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:

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

JEFFREY

Earthquake
by Jeffrey Fischer

Eight floors up, the shaking was noticeable if not alarming. Heads peeked out of offices and above cubicle walls to find out what was happening. West Coast natives knew the signs of an earthquake but couldn’t believe one might be happening in DC, while East Coast natives searched for explanations. Mine was that a particularly obnoxious driver, stuck at the light down below, had a powerful stereo.

Fire alarms clanged and everyone made the slow procession down the stairwells, out of the building. As we stood in the shadows of the skyscrapers, we wondered why it was safer to risk being hit by debris falling off facades than to remain inside. Still, outside on a sunny, temperate afternoon was not the worst place to be.

The Hideout
by Jeffrey Fischer

The building specs showed nine floors above ground and two underground, which made the set of stairs heading down from the sub-basement and the locked door at the bottom all the more mysterious. Vic opened the lock with what Ellen was sure were illegal picks and the pair crept through the doorway.

Inside, the firm’s top executives sat in plush armchairs, sipping drinks out of crystal goblets. “Oh ho, Jackson,” one said, “We’ve been discovered.” The company CEO waved a decanter. “Care to join us? We’re enjoying a lovely glass of Proletarian Tears. Vintage 2013, if I’m not mistaken.” The senior VP chimed in, “An especially good year. We fired 20% of the work force. Tears of fired employees taste the sweetest.”

CHARLIE

The building was vacant a long time. Squatters had taken over, including a dozen meth zombies, heroin addicts, and retired circus clowns. The clowns were insidious, to such an extent that the addicts left…no longer able to handle the insanity, vulgar antics and games of the clown posse. One of their favorite parlor games was to play “shoot twixt wind and water.” It involved a game between the male and female clowns. My shyness and the propriety of this forum prevents further description. The clowns also enjoyed demonstrating how to “have one’s corn ground”, a popular game of the 1800’s.

Second

Building a strong coalition of writers was her current goal. She put the word out using social media, and via her BLOG. Soon, a dozen writers joined her stable of regular contributors. She helped them find venues for publishing, and lined up open mic nights for poets and writers to read their work. She had some rules. Some of them necessary, some frivolous. Writers had to submit all work in the Comic Sans font, avoid French derived verbs, never write in the first or second person nor take any manner or stand on religious, political, artistic, or second amendment matters.

Third

Her build put the Dymaxion structures of Buckminster Fuller to shame…built like a modular, fire-clay, outdoor lavatory, she could sing and she could dance, but all she had to do was make herself available for dates, and her future was assured. She started dating a fellow that was very powerful and rich. Cranston was tired, and forty years her senior. Laurie let him kiss her if he used Lavoris and wiped his mouth. No tongue, no lingering. He could touch her on top, but not below. The old gent was grateful, and showered her with gifts and a generous pre-nup.

RICHARD

William

William’s life had always been miserable. He blamed his parents – how on earth could they have been so thoughtless? But, maybe society in general was just as much at fault.

Despite his misfortune, he made something of his life – leaving behind the torment of schooldays, and setting up his own successful business. Even so, he was never really happy with his lot.

Eventually he concluded a change was necessary: He completed the paperwork, paid the fee and left the Registrar’s office with a smile on his face.

Hello Bill Smith, and good riddance to the hated Bill Ding!

SERENDIPITY

All my neighbours think I’m a DIY nut – she’s always building they say, have you seen all the work she’s done on that house?

They do have a point; the place has changed considerably since when I first moved in. My first venture was filling in the cellar – that took some time, not what you’d call an overnight job, but some things you just can’t rush.

I’ve bricked up the odd fireplace, and rebuilt some of the old plasterboard walls.

My latest project is a new patio… Working on the foundations now: Just need a few more bodies!

