A little lucky

Every day, Dan showed up at the shelter with his daughter Sarah. She’d pick out a black cat, name it Lucky, and take it home. She was so happy, petting and feeding Lucky. While she slept, Dan drove Lucky to the shelter, where Dan would show up with Sarah to pick out Lucky again. A new volunteer asked about this, the shelter coordinator said look at the girl’s head, it wasn’t quite right. Her hair covered… something. A bump? A divot? There was a crack in Dan’s windshield, a dent in the bumper. It’s all she knows, so play along.

Weekly Challenge #1068 – Inside Out

The next topic is Midnight

RICHARD

Trapped
I was well and truly trapped. She stood between me and the door, with my only escape route into the bedroom, and there was no way I was going in there.
A noise from the front door distracted me, the sound of a key in the lock.
Oh, that’ll be my husband’ she said brightly.
Your husband!’ I exclaimed.
The door opened, and for a brief moment I caught a glimpse, from the inside out to freedom.
A large, imposing figure stepped into the doorway. Her husband.
I wished the ground would open and swallow me.
But, no such luck.

LIZZIE

She was afraid. The wind whispered the arrival of a storm. He sat next to her, looking pleased with himself. The more she tried to disappear in a corner, the happier he looked, and the worse the storm became. She started crying, and so did the rain. It’ll be good for your flowers, he said. The flowers he would place on her grave, she thought. She was very afraid… The next morning, the flowers were all dead. He couldn’t understand it. When she fled, she took with her one pot with a sunflower. She wasn’t afraid anymore. The sunflower bloomed.

LISA

The Interview
I’d felt confident as I spoke. Had all the right answers, backed up with examples from previous employment. I knew I’d aced the test: I’d done that many online trials I was getting a hundred percent every time.
SO, I left the offices with a spring in my step. And it was a job I wanted, would use all my skills and the pay was decent.
I went home via the shopping centre, saw my reflection in it’s huge windows: smart from the front but something was flapping on my back, a label.
I’d got my jumper on inside out.

NORVAL JOE

Sabrina continued, “Now, I can’t stop my thoughts. I want to turn my head inside out and dump the horrific images on the floor and sweep them out the front door.”

Dumbfounded, Billbert stood, gawping at Sabrina.

Mrs. Weinerheimer sat next to Sabrina and put an arm around her shoulder. “If you tell us, it might help.”

With large gaps, she said, “I see Billbert and her.” “They’re, you know, hugging, and stuff.” “Then she has a knife and she’s stabbing.” “Stabbing Billbert.” “And she stands up, blood covering her naked body.”

Billbert gasped. “Who’s blood? Does she kill me?”

SERENDIPIDY

I’ve always had a fascination for what makes things go.
As a child, I was always getting into trouble for taking things apart, dismantling them to see their inner workings.
Whatever I could lay my hands on inevitably met the same fate – childhood toys, an alarm clock, my first transistor radio, anything mechanical or electrical really; I had an insatiable curiosity which survived into adulthood.
It’s not just inanimate objects though that fascinate me.
And, if anything, biology is even more interesting when viewed from the inside out.
Unfortunately, bodies don’t go back together quite as easily as mechanical things!

PLANET Z

The programming language Pascal is named after Blaise Pascal the mathematician, and python is named after Monty Python, the comedy troupe, but did you know that Fort Tran was named after Francis Fortran, a star basketball player in the early 1940s. He didn’t shoot much and he wasn’t good at blocking or steals, but man, the dude could pass. They called him Francis of Assisti. after his playing days, he finished his physics degree, and got into computing. A classmate of his decided to name the programming language after him to keep Francis from reporting on him cheating on exams.

Homecoming fool

Woodbury high school has a tradition where the most hated kid in school is loaded into a cannon, which is rolled out to the middle of the field during homecoming, and the Cannon is fired. Voting takes place that week and the candidates are kidnaped from class Friday morning homeroom. The winner, or you can call them a loser, is revealed at the game, sometimes the kids try to run and hide, but the county sheriff keeps an eye on them all week. Most human cannonball cannons use hydraulics or slingshots. Woodbury uses real explosives. So watch your ass kid.

Dylan Went Electric

The headlines shouted Dylan goes electric. The next day, they shouted Orbison goes nuclear. After that, Pat Boone went steam powered. Bob Denver, he went solar powered, you know, because he was all about the environment. Gene Simmons went wind powered for a while, but he couldn’t make any music on calm days. Musicians around the world embraced alternative energies. Geothermal, wave, action, capture, hydraulic piston, powered by tidal forces, hydroelectric, you name it. Some artist tried to go liquid natural gas, and a few defiantly clung to human power, but the liberal media shunned their efforts and championed Dylan.

Rip

Rip Binkel was the best scorer on the basketball team, but that really didn’t mean much considering he made maybe six or seven points a night and everyone else was tripping and stumbling on the hardwood. Plus, there were a hell of a lot of kids shooting up for the team spreading out the points before they trip and fall from all the other kids stumbling around. The coach would drag a kid off the court, smack another one on the back, and say get in there, then light another cigarette. A tornado hit the gym, they never rebuilt it.

