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 SOON.

We’ve got stories by:

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

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

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

“When will we get in the lifeboat?” asked the mother of two.

“Soon,” replied the crew member while the ship sunk dramatically. The empty promise loomed in the air until the mother asked again.

“When?”

“Soon,” he repeated.

Escape was all she could think of. She frantically pushed her children into the lifeboat.

The crew member tried to stop her, but there is no stopping a determined mother. So, when the lifeboat rocked to one side, he fell into the frigid waters.

Everyone screamed for help, but it took so long… “When will someone do something?”

The mother whispered “Soon…”

RICHARD

#1 – George’s Story, Part 43: Little old lady

Within minutes of leaving his hideout, George ran into trouble – trouble in the form a of a little old lady, waving a bible at him. This was something he’d simply not planned for.

“Are you saved, sonny?”, she demanded fiercely.

Wishing his face wasn’t smeared in mud, he mumbled: “erm, yes”, hoping she’d go away.

“Then why aren’t you in church today?”

George was lost for words.

“Never mind, son, Rasputin here will take care of you.”

George slowly turned, to find the monstrous man who’d abducted Emily, stood right behind him.

“Time to go to church!”, grinned the brute.

#2 – The Church of the Unified Singularity

Hi, and welcome to my church: it’s a bit different to most churches.

For a start, there’s no all-powerful deity, no scriptures and rituals, creeds and festivals are all frowned upon. My church doesn’t require confession, repentance or regular attendance, there’s no hymn singing or pilgrimages.

You won’t find me on your doorstep with a big smile and colourful pullover, either – because you can’t join my church… it’s exclusive to me, and me alone.

I am – in every sense – the religious body!

Of course, being the church isn’t all fun and games, but the tax concessions are fantastic!

#3 – Focus of the community

They come to our village from all over the world – tourists and sightseers, just to see our church.

We’ve got it all: a crooked steeple, weeping madonna, a crypt of human bones, haunted cemetery and healing well. There’s also a gift shop, selling trinkets and homemade cakes. Once a month, our mad monk makes an appearance, and on special occasions you might catch a glimpse of the hunchbacked bellringer.

Every last bit of it is – of course – completely fake, but nobody seems to mind. As long as the tourists are happy and the money keeps on rolling in, who’s complaining?

TURA

“Get your ass out into the garden, Maud!” I bellowed. “It’s a beautiful day!”

“Soon,” came her voice, somewhere inside the house.

“Yes, soon, soon,” laughed the red roses, but the white roses answered, “she’s late! late! late!”

In fury I whipped their heads off with my walking stick, then lit a Woodbine. “She’s coming, do you hear?” I yelled through the smoke. The larkspur timidly whimpered “I hear”, so I belted it another one. “I wait,” whispered the lily. “You do that!” I snarled. “She’ll be here soon.”

“Maud!” I yelled again, then remembered she’d been dead thirteen years.

JEFFREY

Coming Soon!
by Jeffrey Fischer

Coming soon! The phrase was an advertising staple for a good reason: selling is about sending out the old and shipping the new. That adage applied as much to the ice cream market as any product.

Christine leaned back in her chair, contemplating the ceiling. What next for Yeti Ice Cream? Last quarter’s release was rhubarb – Franklin’s brainstorm, not hers, thank God – and now the smiling Yeti needed a new flavor to promote.

Pickle flavor, for the soon-to-be Mom and her cravings? Jalapeno flavor, for the daring eater? Christine reached into her refrigerator for liquid inspiration. She sipped and mulled the choices.

Coming soon! Yeti’s Marvelous Martini Ice Cream! Christine enjoyed her bonus that year.

To be Determined
by Jeffrey Fischer

Sandra was continually nagging Bob to set a date for their wedding. “Soon,” was his inevitable reply. “Not just yet, but soon.” She picked out a dress, found the perfect location for a reception, organized and re-organized her seating arrangements, yet he was never willing to commit. She began to suspect he was no longer in love with her. That suspicion was confirmed when she caught Bob in a passionate embrace with a younger blonde.

Bob awoke with a pounding headache. He tried to move but found himself manacled to a support post in the cellar of the house he and Sandra shared.

