Downtime by Munsi

Downtime
By Christopher Munroe

For the record: It’s not all club lyfe and binge-drinking, here on the party-bus.

Though there’s plenty of that.

We also, for example, have a biweekly Dungeons and Dragons campaign, for while we travel.

I play a chaotic-neutral half-orc ranger named Thog, Master of Contusions. He’s our party’s tracker/private security. Kind of a high-fantasy Pinkerton…

Jill, on the other hand, is our bard, a Zither player/epic poet. She’s very funny, though Alec, our paladin, finds her poetry borderline blasphemous.

It’s a fun way to spend time on the road.

And like I said, not EVERY party needs to be debauched…

The Pipes On Her

Fred and I went to the opera the other evening.
“Check out the set of pipes on her,” whispered Fred.
Sure enough, there was a singer on stage wearing a dress made out of plumbing conduits.
“What about this one?” I said, pointing at a diva wearing a dress made out of organ pipes.
Fred smiled. “Oh yeah? What about this one?”
A woman walked on stage, wearing nothing but laced-together crack pipes.
“Amazing,” I said. “Who knew that opera was all about fashion.”
That’s when a fat woman wearing a Magritte painting came on stage.
“Show’s over,” Fred said.

Give A Shit

My grandmother died recently.
She gave me a lot of advice over the years.
Her best advice was to never take any shit from anyone.
Always pay fair market value for it.
And keep the receipt, just in case you want to exchange it for something else.
Like a sweater, or a coffee pot.
Or, if they give you the shit, be courteous and give shit right back to them.
Be sure that it’s a fair exchange of shit.
In volume, quantity, and velocity.
And, I suppose, ferocity.
When she died, she shat herself.
And left it all to me.

Weekly Challenge #579 – PICK TWO: Track, Jill, Pinkerton, Blasphemous, Contusion, Orc, Zither, Neutral

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

Myst

(Be sure to wish Myst a happy birthday… she turns 8 today.)

JEFFREY

Private Dick (Part 1)
by Jeffrey Fischer

Young Jill Pinkerton – yes, of those Pinkertons, some number of generations removed from the great Allan – sat in her car, idling in neutral to stave off some of the cold. A tap at her window caught her attention. She opened the window with a punch of the power button, only to see the quarry she was tracking, a zither-playing orc. It was one of those days. “Why you follow me?” the orc growled, smacking Jill in the head, leaving a large contusion the next day. Without another word, the orc wandered off, playing the theme from “The Third Man.”

Private Dick (Part 2)

Jill’s client was a foul-mouthed, blasphenous priest who had been swindled by the orc. He had peeled off a number of large-denomination bills from a huge wad, swearing the entire time. He never explained how the orc swindled him, but it was clear that he held a grudge.

As she recovered from the orc’s blow, she reconsidered her career. Everyone expected a Pinkerton to go into the family business, but this day convinced her she was in the wrong profession. Maybe she’d open a small tea room. She’d ban all priests, orcs, and, yes, zithers too.

CHARLIE

After the new, school track opened, Jill JuciVana was the first to run the inner lane naked, while chased by the Pinkerton guards that were on duty.

Her behavior was heinously blasphemous. Earlier she was responsible for the GM’s contusion, and for breaking the large, Orc figurine he had on his office desk.

Displaying and demonstrating several yoga and sexual postures, unsolicited, for the General Manager, she snapped all the strings on his Zither; trying to prove that she was completely neutral about the outcome of the current relationship and the clumsy advances of the GM and the coaching staff.

RICHARD

Blasphemy

They’ll stone you for a bit of gentle mockery. Blow your brains out just for a satirical cartoon or imagined slight.

Somehow, they manage to argue it’s justifiable – no matter what common decency, morality or law might say – it’s protecting the faith, living according to the holy scripture, following the one pure way.

I try to stay neutral in such things, no matter what my personal feelings, but sometimes, the truth has to be spoken.

After all, what’s more blasphemous?

Speaking out against a warped ideology;
Or blowing up kids at pop concerts in the name of religion?

TOM

Can’t Fool Me
In 1894 my mother’s family was involved in the Pullman Strike. Not many
words were spoken about their stand. All the same the general feeling in
that end of the family was never cross the line. My father not one to let
in-law opinions sway him took a job as a Weekend Pinkerton. My mother’s
spit loyalty settled into an uncomfortable neutral gray. I on the other
hand was confirmedly in the red camp. This didn’t stop me from joining him
backstage at the Monkey’s show. Or James Brown or the Jackson Five. Live
music trumps principal every time.

