The 100 Word Stories Podcast

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

This is 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:

• Munsi
• Charlie
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Lizzie
• Tura Brezoianu
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

MUNSI

On Cosplay
By Christopher Munroe

I love Hellraiser, but I’ll never cosplay Pinhead.

A fact that at times does hurt my heart.

I’d like to, either for Horror-Con, Halloween, or just out at my local gothic nightclub, but I won’t. The costume’s too elaborate, even if I COULD afford it I’m not good enough at makeup and prosthetics to get the look right.

And a character that iconic you do have to get right.

So no, sad though it makes me, I’ll never cosplay Pinhead. It’s not the end of the world…

After all, I’m pretty sure I could pull off Chucky like a boss.

CHARLIE

Pinned down by enemy as tough words in letters to the editor appeared during the time we tried to convince them that the new building housing the city offices was atrocious — looking like a large freighter on its side in dry dock. Twelve million was spent on this atrocity. No “architecture” in the architecture…no style…no panache, no departure from the mundane. The color palette they chose for the paint and trim was reminiscent of hotel facades in San Francisco in the sixties. City fathers puffed out their chests the first weeks of occupation. Deflation ensued in the following weeks.

2nd

You put up too many pictures on your wall, Fred. You have pictures covering pictures. You used roofing nails instead of pins or tape. I like most of the pictures, but some of them are…shall we say…vulgar? Why did you put that picture of a scrotum on the wall? Whose scrotum is that, anyway? Is that a human scrotum? Oh. I’m sorry. That’s a picture of that nutjob that’s running for president. Where did you get that, Fred? Was that from the novelty store, or did you find that on line? How much did a poster of Donald Trump cost?

3rd

Pin point pupils. Skin flushed and itching. He was higher than a kite on opiates, and he was only ten. I had four others like him in my classroom. I agreed to teach at the private school because of the loss of the math teacher in the middle of the semester. She had been arrested for consorting with pupils in her ethics class. It was a progressive, Quaker school in Maryland. The principal was a tyrant, and worked weekends as a dominatrix. It was the best job I ever had, and provided tons of material for short stories and essays.

JEFFREY

Pin Money
by Jeffrey Fischer

The taxi dropped off Caroline at a strip mall on the sketchy side of town. It was Monday morning, which meant Bob had left Caroline’s pin money for the week on the counter. She wasn’t sure how it had come to this. Before they married, Caroline had a decent job and could take care of herself. After she married Bob, he convinced her to quit her job and move to this lousy town where she knew no one. He then provided her with a small amount of cash every week for her to “go wild,” as he put it. It was humiliating.

She had been saving up that pin money for several months, and she was ready to go wild. She entered the gun shop and smiled at the guy behind the counter, pointing at the Smith and Wesson .38 Special. “Do you give a discount for cash?”

Quiet Neighborhood
by Jeffrey Fischer

The neighborhood was noisy at night, with drunks coming home from the bars, kids playing outside, horns honking a steady beat. But it was peaceful in the late morning, a time when Yusef found he could work without interruption.

In fact, it was so quiet in the little apartment that one could hear a pin drop. Unfortunately for Yusef, that pin belonged to a hand grenade, one of several he had recently acquired. As the seconds ticked by, his hand frantically swept the floor, to and fro, hoping to find the pin so he could replace it in time. How long was the fuse in one of those things anyway?

Aha! he exclaimed. There it was, just a few feet away…

RICHARD

Party animal

As a child, I was never one for going to parties. It’s not that I didn’t like jelly and ice cream and dressing up, I even liked clowns!

However there was one thing about parties that terrified me… party games, and there was one game in particular that lay at the root of all my fears:

Pin the tail on the donkey!

A simple, inoffensive parlour game you might think, but not so when you have well meaning, but misguided parents.

And, if you’ve ever tried sticking a pin into a real donkey’s arse, you’ll know exactly what I mean!

LIZZIE

The young reporter was nervous.

“They pinned it on me, the bastards,” said the prisoner. “I was there, but I didn’t see anything. I didn’t do anything. I swear on my mother’s grave. I tried to explain how things happened, but they didn’t care. They wanted a scapegoat. Yeah, that’s right. So, here I am. The bastards pinned it on me.”

Years later, while reviewing old cases, the reporter found the photo they had published back then. Readers always enjoyed reading about familiar faces of the past. So, he decided to interview the prisoner’s mother, who was still very alive.

TURA

Pin
———
Voodoo is too mired in tradition. Everyone insists on sticking silver pins into the doll, but it’s always worth experimenting, or how will the art develop?

