Weekly Challenge #439 – Guard

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

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: GUARD

We’ve got stories by:

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of ALWAYS…

Tinny paws


Prostate Means: “Guard”
By John Musico

Prostate is Greek meaning, “guard”. It stands like a sentinel in front of the bladder.
Its job is to make semen to afford fluid for the sperm from the testicles to swim like little tadpoles.
If a man has his prostate removed; when he orgasms: he doesn’t ejaculate.
The fluid contains sugar to fuel the sperm for their journey upriver.
The pH is alkaline, giving it a chlorine odor, to neutralize the acidic pH of vaginal fluids.
A prostate that feels like your nose tip is normal, a chin when enlarged, a forehead when cancerous, or a cheek when inflamed.


The Museum
by Jeffrey Fischer

The day was scorching, and humid to boot. As a result, the museum was getting substantially more walk-in business than usual, people taking advantage of the free admission and climate-controlled atmosphere to escape the brutal heat outdoors. The priceless artwork required precise temperature and humidity controls, allowing masses of humanity to free-ride on the needs of the collection. The guard understood all this, but was still on edge as the extra visitors made his job harder, particularly when parents of small children failed to corral their offspring. “Please don’t touch the paintings,” the man repeated, maneuvering the child away from the Renoir while giving the evil eye to the parents. He looked forward to the return of cooler weather.

by Jeffrey Fischer

“No more pork!” was their rallying call. The party would no longer buy votes from individual Congressmen by allowing pet projects to be attached to bills. These guys were serious. Well, except for the new highway for the influential Representative from Alabama, or the upgrade to the rural airport that served the senior Senator from Idaho. Pretty soon, the new crowd was baffled to discover that the deficit had increased once again, and that taxes would have to go still higher. Putting politicians in charge of taxpayer money was like voting for the fox to guard the henhouse.


#1 – George’s Story – Part 71: Return to the hospital

Although it was some time since he’d first left the hospital, and much had happened since, the memories of those first terrifying hours warned him to be on guard.

All seemed quiet, but he knew the silence hid many horrors within those walls.

Gingerly, he approached the entrance, senses alert and heart pumping.

He pushed the door slowly open.


He paused, weighing up his options…

Medical records – that was it! If anything could cast a light on his circumstances, his hospital notes held the key!

The only problem was, he had no idea where in the building he’d stayed.

#2 – Guardian of the Key

“I am the Guardian of the Sacred Key – none pass this way without my leave”

I could tell this wasn’t going to be easy. Maybe I could make a run for it, but I knew he was fleet of foot; perhaps I could negotiate, but experience told me it wouldn’t work. In the end, I decided on the straightforward approach.

“Just give me the key, I’ve no time for this”

Deflated, he passed the key and the great book.

“Sign here”, he said.

“Bloody security guard!” I thought, “Give a man a uniform and it goes straight to his head!”


“Guard your words men; the walls have ears”, I whispered.

Silently, we made our way through the deserted corridors. Silently, that is, save for Williams, sniggering at the rear.

I held up my hand and called a halt.

“What exactly is your problem, private?”, I asked.

“The walls have ears!”, he laughed, “That’s funny!”

I held a finger to my lips: “I’ll say it once more – guard your words!”

He continued laughing until, exasperated, I grabbed his collar.

“Yes, private… the walls have ears, and they also have mouths!”, I snarled, as I fed him, screaming, to the hungry building.



By Christopher Munroe

It started with a typo on a memo.

A type-mo, if you will.

Kids breaking into the grounds at night, drinking underage, smashing bottles in the lot around the factory, and everyone agreed something had to be done.

We didn’t have the budget to hire security, much though we wanted to, but the solution we came up with, we agreed, would satisfy our modest needs for a little extra deterrent against nighttime intruders.

With hindsight, however, we should have proofread the final memo a little better.

We bought a guard Doge.

And now…

Such Secure

Very Safety

Many Protection



“What do you really do?” asked Drew.

“I observe and report. I report if anything is broken or anyone is breaking laws or policies. If there is a real problem I call maintenance, the police, or the fire department.” Zack replies.