JON

Battle Night
By
Jon DeCles

Jill Pinkerton, (on the track of an Orc, who, she was assured, was neutral
in the current phase of the battle) had suffered a contusion when she fell
from a ledge, overwhelmed by the sound of the blasphemous music of an
infernal zither. Now she lay on the rocks breathing as quietly as she
could, hoping the blood from the wound would not attract the attention of
any of the evil things that roamed the rocky canyons at the edge of the
Dark Border.
The soft plangency of the plucked and strummed strings continued to lure
her toward dangerous sleep.

LIZZIE

Mean Orc

Peter and Matt, two friends of the orc, were talking in the hospital corridor.
“No orc should have to go through this. The contusion was serious and now he’s talking funny. Everyone is laughing at him.” Peter rolled his eyes in disgust.
“Well, I suppose,” replied Matt, “but he was always slightly mean. Don’t you remember when…”
“I really don’t care. He should be respected. He’s fragile now.”
Suddenly, the orc died.
Peter waved. Matt got closer.
“I killed him,” whispered Peter.
“What on earth? Why??”
“I was talking to him and, man, did he have a mean bad breath.”

SERENDIPITY

I lay down across the track, preparing for the end.

It’s not like you imagine: It’s uncomfortable, cold, dirty. You’d like your final moments to be a time of reflection and peace, but all you can think about are the stones in your back and the awkward way your neck rests against the rail.

The driver saw me well in advance, hit the brakes, and my world filled with the sound of screaming, tortured steel.

So much for suicide… I walked away with just a minor contusion. Unlike the train passengers, whose broken bodies they pulled from the mangled wreckage.

TURA

Orc; Jill
———
The three orcs sat round the fire, gnawing on the bones of an elf.

“You ever wonder,” began Hrakht.

“Wonderin’s for elves an’ yoomns,” grunted Gnurgle.

“I thought…” said Hrakht.

“Ooh, thinkin’ now, izzee?” mocked Rabjagh.

“You know Hrakht ‘ere’s only half an orc?” said Gnurgle. “Yoomn mother. Must have scared her when he came out!”

Hrakht remained silent. How could he tell them that he didn’t feel like an orc at all? That he dreamed of belonging to one of the fair races, like the one they had just eaten.

In his dreams, he— no, she— called herself “Jill.”
———

NORVAL JOE

Deep in the forest, Jill and I followed the track of the Blasphemous Pinkerton brothers.
What they had done which was so offensive to the moral majority to earn that title was unclear. What was clear was that whoever caught them would be rewarded most handsomely.
Morally neutral and already beautiful, Jill didn’t need the reward. I was the one who looked like an orc with facial contusions. Any reward that would make me more handsome was worth the effort.
Zither birds, named after their distinctive call, burst from a grove of trees, pointing us to the brother’s probable location.

PLANET Z

Capone had rivals. Lots of rivals.
Sometimes, the cops would pick them up.
And take them to jail.
Capone would send a woman to the courthouse or jail.
She’d have a briefcase full of money.
The money was for bail. And a little extra for the judge or court clerk.
So they’d let out Capone’s rival.
His men would be waiting outside.
They’d pick up the guy.
And after a few days, he’d turn up dead.
The woman would come back with her briefcase.
And collect the bail money.
She’d set it aside, ready for the next time Capone called.

Aints

It used to bother me when the Catholic Church canonizes Nazi-appeasing scum like Pius the Twelfth.
But then, I realized that their entire denomination of Christianity is just a business.
A front for child-molesting old men and misogynistic moralizing miscreants.
If there is a God, he won’t care what people think of these moral cowards they revere so much.
He’ll send them to Hell, to suffer for all eternity, like they deserve.
But then, he’ll also send the good ones to Hell, too.
Because to them, what difference is suffering, when you have God’s love in your heart, right?

Shit Sandwich

If you have to eat a shit sandwich, don’t take your time eating it.
That just makes things worse and prolongs the taste of shit in your mouth.
Instead, eat it as fast as you fucking can.
And put as much ketchup and mustard on it as you can get away with.
Anything to mask the flavor of that shit.
If you’re lucky, you can blend it into a shake. You can drink that sandwich down in a few gulps.
When you’re done, you can go to the bathroom, stick a finger down your throat, and puke it back up.

