The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?.

We’ve got stories by:

• Lizzie
• John
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Tura Brezoianu
• Singh
• Neil
• Tom
• Munsi
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Danny Dwyer
• Chelsea
• Seicher Rae
• Spate
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of ANY TOWN BUT FUNKYTOWN.

Use the Share buttons at the end of the post to spam your social networks. This obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.

LIZZIE

“Mark my words, son, time flies.” The six year-old Tommy nodded diligently. His grandfather surely knew about these things. “One day you’re young and the next…” Tommy wasn’t quite sure of this though. When he was born, his grandfather was already old. He had gray hair and wrinkles. “Let’s go. We still have a few hours till sunset.” And they played football. His grandfather moved quite well for an old guy. Years later, when his granddad died, all Tommy could think of was that afternoon. “Time does fly, granddad,” he whispered softly, looking at the sun hiding behind the horizon.

JOHN MUSICO

“Time Cures All” by John Musico

The Alzheimer’s patient returned to his psychiatric appointment accompanied by his wife.
During the interview, the patient’s wife, as visits prior, answered all questions for him while shooting glares at him with her eyes to keep quiet and just sit still. He wasn’t his usual expressionless mute self that day. The wife declared to the psychiatrist; “He has clearly deteriorated.” The doctor explained; “ He is advancing to disinhibition. That means he can no longer suppress his urges.” She replied; “ I still don’t understand”. The patient turned to her and said smiling; “That means; time to shut up bitch.”

JEFFREY

On the Case
by Jeffrey Fischer

The police detective glanced around the ransacked room. “Okay, sir, just tell me what’s missing.”

The homeowner looked frantic. “The thieves took everything of value – my computer, my TV, phone. But I can replace all that. The one thing that is irreplaceable was a gift from my grandfather.”

“Don’t worry, sir, we’ll try to get your property back. Just describe this gift for me.”

“It’s a mid-century watch. It didn’t cost much, but it has great sentimental value for me. Please, detective, find out for me: where did the Timex go?”

Golden Years
by Jeffrey Fischer

I leaned back in the easy chair and turned to my wife. “It’s so nice to be able to sit here with you without a care in the world. I guess that’s what we worked so hard to achieve. It seemed like only yesterday when you were my bride. Now look at us: content just to while away the hours until we die. Where *did* the time go?”

Jennifer peered at me over her glasses. “Jeffrey, sarcasm doesn’t become you. When you married me, you knew I liked to watch “Downton Abbey.” It’s only an hour, and if you don’t like it, read a book.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story: Part 49 – Time to go

Seeing the look on Rasputin’s face, George started babbling and looking for an escape route. He glanced at his watch:

“Oh, my goodness… where has the time gone? I’m terribly late… I really must be going. Terribly sorry!”

Rasputin’s sudden firm grip upon his shoulder said otherwise.

Without haste, the big man led him across the chapel, knocked on the ante-room door, and roughly pushed him through.

“And where the hell do you think you’ve been?”, said a familiar voice, sarcastically.

Sat upon a Sunday School chair, far too small for her, was Emily. And boy, did she look annoyed!

#2 – Time Lord

The first time that I met him, I was thoroughly impressed – long scarf, floppy hat and deep, booming voice.

He told me he was a Time Lord: “I keep time safe, I ensure it runs as it should – all the time in the universe passes through my hands. Never ask where the time has gone, for I am its keeper, and it comes to me!”

He gave me an enigmatic wink, before stepping into a nearby ‘phone box.

The next time I met him, I wasn’t quite so impressed.

Turns out, he owns the clock shop on the High Street!

#3 – The Timekeeper

‘Who wants to live forever?’

That was the advertising slogan that accompanied the launch of ‘The Timekeeper’, and despite its high price tag, millions were sold.

‘The Timekeeper is a revolutionary new product that captures all your wasted, lost and spare time throughout your life, keeping it safely and securely stored until your final moment. Then, simply press the chrono-key to release the stored time, extending your lifetime far beyond mortal years!’

Of course, I bought one.

And now, on my deathbed, I pressed the key…

Nothing.

Frantically, I tried again, and again.

Turns out, ‘The Timekeeper’ was just another scam.

#4 – Einstein

Einstein got it right, but Hawking messed up the mechanics.

Time is relative, but black holes? Sorry Stephen – you blew it!

A crushing singularity, where time itself grinds to a pulverising halt – it’s simply incorrect.

What really occurs is that the time that’s in short supply – the long summer days, memorable moments, happy hours… the times that seem to be over in an instant – these are captured by black holes, stretched to infinite length, then squeezed out the other side, where they become…

Those interminably long bus journeys, embarrassed silences, and the unending hours spent in the dentist’s waiting room.

