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 PLAY:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Thomas Pitre
• Richard
• Jeffrey
• Mardra
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• Tura Brezoianu
• Munsi
• Lizzie
• Tom
• Serendipidy Haven
• Steven the Nuclear Man
• Zackmann
• Bonchance and Sevi
• Singh
• RedGoddess
• Norval Joe
• Danny
• Justin
• Planet Z

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

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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THOMAS

He didn’t learn how to play until he was forty – not an instrument, but the recreational activity usually engaged in by young children that is meant to entertain. His father was a chemist and his mother was a physicist, so little Moritz had no guidance or demonstration as how to play. Moritz’ time was spent reading and experimenting with various apparatus his parents gave him. He recorded all his experiments. He burned the house and parents to the ground, and wrote down everything he heard and saw in his log. Today, he plays table tennis in the psyche institution.

#

Arum played the Sousaphone; loud. She did hours of lip slurs every day to strengthen her embouchure. Arun did some other things, too, but you will have to use your imagination. The result was the invitation to play first position in the local Tanjidor group. After rehearsal last night, Arum thought her instrument needed its water emptied. She lifted it up, so the bell faced the sky and pressed the valves repeatedly, failing to pull out the valve slide and empty it. The water rushed into the mouthpiece, the spit valve jammed shut, and she succumbed to a hideous drowning.

#

The one act play was a little piece that was meant to make a political statement, as the school was in San Francisco and it was 1961. I recall it had one actor, and it took place in the men’s room of a gas station. The character entered the station’s bathroom, did his business behind a closed lavatory door, washed his hands, then went to the paper towel dispenser. A big sign over the towels read: “Rip up and Tear Down”. The actor tore savagely at the towel dispenser, destroying it, tearing it off the tiled wall. The lights dimmed.

#

[Credit to Prairie Home Companion, of March, 2000.]

Jimmy loved word play. He was half-heartedly applying for a job with a conservative, financial firm, writing: Dear Sir or Sodom or Whom It May Constrict: I understand you are hiring anal lists, and hereby present my amplification for annoyment by your firm. I have listed my accomplishments in ascending order, along with a sample of addition and long division. As you see, I have long expedience in grammar and was medicated in the best schools and my dream is to grow fat with your company. Enclosed, my most recent consomme. Please feel free, as I remain your humble serpent.

RICHARD

#1 – Win at all costs

“It’s just a game to you!”, she hissed…

“You play with my emotions, lead me on, lie to me, cheat and mess with my head. I’m sick of it and I’m telling you, buster, I’m not going to be your doormat – so go ahead and do your worst, because I’m in this thing to the very end.”

I’d seen her like this before and I knew there was simply no reasoning with her; still, I had to try:

“Look honey, you know the rules… we’ve gotta stick to them”

I guess we do take Monopoly pretty seriously in this household.

#2 – Shakespeare

I’m not a huge fan of Shakespeare’s plots, or the historical context of his writing – not that there’s anything wrong with them, but rather, I appreciate the way he uses words far more than I do the twists and turns of fate that he manages to contrive, and the fortunes of his characters.

I’m intrigued and fascinated by his use of language, by the tongue in cheek manner he manipulates words to mock and entertain.

When I go to see Shakespeare, I don’t go to watch actors performing on a stage, no – I go to see a play… on words.

#3 -The Pianist

“When you play, he said, you must become one with your instrument. The strings should vibrate in tune with your soul and the keys must respond, not only to your fingers, but to your very emotions. Understand that the piano is not the instrument – it is you from which the music flows.

Then and only then, can you truly play.”

Enraptured by his music, I could only gaze in helpless, horrified fascination as there before me he sacrificed his very being at that ivory and ebony altar, until finally, with one fatal, final chord, he breathed his last and died.

#4 – The light of day

Blinking in the sunlight, George breathed deeply, savouring the freshness of the open air.

He was unsure what he should do – having made the decision to strike out, he now realised how woefully ill-equipped he was for the task ahead. He felt the embarrassment of being completely out of his depth and unsure, something he’d not experienced since a child. In his minds eye, he saw himself as a young boy: invited to play with the big boys, but ignorant of the rules or his role in the game.

OK – he’d just have to make up his own rules.

JEFFREY

The Ride
by Jeffrey Fischer

“Oh, just play outside by yourself, Bobby. Mommy has a headache.” Six-year-old Bobby knew that meant the “my grains” had come on and any noise would make his mother cross, so he stood in the front yard practicing with his yo-yo. He didn’t hear the car roll up to the curb.