LIZZIE

They say building your own house is an empowering experience, buying your own lumber, your own nails, your own tools. Matt especially enjoyed his fuel-powered chainsaw with a ground breaking design; it was absolutely amazing. And no one was allowed to touch it. Yes, the others got splinters stuck in their eyes, fingers hammered till they were black and blue, but the fun it was to saw those logs was unbeatable. However, when someone saws a hand off by mistake, that can be a bloody mess. In the waiting-room of the hospital, Matt sighed. “Good thing it wasn’t my hand…”

ZACKMANN

“Have you seen the ghost?” asked the cleaning woman.

“No, but thanks for giving me something to think about before leaving me alone in the building for the rest of the night.” replied the security officer.

“Someone died here, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure someone died everywhere by now and every business in California big enough to have security is haunted because whoever leaves me alone for the remainder of the night always tells me they are. I have concluded that if anyplace I work has been haunted the ghosts didn’t mind having someone around to call the fire department.”

TOM

Building a Stronger America, Not

Some may argue that the 80s was the most eclectic decade of the pre-post human era. For your consideration I offer Talking Heads. Hands down the best cover of Take Me To The River. More Songs About Building and Food its sort of an anti-soundtrack to a anti-life. Even the cover art is way cool ins a sub zero sense. Anything but a head shot which is the joke a guess on you if you weren’t paying attention. Damn near wore the vinyl out on side two. I love saying side two. Thank God for CDs. Once in a life time.

We Just Did Stuff

I lament the loss of building that this generation of youts must endure. No opportunity to build tree houses, or forest forts if you prefer. The Boomers had enough scrape lumber to build may small cities. Midnight Requisition frown upon by parents was tolerated by construction worker as long as you didn’t get greedy. Our best structure was four stories. Granted each floor was 5 to 3 feet tall. Pretty Cool. We never had a blue print, we never had a drawing, we never had a plan. All we had was about a thousand nails. Couldn’t do that today.

NORVAL JOE

I understand now that I tried to the enter the self publishing world backwards.
I just went out there and released my book on Kindle and Create Space expecting people to find it and buy it.
I should have spent several months before the book launch building my platform.
I’m already preparing my platform for a book I am just outlining.
It’s a non-fiction, self-help book, called, “Why You’re Smarter than the Next Guy, and How You can Profit By It.”
I’m starting a facebook page for egocentric sociopaths looking for ways to develop passive income without working for it.

DANNY

What the hell am I building when I surround myself with negativity all the time? I gave up my practice to work for someone who calls me stupid because I’m losing my hearing. I have to agree, I am stupid. I’m stupid for following someone so negative, who clearly has an anger problem, who has taken every shred of pride I used to have against me, and screams at the top of his lungs about how worthless I am. It’s about time I questioned the people I call friends in my life. Because quite frankly, they are tearing me down.

TURA

Building
———
You wish to visit the Palace? No, sir, this great building is merely its gatehouse.

But beware! Further on the road you will come to a far greater building, bustling with seeming activity, and will take that to be the palace. But that is the second gatehouse, inhabited only by mechanical puppets.

After that will be a third, vaster and more convincing still, and a fourth.

You cannot reach the palace. The procession is endless. Some say that its Architect waits at the end. But I think He is trapped there, waiting for the one who will unravel His magic.

MUNSI

How to Build

By Christopher Munroe

One piece at a time, focusing on the one, until a unified whole emerges.

THIS is how to build a thing, whether a structure, work of art, or a life, one piece upon another, focusing on the piece at hand, trying not to worry what the next might bring.

Trust each piece.

Trust yourself.

Your structure, your life, WILL with time emerge…

Or: Make a detailed plan, in advance, thinking things through and planning for any eventuality, then follow that plan.

But I’ve never been able to do that.

So one piece at a time it shall have to be…

PLANET Z

Some say that a church is just another building, but there’s something special about a church.
It’s a community hub, where families come together, or singles can find other like-minded singles.
It’s a place of sanctuary, especially for illegal immigrants. I mean undocumented workers, because, I’m sure my paperwork is in here somewhere.
It’s somewhere to park when you don’t really trust the valet at the restaurant next door.
And it’s the last place where the cops will look for a hydroponic grow room.
The pastor’s glaucoma’s gotten really bad this year. Or so he says.
Would a priest lie?