Dumb Home

Dave thought it would be funny to name his kids, Alexa, Siri, and OK Google. He could tell his smart home to do something and the kids would think he was talking to them and he’d say no I’m talking to the house. Until the kids were old enough to tell the family therapist about their anxiety and neurosis. One night Dave woke up, tied to the bed, his kids standing over him with knives and huge creepy grins. Let me go, demanded Dave. I’m afraid I can’t do that. The kids said in unison, stabbing their father to death.

Droids

It’s a lot harder to build and program a sex droid than build a combat droid. I mean, combat droids are built to kill while sex droids aren’t very popular if they end up hurting or killing someone. Of course, dead men can’t ask for refunds. I’m sure you’ll say that combat droids need to tell the difference between civilians and combatants. But places we send them, does it really matter? Plus, we tend to use them for enforcing curfew and anybody out after hours is considered a legitimate target. I guess you could say the same about sex droids.

They say the death

They say the death comes for us all, but there are far too many of us. So death outsources the job to contractors and subcontractors. And to be blunt, they’re about three steps down from Amazon gig workers. They get paid for speed and not as much for accuracy. Which is why someone who was never smoked or drank and jogs every day can kill over at the feet of a 90 year-old drunk smoker. Or kids getting cancer. Or saints struck by lightning. And rotten people who live long lives, well, those are often those fucking incompetent contractors.

Weekly Challenge #1067 – Zombie

The next topic is Inside Out

RICHARD

Braiiinnnssss!
My other half has an enthusiastic, but hopelessly uninformed personality.
Recently, she’s developed an obsession with horror stories.
‘I’ve just read a book about zombies’, she said. ‘Did you know you have to kill them with a stake through the heart?’
‘That’ll be vampires’, I replied patiently.
‘And they sparkle in sunlight too’
‘Again, vampires. Although not any self-respecting ones.’
She gave me a sour look.
‘And, people turn into them on a full moon!’
‘Err… Werewolves, sweetheart. Look, zombies are the ones that want to eat your brains.
But, I don’t think you have anything to worry about!’

LIZZIE

The house featured on the brochure promised a supernatural experience. So they bought the full pack. A week of no sleep, little food, and malevolent ghosts. The first couple of days were quiet. A few whispers. A bit of woooooooo and a biting grrrrraaaaaaah. Not a ghost in sight, though. As the days dragged on, so did the wooooos and the grrraahs. It was annoying. The full pack had cost a fortune, plus they were hungry. As soon as they opened the door to leave, a horde of zombies stormed in. So the house did get its ghosts after all.

LISA

Crowds Gather on Threadneedle Street
At midnight on Halloween all the money from every UK bank account made its way to an account under the name Z. Ombie. The fallout was, as you’d expect, incredible. Sam, 8 from Wales was responsible, with a little help from an AI chatbot.
Looting started about 2am. Realisation for many didn’t dawn until it was time to go to work and there was no public transport.
The public were urged not to panic. The army was called in. The public panicked. They panicked hard.
Facebook could hardly cope with all the speculation but Sam, Sam never told a soul.

NORVAL JOE

Sabrina stumbled into the house and turned into the living room. She dropped down onto the couch and stared at the wall like a zombie. Billbert and his mother followed her while Mandi disappeared into the kitchen to find something to eat.

Sabrina suddenly burst from her trance and buried her face in her hands, crying, “I keep going back to that basement in my mind. I’m back in the sensory reduction suit where all I have are my thoughts. I have horrible thoughts of my grandmother dying, and, of others dying.”

Sabrina sobbed, gasping, “I can’t stop my thoughts.”

SERENDIPIDY

I wanted to grow up to be a zombie.
Being one of the undead, shambling around the streets with lifeless eyes, hunting down the innocent to feast on their brains appealed.
I have a well-honed survival instinct, and if there was going to be an apocalypse, I’d rather be on the aggressor’s side, than one of the fleeing masses.
I haven’t managed to achieve my ambition yet, but I’m almost there.
I demonstrably look and feel like one of the undead, with lifeless eyes and shuffling gait.
I’m a government employee.
Just need to acquire a taste for brains.

TOM

Pretty Lame

Question: Would 100,000 men-of-arms take out 10 million zombies? Well, YouTube has dozens of these simulations. It’s quite addictive, but calming effect. Of course, if a was watch a wave of teeth rounding a 60-foot hill of the semi-dead, up close and personal, I would totally lose my shit. Which bring us to an important query: What is the rate of speed of the classic zombie? And can they climb over each other? How about that walking underwater thing? Given enough time could they develop flight? Only reason I ask is there in world class knocking on the front door.

PLANET Z

Nobody signed Mary Peterson’s yearbook. She wasn’t in any clubs. She didn’t say anything in any class. She didn’t have any friends. She dressed plainly, and looked plain, didn’t stand out at all. Disappeared into a crowd. She wasn’t out for any sports. She sat alone on the bus. Never dated. Didn’t go to any dances or games. She just came to school went to every class turned in her work, shook her head when she was called on, and went back home. I don’t know what grades she got. She’s never been to the reunions. And nobody ever asks.

Gertrude geek

Gertrude Block was your typical nerdy little kid. Frizzled hair, freckles, cheap clothes. At the top of her class, but at the bottom of the social ladder. At lunch, she ate alone. She was always picked last in gym class. I wish I could tell you she grew up to be the queen of the prom or the hot girl, but she stayed that way. All the way through her two doctorates. She worked for a defense contractor making explosives, and she imagined all the jocks and cool kids who enlisted getting blown up and horribly mangled by her creations.