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 NOT FOUND.

We’ve got stories by:

• John
• Jeffrey
• Tura Brezoianu
• Tom
• Serendipity
• Zackmann
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Julie
• Justin
• Norval Joe
• Lizzie
• Vince
• Rezwerd
• Danny
• Munsi
• Singh
• Planet Z

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

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

The Land of the Lost
by John Musico

Losing something is maddening. All that is lost fills an invisible secret world called the ÒLand of the LostÓ. In this hidden land there are all things lost as airplane pilots, key rings, minds seeking to return their original body, and much more.
The occupants are not always permanent residents.
Items appear in the Land of the Lost and then return back to our world. They call our world the Land of the Lost. One day, after losing a sock I lost the remaining sock as well. I did not lament; I saw that that sock had finally gone home.

JEFFREY

Lost and Found
by Jeffrey Fischer

Suzanne wanted to look her best for her 20th wedding anniversary. She lost 20 pounds and dropped two sizes. Unfortunately, this made her wedding ring loose around her finger. At the bathroom sink at work, the ring fell into the toilet, which then automatically flushed.

At a romantic restaurant on their anniversary, Ray said, “Dear, you look fantastic. I can’t believe it’s been 20 years.”

“Haven’t you wondered why I don’t have on my wedding ring?” Suzanne asked.

“Aren’t you? I’ve been so busy admiring your figure that I hadn’t noticed.”

Stunned that he didn’t notice, Suzanne stormed out of the restaurant and later filed for divorce.

Close Enough for Government Work
by Jeffrey Fischer

Space exploration had become routine, but this launch was something special: the first manned trip to a planet outside our solar system, orbiting Alpha Centauri B, about four light-years away.

The trip was uneventful, with the crew in a state of suspended animation until the ship was nearly ready to land. As the crew awakened, Captain Morton opened the view screen to see… nothing. No planetary mass of any kind.

The communications officer said, “Captain, there’s a message from Earth that caught up to us. It reads, ‘Sorry, small calculation error in the course, but hey, it was only by a tenth of a degree. Pretty good, right?'”

“Dammit,” the captain replied. “I told NASA to stop hiring liberal arts majors.”

TURA

Not Found
——–
Marley’s web pages were dead: to begin with. No sooner had Scrooge returned from the funeral than he had deleted every page of Marley’s “blog”, for which he grudged every kilobyte.

That night he dreamed that a voice commanded: “The Library of Alexandria!” and Scrooge found himself amidst its burning. “404!”

“Plays and poetry!” retorted Scrooge. “Stuff and nonsense!”

“The archives of the Medici Bank!” it spoke, and Scrooge saw workmen carting away piles of ledgers as waste paper. “404!”

Scrooge shivered with fear.

Finally, it said, “Ebenezer Scrooge!” and there was nothing but “404! 404! 404!” and Scrooge awoke.

SERENDIPITY

It was months after the crash that the rescue team finally discovered the plane’s wreckage, and along with it, myself – unconscious and barely alive. As for the others – despite an extensive search in the area, they were officially recorded as ‘Not found’.

When I became well enough, I explained how the others had gone off into the woods in search of civilisation, and how I had remained alone at the crash site.

I knew they would never find the others, no matter how far the search extended.

After I’d eaten them, I made sure to bury the bones… very carefully!

TOM

Up the Rabbit Hole Part 1

The screen mocked him. Big old 404. He had multipul confirmations of the
page’s existence. Further the Shanghai Guy swore there was an Umber Easter
Egg on that page. The URI port number 808080 was correct, but all he got
was a 90’s code error page, not a single link or pointing hand cursor to
be found. Then it appeared at y314 x314. The cursor color changed by the
sublimest shade of off white. He Clicked and lost conscientious. Upon
awakening he found himself in a gigantic pink room with a giant sign:
Welcome to Fort Meade Lost and Found.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 32

The Voyage banked hard. For the briefest of moments it looked like they
wouldn’t impact the lemon. Sadly the keel clipped the edge of the peal
creating a 144 meter slice. Worst yet the same lead counterweight banged
into the stem of the Lemon snapping the ship backwards and at a reverse
angle of descent. As quick as you can say: yes we have no bananas, the
Voyage plowed into the pulpy part of the lemon. The ship took on lemon
juice, the monitors flickered and error code 404 flash on the screen.
Smith state, “May well be our epitaph.”

ZACKMANN

I can barely find anything because my wife hides everything from me. I mean puts things away carefully. Normally not a problem because I just ask her before she goes to work or call her on her way home. It’s okay she has bluetooth in her car stereo. Normally that is finew but she is visiting her mother for three weeks in Manila and I don’t want to bother her just to find out where a backpack is to take to the booksigning at Borderlands. I may just have to use a grocery bag.

