried them anyway and it killed half of us in the attempt. Then we tried talking to them. They liked that, but then they found out that we put olives in bologna, they decided we weren’t worth the effort. Since then the few of us that could escape the planet have been on the run. Who would have thought olive loaf would doom the planet, not the green house effect. Al Gore, raspberries to you.
STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN
The streets were as alive as downtown Marysville ever got. Jonah
watched them eat funnelcakes, scream on cheap rides, and play the
carnival games. The annual Olive Loaf Festival had not changed a bit.
He remembered trying to explain it to Mary before he came home.
“Small towns, they find something – anything – they can call their
own. Some reason to feel special.”
Her raised eyebrow had spoken volumes of sarcasm.
Back there he had been a nobody. Now, the festival crowd laughed and
swirled around him. Jonah held his picture of Mary and danced down
the street with them, smiling.
I was mixing the ground meat to put into the loaf pan while Jimmy hovered over my shoulder.
“Mmmmfff?” he asked.
I snapped back, “What?”
“What are you doing?” he asked, his breath smelling like citrus, lips smacking irritatingly.
“Making something flashy for Christmas dinner,” I retorted, searching for the stuffing. “Where the hell are the red and green Jujubes?”
“Oops,” Jimmy said, swallowing hard.
I looked at him incredulously. “What am I going to do now?”
Jimmy pulled the olives from the shelf. “Here,” he said, “Red and green.”
Dumbfounded I asked, “Who on earth would eat olive loaf?”
I ride through space on the back of an intergalactic and extraordinary space turtle. The turtle’s shell was cracked in a recent encounter with a group of thugs from the Macaroni Space Pirate League. The worst part is, after we disposed of the thugs in a nebula inhabited by the Cheese Mafia, to get to a planet with the supplies to repair the shell, first we’d have to pass through an asteroid belt. With an already damaged shell, this could be deadly. Worse was the fact that the asteroids were not made of rock and ore, but of olive loaf.
I can’t believe I trusted my brother (a butcher) when he invited me to “THE LOAF”…
I shoulda been paying attention, but I was already schussing through the alpine glades of the ski resort Sugarloaf in my mind.
I bought goggles, researched skis to demo… Hell, I even worked out at the gym…
Imagine my surprise as we buzzed past the exit…
Whoa Dave! – ya missed it!
Huh? Wha…? Sugarloaf??
Nah man, we’re headed to OLIVE LOAF… Best hamn deli convention on the east coast!
What I missed in moguls, I made up for with pastrami on rye….
I, Baron Munchausen, do declare this latest adventure to be an unmitigated disaster.
Instead of banquets and parades, I find myself destitute and without my usual companions.
Even Bucephalus, my loyal steed, had run off to greener pastures.
You see, I was given a challenge by Catherine the Great, who’s hand in marriage I had the honor to refuse, to sail the oceans of wine to find islands of Gold and Silver cheese.
Instead, we found… Olive Loaf.
Not gold. Not Silver.
Plain Olive Loaf.
“At least it is not head cheese,” I said.
Catherine nodded, and ordered me beheaded.