With modern technology, you can make pins of diamond fibre. The target dies of epileptic seizures, which I wasn’t expecting! Pins of enriched uranium bloat the target with radiation cancers. But rather difficult to get hold of. My latest idea is to manipulate the instruments under liquid nitrogen and make the pins of high temperature superconductors.

Calm down and stop struggling, it disturbs the measurements. Now, what do you feel when I do THIS?

SERENDIPITY

Always clean up after yourself – that’s what my parents taught me from an early age, and it’s a lesson that I’ve never forgotten.

Which is why, after every job, when others would run away and hide, you’d always find me taking that extra moment to tidy up, clear away and spend some time checking I’ve left nothing behind that might give me away.

I’ve learned that to rush away from a crime scene is to invite disaster – always take the time to clean up.

Try all you like, but you’ll never be able to pin it on me.

TOM

It Was A Simpler Time

There was a time in America when courtship was signified by a series of tokens which marked the passage from initial meeting to matrimony. When one committed to “going steady” one would give their girl a pin. The costume was oddly known as “pinning.” When things got a bit more serious a Lavalier was giving, yup it was call Lavaliering, and beer, vomit, kissing and abduction played an important role. An engagement ring followed by a wedding ring would round out the collection. In the age of the Hook-Up this all must seem quite amusing to the millennials

NORVAL JOE

An automated voice spoke from below a keypad in the door.
“To access this function you must establish a personal identification number of 8 to 26 characters.”
Dergle entered, 12345678.
“Your PIN must include upper and lower case letters.”
Dergle entered A12345678z.
“Your PIN may not include more than four consecutive numbers in a row.”
Dergle entered, A12348765z.
“You must use at least two special characters which do not include, @, &, or #.
Dergle added, $ and %, to the existing string.
“Please re-enter for security reasons.”
Dergle entered $A12348765z%.
“That is correct. You may now access the restroom.”

PLANET Z

When Parker was born, his parents gave him a map.

“You can use this to track all of the places you travel to in your life,” they said through the glass of the incubator.

Parker, full of tubes and surrounded by wires, struggled to breathe.

After three days, his parents agreed to pull the plug.

Despite the initial setback, Parker’s map accumulated many pins.

His parents carried his plastic-encased corpse all over the world.

Oh, sure, there were some strange looks from security personnel, but it was only a matter of a sufficiently-convincing bribe.

Plus, he’s a pretty good paperweight.

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

This is 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:

• Munsi
• Charlie
• Jeffrey
• Lizzie
• Richard
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Zackmann
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Planet Z

MUNSI

Wind, or Wind
By Christopher Munroe

The wind whips your hair back and forth as you wind your way through the woods, wind whistling through wood as you wander, wondering where you will wind up.

Your watch has wound down, you would have wound it were you aware you’d wind up wandering these woods, but without warning it’s no wonder you wander without…

Your mind wanders, and you wish you were willing to welcome the wonders without, without wondering what those wonders wrought whereupon they wandered upon you, gentle wanderer.

And that’s when you realize: You’ve completely lost track of what you were trying to say…

CHARLIE

The wind emanated from Grandma Lucy. Untethered by heavy clothing or undergarments, the winds drove across the dining room while we gathered for Christmas Dinner. Granny had been on a healing diet of rich, Greek food, dates and exotic grains. The cats left the room for the saving oxygen of the back yard, while we kept our heads down, lighting more candles, and sipping wine to anesthetize ourselves and burn off any flammable gases before they collected in the corners behind the heavy furniture. Gran was unaware of her blistering discharges, and continued with her special dinner. Merry Christmas, all.

It was my job to wind the clock in the hall. I had to stand on a chair after retrieving the brass key from the hanger, and check the time on the local FM station before I wound the clock. I was careful not to overwind the clock, and after it was wound, I set the correct time by moving the minute hand either clockwise or counterclockwise. The clock never lost nor gained a minute between windings. I dusted it, quickly, and reported that I finished. The week that I neglected winding the clock was the week I passed away.

JEFFREY

Trash Talk
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Mouth” McFadden was a good cornerback, but his claim to fame was his ability to trash talk opponents. Every play, all game, McFadden would have a comment about the offensive player’s hygiene, his IQ, his mother – you name it.

One game, the opposing team had enough. They called a play in McFadden’s direction. Three receivers converged on the cornerback, ignoring the ball. Each collided with the Mouth, who went down to the turf gasping for air. He couldn’t speak a word.

Looking over the prone McFadden, one of the receivers said to his teammates, “Looks like we knocked the windbag out of him.”

They were happy to take the 15-yard penalty.