All is lost until she returns .

CLIFF

The mystery of flight 404 has never been solved. It vanished from radar and radio contact on April 14th, 2004 between London and New York. The flight recorders were recovered in a pawn shop in Mayor’s Income, Tennessee three years later. They showed a normal flight up until the time of the disappearance and then go blank. The pilot was found in a nursing home in Toronto, suffering from Alzheimer’s. Several people from the passenger list have been located but all of them swear they were never on that flight. And where is the plane itself? It’s never been found.

She spent her youth dreaming of true love. She had a mental picture of the perfect man. He would be kind, caring, ambitious, and most of all, he would love her more than anyone in the world. We’d been friends since childhood and I heard all about Mr. Right. At her request, I introduced her to co-workers, some college friends, and one fortune 500 CEO. None of them were him. She finally married Oscar. He was good to her, but she confessed that she never found her dream man. Somehow, she never noticed me, the coward who loved her.

“Where is my pudding cup?” I demand of my dog. He looks at me with his soulful brown eyes and says nothing. He seldom does. I look everywhere for my pudding cup. It’s butterscotch pudding, my favorite, and I had just opened it. Max, my golden retriever, simply watches as I search the house. He doesn’t help me look. I check the kitchen counter, the refrigerator, the shower, the couch cushions, even the attic. I can’t find it. Max is laying in the living room licking something from his lips. Strange, I haven’t fed him yet. Where’s my damn pudding?

JULIE

You can have your little fits,

And turn them against me–

It does not bother me just one bit

They show your frailties.

I no longer look for you at night,

Or give you further thought–

You tantrums have become a blight,

And in that trap you’re caught.

You once were lost, and now you’re found,

And now you’re lost again

But if you come again around

I shall not call you friend.

******

I’ve grown

Tired of your tantrums,

Your narcisscism,

The insecurity.

Your moods and jealousy—

And quite frankly darling girl

You are quite dead to me.

JUSTIN

I dialed the number, area code 404. It could not be completed as dialed. I didn’t know it at the time, but Atlanta was gone.

Yes, the building were there, except the ones that burned. It wasn’t nuked by Korea, or shattered by an earthquake.

I don’t know still for sure what happened. I never got there to find out. I saw the smoke from a distance, and met some people who had come from there. What they said, I didn’t believe it.

At least until I saw them myself, when first nearly died.

When I first saw the Walkers.

NORVAL JOE

Long John Silver pushed through the doggie door at the back of the house.
Dirgle, sitting in front of the TV, heard the click of toenails crossing the kitchen before the wiener dog appeared at his knee and dropped his food dish on the floor.
Pouring the last of the bag and barely filling the dog’s bowl, Dirgle hurried off to the grocery store.
As the cashier scanned four large bags of dog food, he slid his card and punched in his PIN. The little window read, ‘Account Not Found’.
Apparently, Wiener Dog Man had pissed off the wrong people.

LIZZIE

The waves hit the side of the small fishing boat while the men tried to put on their life jackets. It came out of nowhere, one of the survivors would say to the media later on. When the boat capsized, they struggled to stay together until the helicopters came for them. Happy to have survived, surrounded by their families and love ones, they went back home after a few days in the hospital. One man stood at the pier though, waiting. He had to file a report and write the words he hated the most… One man was not found.
VINCE

I hear the sounds of silence are quite noisy if you turn them all the way up to level eleven.

Can you hear them too? Can you understand what the sonance is trying to say by not saying anything at all?

When we close our eyes, our ears become more aware of the melody around us.

When we still our lives and find a place of meditation, we can focus on that melody and the harmony of sounds not found in our everyday thoughts.

Take the time to listen to your silence and you’ll find it has plenty to say.

REZWERD

The astronauts neared their destination, Mars. The lifeless red planet grew in front of them until it stretched from end to end of the spaceship’s bridge viewport. Rusty spires rose up around them as they descended increasingly fast through the thin Martian atmosphere. The rocky surface loomed below. It was a new milestone for humanity, and it was all very beautiful, except for one fateful blemish: three dirty words flashed on the landing controller’s computer screen, where the digital map file had been programmed for a safe touchdown. Three fatal words: FILE NOT FOUND.

DANNY

Today I received the following letter from the N.S.A. “Dear Mr. Dwyer; We regret to inform you that your entry for this week’s 100 Word Story challenge has been classified as “not found.” Our agency has searched all of your internet and phone records, and cannot find any trace of your story. We apologize for your loss, yet we disavow any wrongdoing for the loss of your story. Do not make any inquiry’s, or you risk your entire WordPress page being classified as “not found”. Yours truly, the N.S.A.” Unfortunately, I will not be submitting a story on this week’s topic.

