The next topic is ILLUMINATE

Hi there. This is Laurence Simon of the 100 Word Stories Podcast at

Every week, I post a topic for the Weekly Challenge, where you come up with the stories and I collect them up and share them.

Want to give it a try? The topic of the next 100 Word Stories Weekly Challenge is ILLUMINATE

Write a 100 word story on that topic. Then, send it in an email to isfullofcrap (at) with the subject line of WEEKLY CHALLENGE.

Also, suggest a topic or topics for future Weekly Challenges.

Do you have a website where people can learn more about you and your writing? Include the URL to that website.

Most importantly, include a recording of your story. Be sure to introduce yourself to the audience.

I put the episode together on Sunday morning. However, if you need more time, I can put your story up on the feed in a separate post.

Good luck, and as always… keep it brief.

JAN 5 crunch
JAN 12 fake
JAN 19 shark
JAN 26 PICK TWO: pulled from the water, quirk, pride, ploy, goof, exposed

FEB 2 hankering
FEB 9 lapse
FEB 16 hot potato
FEB 23 PICK TWO: contest, hop to it, toys, pain, treading water, protect

MAR 1 tinfoil
MAR 8 gate
MAR 15 gulf
MAR 22 device
MAR 29 PICK TWO: to hell with the critics, selfie, jute, impossible, do the needful, icon

APRIL 5 not
APRIL 12 dendrite
APRIL 19 sanitize
APRIL 26 PICK TWO: ecology, rash, aberration, plinth, mnemonic, wrought

MAY 3 chemistry
MAY 10 nobody gets out of here alive
MAY 17 empowered
MAY 24 illuminate
MAY 31 PICK TWO: null, smartphone, audio, alternative, hot, seek

JUN 7 We apologise for the inconvenience
JUN 14 mushroom
JUN 21 what’s that on the radar?
JUN 28 PICK TWO: mass, trade, headache, pick me, It’s not you it’s me,

JUL 5 cleave
JUL 12 soar
JUL 19 powder
JUL 26 PICK TWO: case, chewable, grasshopper, signals from outer space, here be monsters, deadly

AUG 2 who’s blood is that?
AUG 9 beans
AUG 16 traitor
AUG 23 pick a card… any card!
AUG 30 PICK TWO: removal, shopping, confused, tipsy, offer, early

SEP 6 camp
SEP 13 deploy
SEP 20 anchor
SEP 27 PICK TWO: indigo, anchor, shell, squeaky clean, jaw, amphibious

OCT 4 money
OCT 11 boxer
OCT 18 kitten
OCT 25 PICK TWO: piano, mongoose, tower, cartoon, evil, serve

NOV 1 revolution
NOV 8 plump
NOV 15 chainsaw
NOV 22 cluster
NOV 29 PICK TWO: reward, puppet, global, gear, shop, pit stop

DEC 6 still
DEC 13 pick one
DEC 20 fruitcake
DEC 27 PICK TWO: the hand that feeds you, scope, dresser, pit stop, quip, knave

Why is mother crying?
Get a life!
How does that grab you?
Spray Tan
A toast!
Name change
Behind a bush
Remember only this…
River crossing
When will it stop raining?
Stay safe
Don’t press the button!
Hand Who took the sunshine?
Blundering buffoon
What’s that on the horizon?
Riding shotgun
Paper thin
So many questions
Can you help me?
The noise is driving me mad!
If I had a nickle for every time
Where do I begin?
Where did they go?
Your call
Some might say…


Every now and then, I watch Warren Zevon’s final appearance on Letterman.
Just to remind me that this doesn’t last.
So, enjoy it while you can.
Even Caesar needed reminding once in a while.
“Caesar, thou art mortal.” whispered a servant into his ear.
The senators reminded him with daggers.
I don’t call this depression.
I call this realism, acceptance.
Sadness or not, there is peace.
A bruise is just life’s way of letting you know someone cared enough about what you say to take a swing at you.
And you cared enough to stand tall and refuse to duck.

The shallow end

I remember when I was five.
I didn’t know how to swim. Or want to learn.
“What if you fall in the water?” they’d ask.
“I drown,” I’d say. “And deserve it for going near water.”
At camp, they had races at the pool.
I won the running across the shallow end race every year.
It became an annual joke. And I laughed the loudest.
The water was only up to my knees.
In my final year, I tripped over one toddler, and hit my head.
Falling, my lungs full of water, resting on the bottom of the goddamned pool.

Kicked in the head

Fred trained horses at the circus.
One day, a horse kicked him in the head.
He woke up in the hospital, unable to speak.
“We’ve tried all we can,” said the doctor. “Sorry.”
Fred was unable to continue as a trainer.
He spent the rest of his days hauling horse feed and sweeping up horse crap.
When he died, his coffin was carried by a horse-drawn carriage.
His coffin fell from the carriage and broke open.
Another horse kicked his corpse’s head.
“Bastard can’t catch a break,” mumbled the ringmaster, as he and the clowns cleaned up the bloody mess.

