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 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.

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 AGAIN.

We’ve got stories by:

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

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of PRIVATE.

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.

JOHN MUSICO

“Ain’t No Sunshine”
by John Musico

The song; “Ain’t no sunshine” nearly ruined my start in college. During the very first exam- that song came to mind. I had to let it cycle through, in its entirety that was so long. “Wella I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know. Leave that girl alone. And a house just ain’t no home. Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone”. Then it started its cycle again, over and over. I failed. I shared my dilemma with my best friends father. He was a physician. He prescribed valium.

JEFFREY

Perfect Practice
by Jeffrey Fischer

I once had a high school teacher who doubled as a football coach. He enjoyed repetitive drills both on the field and in the classroom. Each year he would give the same motivational speech to his classes: “People say that practice makes perfect, but that’s wrong. *Perfect* practice makes perfect.” Then he would make us do the drill again.

“But sir,” I asked, “if perfection belongs only to God, then we can never practice perfectly. Shouldn’t we just go home?”

By that time in my academic career, my parents recognized the principal’s telephone number when she called.

Forecast
by Jeffrey Fischer

I use the MacBook to check the weather forecast. The snow continues to fall, and the forecast still calls for a foot of the stuff by tomorrow. I angrily slam the cover shut.

The cat walks to the front door, sees the snow, and meows, striding back to the warm couch with a disdainful look. This is the fourth time today she has made such a check. I turn to the cat and tell her, “They say that madness is doing the same thing again and again while expecting different results. You, cat, are definitely mad.”

The cat stares back as I open the MacBook and refresh the forecast. Still predicting a foot of snow. Dammit. I slam the top back down. Again.

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story, Part 47: Time to change

Tea and biscuits aside, George was acutely aware that he seemed to have lost control of his life.

Up until his accident, he’d been a control freak; knew exactly what he was doing, and tended to be the one calling the shots. Since then, things had gone downhill, and he wasn’t enjoying being pushed around by circumstance.

He thought back to how he’d overcome his fears to break out of the hospital, and then risen to the challenge at Fort Hope… It was time to take charge again of his life, and maybe those of these helpless victims around him.

#2 – The same old story

So, here I am, once again – facing the same old challenge, in exactly the same way, as I face it every single time.

And every single time it’s like this, again, and again, and again – my mind goes blank, my thoughts wander, distractions creep in and the clock ticks incessantly onwards…

Here I am, once again – bereft of ideas, lacking inspiration, frustrated, annoyed and perplexed; wondering why I’m putting myself through this, yet again.

And then, without warning or fanfare, I start to write the words, and as always happens, despite all expectations, a story is finally written, once again.

TOM

He almost missed it. He had been able to retain in memory a proper name.
Sure, not one of truly significant personal impact, or was that true. Mr.
Moggly, earnest presenter of mathematical principles to hyper
disinterested pupils was in fact the seed of his future stoicism. A life
time of explaining the complex to the perplexed. “My name is Adam,” he
said. “Good by sir,” said He. Back at his desk Adam X mentally listed off
possible explanations for this bizarre experience. Tried as he may what
filled his mind was a deep desire to do is all again.

“Again!” cried Father Tony. He and Banister pulled the widow to the edge
of the bell tower floor. All were safely untethered from the hydrogen bag
that now floated gently away from the twin churches. Despite lacking
bravery the dual congregation made up for it in Enthusiasm. Song and
dance broke out below. When things settled down everyone’s eyes were
trained on Tim waiting for some sage pronouncement. All the disheveled lad
could think to say, “God bless us one and all.” Generations later would
nod as they read thous words on the Plaque below the Statue of the Seven

t’was one of thous stupid affirmatic graphics. A poster in the office
with the letter “A” in red and the letters g-a-i-n in black in a proper
lacquered frame. Just the insipid sub proses a paper-pusher would lock his
black heart on. Danny moved gold, Danny moved junk. Danny pushed pork
bellies Danny trolled tech. Danny chopped up mortgages ground them down to
dust, sifted through the pile, cleared his book by lunch. He promised the
world as the stocks fell through the floor. But what hit the floor under
that poster was Danny who’s heart would not beat again.

“Again,” demanded Madame Duperey. “No, Stop, Once again. First position,
Second position, arm curved.” The sound of the staff marked the time less
audible to the wobbling notes that squeaked from the Victoria. Tiny units
of equal time. It’s all about, again, mused Sabrina. The randomness of
childhood ended at the tender age of seven. Not the dance, death had
changed all things. She try to recall it again. The last thing Poppa said
to her was so uninformed, it tended to float away. It took continuous
focus to keep it firm in her head, close to her heart. “AGAIN.”