TURA

Live fast, we’d certainly done that. Not the die young part, though. Then we’d all moved on, lost touch. But you never lose friends like that, so when his son called me, I had to go.

They’d had to cut out one lung, and the other wasn’t up to much. We talked over old times, although truth is, he was already slipping away, and his memory was pretty vague.

His eyes suddenly clouded with uncertainty, and he feverishly grasped my arm. “Tell me, Jake,” he quavered, “we had fun. Didn’t we? We had fun?”

“Yes,” I said, “we had fun.”

SINGH

28.7

She blinked with daylight. The storm had broken. Birds

were fluttering, stealing thatch.

“Atul!”

He’d migrated from the chair to her bed end.

“Your mother will be worried.

“No Madam.

She knows that you are sick.”

“Pass me water,

will you?”

As he jumped down, Yudhi jumped up,

then sank his butt, wetting the concrete floor.

Atul passed her a tumbler and let him out,

then squatted to sluice away the puppy puddle

with half a bucket, brooming the yellow runoff

out the door.

“You’re a darling,” Margot said.

She was glad for the boy, but wished Yogi was here.

28.8 kaleidoscope

Thanks to Little Man

Margot didn’t starve.

He brought subdzie-roti

packed by neighbourly women —

vegetable and chapati

spiced over hot-plate fires

from the rainbow tray of powders

always with tumeric, haldi

adding its yellow bias,

the Indian cure-all

anti-bacterial ginger-

cousin, along with mirch —

chilli that burns out fever.

Atul was courier for

the billions of women network

(local unsung chapter)

rolling dough into action.

Her sickness brought acceptance.

Bukhar, the fever leveller

breaks people, then bonds them.

None escapes what tries

to wrench body from soul,

dandled in the hands

of the death god Yama.

28.9

walking to the mandir red temple compound

for post-fever reboot inside the Gate of Aum

time overspent with newbie greenhearts

looking out not inward being a tree a shade-giver

she sighed relieved ding-alinging the God bell

bowing body down before the fire-pit

sprinkling samagri sandalwood sawdust rose-petals

with steel spoon camphor dhoop seven grains

to seek guidance feed the mouth of Agni

learn your life’s role Q & A with the fire-god

stay still ear tuned source ominous weather

the action of bowing on warm marble

blessed her forehead impressing a seed open sesame

28.10

The villagers bowed here with their skinny hopes

requesting rain, a cow, or marriage matches.

Their scale of wants was simple milk and roti.

Meanwhile a man ladled drips of ghee

from time to time, to appease the fire-god.

He was the Brahmin following tradition

who also tilled a plot, although his brood

lived out the back mainly on offerings

of store supplies and grimy rupee notes

earned for wedding services and funerals,

harvest mantras. His birth horoscopes

spoke auspicious outcomes, softened truths.

She fluttered rupee butterflies onto marble.

Eyes lit up. He chanted with more vigour.

28.11

The English-knowing priest soon spoke aloud.

“Where is your husband? We are missing him.”

“Yogi is busy. He will be back.”

She sat.

Her eyes searched the flames and climbed the wall.

Shiva was framed above in embossed tin,

the Lord of Yoga in his lotus pose

with three-pronged trishul, a cobra for a scarf

was well-scorched by the rising havan heat.

Then Yudhi barked, wagging his happy tail.

Rushing in, he leapt to clean her face.

The fire-priest flared up. “Get it out! Get it out!”

A tongue had spoken. No dog can enter heaven.

28.12

For his next trick he piddled by the fire.

The priest rose livid, scrabbling for a stick.

Margot should have laughed, but the fever —

her hard-to-send-off guest had made her tetchy.

She stood up, tree-like to protect the dog.

“Don’t touch the little thing. It’s just a puppy!”

Brahmin glared at the untouchable pariah.

“Don’t even think it, or I’ll crack your head.”

She grabbed the iron trishul against the wall

ready to wield like battle-goddess Durga

till the pissing war became an Indian stand-off.

He left in a huff. She cleaned the place and went.

28.13

This argy-bargy did not endear her

to the prestige priest and his close cronies.

Revere the goddess or just plain fear her.

Such men make witches from strong yonis.

These ruling males were at a loss

and Foreign Madam got a wide berth.

But children knew she was the boss.

Thus Gora the potter discerned her worth

like Om Prakash and Janadan

whose kids loved school. To make amends

Gora sent cups and Janadan, a melon

each day to her. She earned friends,

while the burning priest just stayed on fire

and gave bad press as the village-cryer.

28.14

Ram, her closest neighbour,

husband of Kamal Devi

urged by Atul dropped by

to do odd jobs, fixing

the waterpump handle

loose on its ratchet,

and mending the rot in gaps

of her enclosure. He

had no children in school

but following his wife’s

kind thought for Madam

did what he could, clearing

the sludge build-up

in the run-off channel.