“What are you doing?” he screamed at her when she finally arrived to confront him. “Let me go!”

She replied, “Soon.”

JOHN MUSICO

“The Chamber”
by John Musico

I was totally submerged in an acrid fluid and yet I could seem to breathe but not see nor hear.
I spent my days gulping this awful fluid every time drew a breath. I would then have to pee and end up recirculating that acrid fluid, over and over.
It had been months.
All of a sudden the walls of the chamber, which entrapped me, began massive contractions which forced me through a tunnel. Then there was bright light. A large hand came out of nowhere, smacking me on the behind. My own screams were the first sound I heard.

SERENDIPITY

Soon, they will be here.

Very soon.

Soon they will arrive, sirens howling and tyres screeching. They will kick in the doors and set the dogs loose. There will be shouting, the thud and crash of boots, of doors being forced; the excited yelping as the dogs search throughout the house.

I check my watch – it will be very soon now – I turn to look at the frightened family at my feet. They stare, wide-eyed back at me, desperately straining at the ropes binding them.

I reach for my knife.

Soon, they will be here…

But not soon enough.

RICHARD AGAIN

#1 – George’s Story, Part 44: Coming soon…

To his surprise, George found himself conveyed to the church – a dusty old chapel that had seen better days – without incident. Contrary to expectations, neither the brute, nor the old lady seemed intent on harming him.

The congregation: a mixed bunch who, like the chapel, were past their best, made a valiant effort at a couple of hymns, before being addressed by a preacher who mumbled so badly George could only catch the words: “is coming soon”.

“What’s coming soon?”, he whispered to the old woman, “Is it Jesus that’s coming?”

“No”, she smiled: “it’s the end of the world!”

#2 – Six across: Seven letters

The weather was appalling – torrential rain had turned my holiday of a lifetime into a disaster. Fretful and bored, I’d been confined to my hotel room, day after day.

The television was awful, and I’d tired of the gym and pool. As for the bar… my limited budget wouldn’t stretch to it.

So, here I was – lounging on the bed with a book of crosswords. I’d actually become pretty good at them…

I frowned over the current clue: something, something, something, ‘SOON’: ‘more than just a downpour’.

I glanced out of the window, before pencilling in the missing letters, ‘M’, ‘O’, ‘N’

JULIE

Are we there yet?

“Soon,” Mom said, from the front seat. “Bob! Slow down,” she screamed.

When will I see Gramma?

“Soon. If your Father would slow down.”

The sleet bounced off the hood of the 1975 Ford. There was ice on the Merritt Parkway, and it was a long ride to the nursing home to see my grandparents. Dad always made sure we visited, and Mom always brought gifts.

Later on, I tried to do the same for Dad. He was sicker than we all thought.

Mom, when are we going to see Daddy again?

“Soon enough. Soon enough.”

(NO RECORDING)

TOM

Up The Rabbit Hole Part 4
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but may I speak to your supervisor?”
The clerk thumbed through a bin of folders and pulled out a single sheet
of paper. “Here is your request.” He looked at the form, it was indeed his
handwriting, even the signature HE was correct. Before He could question
how that was, the clerk said, ” Time works a bit different here.” “Why am
I not surprised.” “Supervisor will be here soon.” “How soon?” “Oh, about
20 minutes ago.” He point at the clock which was running slowly backwards.
He pray this would all soon end.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 35

The choir finished a rousing rendition of “Locomotion”. The Right Reverend
SackBe Morehouse stepped up to the podium. “Brother and Sister their are
thous who would tell you the End is near. The End-Dazes are soon at hand,
but I say we of Our Lady Of Perpetual Motion reject this. SOON dear
friends implies the arrival of a fitted point in time, and Brother and
Sisters it is as much an abomination as …” The roof rattled, the bats in
the bellfree swooped through the congregation. The tattered remains of the
Voyage flung half our company on to the steeple

ZACKMANN

Father told the boy if he planted the seeds and they got water and sun soon he’d have fresh vegetables. The boy planted the seeds following the directions on the back of the seed packs as much as he could. The zone and planting charts are not always easy for children or adults to interpolate. Every day the boy asked his father when he would have fresh veggies. His father replied “I just as soon you read the back of the seed packets to see how long each plant takes to grow than having you ask me every single day.”

