Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Ninety-Two, 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 PICK TWO!
And we’ve got stories by:
Thomas Pitre
Tura Brezoianu
Tom
Chris Munroe
TJ
Zackmann
Steven the Nuclear Man
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Abernathy
Norval Joe
Danny
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
Thomas
Theodore Eggabrotten and I went shopping for a nose. Theodore’s was almost gone. Excessive drinking and years of picking kiwis in the hot sun had taken its toll. The mall was open, and as we nosed around, we eventually found our way to the spare body parts store. We asked if there were any noses. The woman looked around and found the last one in a dark, mildewed corner under the counter. She dusted it off and burnished the tip on her apron. It was discolored, so it was marked down. He attached it with Velcro and some MJackson Adhesive.
Timmy’s dead, or was near death, as his body temperature dropped to 45 degrees. Tina had brought the spider with her, and urged the hungry, sepia-colored sac to crawl up Timmy’s nose as they toured the flea market. She almost got her Christmas wish, as Timmy’s life was now on the highway to the dangerzone because of Tina’s vehement compulsion to see him suffer–as she did, during their short, intense, but cruel relationship. The African Cheircanthium spider was stolen from the glass container at the college, and Tina knew the bug’s potential for resolving her “little problem” with Timmy.
Tura
On a Sunday it is pleasant to wander the Flohmarkt, especially among
the Christmas lights. I picked up a faded daguerrotype. It was of
the old Meyerplatz, from before the War. A bright spring morning,
draymen loading their horse-drawn carts, and in the middle, a young
man striding assuredly across the square, a bundle under his arm.
“What do you wish, sir?” asked the stallholder.
The carts rattled and jingled; one of the new trams slowly drew into
the square. And in the fresh cold air, I strode briskly on to my
bachelor lodgings, with bread fresh from the baker’s.
Tom
Jake Conroy had completed his doctorial paper but needed to test his final set of equations. So he walked up to the first people he saw on the corner of 4th and Drucker said “jack conroy sends this forward” and slapped the person on the cheek. Five years later Dr Conroy’s book 45 Degrees of Separation became required reading at Stanford’s Advance Mathematic Institute. Much to his surprise one day he opened his door and saw Mother Theresa standing there sporting a major black eye. “From his holiness to your nose” she said and layed out a brutal right cross
Chris
I made a Christmas wish, for peace on earth.
And there was peace.
So the next day I made another wish, for good will to all.
This too was granted. That’s when my problems began.
I wished every day after that. I couldn’t stop, helpless against the power of my wishes.
The least among us? Cared for.
Equality among all? Achieved.
The world became paradise, but I was in hell, trapped in endless wishing.
Finally, the next Christmas, I wished myself freedom from wishing, and for the previous year to’ve never happened.
So yeah. Sorry, world. Couldn’t handle the compulsion.
TJ
After a few jarring mishaps I’d had what seemed like a run of good luck with Sandra. She was funny and charming and our dates had gone so well I’d almost changed my mind about eMusicalChairs.com. It wasn’t until our third date I noticed how deliberate her exits were. Our fourth date she cut off so sharply I felt compelled to follow her home. Once there I saw through the window… Sandra dressed as a swan, with a beak for a nose. She answered the door. “There were… leftovers,” I said, hesitantly. “Thanks!” she said. “Put ’em on my bill!”
Zackmann
Did you see the Hunger Games last night, set in the Flea Market?
“Highway to the Danger Zone” is their theme song. Timmy should not have sliced Sophias face and taunted “I got your nose” She grabbed a lawn dart and now Timmy is dead. Too bad for Sophia with her compulsion to enter that Sepia colored Lexus. Lexus was likely on her Christmas list. It was 45 degrees. She was likely hoping for a heater not an explosion. I was so against blood sports on television until the reality show writers and producers were forced to became the contestants.
Steven the Nuclear Man
Roger left his office building, gingerly holding the box of leftovers.
His co-workers had left him passed out after the office party,
Post-It labels of “Scrooge” and “Humbug” on his forehead.
That didn’t matter. The ghosts had come. All three, just like
Dickens, though they’d talked about CDOs, short-selling and
unemployment. It wasn’t just numbers anymore – he’d seen the effect
of his trading.
The protesters were still there, despite the cold and snow.
“If you’re hungry, I’ve got food,” he said to the demonstrator laying
on a bench, clutching a crutch.
But he lay unmoving in the December cold.
Chris the Nuclear Kid
> I walk quickly, carefully, cautiously, fearfully. My hunger nagging me as I find a store with food. I stop suddenly and listen. I here groans and gunshots. Just as I turn to leave I here a high pitch scream catches my attention and I go inside.
>
> “Timmy, Sara?!” I exclaimed surprised to find my old friends. I ran to their side, zombies were everywhere.
>
> Timmy’s pouch of bullets fell forwards and he dove after them, right into a zombie that attacked him. The smell of blood attracting the other zombies. Moments later we saw Timmy’s body… and we run.
Abernathy and Sachy
Nora walked through the sea of snow boots and side pony-tails stuck at a Napoleon Dynamite themed party. Gulping down her Liger Martini and listing to Jamiroquai’s “Canned Heat”, she eyes the only other person not dressed like Pedro or a llama and sits down beside him. He turns towards her. “This is the coolest idea, huh? I mean, what could be more fun than a Napoleon Dynamite themed party?!” Finishing off her drink she says coldly. “Anything.” Putting her empty glass down, grabs her cell and sends a text to a friend. “Where the fuck are you?”
Norval Joe
“Why do you love me, William?” she asked.
“‘Do you love me?’ is the question you should be asking me,” he thought as he gazed into her vacant eyes. ” or maybe, ‘Why do you put up with me?'”
This wasn’t the first time she’d asked him that question. In fact, she had asked it every time they’d gone out these last two months.
He had the compulsion to tell her it was the size of her bust or the size of her father’s estate. Would she even get it?
“It’s your nose, Vickie,” he said. “I love your nose.”
Zackmann
Did you see the Hunger Games last night, set in the Flea Market?
“Highway to the Danger Zone” is their theme song. Timmy should not have sliced Sophias face and taunted “I got your nose” She grabbed a lawn dart and now Timmy is dead. Too bad for Sophia with her compulsion to enter that Sepia colored Lexus. Lexus was likely on her Christmas list. It was 45 degrees. She was likely hoping for a heater not an explosion. I was so against blood sports on television until the reality show writers and producers were forced to became the contestants.
Danny Dwyer
Oh my god, you killed Kenny! No, actually I killed Timmy, the lovable South Park character in a wheelchair that least deserved to die. I was fulfilling a Christmas wish to a boy dying from cancer in Jersey City, New Jersey, his name was Jimmy. He was an aspiring handicapped comedian, also on South Park before the cancer. He was supposed to go to Cesar Sinai hospital in NYC, but he didn’t have the health insurance to cover the expense. Instead, Jimmy was sent to a second rate hospital in Jersey City. My Christmas wish? Make health insurance a right.
Planet Z
I admit that whenever I have the need to measure or make a 45 degree angle, the first thing I think to do is ask to borrow your nose.
Sure, a protractor or an angle-guide is a lot more convenient, but your nose is much more convenient, and it’s not like you’d ever forget to bring it with you.
You know, like the tape measure. Or the epipien.
Of course, one must take precautions when making angles with a nose.
Now, I mark the wood with a pencil using your nose as a guide.
(Sorry about the circular saw slipping.)