Some old women passing

looked with hard eyes

wondering why this man

was helping out so much

the white Foreign Madam

whose own husband

should be doing her own chores —

not all their children

taken from farm duties.

28.15

She began to see the village folk divide

as the self-appointed, and the humble few

Kaurava cousins, Pandavas everywhere.

A woman without husband and protector

was danger time and a gossip topic.

Without school, she lacked a postal service

to send needful messages to parents.

But Atul and a handful of the keen

traded chores for some close-up lessons.

The poorer children had the appetite

as the monsoon poured down in fever bursts.

Each day she would read or act a story

from the Mahabharata book – this one

in verse with Atul as her translator.

28.16

Eklavya, the lowborn lad

did not know the high-caste law:

that poor polluted ones cannot

be purified through arts of war.

None told him Dronacharya

the warrior Brahmin of the bow

who taught the princes in silk robes

would one day, cruelly, strike a blow.

Eklavya, still fashioned faith,

shaping his Drona from raw clay

and bowing to the Guru’s form

gained archery an inner way.

Adeptness came, until one day

he shot seven arrows through the jaws

of some stray dog, pinned down and skewered,

the death-shake rattling in its claws.”

Yudhi then rolled over to play.

28.17

“He’s an English dog,” joked Atul.

He understands you, Madam.”

Now Drona with his best disciple

watching, walked out from the trees.

Arjuna, student-general

could not command such expertise.

Dronacharya, in a flash

now thought of rebel-flags unfurled,

inciting subdued tribes behind

the Greatest Archer in the World.

No, he must be one High-Born:

like Prince Arjuna—the hope and goal

who had the ancestry to assert

good politics of caste-control.

Drona called the boy: ‘Hey come!

How did you perfect your game?’

‘By offering all to you, my Lord,

I worshipped—you improved my aim.’”

28.18

“Is it true, Madam?”

She continued.

“I appreciate you for all this love,

and I see you practice everyday.

Now, as per custom, give my homage.’

The crafty guru made his play.

‘Though none can match, Eklavya,

who has shot upward from a slum

the future’s arrowhead is Arjuna.

Thus, I demand your severed thumb.’

So, Eklavya, the faithful slave

gave dakshina, the guru-fee.

Ever since, dissenting Dalits,

stretch the bow, but hold thumb free.

He placed it at the guru’s feet

a blemish on the Brahmin Law.

Now Dronacharya is best recalled

for stealing thumbs, not arts of war.”

28.19

Thus she passed her days of wet and hot

inside her hut with a happy yellow dog,

neighbour kids arriving between the storms.

Avoiding the Brahmin and fire mandir

she turned inside and found another place.

Nataraja danced before her eyes.

She saw and heard his damaru, the little drum

shaped like an hour-glass, sounding syllables

that make and break the universal law.

There was Ganga Devi in Shiva’s hair

unbraiding herself from his flowing dreadlocks.

Outside, rain had not let up and tractor blades

were ploughing the road. Then she heard Atul.

“Madam ji! Madam!”

NEIL

— Junkie —

You can get it all at Mr Johnson’s Time Emporium. Pop-books of individual seconds. Hours sealed in a can. Tanks containing whole years, if you’ve got the cash.

Time is money, Mr Johnson says.

And since he opened, I’ve never missed a deadline.

Never hit one, either. Because I can always get a couple more days, I never feel like I have to start anything.

It’s getting bad. I’ve got so much time that nothing ever gets done. I’m almost 50, but I’ve not yet had my 22nd birthday.

I’d quit, if it didn’t mean facing my credit card bill.

TOM

A silence gather about the Ghetto. Father Tony was joined by Rev
Morehouse. “Not you too, we are not going to have a dipped in nostalgic
band of brothers were has the time gone moment?” “Yes Captain Proctor, we
needn’t bring up what happen in that valley, just the death of dreams and
by my account we are the last still standing.” As if the years themselves
fell away, he was looking into the eyes of Lt Morehouse and Staff Sargent
Anthony Delmonico. “It will not go well.” said the doctor. “Never does.”
replied the priest.”Where are the guns, Morehouse?”

MUNSI

Floating Through the Day

By Christopher Munroe

You shiver, then whimper, naked and drained.

You assure me you’ll only need a minute.

It takes more like an hour.

I’d like you to stay, but you need to be at work in the morning, so do I, and I totally respect your decision to sleep in your own bed.

You thieve my pajama pants and TShirt, swimming in their size, and I walk you to your car, kissing you as you climb in, watching you drive away.