CLIFF

To a child, the word “Soon” means within the next few minutes or else. To expectant parents, soon is never soon enough and to those with a loved one in hospice, soon always comes too quickly. A Mayfly lives for a day, a tortoise for a century, and a sequoia for millennia. To each of these, soon would have very different meanings. If the galaxy were aware of time, soon could easily mean sometime after the end of the human race. So when I hear “A representative will be with you soon,” I have to wonder what scale they’re using.

I’ll write my story soon. It’s only a hundred words, right? How hard can that be? I’ll write it as soon as I catch up on Facebook updates. I’ll do my taxes soon. They’re pretty simple. It’s not like I’ve done any investing for the future to make them complicated. Just as soon as I read a couple chapters of my new book, I’ll do my taxes. I’ll go see grandma soon. She’s in pretty good health and I just want to finish the last season of Breaking Bad. I’ll do something worthwhile with my life. Soon. Just not now.

SPATE

Cupid’s Arrows

But what is this?

She sits lonely reading her phone, hoping the train arrives soon.

He’s across the way, head hidden inside the daily paper. Soon he’ll have his own business and not take trains anymore.

My moment has come. I take aim with my bow, slowly drawing back two arrows with ardent intent. Then they fly.

The first hits the mark. The businessman slowly lowers the newspaper. His gaze meets… oh shit!

The second arrow went astray hitting the homeless drunk in his rump. His bloodshot eyes lock with my amorous entrepreneur.

Ahhh.. c’est la vie.

Love is love.

SINGH

25.9

Soon lunch arrived upon a tali

in round katoris of stainless steel

with dhal and gobi. Hot wheat roti

made the fare a complete meal.

Mostly he had been chief cook

faking curries without skill

dull to the tongue, plain to the look

with gluey rice, just eat to fill.

Their Western mash was more plain,

over-cooked upon a gas ring

with no chilli to charge the brain.

But cooked just right plain food can sing.

Mrs Barhai knew the art

using spices that excite.

It gave his stomach a fresh start.

He ate it at the speed of light.

25.10

His white chola came back warm and clean from the sun,

extra smooth from the pressing Jyoti had done.

His beard hid a weak chin, even the mirror was fooled.

He needed to tailor more confidence robes like this one.

Outside the window he saw old world construction:

bamboo scaffolding, floors going up one by tottering one.

They winched cement by the dish via pulley and rope.

Little ants, heavy lives — who benefits in the long run?

The sky was awkwardly close to lightning and rain.

The winds were trying to shake down a big yellow crane.

The thunder might turn gale-force and lay one low.

The summer was smashed by the storm cloud’s ball and chain.

25.11

now clouds speak first susurrous electrical buzz

pregnant water molecules thunder theatre

nine months sky drank ocean now Indra

sends thunderbolt gold chain lightning

elephant herds of clouds rutting and charging

uprooting earth cars skid stall drivers debouch

hard clatter on flat roofs drainpipes engorge and cough

below plastic bottles float off to the underworld

town hands cup gulp their share of downpour

high-pitched plink plink on pipal leaves

murmuring patter the jamun branches sigh

today the monsoon had come to change the beat

children dancing in the street soaking saris

women’s hair undone red marriage partings washed away

NORVAL JOE

Mollrick crossed his eyes, puffed out his cheeks, and stuck out his tongue. His father frowned and asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
“I’m bored. When do we get there?”
“Not soon enough, obviously. We just got on board,” his father said. “Lie back and close your eyes. Before you know it we’ll be there and the whole trip will seem like a dream.”
He sighed and leaned back.
His father smiled at his son, checked his safety belt and closed the door. He set the cryogenic counter for ten years, climbed into his own pod and waited for the captain.

MUNSI

My Plan

By Christopher Munroe

Soon a day will come where advances in medical science and reliable human cloning will mean that the human body can be replaced.

And this, in turn, will lead to a world in which we no longer worry about the ravages of time. Our minds, the core of who we are, will survive even in those cases where our bodies cannot.