Music: http://www.bensound.com/royalty-free-music

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

MUNSI

The Mugging

By Christopher Munroe

It was a beautiful night, and I figured “What the hell?”

I’m a pretty big dude, and while it was late and the neighborhood isn’t the best, I wanted an adventure walk, headphones in, and figured there’d be no harm.

Little did I know.

From the alley he leapt, and I was too taken aback even to think of defending myself as he grabbed his cheeks, stuck out his tongue, contorted his face and, as quickly as he’d come, dashed into the night, leaving me shocked, confused and tremendously vulnerable…

… and that’s the story of how I got “mugged.”

JEFFREY

Mug Shot
by Jeffrey Fischer

His mug shot was a frightening sight to everyone, including Wayne himself: unruly hair, bloodshot and unfocused eyes, assorted cuts and developing bruises, and a snarl that explained the restraints that were just out of range of the camera.

The next morning, in the harsh fluorescent light of the interrogation room, Wayne held his aching head in his hands. He was sober now, and scared. The cop on the other side of the table kept asking Wayne what he recalled about the previous night and Wayne truthfully replied he had no memory past about nine p.m. What scared Wayne the most was that the cop refused to answer when Wayne asked if he had hurt anyone. He strongly suspected the answer was yes.

Eventually the police would charge Wayne, at which point he would call his lawyer. Until then, it was just Wayne, the cop, the lights, and one hell of a headache.

New Friend
by Jeffrey Fischer

Morrison was the kind of guy who made friends easily. People instinctively liked him, and he had a way of putting others at ease. He would often bring home these new friends for dinner. His wife couldn’t convince him that this was both a bad idea and inconvenienced her.

This time he could see in her face that she wasn’t pleased with his latest acquisition. “Kathleen, meet Tony. Tony and I met because I left work a little late, and took a shortcut through that alley – you know, the one that you said was so dark that anyone could be lurking in there. Sure enough, Tony was lurking. After he mugged me, we got to talking, and, well, here we are!” Morrison and Tony both smiled a little sheepishly at Kathleen. “Oh, by the way, do you have a twenty Tony could have? My wallet was a little short when he demanded my cash.”

CHARLIE

My favorite was the white, ceramic mug I used in the service. In over three years on the base, it was never washed. It was dressed in a patina of dark roast, and the incidental coating served as insulation. I could carry a steaming cup of coffee from the lounge to my desk — with the temperature remaining stable, even on colder winter days in New Jersey. It served me well, and was disgusting enough to get a rise out of the buttoned-up, knife sharp, creased Commanders. The more they groaned and grimaced, the more I treasured my precious mug.

Second

An obvious tale that refers to, or based on, MUG, would include mug shot. The best mug shots are the before and after shots of meth addicts. A female addict can age twenty years in two years of heavy use. Dentists won’t treat an addict because of the condition of their mouth…even the Dentists that do volunteer work in mobile clinics. I am moaning now about a loose, bottom incisor. There is some discomfort when I gnash down on something like a macadamia nut, but I can’t imagine the horror of a whole mouth full of dead or dying teeth.

Third

Mugging was a pastime in my area of town. I was buzzed, having stopped at the diner for chili and beer. It was dark, and I started walking home, pausing for two guys hanging out near the entrance to an alley. One of them jammed a pistol into my chest. I reacted, having trained in Krav Magna with some older friends. I pushed the slide back on the pistol, preventing firing, and kicked the guy’s knee. I heard a crack. I had the pistol now, and forearmed the second guy in the throat. Both were down when the police arrived.

RICHARD

Dragon’s Lair

Limbo Laggins was most unhappy – “Hobbits”, he stated to nobody in particular, “are not cut out for quests and adventures. Ewww!”

Gingerly, he inspected what he had just stepped in – dragon poop – making him acutely aware of two important facts:

Firstly – he should have worn his boots.