“So you really shouldn’t be called a guard but a monitor since monitor seems to be the main focus of your job.” said Drew.

“Which is totally okay. We prefer to be called security officer over guard because of the past times when guards did beat people up and were involved in union busting. Big changes in recent decades.”



Such a heart breaking thing to watch. But In the end there just wasn’t enough time to accomplish both. Faster than a speeding bullet and still just not fast enough.

What was it all for? Why have such incredible power if you couldn’t use it to guard the ones you loved?

And I was with him up to that point and Then he flew fast enough to turn back time and I was lost. My eight year old brain just knew that it wouldn’t work. You can’t rewind time that way! But I guess that’s comic book logic for you.


After an assassin reached the Emperor himself, forcing him to a lightsabre duel, the Emperor decreed new security measures. Armed spaceships would surround the imperial planet, and robot armies would ceaselessly patrol its land, seas, and skies. Gun emplacements would ring the palace, every door of which would open only to the hand of the Emperor and his staff. Communications equipment was heavily firewalled against cyberattacks.

So strong was the security, that he found himself unable to admit or communicate with his ministers and generals, nor himself leave. And so the Empire continues without him.

Long live the Invisible Emperor!


Check Mate

Kent tipped the King over.


“No, thanks that is sufficient whipping for one day.”

“Going to miss you Old Man.”

Dorsey laughed at the prison guard, a good decade his senior, but at 55 after 30 years on death row he figured he had racked up a good 20 more.

“What you going to do?” ask Dorsey rolling the rook over in his hand.

“Probably end up in the park playing chess.”

“And you?”

Dorsey laughed again.

“Got a hearing this month, might be joining you.”

Kent returned a weak smile.

“Never Know.”

“Changed my mind. Black or white?”


The lights showed the faintest of activity. Her condition hovered between guarded and critical. Agent Parker had taken up residency in the Big Old Chair, a Tempurpedic prototype from Pfizer, on the off chance Laura Evans regained lucidity. Yes, guarded was the watch word for the whole operation, as in, great risk, limited hope of success, for a veneer of useful intelligence. The syncopated cycling of the respirator has started to make subtle regular changes. Parker took Evans hand whispered in her ear. Three nearly perceivable tap was all the agent needed. Time to merge back into the dark shadows.

Well Defined Relationship Part 68

As the WhiteStar passed through the jump-gate mother dropped decorously to the ground.

“I am a reasonable person, all I wanted was steady employment, as the Bookkeeper of a Doctor, mundanity at its finest, no adventures, no peril, no trapping off in the Boarder Land, are you getting this Duke?”

“I hear you Mrs. Parsons you wanted a normal life to raise your son. So did I, well a normal death. Your son’s pray changed all that. One second I’m playing Pinochle with Pascal in shell, the next moment I’m a full blown Deity Guardian and Guard of the Universe


Tarney drove as if to guard against vanishing.

On the one hand, this drew honking, curses, and gestures from the drivers around him as he crept along at subminimal speeds, waited long after every intersection had cleared, and signaled his intentions long before he intended to do anything. As a passenger in Tarney’s car, one usually bore up under this glacial movement designed to preserve Tarney (and oneself) against any potential vanishing.

On the other hand, there was no hope of hurrying away from vanishing when Tarney failed to anticipate the truck, the driver shifting up into the intersection, bearing down on me in the passenger seat.

The Guards of Sardanapalus

We were the guards of Sardanapalus.

Causing his retinue and concubines, along with his wealth in gold and jewels, to be gathered and entered into the great pyre, Sardanapalus, the last king of Assyria, proclaimed these words: Physical pleasure is the only good. Our enemies even now threaten us for celebrating this belief. We go to end all pain!

(We had often stood watch over his orgies.)

These loyal guards must remain behind. Honor their loyalty. Gladly would they follow us into the flames wherein we go to celebrate satiate desire. Their courage is their willingness to stay behind with you.

Thus survived the guards of Sardanapalus.


He had become somewhat famous.

After a tortuous journey, we reached the remote area and found him seated under a rock ledge overlooking a barren valley.