Better days

How was my day?
Fine? Okay? Great?
No.
My day was not mine.
I was my day’s.
If you asked my day how was your person, my day would say “It could have been better.”
Not fine or okay or great.
What could I have done to make it better?
I don’t know. I tried, but nothing went right.
I probably could have done something, but I didn’t.
And that’s what happened.
Maybe tomorrow will be fine or okay or great.
Maybe not.
Best to sleep on it, and see how things turn out.
Until then, dream of better days.

The mood playground

When I was young, I’d go to the playground.
All day long, I’d play on the swings, the monkey bars, the sand box, and the slide.
Sometimes, I’d fall off of something, and I’d scrape my elbow or my knee.
Now that I am older, I feel like I have become an emotional playground.
And I have mood swings, mood monkey bars, a mood sand pit, and a mood slide.
But now, when I fall, I don’t scrape an elbow or my knee.
The hurt is much deeper and painful.
And I have no choice but to get back on.

The trend

People tell me that I should only weigh myself once a week.
But I weigh myself daily anyway.
It’s not the individual measurements that matter, but the overall trend on this bar chart.
As long as I focus on the trend, I’ll be fine.
Because those individual numbers will drive you mad.
Eat a little something that takes a while to pass, and you’ll build up a bit of a peak before it all flushes out.
Still, that number after you take a huge dump feels like an accomplishment.
Until the next time you overdo it at the salad bar.

Weekly Challenge #578 – Bank

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com.

This is the Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.

We’ve got stories by:

Nap cat

MUNSI

On the subject of Banks
By Christopher Munroe

There are lots of different banks.

Commercial, investment, river, Tyra, the Banks family, who live in Bel Air with their cousin from west Philidelphia, the other Banks family, who briefly employed a magic nanny to handle their children, and no doubt many more…

So many banks’, each so different than the other, and yet each in turn sharing one fundamental thing in common.

Whatever the bank, you don’t want to crash a party bus into them while drunk.

Except the family in Bel Air, maybe.

That was kind of a fun afternoon.

I still get Christmas cards, from Alfonso Ribeiro…

JEFFREY

Deposit
by Jeffrey Fischer

When I had a deposit to make, I always drove to the bank, waited for the guard to wave the metal-detecting wand over me, and stood in line for a teller. Today was no different. I filled out the deposit slip and handed her the slip and a piece of paper that read “The Capitals will fold in Game 7 of the second round of the playoffs again this year.”

“What’s this?” the teller asked.

“My great-uncle always told me that if something was invariably true you could ‘take it to the bank.’ Predicting another early exit for the Caps seemed like a safe bet.”

The teller nodded, took both pieces of paper, and credited that advice to my account.

CHARLIE

Dick was a bank of a man, in that he was a heap of flesh; an inglorious mass of meat carcass propped up against his daybed pillows.

He was surrounded by a dozen, small; nervous animals and paper plates covered with the evidence of the sugary and fatty diversions with which he occupied himself.

As he dozed, he reviewed the bullshit that he would soon share with his subjugated audience.

He has been involved in mass communications for several years, and as his mind slowly dissolves, his vocabulary and limited creativity steer him into early onset of dementia, delirium, and dotage.

RICHARD

#1 – Heist

Tony ‘Knuckles’ Jones looked shiftily around the bar before addressing me in a low voice.

“So, this bank job tomorrow… All in hand?”

I nodded: “Yeah, in early when the guards change shift – they’ll be distracted, drinking coffee. Not many staff about; I scope the joint, suss out the vault and what’s what.”

“Smart plan. Then what?”

“Stay outta trouble and wait…”

I was interrupted by the rozzers turning up!

“What’s this about a bank job, lads?”

I pulled out my offer letter, “I start tomorrow – six month’s probation. Gonna be early and make a good first impression!”

#2 – Jackpot

The day I won the lottery, I laughed all the way to the bank.

I laughed when I forgot my PIN number – three times – and, I practically cried with laughter when I failed to convince the bank staff who I was.

I didn’t laugh so much when the police arrived. They said it was ‘no laughing matter’.

I laughed, and told them it was all just a big mistake. They weren’t amused.

With hindsight, I shouldn’t have laughed at the magistrates and called them tossers!

Thanks to the restraining order, I can’t get my cash.

Not laughing now.

#3 – Means to an end

As a student, I’d try anything to make spare cash.

I joined a blood bank and a sold them a few pints but they banned me – apparently, there was too little blood in my alcohol stream!

I was also banned from the sperm bank – they caught me leaving a deposit with the receptionist. I argued that the interest was high, but they weren’t impressed.

The bottle bank wasn’t interested in trading in plastics, which was all I had.

So university was spent in poverty and I never got rich.

