Seedlings

It takes a century of soaking in The Pond of Knowledge before a sprout can become an Elder.
We test their brain-pods often, and prune off bad leaves and branches and pods to make room for the good ones.
One elder came up with the idea to graft branches and pods from the wisest of The Elder Council to speed along the process.
The results were a total crop failure. The seedlings and the edler were all destroyed.
Wisdom and knowledge must be earned and learned, not grafted.
The Pond had to be cleaned out and replenished with seeds again.

Flick

There was a new critic for the Tribute: Flick Billston.
And he hated everything.
You could open up the Entertainment Section and be entertained by Flickr’s verbal savagery.
The paper got bomb and death threats, directors and actors showing up at their offices demanding to see Flick.
“He works from home,” says the editor. “Sends stuff in with a courier.”
He wasn’t listed in the phone book. No paper trail at all.
The really angry ones hired detectives to follow the courier.
The detectives never reported back. And when Flick’s next review came in, it was that much more vicious.

Back to the drive-in

Every Friday night, every Summer, we’d go down Highway 6 and catch the double-feature at the drive-in.
It’s more than just a movie. It’s a celebration.
We bring a keg. We bring a big pit smoker.
Sometimes, we dress up for the special events.
And there’s dancing. And singing.
It feels like the Summer lasts forever.
But it doesn’t.
Every Fall, as we went back to school, the drive-in closes down.
Until the next Summer comes around.
School’s out, the drive-in’s open again, and everybody can’t wait for Friday night, when we go down Highway 6 to catch the double-feature.

The war

Half a world away, our boys were fighting and dying in a war.
So, we tried to stop the war.
We went out into the streets and protested the war.
We made banners and signs and chanted and blocked the recruiting centers and broke into the bases.
So, they killed our heroes.
They killed MLK. They killed RFK.
We escaped into our music.
Where they couldn’t kill us.
Even if they sent us to the war, we could bring our music with us.
When we went home, alive or dead, the music came back.
And through it, we live on.

The corner store

I’ve lived in this complex for twenty years.
At the end of the street, there’s a corner convenience store.
They sell the basics: beer, milk, candy, and chips.
They used to sell gas, but they had the pumps removed.
Back in the day, the place just looked run-down, but now, it’s downright seedy.
I walked down there for a jug of milk, and it was closed… not just for the holiday, but closed.
A truck and trailer out front, filled with wood and debris.
Peering through the window, the place had been gutted.
Oh well. I’ll have my coffee black.

In Heaven there is no beer

The song says that in Heaven, there is no beer.
There’s wine and whiskey and ouzo, and pretty much everything else, but there is no beer.
You can’t even smuggle it in. The angels will catch you and confiscate the beer.
Do the angels drink it?
No, they pour it out in the street.
That’s why we sneak out at night.
There are a bunch of breweries and bars right outside the gates of Heaven.
And because we’re already on the list, we can get back in again.
Even though St. Peter always goes “You look familiar.”
And he winks.

Weekly Challenge #787 – Don’t Press The Button

Pest

INDEPENDENCE GRAY

Homage to Rod Sterling

It was a stupid gimmick. “Will you press the button?” was just clickbait, the premise a variation of “Would You Rather?” Each time users engaged, the website’s SEO got boosted.

“You get to go back in time to when you had less responsibility. Will you press the button?”

Vicky didn’t hesitate before touching the green icon on her screen, mindlessly enjoying the diversion as she sat in the van waiting for the twins to finish dance lessons.

They never came out, but it was days after they had been reported missing before Vicky thought back to that silly phone game.

RICHARD

Big Red Button

Have you ever seen a great big red button, surrounded with hazard tape, and a sign insisting you shouldn’t press it?

Of course you haven’t – it just a handy way to illustrate reverse psychology.

If somebody doesn’t want you to press a button, it won’t be that easy.

It’ll be hidden away in a secret spot, only accessible by wiggling a paperclip in a tiny hole.

Or sealed beneath a break glass cover; secured with combination locks; or will require two burly military guys to insert their keys simultaneously.

Go on – I dare you to press their button! c

LIZZIE

“This is a camera. It takes snapshots as all cameras do. However, this is not a real camera,” said the seller, smiling.
The client frowned.
“This is a mind-reader.”
The client chuckled.
“You don’t believe it.”
The client shook his head, a sneer on his lips.
“Whatever you do, don’t press the red button. This is how it works.”
The client held the camera and he just had to… Click.
A snapshot slowly slid out of the camera.
The last thing the seller saw, a mask of horror on his face, was his own death on the client’s mind snapshot.

SERENDIPIDY

You know those buttons you have to press to change the lights so you can cross the road safely?

They’re dummies – not connected to anything; they don’t do a damn thing!

And those buttons you press to close the elevator doors?

Nope, those are dummies too.