MUNSI

Persistence

By Christopher Munroe

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

If you still don’t succeed, stop.

Just stop.

You can’t be good at everything, there will always be things where no matter how hard you try, you’ll fail, and fail spectacularly.

And that’s okay.

Nobody’s expected to be good at everything, if you fail over and over, maybe it’s time to quit.

Not popular advice, but good advice.

It’s about opportunity cost, after all.

So yes, try, and try again. But past that point don’t be fanatical. Quit while you’re ahead.

Because quitters do win. They just win at something different…

CHELSEA

She looked up at him and said “You have such beautiful eyes.”

“No,” he said, cowering and trying to hide his face from her.

“Yes!” she replied, slowly tracing her fingers up his back and curling them into his soft, thick hair.

“No,” he replied again.

This time when he tried to hide she pulled back on his hair to bring his face back up to hers.

“Yes!” She said and leaned in to kiss him softly and passionately before releasing his hair.
“And don’t even get me started on that smile.” she said, kissing him before he hid again.

LIZZIE

Mirror, mirror on the wall,

Who is the fairest one of all?

She had a toolbox full of aids,

And these were shinny little blades.

Mirror, mirror blocking the way,

Who will jump and who will slay?

He tried to run as fast as the wind,

But she was faster and got his skin.

Mirror, mirror playing tricks,

Who forgets and who forgives?

She looked around for more.

All she got was a funky door.

“Mirror, mirror full of shades,

I’ll stay away,” she uttered, twisting her braids

In her own little private hell,

A cell, again a lonely cell.

JULIE

You did it to me,

Again

Each night I swear you will not.

But it happens,

Again.

I am called many things.

Drunk.

Emotional.

Crazy.

I am none of those.

You will not goad me into tears.

I will not nibble the bait.

But I do.

Again.

Some days

You did it to me,

Again

Each night I swear you will not.

But it happens,

Again.

I am called many things.

Drunk.

Emotional.

Crazy.

I am none of those.

You will not goad me into tears.

I will not nibble the bait.

But I do.

Again.

Some days

It goes OK

And other days not.

You did it tonight.

Again.

I will not feed you and fuck you.

I take things from my closets and dressers

The cabinet near my sink,

Toss them into the trash.

Slowly, over time winnow it away.

I will strive to travel lightly.

SERENDIPITY

He lay in a rapidly expanding pool of his own blood; his life ebbing away as I watched him dying.

It was unfortunate for me there were witnesses – two of them – a young man and a woman, both of them now cowering in the corner of the room… and, as luck would have it, I only had one bullet remaining.

Who should I shoot – the guy or the girl? Either way, I was inevitably going to get caught – there was no escaping it.

I sighed and I placed the gun barrel to my temple, before softly squeezing the trigger, once again.

ZACKMANN

“Dylan, for the sake of whatever you hold Holy, stop playing that album. It has been on constantly. You know if I wanted to hear the same songs over and over repeatedly, I would turn on a top forty station.”

“But I love this CD.”

“I used to love that band too but in the way your mother used to love snow before she spent a few winters in the upper midwest.”

“Since you’re my favorite roommate you know what I will do?”

“No, Dylan but I hope it involves returning your mother’s CD and never playing it another time.”

NEIL

— Out of Date —

It had been an ill-timed jump, and Dirk was about to die.

He’d been told there was a bright white light. Then maybe he’d be taken to stand in front of Saint Peter, or watch as his heart was weighed against a feather.

But instead of his life flashing before him, two words appeared as his world went dark.

Continue Y/N?

And a countdown. Ten. Nine. Eight.

“Yes!” he said, as the numbers ticked lower. “Yes, yes!”

On the edge of hearing, he caught ‘not that interesting…’ ‘meh, old crap…’ ‘let’s play Street Fighter instead…’

Then silence.

Three. Two. One.

TURA

Again
——–
When I died, it ruined all my plans, except one. Time to practice my studies of the Tibetan Book of the Dead.

Tunnel of light: ignore it, it’s just the random sparkings of my brain shutting down. Now the clear and smoky lights of the heavens and hells. Avoid them all, I intend doing better than that.

Mild and fierce deities, just say boo.

Rebirth options coming up. This is the trickiest part, not just getting a human rebirth, but a fortunate one. And… and… this one!

Oops, third daughter of a Mongolian yak herder. Life on hard mode again.

SPATE

Mostly True Tales from the Navy

Part 4

Between Two Worlds

Again she appeared, the girl with the flaxen hair and the sky blue eyes, imploring me to understand: the bear had come, his strong arms offering comfort in the uncertainty of the storm.

Where was she to turn? What decision was hers? All sides had hidden intent.

I reached for her but she backed away and began sinking into the opaqueness of the sea.