Secondly – the dragon’s lair was very close.

A huge roar, up ahead, sent him scuttling for cover. Cursing the wizard, he realised he stood no chance of finding the Chalice of Eternal Power.

Rooting through his satchel, he pulled out his mug… Maybe, in the dark, it might just pass?

Worth a try!

LIZZIE

Years ago, my neighbor Ronan bought an 18th century hand-painted mug for a handsome amount. “It’s an investment,” the seller had told him.
After losing his job and struggling for years, Ronan tried to sell the mug back to the same seller. The man sneered.
“But… I paid you a fortune,” said Ronan.

Yesterday, I went to the store. Ronan was behind the counter.
“Are you the owner now?!”
He nodded.
“Where’s the other guy?”
“I don’t know,” he sneered, while taking a beautiful long-knife from my hands. “Don’t buy this, it’s a fake.”
Yes, Ronan is a good man.

SERENDIPITY

Everybody in work knows not to touch my mug – it’s a special mug, with sentimental value.

It’s been with me since day one: Seeing me through three promotions, numerous job changes and one disciplinary.

It’s been my constant companion throughout countless meetings, focus groups, late finishes and early starts – that mug has outlasted many of my colleagues and has been more reliable than anybody I’ve worked with.

Best of all – it’s the perfect size for my coffee.

So, when the new guy broke it, I had no choice, I killed him.

I have to go now… Time for my mugshots.

ZACKMANN

Clara’s Sister-in-law confided that she hated her husband’s big ugly mug. Clara hated it too. One day her brother had been splitting wood. Clara saw his big ugly mug and she picked up the splitting maul then accidentally hit the big ugly mug roughly forty times. “Oh no, that mug was a gift from his mother.” cried her brother’s wife. Clara put away the maul then calmly explained that her mother gave it to him because it was ugly, her husband hated it too but wouldn’t give away a gift and how this accident that made everyone happy was unavoidable.

TOM

Ceramics 101

I was fortunate to attend a seriously well-to-do high school. Just one of those random rolls of good fortune on my parents’ part. Not only did we have art classes, we had a master potter in residence. Before a student was allowed to throw on the wheel they had to master the Zen of Coil Pot Construction. The coiled form I made was a six inch mug with walls 3/4 of an inch thick. I was a miracle it didn’t explore in the first firing. After the second firing my teacher ask for it to put in the school’s permanent collection

NORVAL JOE

We used to live in a zero lot-line house. In the backyards there were small portions where the were no house walls and were filled in with a six foot high walls for privacy.
Neighbor’s cats used to scale them to get into our yard and poop in the grass.
I found that putting baby oil along the top of the wall kept the cats off.
I’ve always wondered, how many babies does it take to make one bottle of baby oil? Do they render down a burlap sack of them, or do they just collect their drippings in mugs?

TURA

Mug
———
There’s a fad in geek circles recently for drinking your food. A complete food replacement in a bottle, it saves all that irksome chewing and swallowing, not to mention the drudgery of cooking. Soylent was the first, then Joylent and Purelent. The latest is called Queal.

These people certainly have a way with words. Purulent queal! I’ll have a steaming, suppurating mug of that! Freshly expressed mucus from the nether parts of hand-reared Komodo dragons, fermented with rotting mussels, mixed with live tadpoles and bottled. At least, that’s what the name suggests to me.

Herr Ober, bitte noch ein Queal!
———

PLANET Z

When I was a kid, my mother used to make soup in a pot on the stove, and we’d eat it from bowls.

Then, when we moved into a house with a microwave oven, she still used the pot on the stove. But I’d use a casserole dish with a lid in the microwave. Still ate it from a bowl.

When I was on my own, I’d use an oversized coffee mug in the microwave. Only had to wash the mug and the spoon.

And the microwave, too. Because I keep forgetting to use a small saucer as a lid.

Music: http://www.bensound.com/royalty-free-music