They don’t work: Their only purpose is to make us feel in control, when in reality, it’s the machines that control us.

Take this power off button on your life support system… I bet that does nothing too.

Still, there’s only one real way to find out, isn’t there?

I can’t resist it!

TURA

The Button
—-
By the Emperor’s hand stands always ready the Button, which travels with him wheresoever he goes. When the Emperor frowns, the Button draws nearer to him; when he laughs, it recedes. None but the Emperor knows what the Button does, but surely must it wreak terrible deeds, should he ever wax so wroth as to press the Button.

Though the Emperor live far beyond the years that are normal to a man, yet must death claim him at last. In the innermost sanctum, the old Emperor passes the secret of the Button to his successor.

“It was disconnected centuries ago.”

TOM

Too Late

I yell to Timmy,” Don’t press that button.” If you have been following my
writing over the pass 16 years you know this can only end fictionally
poorly. Much like Kenny in South Park, Timmy is my go-to name when I know
I will be bump off someone. One time for over Two years I keep Timmy alive
only to your him volunteer to be off-ed in installment 104. Timmy is just
the spirit of on-coming death. So, what did the button do to Master Tim?
Remember the scene in Fargo? No? In a word: Wood-chipper. Funny? No? Too
Bad.

DUANE

His first day on the new temp job, Larry was shown around the laboratory. The lead scientist pointed to a metal box in the corner.

“Rule one: Don’t press the button!”

The scientist had Larry repeat the rule back to him.

“Oh, and don’t sample any of the experiments.”

As soon as he was alone, Larry ran across the room to the box and pushed the button. Nothing happened. He pushed it again, but still nothing happened. He pushed it a few more times before he lost interest and picked up the beaker on a nearby table. It tasted lemony.

NORVAL JOE

Billbert caught his father at the door. “If you think there’s a tiger loose in the neighborhood should you really be going outside right now?”
His father laughed. “This isn’t Huston, son. There haven’t been any reports of tigers in this area. Besides, I’ll just be going across the street.”
Billbert’s mother stood up at that. “Now Hosmer. Do you think that’s a good idea? Linoliamanda’s father is unstable. You don’t want to push that guy’s button if you can avoid it.”
“Don’t worry, Joan. According to his van, he’s the carpet king. I would expect him to behave royally.”

JARED

Max’s Bad Day

“Don’t press the button!” This was pretty much the first thing new recruits heard during orientation. It was also the most frequently repeated warning given that first day, and throughout Max’s employment at SyneDyne Industries. He was sick of it. It reminded him of his mother. And ex-girlfriend. And several schoolteachers. Eventually, he was so fed up, he couldn’t think of anything else. He vowed that he was going to push that damned button that very day. He was so distracted, that he didn’t see or hear the warnings and didn’t get out of the furnace before it fired up.

PLANET Z

There is a button on the console.
It’s red, and looks like there’s a bulb inside of it so it can light up.
Below it, there’s a label:
DON’T PRESS THIS BUTTON
All caps, bright red.
Can’t miss it.
I looked in the manual, and all it says about the button is:
DON’T PRESS THIS BUTTON
Doesn’t say what the light inside of it indicates.
Nor does it say what happens when you press it.
Why add a button to a console if you’re not supposed to press it?
So, I do.
It lights up.
And a siren goes off.

The sin and the punishment

Let the punishment match the sin, says God.
We, the punishers, keep a list of sins.
And their matching punishments.
With social and technological advances come new sins.
And new punishments.
We catalog them all, and debate new opportunities for each sin and punishment.
Some sins are not as sinful these days, meriting lesser punishments.
And with various medicines and surgeries, remedies can be employed in the place of punishments.
And for the greatest sins of all, we just leave them be.
Encased in glass for all to see.
The memory of their sin and its consequences is punishment enough.

eBaby

We couldn’t afford our own baby, so we bought a used one on eBaby.
It arrived in a box, preassembled.
The instructions said to put a layer of paper towels on a baking sheet, and to warm it up in an open oven at minimum temperature for 10 minutes.
We set the timer, and ten minutes later, we heard the baby’s cry as we pulled out the baking sheet.
That’s when we noticed… we’d forgotten a step. An important step.
After five minutes, turn the baby over.
Oh well. Maybe we can trade it in for another. Or a puppy.

The Kings of Salsa

Rico was King of Salsa Dancing, but he only had enough sequins to put KING OF SALSA on his jacket.
He started a dance school, King’s Salsa School, and taught couples how to Salsa dance.
Rico ran afoul of Jack, King of Salsa.
The condiment, not the dance.
Jack didn’t have a jacket with sequins on it.
Instead, he had sold his company to a major food conglomerate, and they had a lot of attorneys.
Bankrupted, Rico had to close his school and stick to posting lessons through YouTube videos.
After that, the bitter man only ate chips with queso.