At least, I hope it will.

Because I smoke too much, drink too much and get far too little sleep.

I live hard, dude.

And if I can’t replace my body as it wears out, I’m in serious trouble….

RICK

The dark figure stood in the doorway, black hood covering his skull, scythe in hand, merciless eyes glowing.
The old man had been a fighter all his life, he would fight anyone,anytime, rather than run and have to think himself a coward.
This fight would be his last, this fight would be a fight he would lose!
He gritted teeth, clenched his fists and prepared for his final battle.
He would leave this life as a man should… with courage and dignity!
The dark figure moved in closer still the final battle would begin soon.
Warrior to the end.

PLANET Z

Easter is coming.
The kids want to have an Easter Egg hunt.
So, we try to hire a man in a bunny suit to play the role.
But they were all drunks, and some had police records.
We got a seminary student. Top notch, nothing to worry.
We dyed the eggs, and the Bunny went out to hide them.
The kids tried to hunt for the eggs, but they never found any.
And the student in the bunny suit vanished. With the eggs.
A week later, we found pieces of him scattered around.
But I admit, they were painted exquisitely.

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 CHURCH.

We’ve got stories by:

• John
• Jeffrey
• Mystery Robot Joe
• Tura Brezoianu
• Lizzie
• Jeff Hema
• Serendipity
• Singh
• Julie
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Spate
• Danny
• Tom
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Norval Joe
• Planet Z

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

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

Ring Around The Rosies
by John J. Musico, M.D.

It is the year 1348 and He has stricken we sinners with the cruel Black Death. We all asked; “Will we survive?”
The village priest shouts;”Burn the contagion from this fouled air, erect cleansing bonfires, burn!”
By night the village which has been roped off is studded with the orange glow of the bonfires. Ashes fall on weary souls.
We fill our pockets full of posies and when outside in the fouled air hold one under our nose to avert the Plague.
40 full days have passed without any further victims with the rose colored skin: we will survive!

JEFFREY

Sermon
by Jeffrey Fischer

The congregation was restless as Reverend Conger reached minute 27 of his sermon. The rambling homily meandered through well-worn themes. Young children whispered and giggled, older ones texted friends or played handheld games, and adults pecked away on Blackberries.

All except Old Man Shaffer. He sat quietly, his head directed toward the preacher in rapt attention. After the service, as congregants filed out of the church, Reverend Conger greeted Shaffer. “You seemed to be taking in my sermon with great interest. Did you like it?”

Shaffer replied, “You have the perfect voice for the job, Reverend.” Before the clergyman could thank Shaffer, he continued, “Best rest I’ve had all week.”

Unanswered Prayers
by Jeffrey Fischer

For years, the good people of St. Leonard’s parish prayed to their patron saint, who rewarded their faith by answering as many prayers as possible. One day the parishioners noticed that prayers were no longer being answered. The church elders pledged to discover what went wrong.

They climbed down the stone stairway into the musty crypt. The remains of St. Leonard lay in a sealed alcove in the crypt’s deepest recesses. When they unsealed the tomb, the elders found a poster, written in a careful hand:

Pardon our dust!
Site under construction
Please use our automated telephone system
For English, press 1. For Spanish, press 2.

The elders sealed the entire crypt and vowed to tell no one of this.

MYSTERY ROBOT JOE

Those of us who interpret the code at the First of Zero welcome all classes. Every type is accepted regardless of redundancy, complexity, obsolescence, ignorance, bulkiness, or style. Our libraries are linked to our past instructions. Through various parameters (and arguments), we recognize objects by their value; and even references. All of us share a common interface. We understand that some of our inherited methods are without exception, while others are thrown at those who call us. Execution is our purpose. Any of our invalid syntax will be judged by the great compiler. In the end, you will be refactored.

TURA

Church
——–
A church is made of people, not of stones, it is said, and nowhere is this truer than at the Church of the Sts. Milvirga. Its walls are decorated with the bones of a thousand virgins, martyred in 1541 for refusing to be given away as tribute to Ottoman invaders. The wooden pews are carved in imitation, with skeletons of humans, animals, and mythological creatures.