MUNSI

The Body

By Christopher Munroe

The body was never found.

I know, because I still have it.

I keep it in my walk-in freezer, hanging from a meat hook. Nobody questioned me buying the meat hook, which is weird since I followed it up by not buying meat at any point.

Vegetarian, don’t you know.

You’d think that would be suspicious, wouldn’t you? Buying a walk-in freezer, a meat hook and zero meat? I’d find that suspicious…

But nobody else did, nobody came around to search my walk-in freezer, and thus the body was never found.

But I digress: You wanna buy a human corpse?

SINGH

24.1

yet she suffered half-awake elephant skeletons
night in the village Yogi asleep
trumpeting pachyderms mountains moving
houses of moonlit bones trapped in her head
unable to bathe Ganga seven flooded kilometres
from Hastinapur Chauhaan’s report
at old Ganga Budia Ganga one lane bridge
last trickle leaving the city of elephants her bus load
responsibility trapped in her head Chauhaan’s cruel
parting shot Pity Madam you could not go
Draupadi’s Well below Pandheswar Fort
jungle track married women visit many snakes
in this season draw bucket of water
and feed the earth with barley
to bless marriages Pity Next time

24.2
“When are you leaving?” She said to him next morning.
“Yes, get an early start. You may as well.”
“Why are saying that Margaret?” Using this name
to peak her hard sarcasm, turn the arrow.
Yes, it had started, a micro Mahabharata.
A war brings out the best or worst in family
through disagreement, combat of pride with love,
arrows shot from the bow, the curving sneer
aimed to nail the eye of the bird, or hack off a thumb
when love demands it’s tribute. “I’ll pack your things?”
She would shoot true and kill the boy in the man.

24.3
“What about the school?” He tried to counter.
“That is the point. Everyday you’re lost
in marble temples. Wearing white is just
a step from nakedness. Listen, Yogi,
you cannot give up the kingdom you do not own.
And the kids? They’re no excuse. I had to handle
the lot without your help, while you and Chauhaan…”
She broke off there, not wanting to jab more.
“I won’t cling to you. I’m not so weak.
Anyway, you have your music gig.”
There wasn’t much he could add, hang-dogging his head.
“Find out Yogi. The thing that you don’t know.”

24.4
He did not know this tough tongue in command.
What could he add, except a neutered nod?
He felt the cold of a club, not touch of a hand
cupping his cheek. Pity? He felt a chill

and pulled away. “Please, hands off, will you?
I’m dead weight, it seems.” He felt the cleave
of steel-cold reality — were they through?
Too numb to know exactly how to leave

she tactfully wandered out back to the hand-pump.
It coughed, spewing its guts onto the concrete.
He stuffed backpack, straightened up his slump.
He and guitar left carrying their defeat.

24.5
Squatting naked
a slimy slab
head under spout
to block out sound
trying to crank
so he’ll just leave
the one-armed bandit
squeaking crying
downspout trunk
the idea of nature
reborn as machine
no baby elephant
dribbling mucous
this isn’t bathing
with your river herd
they’ve long gone
she’s trying to crank
and revive inside
a pillar of water
feebly pumping
it will not stand
her houses fall
eyes go to wate
what’s wrong with me
the pump is crying
another man leaving
another pillar down
nothing to hang onto
no one to draw water
for a lousy bath

24.6
She waited till he had gone, then towelled and dressed.
The air smelled musty. Yesterday had laid
its dusty paw on everything. The concrete floor
wore grittiness like a tray of beach sand.
Sri Ganga changed her mind and course providing
silts, but shifting fortunes. With time before school
she wet a rag and wiped down all her things
and consecrated the floor before the battle
armed with a hand-broom, whipping up her own
vendetta against the demon in the dust,
coaxing it over the threshold, a lame attempt
to sweep him like an old cough from her lungs.

24.7
The things that she then found were the old things:
past-life Australian clothes still in the suitcase,
most of his books picked up in Delhi stores,
aftershave left, acquiring his beard,
a fold-up chess set they had never played,
elephant Ganesh carved from sandalwood.
On his lined yellow pad beside the bed
She did not find a note, just some song verse:

“Take me in a boat to the river mouth
take me beyond all storms on out to sea,
be my compass East to West and North to South.
You are my true companion on the journey.”

24.8
Had he written it for her?
She hadn’t seen it there before.
He scribbled things from time to time.
She hoped it wasn’t de rigueur.

She’d sent him off. Was she glad?
Her dust devil was no longer mad.
The hut clean, she made some tea,
but drinking it alone felt bad.

