Weekly Challenge #376 – Yellow

WARNING: My audio quality sucks this week. I used a Logitech H540 USB headset because my H530 broke. The H540 sounds muddy and awful. I’m heading to Micro Center to pick up an H530 if they have one, or a Plantronics if they don’t. (Anyone need a free crappy Logitech H540 headset?)

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

This is Weekly Challenge, 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 YELLOW:

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

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of ANONYMOUS.

Use the Share buttons at the end of the post to spam your social networks. This obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Pants cat

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.


A Well Defined Relationship Part 5

Denman is the 5th rook from the sun. Your average M1 planet secondarily
known for Agro-mining, but primarily and singularly known for its D
classification. Denman was a Deity planet. Any signal act of sufficient
devotion could and often did manifest the god of your choosing. Timmy
hadn’t chosen the Flying Spaghetti Monster currently silhouetted in the
twin moon of Denman. “Look like were about to become the blue plate
special” “Not today” cried Timmy point at his Zauberlehrling creation.
John Wayne and the whole F! US cavalry slammed into the FSM. Banister
triumphantly whistled,” She wore a Yellow Ribbon.”


On the Road
by Jeffrey Fischer

The yellow car turned the corner and accelerated on the broad highway, only to be stopped again by a traffic light. The car looked like something Big Bird might drive. Melvin assumed the buyer had lost a bet. The driver appeared nervous. He wore dark sunglasses and his hair was close cropped. When a police car pulled up behind, the driver of the yellow car looked in the rear-view mirror and reached across the passenger seat, perhaps to open the glove compartment.

The cop fiddled with his computer – maybe running the yellow car’s plates? – as the light turned. Both cars rolled through the intersection, and Melvin was left to wonder how the drama, if any, would unfold.

The Crossing
by Jeffrey Fischer

In the third week, our caravan began to run short of water. The yellow sun hung huge in the sky and beat down mercilessly. We had underestimated the amount of time to cross the desert, and found no oasis to restock.

Rain was an unlikely wish, and the intense heat of the day meant we had to stop and take shelter under the canopies until the heat began to break for the evening.

We traveled as far as possible at night, driving the horses to exhaustion. Two collapsed, and we had no choice but to leave them behind. At our current rate, we would be lucky to reach the edge of the desert alive. Still, this route was the only way to get the child to court in time for the coronation.

by Jeffrey Fischer

“You callin’ me yellow?” the cowboy said, glaring at Sam. Sam, a bespectacled man of slight build, took a step back.

“Er, no, sir. I just said you appeared jaundiced, that your skin has a yellowish tone.”

That didn’t mollify the cowboy, who shouted to no one in particular, “You heard that – he thinks I’m a coward.” To Sam, he said, “Draw, or I’m gonna gun you down anyway.”

Sam thought quickly. He didn’t want to die in a disreputable bar in a nothing town, merely because a cowboy had more aggression than vocabulary.

“No, sir. I said you’re a mighty fine fellow.”


Yellow Future

A yellow line divided the town in two. On one side lived the blue-eyed, on the other the brown-eyed. No one remembered why this division was implemented, yet everyone remembered who had used the yellow paint to draw the line, McAllister. His descendants retouched that line every year, perpetuating its forgotten meaning. One day, yellow was banned from the market due to a toxic component of the color. McAllister’s descendants tried a red line that year, but the result was disastrous. Blue-eyed and brown-eyed crossed the line defiantly, back and forth. The town completely forgot the line. The McAllisters didn’t…


#1 – Yellow

Fairly quickly, George learned that carrying forty tins of tomatoes was not conducive to rapid progress and, struggling with his load, it soon struck him that he’d been a complete idiot.

Why walk when there were abandoned vehicles everywhere he passed?

Not just any car would do though: he wanted something with a bit of muscle that he could rely on in a crisis – speed was out too; the streets were littered with debris and would likely be a death trap.

Passing a building site, the brutal yellow bulk of a large bulldozer caught his eye.

Now, that would do nicely!

#2 – Custard

Yellow is definitely not my favourite colour – it may well be the colour of sunshine and happiness, but it’s also the colour of custard – in my mind, a substance more vile and repulsive than any other.