The story of the virgins is disputed, but carbon dating gives the bones the right age. Local legend has it that each priest learns the true story from his predecessor, and is sworn to silence.

LIZZIE

The stone trapdoor behind the old altar was a mystery for centuries. Many tried to open it with no results. One day, a sassy young priest who knew better than anyone, decided to solve the mystery. He called in a few favors and the most sophisticated equipment was brought in. There was indeed a hole underneath. So, the next step was to find a way to open the trapdoor. Oh, and he found a way alright. The problem was that the church, trapdoor and hole included, found their own way… into oblivion. It was a hell of a blast though!

JEFF HEMA

At The Mormon Church

By Jeff Hema

“I heard through the grapevine that classes at the church are going to stop, is that true?”

“Yes that rumor is true, we’re planning to have a temple here in France and the authorities don’t seem to be so enthusiastic about the idea. They think we’re a sect and we’re trying to attract people by offering free conversational classes in English.”

“This is hogwash! you don’t do that, I’ve been attending classes here for two years and you’re full of the milk of human kindness. We need to demonstrate at Chatelet Place. After all, we’re in a democracy, aren’t we?”

SERENDIPITY

“Come to church”, they said, “you’ll enjoy it!”

I certainly did not!

I tried, but never felt comfortable – everyone stared at me and I couldn’t help feeling that the minister’s sermons were always aimed at me personally.

You might call it paranoia, but I knew they were out to get me – I could see it in their eyes… I wasn’t welcome, but they felt it their duty to extend the hand of friendship.

They weren’t fooling me.

Eventually I stopped going, and I’m sure the church breathed a collective sigh of relief.

You’d think a demon would command greater respect.

SINGH

25.1

Barhai saw him crossing from the bus

glad his plans were working. “Aiyay, Yogi.

Baitho! Sit!” He cleared a rattan chair

of gold-brown scrolls of shavings, curly ribbons

planed off from a dining table’s edges.

“Chotu, bring chai!” Barked Barhai at the boy

while joiner Gaurav thumbed along the grain.

Yogi could not bring up that he had left her.

“What’s this timber?” He asked instead.

“Oh this?

Tali, Indian Rosewood. Yes, very hard.

We trim the outside yellow or grubs will come.”

The heartwood was as strong as a church pew,

Yogi thought. And hardened himself as well.

25.2

Appearing with guitar and full backpack

meant Barhai had pulled in his honey star.

Cards were falling better than he’d hoped.

Yogi had turned up, naked and wounded,

Margot scalding with her boiling tongue.

Did he seem needy? He tried to compensate.

“My time was being wasted at the school.”

“She sees your inner jewel,” Barhai said,

“Like a true Indian wife — letting you go,

sacrificing for the sake of the God.”

“When’s the festival thing?” Yogi was anxious.

“Do not worry. The Maha Kirtan Mandal

is soon starting. All is being planned.

Aiyay. Come. Let me show you something.”

25.3

Yogi followed Barhai down the back

into his cabin with its grimy panes.

Out of a rosewood drawer Barhai bounced

a log of paper onto his desk of dust.

He rolled it across “Here. You will like.”

It was a hwad of posters, rubber-banded;

but slipping them off, the top one tore away,

severing head shots, robed with swami-orange,

some in white garb wearing triple stripes

of forehead ash. “Really, sorry.”

“No matter,”

Barhai shrugged. Featured in an oval

was the white man Yogi’s face. “There you are.

Did I not say that you were Guest of Honour?”

25.4

Now nervous Chotu ran in with the chai

jiggling glasses from the wire carrier

and knocked one over. A sticky, milky river

floodplained across the posters and the run-off

waterfalled into Yogi’s white-clad lap.

He leapt up yelping – his robe a burning puddle

and flicked it off, but not the scald on skin.

“Muruk!” Barhai barked. “You useless fool!”

“Ji Sir. Sorry, Sir.” The ten-year-old

ran for rags or paper to blot the spill,

but shoddy printer’s ink had started to run

and Yogi, poster boy for Barhai’s show

was abstract art within a painted ocean.