Truth should not be oversold.
Anger blurts out over bold.
He had believed her at her word.
Yogi had done what he was told.

The gate squeaked. Her heart shone.
He was back! They’d carry on.
Atul was calling “Madam! School!”
Her heart sank. Yes, he was gone.

24.9
Walking the sugar cane road, the bad morning
didn’t release it’s swallows. Where were they hiding?
Girls balancing cow fodder on the heads
crossed to the other side, staring and giggling.
The jamun-wallah rang his bicycle bell,
swerved away, spilling some purple bullets,
then attacked her with unforgiving words.
He’d curse bad-luck as a woman, local or foreign.
“Crazy man, Madam,” said her little Atul,
bending to retrieve the spill of jamuns —
the colour of Krishna and this low-caste boy
with shining whites of eyes and brighter teeth.
He wiped a jube with his shirt, offering comfort.

PLANET Z

One day, The Internet and The Phone Company got their wires crossed, and 404 error codes got mixed up with the 404 area code.

Instead of being told that the web document you were looking for didn’t exist on the server, you were connected with Atlanta, Georgia.

Which wasn’t all that bad, considering how friendly most Atlantans are.

But every now and then, you get a drunk fuckhead in a Buckhead bar.

Once, I looked for a document at The Carter Center website, failed, and got The Carter Center.

They told me to paint my finger purple and hung up.

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 LEMON.

We’ve got stories by:

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

The next 100 word stories weekly challenge is on the topic of NOT FOUND.

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

“Return to Goose Island” by John Musico

Sunday, 5:00 AM; “ I remember that summer at Goose Island.”
Monday 2:00 AM; “I remember that summer at Goose Island.”
I have typed those few opening words for my novel for what feels like forever.
Just as obvious: this is a bad start, I am rigidly convinced to the point of obsession this novel will be a winner. And so, I hold my guns…
“I remember that summer at Goose Island.”
If I can just get over this first hump, fame and glory will be mine. Then it came to me!
“I can’t remember that summer at Goose Island.”

JEFFREY

Cruel Fortune
by Jeffrey Fischer

“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade.” Good advice, right? Only I got a whole lot of smelly durian. I made durian-ade and opened a stand in front of my parents’ house. Cars would stop, a well-meaning adult would head toward my stand with a big smile, intending to reward a child for his entrepreneurial reach. Then the adult would get a whiff of the durian and leave, usually mumbling something about not having any change.

Then I realized I misunderstood the old adage. Dumping the durian-ade in an open grate in the street – a day later, the sewage department sent a crew to investigate the stench – I walked to Jason’s house. Whereupon I hit him twice, took his lemonade, and set up shop again.

Lost in Translation
by Jeffrey Fischer

When Robert Plant sang, “Squeeze me baby, ’til the juice runs down my leg,” I sang along with him. Like many rock lyrics, I had no idea what it meant – my pre-teen self assuming that the words conveyed deep meaning, while my teen self assumed all nonsense lyrics were written under the influence. My parents, hearing the racket coming from my cheap stereo, couldn’t understand the lyrics and wanted to hear as little as possible of the noise their son called music. Unfortunately, my own voice, while not particularly on key, was very clear. I found myself singing “The Lemon Song” to myself while sitting down for dinner. The shocked expression on my father’s face was almost enough to make up for the loss of my stereo for a month.

TOM

Lemon Tree
Ever wonder why the lemon gets such a bad rap in the Trini Lopez songs,
well so did I. So I filed a Freedom of Information Act petition 10 years
later I found out the following. The song was commissioned on the behest
of Orville Lothrop Freedom Kennedy’s Secretary of agriculture. He had Will
Holt insert the line: “poor lemon is impossible to eat” on the behest of
Thomas E Wislon of the Wilson Packing Plant a major stockholder and member
of the interlocking director of the United Fruit Company. Company
memorandums point to an active program of lemon misinformation.

The Uncola
I was never much of a cola fan. I preferred lemon lime. Drank 7-up by the
case. Didn’t care for Sprite. Just like the folk who can distinguish the
subtle differences between Pepsi and Coke I found Sprite a bit too sugary.
Or it might have been the cocaine they keep dumping into the syrup.
Nothing says market share like addictive opiates. Coke had a stock pile of
cocaine left over from 1903. Won’t find it listed on the label, the
Coke-a-Cola Senator makes sure of that. Stop doing 7-up. Now I do Minute
Maid Lemonade. Just can’t escape Coke-a-Cola

Meadowlark Lemon
What the man could do will a basketball was amazing. Got to see to see him
at the end of his career, but a real showman. Pumped three haft court
shots in a row, no net. He played in more than 16,000 games for the
Globetrotters and was inducted into the Basketball Hall of Fame in 2003.
He lives about three miles from my parent’s house in Arizona. My dad said
he would drop by the local VFW, but never saw him drink anything stronger
than a ginger ale. Work with teens through his ministry. Still going
strong at 81.