On the way back, it’s my turn to shiver.

My weekend is drawing to a close.

Where has the time gone?

SERENDIPITY

It sits on your hard drive, waiting to strike, then – at the worst possible moment – it starts to suck up your precious time, slowing your system to a crawl.

It mocks your deadlines with rogue updates, unexpected restarts and inexplicable crashes, misinterprets keystrokes, drops connections and hides files… and always when time is of the essence.

It comes preinstalled with every computer – PC or Mac – and there’s no escape.

So next time you wonder, “Where has the time gone?” – try switching off, and maybe you’ll work it out.

ZACKMANN

“Honey, where is the thyme? I bought some from the guy at the farmers market with the Volkswagen 412 squareback and am looking for the empty jar to fill.” said Zack

“Don’t worry dear I’m sure you’ll find it. I am sure I saw it recently, have you checked the top shelf of the dishwasher. I meant to put away the dishes but I could not find the time.” replied Connie.

“We haven’t used much since our baby left for college.” remarked Zack

Connie teased “We both worked but tried to give our child all the thyme in the world.”

DANNY

The world is asking, where has all The Time gone? The negative news about the crisis in Crimea, the missing airplane in Malaysia, and Eddie Van Halen previously wanting to join Kiss as their guitarist because he was fed up with arguing with David Lee Roth, left All The Time so fed up with humanity it decided to stop and take a vacation in the Bahamas. Top physicists and world leaders now question exactly when All The Time will come back so we can resume destroying ourselves, and whether All The Time will be to hung-over to resume moving forward.

CHELSEA

There was a sucking hole in his life. He wasn’t sure when he’d first noticed it. He’d always felt it there on the edge of everything, eating away at each moment.

He tried to keep a hold of the things that were important, family, friends, his sanity, but little by little each moment was stolen, devoured by the sucking hole in his world.

But, where did the time go, where was it actually going?

Was there a physical place he could go to get it all back?

That’s when he built the machine, and no one ever saw him again.

SEICHER

They say your life flashes rapidly in front of your eyes when you know you are about to die some sudden death. Who are They and how do They know this? Wouldn’t the people who know be…dead? She returned to watching a particularly embarrassing moment from junior high, vivid in its detail, right down to replicating the pain in her gut from the long ago angst. That was a random, cruel life review. And, why hasn’t anyone ever remarked that these flashes can happen at other times? She continued her reflection and her blank stare at the Windows loading screen.

SPATE

Bottles and Needles

She knows where Time goes. She followed him after the betrayal. Across alleys with dark corners, down sewers and through tunnels; all the way she hung not far behind him.

He stopped in a dank cavern and sat upon a rock. She quietly moved closer to see his skinny nakedness was covered with tattoos that looked like blue green bruises against his pale gray skin. And then she saw the ground all around was littered with bottles and dirty needles.

Heroin. That’s how he was manipulating the seconds and minutes and hours and days. Bottled smack.

Time is a junkie.

CLIFF

“All right, Eddie. You were the last one to be seen with it. So where is it?”
“I don’t know, I tell you. I didn’t take it.”
“Don’t lie to me, Eddie!”
“I’m tellin’ ya, when I left, it was right there in the bottle.”
“And now that sealed bottle is just empty?”
“It musta leaked out or something.”
“I’m warning you…”
“You ain’t got nothing on me. I got rights.”
Detective Crookshanks rubbed his eyes. Eddie wasn’t going to crack. It looked like the lab report was right. Nobody stole the liquid time. It just slipped into the future.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle followed Widow Finklestien to a small cafe. Either, she didn’t notice him following behind herA, or, with his changed status in reality, she didn’t know him anymore.
She sat in a booth, leaning across the table, holding hands with a man a little older than she. Dergle sat in the next booth, his back to hers.
“Where has the time gone, Harold?” She asked.
“That’s my point, Beula. Time’s moving on. Are you going to marry me, or not?”
A long pause followed his question. When she finally spoke, Dergle heard happiness in your voice, “Yes, Harold. I will.”

PLANET Z

Every week, the TIME magazine moves from the mailbox to the table by the front door.

Then, it moves to the countertop in the bathroom.
(Or the bathroom floor, if a cat knocks it there.)

After a day or so in the bathroom, it lands in the stack of magazines next to my wife’s easy chair.

It will float between the bathroom countertop for a few days, and then end up in the basket next to the toilet if there’s anything interesting in there for further reading.

And then, the trash. Along with all the other old catalogs and magazines.

Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at oneadayuntilthedayidie.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.

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.

The topic this week was PRIVATE.