Extra-Marital
by Jeffrey Fischer

Judy’s eyes lit up. She had her cheating husband dead to rights. He thought he was being clever, ordering the life-sized wind-up doll when she was out of the house, but he forgot that Judy got the email confirmation. She couldn’t believe what she saw: a clockwork sex toy! Sure, their marriage had its problems, and she rarely showed any excitement in bed with him, but honestly!

She had tracked the order and made sure she was home for the delivery. She burst into the bedroom, the accusation already on her lips. The doll, now fully wound, opened its mouth. “It’s so nice to see you home,” it said to her husband. “How was your day, dear?” Judy looked at the box. this wasn’t a sex doll, it was a conversation doll, fluent in Wife!

LIZZIE

The flag flapped in the wind, resilient and shredded. It had survived centuries of battles, countless journeys… and John. When he discovered the relic in the attic, he decided to play with it. He imagined fierce pirate fights where kings and aliens joined forces in improbable alliances. For weeks, that flag was a cape, a belt, a beach towel, a hat, a blanket, a traveler’s bag. When his parents realized what he had done, they were horrified and decided to place the flag in the garden, flapping safely in the wind, but away from John’s dreams. The flag wasn’t happy.

RICHARD

Storm

It was a dark and stormy night, the wind howled through the empty streets, whipping up stray pieces of litter and sending tin cans clattering down alleyways.

The windows rattled in their frames, rain thudding against the glass; the building creaked and protested under the assault of the storm outside.

I peered out into the darkness, inwardly shivering at the thought of leaving the warmth of the fire and braving the storm.

Some decisions are simple.

I returned to my chair by the fireside, poured a good measure of scotch and raised a silent toast to my own good sense!

SERENDIPITY

I gave the wheel a spin, taking up the slack on the ropes, snagging them tight.

It’s about now that I really should be asking you to confess, but to be quite honest, I’ve no interest at all in anything you have to say… All I want to hear is your screams!

It’s a question of balance – judging the precise amount of tension that will exert the greatest amount of pain.

Just one more turn. One final wind of the rope.

Your joints pop; sinews tear; muscles burst…

And you scream – a confession!

And a job well done.

TOM

Even in the Quietest Moments

Francis spent months in the Brass, but didn’t have the Embouchure. He left percussion because he lacked stamina. He sawed away in the strings until the first cellist formally petitioned for his removal. “Dad I’m just not cut out for this,” said Francis. His father set his baton on the podium. He hand the young man a flute. “Let’s give the wind section a try, shall we?” A bit rocky at first, but in time Francis found his place in the orchestra. They said when he played the sound of wind blow in the pines flow through the hall.

ZACKMANN

I was unloading lumber on a windy day. When I took a piece of plywood off a lumber truck I got hit by a strong wind. I felt like Piglet on that blustery day. I wish someone had seen me before I was a hundred feet in the air. My father couldn’t chase me because his car flooded so he had to wait ten minutes before trying to start the car again. Luckily I was close to the ground when the wind died down. The family whose farmhouse I wound up near let me use their phone to call home.

NORVAL JOE

Five hundred warriors assemble in ranks, armed with pen and paper. Their badges of rank, tin, silver, gold and iron monkeys clasp their cloaks at their necks. Contestants, like knights of old, take up the challenge, proud upon their linguistic steeds, prosaic pennants billow in the wind.
“Set you alarms. Mark your calendars,” the commander calls. “You have but seven days to find the one hundred perfect words to complete your mission. Not one word more or less or you will wind up among the losers. And if you don’t like the sound of your own voice, that’s your problem.”

TURA

Wind
———
Ok, I *am* the Messiah! Crazy, right? No argument from me there. See, I’ve always known it, never believed it.

What’s it like? It’s like a violent wind gusting through me, the greatest wind there ever was, but also completely still. That might take in a village carpenter’s son two thousand years ago, but I’ve studied neuroscience, and I don’t take my brain seriously when it pulls stuff like that.

Oh, your club foot? Looks ok to me.

Thanks, but I still don’t believe in these so-called miracles. After all, it’s not exactly a randomised controlled double-blind trial, is it?

PLANET Z

WIND airs Christian talk radio up in Chicago.

You can listen to it over the Internet, but I’d rather listen to my music, or the most recent podcasts in my collection.

I have a playlist for when I’m driving to work, or when I’m driving home.

Because the one rock station airs more commercials than music, and the local NPR station is always in a fundraiser.

Same with the classical station, but the fundraisers there are calmer and more relaxed.

More relaxed than the talk on WIND, I suspect.

I connect my iPhone, tell Siri to play, and drive on.