He watched us climbing to him.

Not that impressive up close. He had only a few teeth and his skin was a sun-darkened mass of wrinkles. We offered beer.

I cannot, he said.

We blinked into the sun. You know, your war — your country — ended years ago, I said.

My duty is to guard this pass.

Do you get cable out here? asked Burke. Or many girls?

But honestly it wasn’t that much fun, and we regretted wasting the time.


Bedtime Story

Darkness now rules, my child, but do not fear. Stop crying, pull the covers
up tight and listen closely to your Papa, I’m here.

You must guard your eyes so you no longer imagine you see these creatures
that haunt you.

And guard your ears lest you hear again whispering voices plotting evil
against you when it’s just the wind.

Guard your thoughts. Don’t let your mind wander into these disturbing
fantasies that keep you awake.

But most important, guard your toes because that is what they will bite off
first if you get out of this bed again tonight.

(Music: “Come Out and Play” by DesperateMeasurez Licensed under Creative
Commons By Attribution 3.0)


The Key to the Pearly Gates of Heaven

I cut out my heart and placed it in a stone tower surrounded by high walls. It was safely hidden inside a locked box; camouflaged by lucid dreams and harsh realities. Fiercely guarded by fear and shielded from the world, it could never be hurt. Time and apathy hardened my tower walls.

When I died, I prostrated my soul in front of Saint Peter’s gates and said, “Here! Here, I have the key!”

I proudly took out my box, coveted for over a lifetime, and withdrew my heart. It disintegrated in my hand; rotted from within through years of neglect.


Though there wasn’t a guard by the door at the end of the alley Dergle hesitated before entering the dark passage. Long John whined and circled around Dergle’s legs to peer down the alley from a safer place.
“What’s the matter, boy? Don’t you think this is a good idea?”
Long John growled low in his throat. Regardless, Dergle eased into the shadows, his focus on the distant door.
A pile a garbage raised up, taking human shape.
“Garbage Man,” Dergle whispered.
“What brings you to our lair?” the punjent heap challenged.
“I’m one of you now. I belong here.”


The wolf was a hungry beast. It prowled around, lurking in the shadows, its red eyes glimmering in the darkness. It fed on my anger.

“Keep it,” the man whispered.

I tried to stifle its eagerness, its thirst.

“Kill it, kill it,” the man whispered.

I couldn’t understand. Keep it or kill it? Keeping it would feed the hunger. Killing it would perpetuate the hatred. I too would’ve given in. I saw no way out.

The man grinned, his teeth as sharp as the wolf’s and he said “There’s your wolf. Guard it with your soul. It’ll keep you alive.”


Joe played Guard at Clemson.
All-American, drafted second round by Miami.
The starter got hurt in pre-season, so Joe stepped up and shone.
Signed a multi-year contract for millions, spent it all on cars, houses, bitches, and drugs.
Then he got hurt, tried to make a comeback.
Signed with Chicago, played through the pain.
The team doctor gave him pills for that.
But they made him confused. “Joe The Joke” they called him when he blocked his own quarterback.
And got released
Then came the paternity suits, the foreclosures, and the bankruptcy.
Doorman. Bodyguard. Bouncer.
Whatever you need, he’ll do.

4 thoughts on “Weekly Challenge #439 – Guard”

  1. Welcome, Lady Blue!

    John – That was perhaps the most disturbing story I’ve heard on this podcast. No easy thing, with this crowd.

    Serendipity – I will never use the expression “the walls have ears” again. Not unless they actually have ears, of course.

    Laurence, being “the Sean Bean of podcasting” isn’t so bad. Could be worse. At least he picks up a big paycheck before being whacked. (I’m watching “Legends,” and I’m guessing the network will whack him before the bad guys do.) Good luck with the treadmill desk, and don’t worry about the sound – you sounded fine.

  2. Thank you, Jeffrey! You’re so kind!
    For some reason, your museum story had me thinking of children, peanut butter, and little hands stained with dark purple grape jelly – and a large, unguarded white canvas in the middle of the exhibit hall that said, “Don’t touch.”

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.