A Well Defined Relationship Part 31

“Banister what’s the story on Dino/Matt over here?” ask the Doctor.
Banister swung his head back, but keep a tight hand on the wheel. “Little
busy up here, we have a sizable problem.” Over the bow an edge of yellow
rose and rose and rose. It was straight ahead and getting closer. “Oh
hell” cry the Doctor, ” That’s the Great Owens Lemon. During the drouth of
27 a mom from Patterson pray for rain, what they got was a billion ton
floating lemon that rained lemon juice.” “Over or under?” yelled banister.
“Up” replied the Doctor. Up they went.

RICHARD

#1 – Lemonade

“When life deals you lemons, make lemonade!” – It was a phrase that George’s mother was fond of repeating.

Emily’s abduction was a particularly sharp and unpalatable lemon, and one for which George could see no happy outcome.

He knew his mother would have been ashamed of him as he decided his next course of action. There were no plans to rescue Emily, only to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible.

What else could he do? He had no idea where she was, and was in mortal fear of her kidnapper.

There would be no lemonade today.

#2 – Tequila

Salt.

Tequila.

Lemon.

Repeat.

Salt. Tequila. Lemon.

Repeat several times more, then lean very carefully against bar.

Slur badly.

Salt… tequila… lemon…

One. More. Time.

Vision blurry, perched uncertainly on bar stool, gazing glassily at bottle: concentrate… concentrate on reaching for the salt.

Damn – dropped it.

Tequila… just gimme the bottle – forget the salt!

Lemon.

Tequila.

Tequila.

Tequila.

Slide to floor in a sodden, drunken heap.

Found the salt!

Just pass me the bottle – forget the lemon.

Tequila. Tequila. Tequila… worm!

Did I swallow the worm?

Are you joking? I’d have to be drunk to do something stupid like that!

#3 – Just a hint of lemon

“I give you a simple, job and you can’t even get it right.”

I protested – yellow she’d wanted, and yellow she’d got!

“Yes… I wanted ‘Lemon Breeze’, or ‘Lemon Parfait’, and I get ‘French Custard”

Again, I protested – it was yellow, dammit! They were all yellow… rows and rows of paint, all with stupid names; every one of them, quite clearly YELLOW!

She wasn’t having it, I was sent back to the store where the assistant peeled the label off my tin, replacing it with one that said ‘Lemon Breeze’.

“Isn’t that a better colour?”, she gushed on my return.

#4 – Fifty Shades…

My local bondage club used to use the classic traffic light system of safe words – ‘Green’ meant OK, ‘Red’ meant stop, but no-one really knew where to draw the line when it came to ‘Yellow’.

After some rather painful misunderstandings, the committee decided to introduce more colours with specific meanings to ease the confusion.

Between ‘Green’ and ‘Red’ we now have a whole spectrum of hues – everything from ‘Aquamarine’ through ‘Lemon’, all the way to ‘Zinc’, each of them with their own highly specialised definitions.

It hasn’t really made anything easier, but it certainly leads to some colourful language on club nights!

#5 – Elemontary science

I had a teacher who believed any law of science could be illustrated using just lemons and household ingredients.

He’d make batteries from lemons, invisible ink from lemon juice and demonstrated how to make copper coins shine like new. One lesson, he created a lemon clock and a self-inflating balloon.

The kids loved him, but his unorthodox methods brought him into conflict with the governors. They fired him after he blew a hole in the science lab window with his lemon rocket.

When asked how he felt about his sudden dismissal, his response was typical:

“I’m not bitter”, he said.

SERENDIPITY

Disposal of bodies isn’t as easy as fiction suggests.

If you’re not particularly strong, manhandling a corpse into a car isn’t an option; even if I could, there are limited locations suitable for a shallow grave.

I’m not into dismembering, and my building skills aren’t up to making concrete boots, or hiding corpses behind cavity walls.

So it has to be the old standby: the acid bath.

Unfortunately, even that’s not as easy as it seems – the strongest acid I can find in any quantity is lemon juice!

At least, if it doesn’t dissolve the body, it’ll be nicely marinated!

TARALYN

Today I was at the store, looking at what I found out were a lot of lemons. They can leave a real sour taste in your mouth. But they look good on the outside, pretty color, even the insides on most have a refreshing smell. But until you get it home and actually try it, do you really get a true idea of its worth. The entire experience could leave a bad taste in your mouth. Whatever you do, don’t let it stop you from trying others, and don’t lose your temper and take it out on the car salesman.