Morning Routine

It’s good to have a morning routine.
Especially when you have trouble remembering things.
Make a list, put things in order.
Get up, and drink some water.
Stat the toaster, and spread on some butter or jam or something.
Vitamins, pills. And more water.
Make sure there’s enough food and water for the cats.
Put the laptop in the bag, along with the power cord.
Have a shower, get dressed.
Clothes all set out from the night before.
Sit on the chair and dangle shoelaces for the cat to play with.
Until I can remember how to tie my shoes.


The International House of Pancakes gave up on pancakes.
They tried to make burgers, but they weren’t very good at it.
So, they tried fried chicken instead.
Seems that frying chicken takes some experience and skill.
They gave up on that too.
One food after another, they tried making it.
And gave up on it.
When they ran out of food to screw up, they tried all kinds of other jobs: home repair, tuxedo rentals, political assassinations.
Eventually, they went back to making pancakes.
A senator choked to death on one.
Maybe they didn’t quite give up on political assassinations.

Doctor Odd’s Fears

People fear a day when robots and computers will be more intelligent than humans.
But Doctor Odd knew that the true tipping point would come when humans are dumber than robots and computers.
“Just look at the education system,” said Doctor Odd. “Producing mindless sheep, deluded into believing that they are critical thinkers, and trained only to pass a standardized test.”
Minions and assistants were hard to come by, what, with the useless Sociology and Communications and Diversity Studies graduates overtaking the hard sciences.
Doctor Odd built his own assistant.and programmed it.
Just slightly dumber than himself for safety reasons.

Weekly Challenge #734 – NOBODY GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE

Witches Familiar


The three brothers were alone. The conversation started amicably, but it became bitter very quickly. Accusations flew. The past came back to haunt each one of them. “It wasn’t my fault,” each would yell. And time went by, the hours long and heavy. No solution in sight. “Nobody gets out of here before we reach an agreement,” said the eldest. And no one did. At least, not alive. The widows sobbed, and winked. That bourbon was great. Then, they went on a cruise, enjoying the money their husbands weren’t able to divide. Unfortunately, the cruise sank. Karma is a bitch.


The sign

It was the biggest cock up in the company’s history. Our first theme park in China: Bankrupt within mere weeks of its opening.

All my fault.

“What the hell were you thinking?” The CEO demanded, “You went to your tattoo artist for the translation… The guy who translated your name as ‘Potato Dumpling’?”

I nodded helplessly.

“I told him it should say, ‘Nobody leaves without having the time of their life'”

They fired me, of course.

And as I walked disconsolately away, the sign above the gates – my sign – mocked me in Chinese…

‘Nobody gets out of here alive!’


“Nobody gets out of here alive.”

My chainsmoking companion looked at me sagely. He was a veteran, surviving against all the odds, but he knew his days too were numbered.

“Even those who survive everything they throw at us are doomed. They cart them away, kill them, and cut up the bodies”

“If I were you, pray for a quick death, not like those poor souls over there”

He gestured towards the other side of the room, where our companions shivered and twitched, tortured, for no apparent reason

A lab technician approached my cage.

I prayed it would be quick.


It Was The Times

It was the mid-70s some may say longer after the golden age of the drug culture. Depends on where ya all lived. Took a look time to make its way to Chicago. Of course in some corner of the population it was common place, but in my enclave not so much. We did make up for lost time and by 1973 we were way past pot and roping in on Acid and mushrooms. The music and the folk who sang it rang out sex and drugs and rock and roll. The clear message was NOBODY GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE.


“We belong together?” Billbert asked.
“Yes,” Linoliamanda breathed. “When you took my hand and we rose into the sky, we were one being. A single majestic eagle gliding above the trees. Billbert! Life is short. Nobody gets out of here alive. We must live life to the fullest at every minute. Head for the sky and never look back.”
Billbert groaned. “If my dad finds out I’ve been even talking to you about flying, I’ll never get out of my bedroom alive again.”
“When can we go flying again?” Linoliamanda asked as if she hadn’t heard a word he’d said.


Gamma Max Prison is never overcrowded.
One prisoner per cell.
Every time a new prisoner arrives, he is put in a cell with another prisoner.
Only one prisoner is allowed to live.
How that is resolved, the warden doesn’t care.
By the end of the day he wants one prisoner, one cell.
No more, and no less.
If both prisoners die, he calls the state and gets another prisoner.
And if both prisoners are alive, he kills them both.
Then calls the state for another prisoner.
The state sends too many prisoners.
“Match ’em up,” says the warden. And smiles.

The sting of tears

We do for them what they cannot do for themselves.
It is the Devil’s bargain we make for their love.
To end their suffering, we must also suffer.
What if, we ask ourselves.
What if we wait just one more day.
All love is torture, in the end.
We can only do so much.
And their tenth lives are our memories of them.
When others face the decision, we do not envy them.
Because we must face it ourselves again. And again.
All that remains is dust, boxes on shelves.
A collar, a beloved toy.
And the sting of tears.


When Harlan Ellison died, nobody believed it.
“Poke him with a stick,” said the head of the Writers Guild. “Poke him hard. The last time, he was faking.”
By the time they got to “Set him on fire and beat him with a shovel” they knew for certain he was dead.
His estate was put up for auction.
Except for his old typewriter.
It was encased in concrete and sunk to the bottom of a deep lake.
Sometimes, at night, a strange green fog bubbles up from the lake.
As for the screaming tentacles, that’s just a myth.
Isn’t it?