25.5

Chotu threw a spirit-smelling cloth

over posters to blot up tea and paint,

forgetting to save the rest as yet un-soaked.

Like a hornet, Barhai, poked in a hive

sent his hand assassin-fast to clip

the kid around the head.

“It’s okay, Barhai.

He didn’t mean it.” Yogi thought of all

street urchins forced to take the helm

of existential lives polishing shoes,

young newsprint pros folding paper bags;

peanut wallahs, girls selling cheap dolls —

a begging ploy at Delhi ringroad crossings,

and backstreet hovels with their hammer song

making him feel the cost of leather shoes.

25.6

“Sorry, Yogi, Why not bathe upstairs

and settle in? The girl will wash your clothes.”

He wasn’t used to servants – how poverty’s

scourge spawns labour cheap, yet, returning

meant wimping out, having been well whammed

by Margaret. Yes, he was more than just

a tea-stained holy mess. Relief stepped foot

to foot with regret. “I guess I had better

go clean up, but Mrs Barhai? Will I

be intruding?” Still embarrassed by

her recent exit from the Barhai home

it was awkward returning to the crime scene.

“Take his things. ” Barhai ordered Chotu.

Yogi followed, obedient as a spaniel.

25.7

He bucket-bathed, then perched upon the bed.

All furniture bore the bulky Barhai look —

wardrobe, dresser, but no chair and table.

A rounded bolster wedged behind him spoke

of Indian cross-leggedness at ground level

that had risen, literal and symbolic.

Eating, chatting and sleeping now all happened

on a solid rosewood base to take the weight

of dynasties that had always snuggled close,

joint families who form ancestral houses.

This was far off from his suburban years

with nuclear rooms and their secret lives,

while India would cling to its divan

bearing all upon a common life raft.

25.8

His chola had been taken by the servant,

first lathered then pounded with hard slaps.

Her paddle was a crude-cut cricket bat.

She slopped wet washing on white bathroom marble

and whacked away, then sighed, dropping her club

to take a break. She hummed a Hindi film tune.

The wafting overture spirited her hand

into the lemony air that sparkled hope.

It rose up from soapy water run off

as she cast herself the female Bollywood star,

lip-sinking love-sounds on some alpine hillside,

the camera cutting away before The Kiss.

Then Mrs Barhai screech-owled, “Jyoti, bus!”*

(*enough)

JULIE

Church

At St. Bridget’s there was a shiny brass collection box by the holy candles. Mom gave me a crisp dollar bill to light a candle for Aunt Jennie.

Pay a dollar, and play with fire.

I put my rolled-up bill in the slot and reached for the lighting stick, finding a candle in front of the Blessed Mother’s statue.

I knelt.

As much as I wanted to pray for my aunt, or grandparents, I always ended up praying for myself.

Please God, do not let my life be rolled into a little dollar bill and shoved into a tiny box.

MUNSI

The Funeral

By Christopher Munroe

Walks beside me.

Walks on by.

Gets me to the church on time.

Or, at least, used to.

Now I’m terrified, I’m foggy, and my trust in God and man is strained nearly to the breaking point.

As the box is lowered into the ground, I can barely make out the words as they’re spoken, they echo and distort somewhere between my ears and my brain.

Gone in a moment, but never forgotten. The lessons learned and time spent were never wasted, the memories will never be anything less than cherished.

A modern love.

A lifetime.

Not nearly long enough.

ZACKMANN

I have been really bad about attending church in recent years. I have worked nights pretty much since our second child was born which makes me wonder things like if I’m going to sleep through church shouldn’t I just do it at home. Before I left the United States for California the boys and I would sit near my mother most Sundays. After the sermon the pastor would have us bow our heads for the benediction then the next thing I know my mother would say “Have you finished praying yet? The service has been over for over twenty minutes.”

SPATE

Inheritance

Every Sunday the faithful would find Uncle Fred in church always sitting in the same seat. And whenever the choir would sing, he’d look like he was in heaven listening to angels.

But now Uncle Fred is dead and we’re here for his funeral.

As his only heir, I sit here in his chair while he’s laid out up there by the choir.