“Hey, you’re Bobby, right?” called a man from the car. Bobby nodded. “Neat yo-yo, Bobby. I’ve got the neatest yo-yo you’ve ever seen. Hop in and I’ll show you.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”

“But I’m not a stranger – I even knew your name, so it must be okay.”

Bobby cast an apprehensive look back at his front door, where his mother slept the last good sleep of her life, and opened the passenger door.

This is Your Life
by Jeffrey Fischer

The invitation was hand-written and slipped under the apartment door. “Come to the premiere of a new play, ‘This is Your Life.’ This card is your VIP ticket.” A date, time, and place were below.

Louise threw away the card, but, intrigued, pulled it from the trash can. No doubt this would be amateur hour, but she had nothing to do that evening and decided to attend.

As she entered the theater, her eyes adjusted to the dark. She was alone. Frightened, she turned to leave, but heard the doors lock behind her. The stage lights came on, the curtains opened, and a shrouded figure said, “Louise, this is your life. Tonight is the last scene of the last act.”

Wrong Note
by Jeffrey Fischer

The sax man played a note-perfect solo before the rest of the band rejoined him in the chorus. Kevin enjoyed the musicianship for a moment before turning to the problem at hand: getting the girl next to him at the bar to go home with him.

He met her earlier in the evening, and they hit it off. Two drinks later, he thought he could close the deal. “The band is great,” he told her, “but we could make some music of our own back at my place.”

She rolled her eyes. “I had rather hoped you weren’t just a player, but were looking for something a little more meaningful. Well, live and learn.” She stood to leave.

Play’s the Thing
by Jeffrey Fischer

The last play of the game. Five seconds on the clock, down by six, forty yards to go. Coach had called Marvin’s number, a deep route to the end zone with the ball ending up in the wide receiver’s arms. That would be Marvin’s arms.

He lined up on the outside and got a good jump as the ball was snapped. He faked left but stepped right, then was a flash of lightning down the field. The ball spiraled into Marvin’s outstretched fingertips…

“Marvin, stop daydreaming and get off that couch. The garbage isn’t going to take itself out.”

MARDRA

Daddy’s Game

“Can’t you keep that kid quiet?” he yelled through the apartment’s paper-thin wall. “All she wants to do is play, play, play!”

“Why can’t daddy play with me?”

“Oh Sarah, daddy’s busy.”

“Why?” The three syllable wail cut through his concentration, making him crazy.

“Please…I’m trying to concentrate.”

“He just needs to get through the library, then he’ll feel better,” she explained. “Come with mommy, we’ll go outside and wait for daddy.”

“Just because mommy got through the library first does not make her the Halo queen!” he yelled, feeling her lingering smug smirk as she closed the front door.

CLIFF

I stood in the wings and went over my line again.
“Who?”
That was it. Just one word. The main character runs up and asks if Nicholas Nicklemeyer lives near here and I simply say “Who?” while looking confused. It shouldn’t be hard. I’d volunteered to help build the set, not act. When Jeff got sick, I was handed the bit part. I only had time to read this one scene.

That’s how I ended up standing there, waiting for my cue. Before I knew it, it was time. I stepped onstage, listened to the question, and loudly asked “What?”

TURA

Play
——–
Peter Jackson is squeezing six hours of film out of The Hobbit, but for me, nothing can beat the 45 minute stage play of Lord of the Rings (Without the Boring Bits). Who could forget John Cleese’s arresting preformance as Gandalf? (“Don’t mention the ring! I did once, but I think I got away with it.”) And Terry Scott was born to play Frodo! Ant and Dec were Pippin and Merry, and Sam Gamgee was none other than Martin Freeman, Sancho Panza to Terry Scott’s Quixote, and currently starring in Jackson’s attempt to wring a flood from a damp cloth.

MUNSI

Play

(among others)

By Christopher Munroe

I’m white, male, and from the ‘90s.

As such, in high school I owned one album each by Moby, Weezer and The Offspring.

You know the ones.

They were ubiquitous pieces of music at the time. Everyone owned and loved them, they were inescapable.

For women my age it was the first Jewel album and Alanis Morrisette. Every girl I dated in university had them both.

I’m at best lukewarm on the artists nowadays, but I’ll admit, I still smile when I hear those particular records.

They’re the soundtrack of my youth.

