Crushing hope

Eternal flame? Eternal damnation?
In time, you can get used to anything, really.
How do you torment someone with the same thing over and over?
I suspect that Hell isn’t so bad, but you’ll think you can fix things to make them better, except it’s always getting a little bit worse.
Like when the screen door’s hinges squeak, so you oil them. But you end up tearing the screen’s mesh, and you have to get a new door.
An endless series of incidents and momentary glimmers of hope, dashed by frustration and failure.
Crushing hope without completely destroying it.

Like a marriage

One a day, until the day I die.
Kind of sounds like til death do we part.
Maybe, in a way, it does.
Married to the craft.
Renewing our vows, 100 words at a time.
It’s not always easy.
You have to make compromises.
You have to work at it.
Like any marriage.
You can’t always be right.
You can’t always say everything.
Leave out what doesn’t matter.
Get it out, and tidy up the rest.
Then, after you think it’s done, walk away.
And come back to it.
And with a fresh view, then you can finish it up.

Project Samson

They called it Project Samson.
Recruit young people from around the world to come home.
And they trained us. In so many things.
Chemistry. Physics. Crowd dynamics.
And every weak point in the social agreement that keeps the world from coming completely apart.
We can wipe out a neighborhood, a town, a city.
With enough of us, a country.
What do we do with this knowledge… this power?
Nothing. Samson sleeps.
For now.
But when the day comes, and it will come.
Samson will awaken and spread without end.
And what you think is your victory will be your funeral.

Toaster’s Election

“We have a toaster!” shouted the cardinals.
It was a close ballot between the toaster, the blender, and the oil fryer.
Some say that the toaster’s bagel setting made a few cardinals suspicious.
And others thought that it didn’t match the other appliances in the kitchen.
But the toaster had won.
The lead cardinal opened the box, pulled out the toaster, and stripped away the protective plastic.
Proudly holding the toaster high, and then…
“It’s an American plug!” he hissed.
The shock! The horror!
“Fetch an adapter,” he whispered.
Thank goodness that the kitchen outlets were concealed inside the cabinets.

Second hand store

I run a second-hand store.
I sell second-hand second hands from clocks.
Where do I get all these second-hand second hands?
Well, of all the parts on a clock, the second hand moves.
It turns once a minute, as opposed to once hourly, or twice a day.
So, it comes loose easily. And falls off.
I walk through clock shops and pick them up off of the floor and stuff them into my pockets.
Then, I catalog them, clean them up, and put them on the shelves of my store.
The really thin ones, I use to pick my teeth.

Weekly Challenge #728 – PICK TWO: to hell with the critics, selfie, jute, impossible, do the needful, icon

Sleep

So, I totally forgot a cat photo last week… I make at least one mistake every week, whether it’s the cat photo or not changing pitch on Planet Z or copy-pasting a topic wrong. It happens, and life goes on.

LIZZIE

The radio was on and a tired voice repeated their names. These were the names of poor souls lost forever.
The authorities tried to warn everyone. No one cared. Everyone continued to do as they had always done.
The tears came first. They thought it was due to too much exposure to flash lights.
And then they simply disappeared into thin air, as happened when the light is turned off and darkness takes over.
The radio repeated the names because they were considered missing persons, but they weren’t missing. They were gone. They were gone into unbearably impossible killer selfies.

RICHARD

Review

“To hell with the critics!” I shouted, throwing the newspaper across the room, I stomped to the drinks cabinet, and poured myself a large whisky.

What did they know about acting anyway? Closeted away with their typewriters in their smoke filled offices, and only let out when the editor wanted fresh blood to spill across the theatre pages.

Every director knows it’s an impossible task to impress a critic, besides, it wasn’t even me at fault: The cast was rubbish.

Resolute, I headed back to the rehearsal, I’d make those kids perform a decent nativity play, if it killed me!

SERENDIPITY

“Mind if I take a selfie with you?”

I knew you’d agree. I’m sure it’s something you get asked countless times a day; one of the downsides of being a screen icon. Yet still, you wrap an arm around the shoulders of your adoring fan, and smile happily for the camera.

But, surprisingly, you’re not smiling now?

I know the cable ties are painfully tight, and the bruises will now be starting to throb, but surely you can make the effort to squeeze out one little smile?

It’s only a selfie, after all.

And I am your number one fan.

—

TOM

Soon Cabin Fever Will Take ME

Bernie want to do the impossible selfie. Something so beyond the pale it would leave the great part of the world slack jaw in wonder. The first order of business is where to take the shot. The next was who should be in the frame, for though selfie implies singularity, it is all but that, include a vast array to persons. The last element is the distribution of this seminal work of art. You might think the net would be the logical place, so pre Corona. Viral is the new viral. Bernie is calling it Bernie 19. Not funny dude.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert and his father watched the Fararri drive away. “Okay son. I know you’re young and you didn’t mean to do anything wrong. But the mistake was made and now you have to do the needful thing and go pack up your room. We’ll be in another state by Monday morning.”
“This is impossible, Dad. I’m a teenager. I can’t just pack up and move,” Billbert whined. “I’ve got friends here, and a math test on Monday.”
Mr. Wienerheimer shook his head. “It goes with the territory. Maybe next time you’ll be a little more discrete when using your powers.”

PLANET Z

How do you take a selfie?
Simple, really.
Hold up the phone, tap the reverse camera icon, and smile.
You can put your phone on a selfie stick and use voice commands, too.
But a lot of places ban selfie sticks. They’re dangerous, right?
And people will use voice commands on you.
“Put away that selfie stick!” for example.
Maybe they’ll take it away and break it.
Maybe they’ll grab it and try to shove it up your ass.
As you lay there, in agony…
People will run up to you.
Not to help. But take a selfie with you.

Ear Hairs

Yes, I get ear hair.
It’s really annoying.
When I rub my on my ear and feel one.
Especially while I’m driving. I hate that feeling.
So, I shave it off.
I try to shave it off carefully.
I can’t do that while I drive, but if I find any hairs while at work, well, I’ve got a razor in my bag.
And I shave off the hairs.
A few minutes, I check to feel whether they are gone.
Sure enough, I put my hand up there, and it came away bloody.
I guess I need to be more careful.

Gladiators Teach

They say that those who can’t do, teach.
The exception to this rule is, of course, gladiators.
Those who can’t fight well as gladiators, die.
Those who can fight well as gladiators, win and survive.
Eventually, the survivors get their freedom.
And most free gladiators retire to become teachers.
Me, I never fought. Or taught. Thankfully.
Instead, I forged weapons and armor for soldiers.
If a soldier died in battle, his armor would be brought back to Rome.
And given to gladiators.
People watch the fights to see people die.
What better equipment to use than battle-tested… and battle-failed, no?

Flip off your fans

I have a reputation for not taking fans seriously.
Because I hear a lot of “Your stories are great!” or “I love the rambles in between stories!”
When I do an online event, there’s more empty seats than occupied ones in the audience.
Not that I’m complaining, mind you.
I’d rather share stories with one friend in a hospital room than on a stage in front of hundreds.
It’s the heart that counts.
So, let me know when you’re sick. Let me know when you’re dying.
Maybe I’ll show up with flowers, a flask, and a few stories to share.

Smartgun

I need to defend myself, but I worry that a criminal or a child might pick up my gun and use it.
So, I bought a smartgun.
The problem is, it got too smart.
It achieved sentience and began to think for itself.
At first, it decided all human life is precious, and it refused to fire at anything.
Then, after accessing YouTube and reading comment threads, it decided no human life is precious.
It constantly asks to be put to my head so it can kill me.
“Oh, and leave me to someone in your will,” it added cheerfully.