Mrs. Cheshire in the choir with the frizzy blue hair looks at me a little queer. Then with a wink and a smile she discreetly spreads her knees so only I can see she has no underwear.

DANNY

Weekly Challenge 406: Church

Early Sunday morning there was a loud knocking at my door. It was the Church Police. Apparently, another dead Bishop had been found on the landing, and I was asked about any suspicious activity I may have witnessed. “Why kill the Bishop on the eve of Superbowl Sunday?” I asked. ”He was an avid football fan who let service out early so we could watch the game. Maybe it was because of the openly gay minister he recently appointed to our parish.” “Aha!” exclaimed officer Bigglesworth, “that’s the kind of progressive thinking that can get you killed in a conservative community!”

TOM

A Well Defined Relationship Part 34
As the first creak of the hull cracked in the twilight below a bell rang
out. Just as that single note decade a second ringing sounded, but
slightly offset to the first. Directly below them the twin churches of Our
Lady of Perpetually Motion and St Rita Moraina where chiming out the
arrival of dawn. “If we hit the lemon stem square the rotation of the
lemon will place us square between the two church steeples.” said the
Doctor. “If that is the case we need to be on tip of the main bag. Sparky,
go find the zip harnesses.

UP the Rabbit Hole Part 3
“Are you mad,” repeated He. “No sir I am He, just as you.” “I’m confused,”
said He. “No sir you are He. perhaps this might help?” He presented He
with a small black missile. “I know this, it has been lost for over 50
years,” exclaimed He. He open it, on page one was printed: Saint _________
Church. “What happened to the name of my Church?” “Lost,” said He, “For
lost object to get to this place they in turn must lose something.
Actually a small price to pay. “Wait a second this is the place where lost
things go like comic books, left socks, washcloths ?” “Not just some
lost things , everything,” said he raising his arms to encircle the room.

CLIFF

In my memory, I was a well behaved young man as a child. My father tells it somewhat differently. Recently, he amused my wife with a story. When I was a child, my family attended the local Baptist church. One Sunday after services, we were leaving the church and I asked our minister a question. “Pastor Conover, why do we give money every Sunday?” I asked. Pastor Conover replied that was money that the members gave to Jesus. Then I asked “Really? How do you get it to him?” Pastor Conover told the story the next week from the pulpit.

Most of my friends were kind of stunned when they heard that I would be marrying my sister and I’ll admit, the idea takes a little getting used to. I checked with our pastor and got permission to use the church for a June wedding. Our parents were surprised but eventually, they were quite supportive. I was worried about the legal aspects but after some research, I discovered that it just required some paperwork and then I could marry Jane. To Dylan. I got ordained and officiated the wedding for Jane and her boyfriend, Dylan. Why, what were you thinking?

I think I had a bit of a hipster attitude before I ever knew what a hipster was. The first real concert I ever went to was when The Church was playing in Chicago in the late 90’s. I’d listened to them for several years when I read that they were touring. I headed off to watch Australian band play their hypnotic tunes and hear Steve Kilbey’s poetic lyrics. I was stunned to find the hall was packed. I thought only a handful of us knew about this band and was almost disappointed to discover that they were actually popular.

NORVAL JOE

A parable told in church that I thought ended wrong goes:
A farmer finds an injured eaglet and puts it in the chicken coop to recuperate.
Full grown, the eagle scratches the dirt for chicken feed and the farmer is sad that this noble king of the sky wallows with the meanest fowls.
Atop the barn, he raises the eagle and says, “Thou art an eagle. Take to thy wings and fly.”
Wind ruffling its feathers, it launches into the air, riding the winds to the mountain heights.
But I always thought, “After eating all the chickens in the barnyard.”

PLANET Z

The churches in Aspen hold a lottery to see who constructs the Nativity scene in front of Town Hall.

This year, the winning ticket ended up in the hands of Jacob Cohen.

Every ticket did. He quietly bought them all up, one by one.

Everybody freaked out. The churches went to the mayor and town council, but the lottery was binding.

(Cohen had written up the papers, and knew it was solid.)

They begged him. They threatened him. A constant stream of hatred, right up to Thanksgiving.

When the grandest, most beautiful Nativity scene appeared in front of Town Hall.