And I need that reminder now and again…

LIZZIE

If he played his cards right, he’d be granted a fortune. That’s what hopeless bachelor Ben thought, after his grandmother fell ill. That last Sunday at the hospital, she raised herself slightly from the pillow and told Ben “Grateful to Nurse Mary. Money goes to her.” She winked and died. Ben was appalled. He visited his grandmother faithfully every day for years, twice a day at the hospital! But, being a pragmatic man, he invited Nurse Mary for dinner. They got married and were very happy. It was only many years later that Ben understood the meaning of that wink!

TOM

The Gap

I played the tape over and over. I couldn’t believe what the old man had said. I was only 19 and it was clear to me this was not a good thing to have lying around. The worst part was it kept popping up over a 19 min chuck of tape. No way to edit it out. So I copied it to a second reel to reel and cut the volume for 16.5 minutes. Later I learned Rosemary had fallen on her sword over the gap no doubt at the prompting of Colson. A simple relabeling buried the evidence in plan sight

SERENDIPITY

Does God play dice?

He most certainly does – anything to get away from those tedious choirs of angels.

He used to play World of Warcraft but fantasy isn’t really God’s forte, he’s more a reality sort of guy, so he switched to Second Life, before leaving in a huff when he found that ordinary avatars weren’t allowed god powers.

He gave poker a try, but ‘having the boys round for a game of cards’ meant inviting Old Nick too, and things tended to get a bit heated!

So, dice it is…

Anything to get away from those awful celestial choirs!

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

The lights dim, the crowd silences.

He strides out from the wings – his shadow overlarge, distorted in the few paces before the blue spear of the spotlight catches him. Surely it is just a trick, an illusion.

“You have come for a show!” His mouth smiles, wet and wide, not reaching his eyes. He gestures toward the curtain.

The red cloth pulls back as the shapes behind it lurch and gibber and thrust their way forward through the crowd’s screaming flesh.

“So have they,” he says through his too-wide smile. “Because all the world’s a stage.”

“And all-you-can-eat buffet.”

ZACKMANN

I thought I heard about an app that could save me money on live theater productions but I can’t remember the new name for Android Market. My kid is upstairs practicing drums and guitar. What a racket. I wonder if he is using both instruments at the same time. His mom just pressed that button with the sideways triangle on the DVD player. His brother is on the picnic table in the park near the place where the slides and swings are. He is likely in the middle of a game of Munchkin. Just what is Android Market’s current name?

SEVI AND BONCHANCE

Oklahoma

Mollie had her ritual. At lunch, she sat on her front porch,
sipping steaming, milky and just slightly sweet tea.
She watched the energetic children play in the school yard yonder.

Mollie’s own were all grown, living several states away raising their families.

She was away when it hit, it seemed so surreal.

She saw the aftermath on the news. She barely recognized her beloved home and playground.

No point returning there if all was demolished.

Her memories would serve her well, of sunny days,
on her porch sipping tea, hearing the musical sounds and laughter of children at play.

The Play

Sitting in a darkly lit room. I am entranced in the play.

Blending into the background, fading to black, no longer glancing at newcomers, waiting for the name call.

Then they arrive.

One vibrant and stealthy strong, pushes a wheelchair of another, just the opposite.

The vibrant man checks in, does the talking and endorses paperwork.

Looking at the others, at first watch then turn their heads.
I watched him maneuver so they could sit side by side.

I once read of the Sacred Band of Thebes. Where lovers showed bravery in the face of death.

This was bravery facing life.

REDGODDESS

All work and no play has taken a toll on Lola’s life. Her eyes are tired and sad. There was a time she assumed fun was overrated, but now…she’s throwing caution to the wind. She invited her lover to her new place for a surprise indoor picnic, filled with mystery games, and tantalizing exotic foods. First, she blindfolds him the moment he walks through the door. They hug for what seems like hours before she leads him on the bed for a sensual massage. She has no plans to take it beyond touch, good food and conversation tonight. His smell fulfills her in ways beyond any sexual satisfaction. By the third glass of wine, they were half naked and sharing secrets. Suddenly he became serious, “truth or dare?” he asks. Truth, she whispers playfully. Why are you afraid to be mine?

NORVAL JOE

“Are you ready to play?” Kirk asked and threw his heavy sack onto the sand.
“Is that what this is to you? A game?” Conner asked, bouncing his own leather sack in his hand as if comparing its weight to Kirk’s.
“Ok. Call it war, then,” Kirk said, drawing a line in the sand with his heel. “Are you going to fight or just talk about it?”
Anger rose on Conner’s freckled cheeks and he narrowed his eyes at his opponant.
“Fine. School rules, no cat eyes, and playing for keeps,” Conner said and tipped his marbles on the sand.