LIZZIE

He wasn’t much of a drinker so when they told him “bite on this”, his dormant urges became overwhelming. When the party was over, he roamed the streets, hiding in the shadows to calm the demon within. As he got home, he rushed to the computer and browsed unrelated sites for hours. However, it was hopeless. By morning, he had 10 lemon cheesecakes, 7 lemon tarts, 1 lemon pudding and a large number of mutant lemon squares that practically announced the end of the world. The whole building stank of lemon. The neighbors complained. Once again, Lemon Man was back!

SINGH

23.14

“Look, a jamun tree,” Chauhaan alerted, alighting

from his cream car and crossing to the bus-bay

outside Jambudweep.

“A big one there.”

His message was meant for Yogi and he pointed,

but Kuldeep Singh off the bus, overheard

and was first to fly, running toward birds

and bees in love with clumps of dangling purple.

So many had fallen, ready, sweet and astringent.

A jamun tree and children like each other.

Soon infected, others were quickly chasing

for their share of contraband. “They just can’t go,”

said Margot to Prakriti. “Bring them back!”

“Ji, Madam,” and conscripted her Rajinder.

23.15

The converts to the tribe of purple tongues

were rounded up to face their Madam’s music,

but the number of inky digits was too funny.

“Those jambu fruit, the jamuns have fingerprinted

you forever. The guards won’t let in,” looking up

to the Jambu-emblem marble gates to Heaven.

Kumara translated, sucking out all the truth,

“You cannot steal the jamuns. It’s not allowed.

You’ve given the school and Madam a bad name!”

The children were confused between her smile

and Kumara’s nasty scowl. Finally

Atul knowing his Madam better, opened a fist

holding three fat jubes. “Madam, for you.”

23.16

Her mouth received the stolen goods with pleasure.

“It’s healthy for the…er hmm… ladies cycle,”

Chauhaan blurted, adding on quickly “Gout also,

good for sugar problem.” To stop embarrassment

he stepped gate-ward. “Chello! Yogi Ji.

We should go in.” “Alright, Chauhaan,” he answered.

His arm was being hard-yanked. “We’ll wait inside,”

he yelled to Margot still embroiled with kids.

Deeply angry, they were a good excuse

for not following wifely when she could lead.

After all, the kids were off the leash

before this lolly shop of the Jaina cosmos —

Jambudveep with a jamun tree its centre.

23.17

The jamuns’ sweet and sour reminded her

of backyard fruit-trees in the Adelaide Hills.

She missed the weeding, plucking winter lemons,

Packham pears and woody apples in their prime;

she remembered Paul and Adele shrouding themselves

like Casper the ghost between the strung-up bedsheets.

Yogi was wandering into his marble cosmos,

yet she was still an earthbound mum with a job

to shepherd them through the so-called Gates of Heaven.

Kumara ordered the children double-file,

Prakriti ogled Rajinder at the back.

“Chup karo,” Madam told her brood.

“Be quiet kids and we will have some fun.”

23.18

an ornate marble playground

the Jain universe

of big fairground attractions

buildings bridges boat ride

lawns and lotus temples

thirty scrupulous acres

managed with acumen

India’s merchant elite

a salute to Jain know-how

no primal Sculptor story

no end-of-the-concert Bang

panelled halls life episodes

kings renouncing thrones

carved friezes gilt-edged paintings

worldly duties concluded

shedding cotton loin cloths

to seek forest moksha

human end divine start

twenty four tirthankaras

elevated siddha buddhas

the invisible Jain deities

worshipped with coconuts

sculpted in lotus pose

standing bolt naked upright

children giggling and pointing

at their marble genitalia

23.19

A gondola ride around the universe

upon the circular moat of Jambudweep,

Foreign Margot was glad to play wet-nurse

to her jamun thieves. “The water isn’t deep,”

said Atul, perched proud beside his Madam.

Three flat-bottomed boats skimmed three sixty degrees,

a convoy of innocents far too young to fathom

any old Hindu or Jain cosmologies.

Meanwhile Chauhaan led Yogi up the tower

a pinkish marble Meru — cosmic mystique,

one and hundred one feet high, the bannister

guiding hands inside to the parvat peak.

Inside, three tirthankars in lotus bliss.

Below, Jain World on earth — a marble kiss.

23.20

Rajinder was sent to find the elephant rides.

“May I go also, Madam?” Asked Prakriti.

Madam refused, sensing sure romance

and trouble ahead: Mr Vulture’s marriage.