That’s when I awoke, somewhere in the western Pacific, fighter jets scrambling on the flight deck above the enlisted quarters rack where I lay clinging to the recurring dream, holding my breath between two worlds again.

CLIFF

The master died yesterday and we burned him today. I laid his body in the shed and sat with him as the house robots filled and surrounded the building with wood. The fire burned for hours and, in the end, I sat next to charred bones. We carefully loaded them into a sturdy case for the journey. He believed that all life came from the sea and wanted his bones returned there. He felt that, once in the sea, he would be a part of life again. It was good to have a purpose even if my master was gone.

SINGH

27.1

The whale of a house was first to call Yogi for satsang

some District belly of Works, who ensures nothing will happen

without eating his weekly ‘hafta’, a fad wad of hundreds, stapled.

Impressario Barhai gave White Yogi a make-over:

elegant cream, quilt shoulders, some silk to snake the neck with.

Chauhaan lugged the guitar case, grey and sleek as a dolphin,

nosing passed people waiting seated on white linen.

A tabla player came with the entourage of Yogi guitarfish

sitting to tune both treble and bass, then dive down under.

Yogi strummed and sang in a scale pelagic and solemn.

27.2

Next day, it was a house behind the college.

Mrs Malholtra greeted at the door.

The satsang started in her livingroom.

Yogi sang his mish-mash nonsense chant

based on Sanskrit names for baby Krishna

go-pa-la go-pa-la

de-va-ki nun-dana go-pa-la

lah lah lah lah go far lah lah

lah lah lah lah go-go very far

No one said a word and clapped along.

He was a foreigner. He went unquestioned.

After, they dropped rupees at his feet

that Barhai later grabbed. Then onto the next:

another home of Mrs Middle-class.

27.3

Barhai sold the emperor’s new clothes

till day and nightly satsangs were the rage.

Wealth and status tasted the first cream

and lapped it up, meowing to the neighbours.

Fame makes rings that spread across a town.

All wanted to touch the robed and shoeless saint

gracing divans and nibbling their pakoras.

Some even took his leavings as prashad.*

Yogi’s azure eyes played their foreign part.

He came and sat and smiled and sang, just

glad that funds would flow back to the school.

For most, he was every centimetre holy

while Barhai hid his cheshire pleasure smirk.

*blessed food.

27.4

S.P. Agarwaal, a high-ranking cop

invited Yogi inside. “Aiyay, Sir.”

Someone was waving a tray with burning ghee-lamp,

while others avalanched him with their ropes

of cream and crimson flower-headed garlands.

Yogi sang, then tried some smatter of Hindi.

Then Agarwaal came half-sobbing. “Yogi ji,

my daughter is having bad pneumonia.

Please, you come to the hospital and bless her.”

Yogi felt awkward and glanced across to Barhai

whose simply said: “Certainly, Agarwaal Sahib!”

Approval murmured through the gathering

like wings of fluttering pigeons in a coop.

Thus Yogi was driven to the medical centre.

27.5 Chimera

As soon as passing through the swing-bang doors

Yogi did not want to be there. Phenol

pinched his nose, flooding him with childhood’s

asthma stints that gasped in hospital.

But he could not say as Agarwaal charged ahead.

His feverish three-year-old and fraught wife

were in the children’s ward. He implored.

Nurse Whitecap nodded to Dr Whitecoat

glancing at White Yogi– practitioners

of priestcraft – different schools. “Doctor

says go in,” Nurse Whitecap said. “She is

in Jesus’ hands.”

An Indian Christian. Barhai

steered Yogi through the breezy porthole doors

and the phenol odour made him retch again.

27.6

“Baba bless my little girl,” the mother said

bobbing to touch his feet. But Yogi felt

fraudulent as that day beside the Ganges

when a villager humbly kneeled for blessing

as if he was a meditating sadhu.

Belief in holiness he hoped would be enough,

not in him; and prayed to God to save her.

He felt it wrong, but touched the fontanelle.

The baby murmured, surprising him. Was this

gurgle, proof he was a conduit? “Please,”

Nurse Whitecap said. “She must be resting now.”

The khaki Superintendent was overcome

and thrust a wad of notes in Barhai’s hand.

27.7

Within one day the Agarwaal baby lungs

were suddenly clear of noctilucous blotches.

Whitecoat blinked. Nurse Whitecap said, “Praise Jesus.”

No phosphor specks shined in the x-ray dark.

Barhai went to Yogi. “The God has blessed you.”

“Look. I’m glad that she has pulled through, but

she was lucky, Barhai.”

“Why to doubt?

You may have healing hands and the God knows only.”

Yogi listened. The idea of having a gift

was pleasing vanity, although the ego shrugged.