DANNY

Every rational definition dictates I am supposed to be nothing more than a stereotype, but I am not. I’m way to busy living, creating, writing. My life, if nothing more than a mad dash, throwing every thought on paper, creating every digital design I can create, photographing every profound thing I see in nature. I’m trapped within this urgency that I must complete all of this before I die, because even if there are literally still decades yet before me, there really isn’t that much time left. I must hurry, there is simply not enough time for me to play.

JUSTIN

One problem with making massively multiplayer games is you can have all your best people try and make everything work correctly, but someone just might forget one little thing and create an exploitable bug. Then the masses play the game, and a few will discover the exploit, and some will report it, but others will take advantage.

That’s why we couldn’t play Neverwinter last weekend. Some people exploited a bug so badly we not only lost a few days to try and play, they had to roll back the servers a week, deleting progress.

Thanks exploiters. Die in a fire.

PLANET Z

Years ago, I had every Doors album, and a few bootleg tapes.

Everyone would gather at this one guy’s house to drunk and stoned, and we’d play that music all night long.

I couldn’t sing for shit, but I didn’t care.

Put in a tape, any tape, and hit play.

When I got to college, I bought “The Best Of The Doors” on CD.

I’d given up trying to out-sing Jim, but I sure as hell tried to out-drink and out-smoke him.

Now, my iPhone is Doors-free.

No smoking. And no way I drink that much anymore.

Amen, Reverend Jim.

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 SMELL:

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

• Jeff Hema
• Tom
• Tura Brezoianu
• Jeffrey
• Thomas Pitre
• Taralyn
• Munsi
• Zackmann
• Richard
• Serendipidy Haven
• Lizzie
• Cliff – Uncle Monster
• RedGoddess
• Norval Joe
• Justin
• Singh
• Planet Z

A story by Miata Stardust was rejected because it included me as a character.

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

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… this obligatory cat photo should help make the Internet go faster:

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JEFF

Strange Bedfellows

Her words were fraught with love and lust as she caressed him.
« I caught a whiff of my wife’s presence, she will be crazier than a shithouse rat if she sees you here, please vanish »
« What ! you said she wouldn’t come home tonight?»
« I know; I must be cursed »
She glared at him with a frown, thought of spilling the beans, then said « Listen to me carefully shapeshifter, do this to me again and I will make sure to suck your blood until the last drop and bury your companion alive»
Then she warped; blood in the eyes.

TOM

Since I gave up dairy and meat the lack of their proximity has led to a dimming in my memory. There is nothing like a stroll through CostCo’s meat kingdom to tap into the visual aspects of meatness to trigger the joy of grilling bacon. At either end of the gantlet was three count them three sampling kiosk pumping out burning animal. Then someone opened a door to the glassed refrigeration wall I swear I could smell the ham right through the wrapper. I do not doubt atomized meat gas is being pumped in the air ducts

God Bless them.

TURA

There was once a monk, who never washed, and so he became odious to his fellows. But he was perplexed by this, for he could not smell himself.

He spoke to the head monk, saying, “The other monks tell me that I stink, but I do not perceive this, although I can smell them.”

The head monk replied, “Can you see the hair on the back of your head? And do you not allow the work of the barber?

“With your nose, you can smell your brothers. With their noses, you can smell yourself.”

Thereafter, the monk washed every day.

JEFFREY

Roses
by Jeffrey Fischer

When I heard that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, I wondered if the opposite was true, that any other Rose would smell as sweet.

I tried Abie’s Wild Irish Rose, but she smelled of booze.

I then tried Rosey Grier, but he smelled of sweat. Pretty rank.

Next I tried Rose Kennedy, but she smelled dead.

Finally, I sniffed a tea rose from the botanical gardens. It smelled like old lady perfume.

Now, Doctor, can you please get these damn thorns out of my nose?

An Unsuccessful Revival
by Jeffrey Fischer

In the 1960s, Smell-O-Vision made a brief but unsuccessful debut in theaters. In the 2020s, the technology made a comeback. Movie studies tried to generate revenue from older releases by adding smells.

At first, things went well. In “Chocolat”, Juliette Binoche never smelled so good. “Days of Wine and Roses” was another hit: the smell of the roses, the fruity aroma of wine, and even a hit of lemon every time Jack Lemmon appeared on screen.

The trouble started when audiences gagged at the smell of blood in “There Will Be Blood”. The last straw came with the re-release of “The Trouble with Harry”. Every time Harry was in a scene, audiences received a strong odor of decomposition.