“We should see now Heerak Jayanti Express,”

said Mr Kumara. This was a first for him —

no sour lemon or jamun attitude

in good mood despite his scheming mind.

He took them to the steam train chugging nowhere.

Each carriage housed its paintings, dioramas,

Jambudweep Theatre had daily screenings

telling of the sixteen tirthankar birthplaces

and Sri Gyanmata’s saintly woman story.

Rajinder returned: “Plaster elephant-ride!”

One was waiting, pulled along by a tractor.

23.21

“Now where’s Yogi?” Atul the sparrow hawk,

her aerial perspicacious eyes replied,

“In there,” pointing to a marble structure.

Teen Lok Rachna, Madam. I read the sign.”

It seemed a pinkish ocean liner balanced

on its stern in three-tiered marble segments.

“Let’s go and see what’s cooking in there.”

‘But Madam, Madam! Elephant ride, please,”

chorused the others. So she split the group

under Mr Kumara, taking away the others.

They navigated pavements, past the sculpted-

woman drinking fountain and Dyan Mandir,

an eco grass-roofed dome for meditation

until they entered ground floor —Teen Lok Rachna.

23.22

three lokas worlds below between above

an elevator round-trip ten rupees

starting in hell green ghouls shit-brown demons

torturers wielding clubs among the tortured

pot-bellied devils in miniature leering on

the next button push for Madya Lok

a carnival-coloured Here a Middle World

among the wish-fullfilling jamun trees

toy gods kings people tigers birds

level three to gold-throned siddha souls

then highest tirthankars in a lotus cup

god-smacked kids thought this the ultimate

doll shop of all playdreams perhaps Prakriti

gasped concerned for her romantic future

Yogi and Chauhaan had looked and left

23.23

“Shall we take tea, Yogi?” asked Chauhaan

nodding a head to Kumara, herding kids

to and from the tractor-elephant.

“They will know to find us at the tea-stall.”

“What about Margot? We can’t just up and leave,”

said Yogi. “We brought them.” It was the first

time he’d given her a thought. “Don’t worry,”

coaxed the Gharmukteshwar man.

“The children are playing.” Yogi wasn’t certain,

but felt tired with so many temples waiting.

“I never thought of Hastinapur quite like this.

A seat of warriors now the seat of saints,

from the age of holocaust to non-violence.”

23.24

Chauhaan walked him through the ornate gate,

the metal jambu wired green above.

They weaved through blaring buses, car horns, scooters

to a waiting fruit-box tea-stall opposite.

The tea-wallah pumped his kerosene stove

to jet-heat hard-boiled, sickly-milky chai.

Yogi looked out for Margot and the kids

still riding the elephant tractor, a demon train.

Chauhaan was talking about some future plan

with he and Barhai, but Yogi was distracted.

He glanced across the road to Jambudweep.

Why did he feel that he had missed his chance?

Then he saw Margot looking. She didn’t wave.

CLIFF

They called it the Life Emulating Machine-ONline. The idea was to feed in data about your life, your hopes, and your abilities. Basically, this website could simulate your life. When it was wrong, you corrected it and it learned. Eventually, it would know the users so well, it could offer advice on schools, careers, even love lives got the LEMON touch. Eventually, there was no topic on which the LEMON didn’t advise. The church was happy when the LEMON started encouraging more spirituality among its users. That is, until they realized that there was a new god on the block.

Two days after I drove it off the lot, the windshield cracked. The used car salesman said that it wasn’t covered. The faulty gas gauge wasn’t covered either. In the next month, the locks stopped locking, the fuel pump stopped pumping, and the pistons stopped… well, they stopped working too. None of it covered. I brandished the paperwork and asked what a ULT warrantee was supposed to be. The salesman told me that ULT stood for Unlimited Life Time. I told him that I assumed that ULT stood for Under the Lemon Tree because that’s where this car came from.

ELISSON

LEMON: A 100-WORD STORY

Miles Davis wanted a new sound.

Kind of Blue was a classic, and he had recently taken steps into electronica with his landmark A Tribute to Jack Johnson. But there was so much more he wanted to do. “How?” he wondered silently.

As he lay awake in bed, an unbidden memory of an old Our Gang comedy short came to him. In a flash, he knew just what to do.

Two weeks later, the group was in the studio to record Bitches Brew… with one extra.

“Kid, here’s a quarter. When I start playing, you start sucking on this lemon.”

SPATE

Fruit Salad

Auntie Rita always said:

“When life hands you lemons,

And it will dear,

Don’t frown

Look around

We’re all on a steady diet of fruit here.

“And lemons are not so bad.