“If you are praying for the people with a pure heart

where is the wrong in it. The God bestows.”

27.8

Word spread fast of Yogi, the singing saint

with the healer’s touch. Barhai’s phone kept

ringing, while Chauhaan turned secretary.

Calls for home satsangs went ballistic.

So they invented the fifteen minute stop.

Yogi did his job, listening to requests

for better health, jobs, or having a son.

Barhai advised to nod and smile and touch

bowed lady heads, or pat the backs of men.

With the wish-stream came the flow of cash.

It was clear transaction: blessings for money.

Embarrassed first, Yogi then rationalised

how Barhai was collecting for the school.

and kept aloof from any money-handling.

27.9 Dystopia

The monsoon rains kept the campaign going —

short cold bursts shifting to rising steam.

Overly busy, Yogi neglected Margaret,

and wondered if she was coping in the village.

He thought to write and asked Barhai to send it

somehow. The roads were still deep ruts of mud.

“Of course,” said Barhai with all confidence

salving Yogi’s conscience on the surface.

He missed her badly, thinking of her at night,

now a past life friend. With thoughts disturbed

his head became a guilty chatroom; so drew

a Gita Card for calm — ‘Divine Descent’

the avatar call coming from age to age:

27.10

When wickedness consumes the ways of humankind
I descend to end dystopia with Dharma saving the pious.

The card evoked discord —apocalypse,

a dynasty’s royal end of noble days.

Krishna the Eighth Avatar from Vishnu

walks the knife-edge Copper Age and Iron,

the maintenance man of cosmic renovation.

The godhead warhead unleashes annihilation,

a fire machine’s scorched earth policy.

It was a cleansing card, a reality check.

He wondered how it weighed upon his marriage.

Timed with cold-and-hot-tap running weather,

these monsoons and the so-humid steam baths

might somehow cleanse the dirt pores of his life.

27.11

Darling,

So we are apart for now to start again with new leaves coming on the tree. You wanted me to go and do and be someone you could be proud of. But without you here or me returning are we moving with one map? It’s hard to see the way through mud and rain. It’s hard to hold onto the hope we’re still viable. I long for you each night and miss your neck, your arms, your legs. My hands are lost. I miss the nest where we end all our questioning. And want to be at rest.

Yogi.

27.12

Yogi told just how things were.

Margot, his darling other half

Shouldn’t feel he did not love her.

Yes, he was her moon-calf.

Maybe he did not know himself.

Words too often try to hide

what should be simple, off-the-shelf,

private and bone-fide.

If roads were blocked with mud and grime

and kept him in this town,

he would now write from time to time

about what was going down.

Sealing his letter, he went to Barhai.

“Can you get this sent today?”

Barhai took it. “I will try ji.”

Then he locked it away.

NORVAL JOE

Dergle held open the driver’s door to his Volkswagon Microvan and waited for Long Jong Silver to hop onto the bench seat and crawl toward the opposite door. The weiner dog waited for his master to climb in and close the door before he lay his muzzle on Dergle’s leg.
“I don’t know boy,” he said, scratching the dog’s head. “I don’t think I can start over again, from the beginning. No place to live, no money, and no job.”
“What options do we have?” Long John asked.
Dergle just shook his head and said, “I sure hope I’m dreaming.”

DANNY

Please say hello to Tara for me. I swear, if flying from Tampa to Newark was half the cost of a bus ticket from NY Port Authority to Chicago, and the flight time was only 1/10 of the time it takes to gets from Manhattan to the New Jersey during peak rush hour traffic, I swear I would totally be there within 73 hours, but only if my math is correct. I’ve always noticed that people who can’t drive worth a shit are always smiling at me while they run me off the road. But their smiles… again they were so convincing.

RICK

She paused at his door … again.
Her friends said he was too old … they were right.
He wasn’t an attractive man.
He didn’t have much money.
He lived in a small apartment.
No one seemed to understand …
… in that small apartment …
She could talk … and someone would listen.
She could cry … and someone would comfort her.
She could be wrong … and there was someone who would forgive.
She could sing, laugh, and dance … and someone was there to sing, laugh, and dance with her.

She could just be who she was!

With a smile she knocked on the door … again.

PLANET Z

Ah, Ocean Base One. You were once a grand and majestic city, afloat on the Pacific.

Such good times we had.

They say you can never go home again, but this doesn’t stop me from trying.

The Russians sank Ocean Base One during The Putin Wars. But seven thousand feet is child’s play these days. We started a Kickstarter to raise it back up, and we’re nearly funded.

The radiation, on the other hand, isn’t so easy to fix. But I’ve got a good radiation suit, and when I find my old teddy bear, I’ll encase it in lead shielding.