We’ve got stories by:

• Seicher Rae
• Jeffrey
• Richard
• Jeff Hema
• Lizzie
• Serendipity
• Tom
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Spate
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• John
• Botgirl
• Chelsea
• Norval Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Danny Dwyer
• Singh
• Planet Z

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of WHERE HAS THE TIME GONE?.

Use the Share buttons at the end of the post to spam your social networks. This obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

Finally, if there are any errors or corrections, please let me know, and I’ll fix them as soon as possible.

SEICHER RAE

Chris adjusted his headset and slumped back into his cheap chair — just another body in another cubicle in the sea of cubicles on this “secure work floor”. What a joke. Anyone with half a brain could leave with enough information to score at least a nice vacation. All the private identification information you could want, all given freely by the trusting dolts because they thought they were talking to the government. The sub-contracted job was minimum wage and the workers generally not too bright, but not Chris. He had plans; he could wait for the right call. He took another.

JEFFREY

Work is Its Own Reward
by Jeffrey Fischer

“We need to reward our best employees when they work hard on an assignment,” Mr. Silver said to his line managers.

Beth asked, “What kind of reward were you thinking about? We don’t have much in the way of a budget.”

Mr. Silver leaned back in his chair. “Maybe a $25 Starbucks gift certificate would show our appreciation. Heck if we chip in, we could make it fifty.”

Beth privately thought that wasn’t much of a motivational tool for employees making more than $75,000 a year, but she held her tongue. After all, keeping her paycheck flowing was its own reward.

The Examination
by Jeffrey Fischer

The doctor walked into Room 1 and looked at the patient on the table. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Doctor, I have some itching on my private parts and it won’t go away.”

The doctor chuckled kindly. “Well, that’s pretty easy to handle. Usually that’s just a case of genital crabs or lice. Let me take a look.” He performed an examination of the patient.

“That’s puzzling,” the doctor said. “I can’t see evidence of either crabs or lice. Just some white residue.”

“I could have told you that, doc. I just accidentally poured a bottle of itching powder down my shorts this morning. It’s pretty powerful stuff.”

Office Call
by Jeffrey Fischer

Bob knew the private meeting with his boss wouldn’t be a happy one when the older man shut his office door. “Bob, I have some bad news: we’re going to have to let you go. The minimum wage went up, which is great for the people we can afford to keep. Unfortunately, we can’t keep everyone, and you’re the low man on the totem pole.”

Bob looked stunned. “But… the President said raising the minimum wage wouldn’t lead to job losses.”

“Bob, he’s a politician. He lied.”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story: Part 48 – A poor reception

Draining his teacup, George pushed his way to the front of the chapel, and climbed into the pulpit.

Clearing his throat, he leaned forward and boldly addressed the congregation:

“Ladies and gentlemen! The world may be ending, but we don’t have to go without a struggle!”

At his words, silence descended, the people looked up at him questioningly, before losing interest and turning back to their tea, biscuits and conversation.

Rasputin appeared at the foot of the pulpit, an angry frown on his face:

“You!”, he snarled, “Will speak with me now!” – he pointed towards a side room: “In private!”

#2 – Private Sanderson

As disasters go, this was pretty bad.

The chain of command was in tatters – strategically placed explosives, plenty of luck and a badly-timed combat briefing had combined to wipe out every officer in the company. The unit needed a leader, and pretty quickly.

In such extreme circumstances, the burden of command falls upon the most senior recruit still standing. Such was the responsibility that now fell to Private Sanderson.

What followed was crushing defeat and humiliation.

Shortly after, military policy was changed to ensure regimental mascots could not hold rank – a dog would never be put in command again!

#3 – The Sign

The sign said ‘Private Property’, we took no notice – we climbed over the wall and made the place our playground.

They tried all sorts to keep us out, but we always found a way: The words ‘Keep Out!’ were added to the sign, to no effect – we still broke in every day after school.

We thought it was a joke, when we turned up one evening and the sign now said: ‘Pirate Property – Keep out!’, but we were wrong.

Several of us suffered cutlass wounds, and Billy Smith was forced to walk the plank.

We don’t play there any more.

#4 – The Door Marked ‘Private’: Part 1 – Interview With A Prisoner

Nobody knows what’s behind the door – it’s not just that it’s marked ‘Private’ – this is a tough place – they don’t stand for any messing about, so we avoid causing trouble.

There’s all sorts of rumours – some say it’s where they keep the electric chair; others, that it leads to solitary confinement… myself, I think it’s just a storeroom. There’s no way I’m taking a look though!

Yes, some people take the risk, but no way is that a good idea.

Why?

Simple – it may sound crazy, but I’m telling you, nobody who ever went through that door ever came back!

#5 – The Door Marked ‘Private’: Part 2 – Interview With The Governor

We run a tough regime around here – and it works. I can tell you that these inmates keep their noses clean and give us no trouble at all. After doing time here, you never see them back in prison again.