Whether the cloying, sticky ooze, sandwiched between the pastry of the confectioner’s creation, or the pale, thin dribble of nastiness, clinging to your rhubarb crumble desert, there is nothing more disgusting than a dollop of custardly gloop.

By all means, surround me with hues of red, green and blue, they’re just fine by me – but keep your custard yellow to yourself, if you please.

#3 – Volcano

Scientists tell us that lurking deep beneath Yellowstone National Park there is huge super-volcano that will, one day, be the death of us all.

It’s cataclysmic eruption will annihilate much of North America and plunge the unprepared world into another ice age: we will all perish in the dark, cold fury of the endless volcanic winter.

So, what are the scientists doing about it?

Well, they’re investing their time and energy researching the geology and mechanics of Yellowstone.

No, scientists! Stop researching geology and how we’re going to die… and start inventing anti-volcanic disaster safety domes, or something!


Black and Yellow

By Christopher Munroe



You know what it is.

Black and yellow.

Black and yellow.

Black and yellow.

Black and yellow…

And thus, Wiz Kaleefa sang my very favorite song about bees.

Or maybe it’s about Pittsburgh.

Maybe it’s about that time Pittsburgh was infested with angry bees?

Did that happen? Was it a movie? Because I’d watch that!

Anyway, my second favorite song about bees is by Coldplay.

Look at the stars, see how they shine for you?

And all the things that you do.

And they were all…

…black and yellow.

Black and yellow.

Black and yellow.

Black and yellow…


Did your school physics teacher ever set the question, if the sun’s yellow, why does everything seem to be lit up by white light? That one’s easy: it’s because the rest of the sky’s blue. With yellow that makes white.

But try this one. The Moon shines by reflecting the Sun’s light. So why isn’t it yellow?

It’s because the Moon itself is blue! It’s made of blue cheese, not green! That’s why we’ve not been back since Apollo. The Swiss bankers don’t want competition for the Swiss cheese industry.



We were placid calm blues and violets, the predawn still, bodies
wrapped around each other, radiating warmth against the slight summer
morning chill.

The dark still night is the place where busyness and activity and
words cannot hide you from yourself. Cannot save her from her fears.

She wakes with the first slivers of sunlight, and once it’s safe
enough, busy enough to start the day, the jealousy begins with demands
and screams and shouting loud enough to save her from her own

She is backlit, yelling, by the morning sun. Her words smear the
colors of our relationship.


Jack Knife knew fortune was smiling on him when the swing of his pickaxe striking the rocky surface revealed the flash and sparkle of a rich vein of gleaming yellow… he’d struck the motherload.

Later that day, his triumph turned to woe, as he ran from the assay office, the laughter of his fellow prospectors ringing in his ears:

“That’s fool’s gold, you darned idiot! Nothing but iron ore!”

Now, thirty years later, he gazed through the window of his plush office at the huge operation that was ‘Jack Knife Mining Industries’. He smiled.

“Who’s the fool now?”, he murmured.


(The text will be available eventually… he’s entering this piece into a writing competition.)


Parents dead, killed by a mafia hit on the wrong house. Growing up on the hard streets, alone. He learned to live by the way of shadows. Then one day he met a washed up hobo drinking a bottle of tainted whisky, and he watched him transform into a monster, right before his eyes. Evil had gone too far, crime had overstepped the line of tolerance! He donned the mask, slipped into the spandex, and alighted a fedora upon his head and became


Then he learned to use a sword after punching evil made his knuckles sore.


There is a crash and someone screams “Aray. Hielo”. That was his contact.

She continues “I bet someone emptied that ice chest here intentionally. Why did I agree to meet that yellow journalist?”

Frank offers a hand to help lady up saying “I’m not a yellow journalist, I had jaundice.Do you have it?”

“Why could you not have gotten this yourself” she says handing him the Cap’n Crunch box.

“My wife doesn’t allow sugary cereal in our house but I have to see if there’s any truth in Dan Brown’s conspiracy theory. Starting why Cap’n wears a Commander’s uniform.”