Be grateful it’s not a gangrened grapefruit

Or a wormy apple

Or not fruit at all but a vegetable

Like kale.

“Have you ever seen anyone handed kumquats perchance?

Pomegranates? Or even one persimmon?

Never!

Are your grapes being delivered peeled?

Certainly not!

And nobody, NOBODY, is given a bowl of cherries!

“So dear

Just suck on your lemon because

Only the top monkeys get any bananas here.”

ZACKMANN

Sheriff Jack Lemon had orders from Mayor Ryan Smith Orange to get rid of Kelly Kumquat who was putting the squeeze on the good citizens of Citrus Town.

Jack was a good man and he was John Law of Citrus Town but people called him Lemon Law. The Sheriff took his lemon car to the Citrus Bowl Stadium where John Lemon was doing a Lemon Aid show for families hit by the early freeze. Jack saw Kumquat in the ticket line thinking his deputies soon will have gathered enough evidence to put Kelly away for the zest of his life .

JULIE

Eleni Recalls Her Lemon Trees

The lemon trees will grow–

If you are there, or no.

The grey roots,

They twist

Deep into the acrid soil

Steeped deep in your village.

The sun, the sea—

Your yearning to be free.

Fragrant memories,

Sunny bitter smiling sweet treeflowers–

The lemon trees

Have been there before you–

And will remain,

When someday you finally

Fail to return.

The nostos–

It takes hold each spring

That homecoming, preceded

By your leavetaking…

My restless white-haired mother

She gazes on her stained glass lemons

From the mahogany dining room

In the cold winter of New Haven

Waiting for her return.

JUSTIN

When I was a kid, I ate a lemon and everyone thought my face was so hilarious.

Naturally, I don’t remember it at all, too young.

However, while eating at Local Ocean in Newport, Oregon, my daughter grabbed a lemon off a plate. Now I would never give her a tart lemon, I’m not a monster, but I wasn’t going to stop her. I was too busy turning on the video camera. Now she, unlike me, can see how hilarious she looked.

Just remember to experience the moments now, and don’t miss them because you were too busy recording it.

NORVAL JOE

When I got my driver’s license the main family car was a Dodge Monaco station wagon. It was a smaller than the Queen Mary but needed as much space to turn around. The 440 cubic inch block and four barrel carburetor made it jump up and fly when you put your foot down.
Since my twin brother and I wanted to go out with our girl friends, but not with each other, one of us had to drive the 1964 Studebaker Lark. Some people called the Lark a lemon, but it was still running long after the wagon was gone.

DANNY

In 1988, the now defunct General Motors division of Pontiac decided to revive the LeMans nameplate with the rebadged 1986 captive import, the Daewoo LeMans. As if the Classic 1968 version of the LeMans was not ruined enough with the crappy 1973 and 1978 remakes of the once classic nameplate, they just had to finish it with this pathetic remake. I worked for a rental car company at the time that rented the 1989 Lemans, the head gaskets on the engines would completely blow in less than 10000 miles. They should have called this version the Pontiac Lemon, the idiots at Pontiac were only one letter off.

MUNSI

Lemons
By Christopher Munroe

When life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

If you’re five years old.

If you’re an adult, and life gives you lemons, find salt, tequila and somebody to share it with, body-shot style.

No, tequila’s not for everyone. Some are made ill by the liquor, and many find it bitter. But that doesn’t matter in the end.

Because you have to make the best of what you have in this life, whether you like it or not.

And sometimes it will be bitter, because life is sometimes bitter.

Like a lemon.

And when life gives you lemons, you make lemonade.

TURA

Whenever I get home, I take a lemon and bite into it, hard. The neural simulators always get better, but they still can’t reproduce that intensity. It’s a way of reassuring myself I’m back in base reality.

I was out of lemons. At the local shop, I found a citrus fruit I’d never seen before, lemon-yellow with knobbly green-tinted protrusions. “Take one,” said the shopkeeper. “New variety, very intense!”

I bit into it. When my eyes cleared from the sledgehammer blow, I woke up surrounded by blue-skinned humanoids waving their ears excitedly. “Great to be back!” I said, waving mine.

PLANET Z

I remember going to see The Harlem Globetrotters when I was little.

That was when they had Meadowlark Lemon, Curley Neal, and Sweet Lou Dunbar. Curley was the bald guy who was an incredible dribbler.

I have no idea who’s on the team these days. Heck, I have no idea who’s on any basketball team now. I’m from the Michael Jordan and Charles Barkley era… players like Shaq and Yao Ming are newcomers to me, and they’re retired already.

Maybe this is good? Instead of following the players, I can just enjoy the competition.

Or the clownery of the Globetrotters.