Matter of fact, I’d say most of them are pretty much reformed characters way before their sentence is finished, which gives us a bit of a problem with overcrowding and prisoners with no real need to be here.

That’s why we have the door.

What’s behind it? Well, there’s a short corridor, leading to another door, and beyond that…

Freedom!

JEFF HEMA

An Asset

By Jeff Hema

Against all odds, the exponent driven detective Carrie was right! He’d been turned.

“You either become a double agent or you’ll face the death penalty and a public humiliation,” she said to me laconically in private.

I had no option but to comply.

When I reached the frontier, border guards were very dubious, unlike their dogs that scented the traitor inside me. I felt like they wanted my demise so I burst into a derelict cabin and tried to block the door, but they were getting in from the bottom.

I had to cut them into pieces… One by one.

LIZZIE

Private matters are difficult to handle, especially if those involved are married. It’s tricky, confusing, and even murky to meddle in affairs that are none of your business. That’s exactly what Nolan thought when he decided to hop in the time machine to try to solve marital problems. It was the almighty Marriage Committee’s business, granted, but wasn’t it his marriage after all? Unfortunately, a revolutionary thought for his time, he knew… Well, the machine broke, and Nolan got stuck back in 1974. He spent the rest of his private life haunted by the possibility of marrying his own great-grandmother.

SERENDIPITY
It’s surprising how many people keep private information on their computers and make little, if any, effort to protect it from prying eyes.

All those dodgy photo’s you downloaded from the net; logs of those private conversations that you’d never want disclosed; and those little snippets of information that would shock people if they were to ever find out.

As for protection… passwords won’t help you – we hackers are like vampires: invite us in of your own free will, and we have free reign.

And inviting me in to your system, is a simple matter: just play this audio file!

TOM

Funny

One of my earliest memories is watching the Phil Silvers show. I was four
years old. Both my parent were always prone to laughter, but that show
produced a different magnitude of laughter. Being a rather focused and by
all account precocious child I tried to sort out the reasons that show was
funny. I remember to this day a character called Pvt. Swiftington Bilko.
A rubbery face comic in his first TV roll. Seven years later he would
become the chimney sweep in Mary Poppins. Oddly he grew up 60 miles to the
south of were I grew up.

Well Defined Relationships Part 39

Rev Tony made his way cross the church yard to Doc Proctor. “Private
conversation Andover.” he said ducking into the Ghetto of Our Lady of
Detroit. Amongst the walls of pistons and cover of hub caps Rev Tony
whispered the name Le Cid Caesar. “When will he be here?” ask the Doctor.
“He and his 40 thiefs will come with the last new moon. “Why tell me?”
“Your our only hope.” “NO NO NOT AGAIN Anthony.” “Look at them Andover
they are lambs before the slaughter.” “I’m not the man you need.” “If not
you, then who?” said the priest.

Up the Rabbit Hole Part 8

Adam X return to his normal life. Code Monkey by day Kabbalahist by night.
He scoured the net looking for all things 404. On day seven the work payed
off. A link to a private chat room in Romania. A group of Ukrainian
hackers closely guarded words hinted at a similar experience. When Adam
entered “Who is HE.” the room imploded. The ghost cursor started to blink
in a syncopated pattered. Then the reply appeared “HE is waiting.”
Everything went black the screen, the room, in the dark a silk hood
dropped over his head. Arms firmly lock on his.

MUNSI

The Age of Privacy

By Christopher Munroe

Once upon a time, we had a concept called “Privacy”.

Essentially, people could if they chose be alone. No social media, no CCTV, no NSA monitoring, nothing. Simply an individual, alone with his or her thoughts.

Communication, in the age of “Privacy”, happened face-to-face, between small numbers of consenting citizens, unrecorded. No detailed records were kept, indeed the idea of recording “Private” conversations was considered uncouth.

Because we were all isolated then, every one of us, even in groups.

We must’ve been desperately lonely.

Barbaric, isn’t it?

But that’s how we used to live.

We’ve come a long way since…

ZACKMANN

“I be glad I could have this private conversation with the Grimm Bastard’s supply officer. Ye are fair to me men and a good leader but Ye should not be too trusting of privateers even ones on your own ship.” says Captain Pigheart pushing Officer Johnson toward the fantail.

Officer Johnson kicks the captain in his privates then runs over the gangplank before Pigheart can order his detention. Johnsons is so glad his diligence to his duty resulted in acquiring the rum keg that Pigheart has used to become too tipsy to remember the Grim Bastard is still in port.

SPATE

The Intruder

The shower is probably the second most private place in this world… just you, the hot water, some soap. You never expect someone to creep up on you.