Hello? Yes, I’m still holding. Yes, the bomb is still ticking.
When’s the bomb squad going to be here?
Why not? Retirement party? Well, yes, forty years is a long time to defuse bombs.
So what am I supposed to do?
Nail clippers? Yes, but…
Well, ok. Yes, I see the wires.
Red, yellow, blue, and green.
Really? In the movies, they always cut the red wire.
Ok, cutting the yellow wire.
What? The red wire? But you said the yellow one.
Just how long HAVE you been an intern there?
Yeah, well, the first day’s always the toughest.



by June Faramore

Yellow filters down to a tree not yet touched with dew as Cerwin ducks behind it for cover. The chase is on, and constant awareness is necessary, even in these quiet morning hours. The tealans squack, announcing the approach of the hunt, and with every wet sound he prays for the rain to return to cover his scent.

Cerwin did not realize filching a lemon cake would cause this much chaos. Leanna wanted it, and he wanted her, wanted up her short-skirt and whatever else hid behind the long-jacket worn by all girls not yet betrothed.

Cerwin runs from yellow.


Dan shovelled a mouthful of his breakfast cereal into his mouth, savoring the crunchy sweetness. He knew from experience if he didn’t eat quickly the trademarked crunch would soon become mush.
With shock he looked to the box before him and gasped, “The primary colors.”
He couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. There, before him on the box, yellow, red and blue. He turned the box sideways reading in blind disbelief, “Corn Flour, Sugar, Oat Flour, Brown Sugar, Coconut Oil.”
An image of the smiling Quaker Oat man loomed in his head as he whispered, “The Captain Crunch Conspiracy.”


The expert went on describing his qualifications as an expert. It goes as follows: After I received my bachelor’s degree in Yellow Lunch Box Technology and DNA collection, I was then somehow hired by the State of Florida, in a demented state, then underwent extensive training packaging sandwiches wrapped in wax paper put into yellow lunchboxes, followed by a six month apprenticeship. The State Attorney continued, Your honor, I would like to submit Mr. ChingChingChuCiWApromiseI’mnotaracistjustsoundlikeone as an expert on packaging sandwiches wrapped in wax paper and placing them into a yellow lunch box. Any objections, Mr. Weiss? YES! I object to the term Yellow.


It’s wedding season! The hotel Manager announces gleefully as she walks through the lobby to her office. I guess, “good morning to staff” is not worth the same effort. Lola has too much on her plate, so she ignores her and focuses on the guests checking in. Violet, the Hotel Interior designer is getting married on Independence Day and she wants Lola’s opinion on the color scheme. Violet’s favorite color is saffron yellow. So she decided, everything except her gown will have a touch of yellow. The bridesmaids would have to find matching shoes. The men must wear the exact shade of yellow tie or they’ll come face to face with a bridezilla.
Lola nods and smiles as she shows her the wedding plan, guest list, cake choice and the piece the resistance, her massive yellow diamond ring. This is all too consuming for Lola without caffeine or a cocktail. Wedding talk is like asking a new guest about their day and they derail into details about their whole trip, including what they ate on the plane. All of a sudden, Lola says, “oh wow, look at the time.” I have a meeting with the Manager, as she slides away from the counter. Lola wishes her luck on her big colorful Independence day bash and trapped herself into the dragon lady’s office.


When she was a kitten, her eyes were yellow.

But after she lost her mate, her eyes turned green.

Then, when we got her a kitten to keep her company, her eyes would change from yellow to green, depending on her mood. They were usually a muddy yellow. Never were the same again.

I hear her howl from the bedroom. I know she is carrying around a toy ball and searching for her mate to give it to.

She will never find him.

Green. Yellow.

These are merely colors. What matters is that you see what you want to see.

4 thoughts on “Weekly Challenge #376 – Yellow”

  1. Richard – I love custard. I’m not sure I’ll look at it the same way again, however. (Right now Richard is thinking “Mission accomplished.”)

    I loved Cliff’s story. I often wondered why these bomb makers don’t just standardize on the wire that needs cutting. Sure, maybe they want some randomization in there so potential victims can’t defuse them so easily, but, on the other hand, an awful lot of bomb makers seem to detonate early, and maybe standardization would have helped them.

    And Laurence – the sound quality wasn’t that bad. A little echo-y, maybe, but not awful. It’s weird, though, that they can’t make a new product as good as the old one.

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