Ironic, since I eventually qualified as an investment banker

TOM

Building Character
When I was Eight years old my mother took me downtown to the closest town with a downtown. The most auspicious structure in the tiny town was a neo federalist bank building. We talked up to a teller behind a brass latticework right out a scene from Bonnie and Clyde. I slide 14 dollar 43 cents, he hand me my first pass-book. With the amount I had deposed and the date. Over the next ten years the amount in that account swung radically up and down. The account was finally closed due to banking fees. So much for building Character.

JON

Summer Night

By

Jon DeCles

Sally stretched out on the bank of the river and looked up at the stars, the glorious glittering stars, thick as a river themselves, way out here in the country. Mama told her that river was called The Milky Way, but Miss Renata told her that in Spanish they called it The Shepard’s Path.

Whatever you called it, Sally liked to imagine she could swim in it, the way she could swim in the river. Only you would be able to swim in it at night.

She knew it was never a good idea to swim in water at night.

SERENDIPITY

Monopoly – my favourite family pursuit.

Boring, maybe, but when I’m in charge of the bank, it’s different.

Take the memorable Christmas Aunt Maisie went bust speculating on hotels. I pursued her relentlessly, foreclosing on her mortgages, bankrupting her, and – when she still couldn’t pay – sending the boys round to break her legs.

She won’t be passing ‘Go’ anytime soon!

Yes, I know it’s only a game, but I take being banker very seriously indeed, and I fully expect you to do the same.

So, now that’s perfectly clear…

I think it’s your turn to roll the dice!

LIZZIE

The security camera of the bank turned slowly, especially because it would get stuck in a certain position looking away from the main room into a wall. When Deborah stood in front of the camera frantically waving for help, Thomas, the security guy, was watching TV. The SWAT team stormed the bank and saved Deborah. Thomas took a glance, still the wall. But it was time to go home. He put on his coat and walked downstairs, a broom in hand, to hit the slow camera back into motion. Then, Deborah grabbed the broom and hit Thomas with it, quickly!

TURA

Bank
———
Without a breath of wind to drive it, the shallow-bottomed derelict floated out of the night-mist, threading its slow way up the waters of the Great Marsh, until at last it drew in to the bank.

With a silent sigh the rotten timbers burst apart and sank into the mud, releasing its shapeless cargo. It flowed over and into the marsh, spreading and clumping.

A solitary boggaert was the only witness. It incuriously grabbed at it with its massive webbed hands. “Glup,” went the thing. The boggaert was no more, and the thing was bigger.

The Great Blight had arrived.

LAIEANNA

“Love’s Spell”

Michael stood on the bank of a rushing river, throwing pebbles into
the foaming center of the channel. The first time was an accident,
but he soon learned the splashes attracted the creature. She rose –
pale skinned and shimmering scales – with a gaze fixed on him as she
sang a melody that filled the air. At her melodic command, Michael
stepped off the riverbank. The rope at his waist held him above
water, only legs dangling under the surface like fish bait. The
creature surged forward on powerful fins. Michael had his knife at
the ready to receive her.

NORVAL JOE

The six weary cowboys of the cattle drive warmed themselves by a small campfire. They talked about their second day on the trail and rubbed their sore muscles.
Cookie blew a sad song on his harmonica. As he finished, Zacharias, the drive captain, said, “Boys. Let’s bed down. Wilbur it’s your turn to bank the coals.”
The cowboys left him to his work and rolled out their beds.
In the morning, the remains of the fire and Wilber were both gone, never to be seen again.
Zach regretted not being clearer with his instructions. He knew Wilber wasn’t that smart

DANNY

When you bend yourself to the mind of someone else’s reality, you are no longer your own person. You are at the will of the entity you submitted yourself to. What are you willing to sell yourself for today? Power, status, or simply your next fix? How large your next house? How luxurious your next car necessary to perfect the image plastered on your house of cards? Be prepared to step into the straightjacket of your dreams, because you’re about to be convinced you can afford the interest rates, by the same deregulated system that calls me a filthy liberal.

PLANET Z

I watched Francois sip his coffee as hooded teens went from car to car, smashing windows.
“I ride the Metro,” he said. “What concern of it is mine?”
One wore a black ISIS flag as a cape.
He shouted a lot. All I could understand was “Allahu Ackbar.”
“Don’t you thank Jesus for your touchdowns?” said Francois. “It’s rude of you to judge.”
Another teen lit a Molotov and threw it.
The black ISIS flag caught fire, and the teen wearing it struggled to pull it off.
His friends ran, leaving him to burn.
Francois left me with the check.