When I heard her bloodcurdling, heart searing scream I didn’t even think; I just bolted up the stairs, two at a time, threw open the bath door and yanked the curtain back.

She was naked, plastered flat against the wall, horrified; and there he was standing right in the shower with her.

I did what I had to do…

I squished the damn spider. He went down the drain in little pieces.

CLIFF

I had worked for the company for fourteen years and I’d never been on the tenth floor. The directory just showed it as “Private” and the elevator was locked. The door on the stairs was locked from the inside too. Yesterday, while climbing the stairs, I found the door blocked open, likely by some diehard smoker on the roof. I pulled the door open and looked inside. Rows of monitors showed company reports, budget plans, the entire corporate strategy. Sitting in front of those monitors were chimpanzees. A gorilla pushed me out the door with the words “You saw nothing.”

Nothing is private. Your bank accounts, your calls, your emails, all are subject to government surveillance. They track the GPS in your car and phone. They monitor your FaceSpace and TweetPages. If you catch their attention, they can know everything there is to know about you inside of an hour. Sure, they say it’s just bulk statistical data but really, what spy is given that kind of access and says “No, it wouldn’t be ethical.” You mark my words, they’re spying on everyone everywhere!

JOHN MUSICO

“None So Blind As Those Who Will Not See”
by John Musico

An atheist has no faith. He has no confidence that some power will save him.
However, without recognizing it- he does have faith.
It occurs after his talents have fallen short and he has again failed.
That night, he talks to himself. He reminds himself he has traversed rough waters prior and yet survived. He urges himself to return to the fight bravely.
He feels better. He is praying to a benevolent, intangible, almighty being- his inner self. He is even placing faith in someone who has failed. Yet, he chooses to believe nonetheless, without evidence. He does have faith.

BOTGIRL

Pride, Prejudice and Twitter, a 100 Word Story in Screenplay style by Botgirl Questi- www.botgirl.com

There’s also a video version, which is where the audio came from

PLAIN DRAWING ROOM

JANE AND MR. DARCY ARE STANDING AT THE LIBRARY.

JANE(EXCITED)

The social network isn’t just a medium of self-expression, it calls forth creativity that would not have otherwise been born…

MR DARCY

… and time not otherwise wasted.

(JANE smirks)

JANE

We hack off hunks of ourselves chronically crafting content that is convulsively consumed by hungry hordes viewing voyeuristically from the void!

MR DARCY bumps fists with JANE

MR DARCY

Incorrigible peeping Toms peering from timeless space, hungry ghosts gobbling down the guts we disgorge, zoned out zombies voraciously devouring endless tubs of all you can eat buttered brains, transfixed by the wit and witless wind.

JANE kisses MR DARCY

JANE

You’re feeding off me right now, so don’t forget to wipe your filthy mouth before you finish.

FADE TO BLACK

CHELSEA

Private Moments:

Private moments between two people are the sweetest things.

Soft whispers in the ear.
Gentle kisses on the lips.
Secret smiles when no one’s looking.
Silent sighs in the dark.

Sweet moments for two and only two.

It’s the most amazing thing in the world when you can share a private moment with someone who actually wants to be there. Moments that you keep close to your heart.

Private moments between two people.
Soft whispers in the ear.
Gentle kisses on the lips.
Secret smiles when no one’s looking.
Silent sighs in the dark.

Sweet moments for two and only two.

Private:

She saw him before he saw her, standing in the crowded lobby. Head down, focused on his phone, head phones in, lost in the song of the week.

She paused for a moment before walking up to him to really take it all in. To have this moment to herself.

He was waiting for her. He was there to spend time with her. Such a crazy concept in her world that she really did need that moment to herself.

Then she darted up to him and was rewarded first with surprise, then that smile. The private one just for her.

NORVAL JOE

The drill sergeant walked through the open bay barracks banging two garbage can lids together, and shouted, “I want every one of you swinging Richards out in formation, standing tall, at zero four, forty-five.”

The trainee’s jumped from their bunks, opened lockers to grab their uniforms, or dashed to the bathroom.

I was already information, knocking off the few chin hairs I could find with a dry disposable razor when Dennis came out and said, “We eat, sleep, shit, shower and shave with sixty other guys and they have the nerve to call us private. We should be called publics.”

TURA

Private
——–
“Private: Keep Out” said the sign.

“Don’t worry,” I said to my friend, “That doesn’t mean us.”

“THIS MEANS YOU,” it said sternly.

“Look”, I told it, “we’ve got more important things to do today than argue with a Keep Out sign.”

“Leave immediately or face countermeasures,” it answered.

“I don’t see any guns,” I retorted. “You don’t even have an Internet connection, do you?”

“No,” it admitted, looking crestfallen. As much as a metal plate on a post can. “They shut this place down years ago and left me running on an atomic battery. I just wanted the conversation.”

DANNY

Trolling Facebook the other day, and I saw a video clip of an Army Private getting kicked in his privates, followed by 127 of the most insane comments about utter nonsense, as if the Private whose testicles were now popping out of his mouth could not feel pain. He was not even human, his entire life reduced to a 25 second clip as if it were nothing more than a Tom and Jerry cartoon. Maybe some things in life were just meant to be private, I don’t see rape victims posting videos of their rape on Facebook. We should stop posting ours.

SINGH

28.1

Daily rain came down and down.

There wasn’t respite in her hut.

She closed school. The road to town

now boghole hell,was also shut.

She watched the village kids at times

cavorting in the plough-field muck.

For them, all was jolly times,

holidays since lightning struck.

Monsoon wets come sharp and short,

and next oppressive sweats of heat.

She’d cool off, but then was caught

like a fly upon her sticky seat.

She played with Yudhi to wait it out,

but lost her appetite for food

and took to bed with a nasty bout.

Fever watched the storm clouds brood.

28.2 Hoarfrost

So hot it’s cold laying down in the hut

fever is a portal time travel back

twenty years twenty miles south of Paris

Auvers-sur-Oise deckchair fishermen

casting lines lazy willows casting shadows

farther farmland cider-apple orchards

cherry trees nipple-laden criss-cross

of hawthorne hedges white flowers

like spicules of haw frost their stale sweet

trimethylamine of sex poppies straw hats

“Women Across a Field” Van Gogh country

“Wheat Fields with Crows” the flaming yellow sea

French-practice days a picnic lover

baguette cheese wine arse down on earth

head up under heaven so hot it’s cold

28.3 Necromancer

So hot it’s cold the black bite the swollen groins

pus volcanoes under armpits the fingers the rotting toes

black noses falling off gangrenous stink

necrosis trail into the forest clean beech bark

unsullied columbines blue jay songs plump quail

wise woman of the woods Grandma Mimi? Whose face?

nursing the nearly dead herbs air sunlight

until They march town shouters black habit bearing the Cross

Rope the necromancer! Drag her feet first hands behind back

Plague bitch! Spell thrower! Beware the witch eye!

Save the village! Throw her in the River Oise!

Squirrel horned owl red deer blink move on

28.4

So hot it’s cold sweaty Punjabi suit

inner colours unravel like Draupadi’s sari

skirts of fustian sheer linen pleated armlets of Isis

Indus saffron cotton Yuan Dynasty jade silk neck to ankle

Tyrian purple for her once-Greek lady-loose peplos

Byzantine ox leather Dalmatica cloak

woollen cape fastened on the right shoulder

velvet broadcloth with the sign of the artichoke

Spanish ruff for a delicate neck French needlelace

Marie Antoinette wig hat bearing a fruit bowl

lengths of chinz and muslin traded from India

Draupadi’s sari keeps unraveling East to West

guarding the secret soul-patches of her past

28.5 jejune

So hot it’s cold the day the night the faces

flying between the past the future legs bodies

as if passing through a glass walkway

old stone to modern extension slipping between

a lotus goddess to Detroit girl in snow

from Durga on tiger to Buick baby seat flashbacks

fast-forwards old stirrings ride along nothing jejune

about this journey her return to her repeating of

using the time-machine the hyper reality of Now

she has tasted the hallucinogens of fever Is she

the weak thatched hut of the flesh or a transporter

of private thoughts impressions transparent ghosts?

28.6

“Madam, Madam! Are you alright, Madam?

Reliable man had come with a kilo of milk

while she lay perspiring upon the bed.

The monsoon played its kettle drum tattoo

and Yudhi whimpered. Atul gave him the cream,

and poured her water from the sideboard jug.

“Drink Madam. You must keep drinking it.”

She sipped and coughed then, trying to sit up,

slumped back drained. Atul saved the tumbler

from minor flood. Not a drop spilled. He rose

up bigger than he was upon the chair

that had been growing also since last visit;

and didn’t move until the fever broke.

PLANET Z

When I was growing up, I never saw Jim Nabors on The Andy Griffith Show

Instead, I saw reruns of Gomer Pyle when he was a private in the Marines. And he sang at every Indy 500.

And Ron Howard was Ritchie Cunningham on Happy Days, not Opie the rascal in Mayberry.

Don Knotts was Mr. Furley in Three’s Company.
Even Andy Griffith was Matlock.

Looking up and down the cast list, the only other name I recognize is Denver Pyle. He was Uncle Jesse in the Dukes Of Hazzard.

The Andy Griffith Show is on Netflix?

Pass the popcorn.