The audience provided the accompanying smell of vomit.

THOMAS

The worst thing I ever smelled was the morning the dentist pulled two, abscessed front teeth…from directly under my nose. The putrid smell leaped directly up my nose, and on to the olfactory receptors and my brain. The smell was amplified by my pain and fear. I’ve never had any episodes of phantom smells–smelling something that’s not there, because phantom smells can be triggered by temporal lobe seizures, epilepsy, or head trauma. If you start to smell rotten eggs, bad perfume, garbage, a gas leak, a wet dog, body odor or spoiled fish, or poop, get to the doctor.

#

My job for a realty chain in Washington is to help the crew “stage” the home for an open house. Staging involves furnishings, flowers, and scents. I’ve engulfed homes in the smell of freshly-baked cookies, and the yard with the smell of roses and lilacs after I’ve fogged the area with an industrial machine I carry with me. Some of my recent research shows that a home scented with a simple orange essence is more effective than the cookie and flower aromas. I use real, fresh orange zest prepared with my own blender, and earn high fees for my expertise.

#

I assembled a box of manly smells for my pal’s sixtieth birthday party. It wasn’t the usual aromas associated with the “manly man” like: leather, gun powder, after shave, a campfire, shoe polish, or a hardware store. It was a unique assortment of smells that he would associate with his years of work on the docks in Seattle. I arranged the collection in a wooden box, starting with a small bottle of bourbon, a couple of cheap cigars, a bit of stale beer in an atomizer, some antiseptic wipes, a glop of bag balm, hand salve; and a new condom.

#

“Once you can get by the smell, you have it licked.” This sign was posted on the blue-veined cheeses in Uncle Kenny’s delicatessen. Other signs adorned some of the exotic cheeses and meats in the shop. “Check out our rump”, “Squeeze this pork butt”, and so on. Kenny thought he was a comedian, but he made his customers uncomfortable. He vowed to lighten things up a bit, and quit using the coarser texts. He made some signs and posted them above the cheese: “What happened after an explosion at a French cheese factory? All that was left was de brie.”

TARALYN

I love memories of those times that make you smile inside. Most of them are associated with a smell. I love the smell of a new can of tennis balls. It reminds me of my youth when I played tennis all summer long. But the smell I love the most, is the smell of my husband when I’m lying in his arms, in the silence of the night. His eyes are shut as he sleeps, and I secretly snuggle up to him. Breathing him in slowly to remember that moment. The smell of love, I can’t explain but why try.

MUNSI

Cologne

By Christopher Munroe

I’ve released a cologne!

No idea why. A company offered to create one for me and it seemed the thing to do.

Many public figures market a signature scent, for people who inexplicably want to smell like Lady GaGa or Justin Bieber in spite of never having been near enough them to know what they smell like.

I was surprised at the offer, honestly, what with the fact that I’m not famous and all.

Still, I will admit, I’m thrilled to help bring my new cologne to market.

…should any of you buy it, let me know how it smells.

ZACKMANN

Uncle Boy tweaked Charlie’s face saying “I go your nose, I got your nose.

Charlie decided to get his uncle back for this so feed his toddler cousin chili and gave some dried fish to his uncle’s dog.

Uncle Boy explained that the nose thing was only a joke meant in fun then Charlie told him that he was very sorry which Boy knew was true because the dog had come in from the rain and started licking Charlie’s face smelling of wet dog and fish sauce while Boy changed baby’s diaper. Charlie then wished uncle had taken his nose.

RICHARD

#1 – The smell of fear

They do say that fear has its own distinctive smell – I’ve never really believed that to be true. I’ve been in situations where I’ve been mortally afraid many times, and I can honestly say that, whilst fear pervaded every other sense, I’ve never caught the slightest whiff of that elusive scent.

Certainly there have been other smells that I associate with fear – many of them quite unsavoury and generally related to the body’s automatic reaction to being frightened: naturally, I always make sure to tightly hold my nose.

Coming to think of it, maybe that’s why I’ve never smelled fear!

#2 – On the market

The house filled with the wonderful smell of newly-baked bread and fresh coffee – I’d pulled out all the stops this time – completely de-cluttered, used minimalist, neutral colours for the decor, rehearsed my sales patter, and even shipped the kids off to their friends for the day.

Surely I’d get a buyer today?

Sadly not – as the last couple left mumbling that the property ‘just isn’t to our taste’

It looks like I’m doomed to stay in this property forever!

I simply can’t think of anything else I can do… although, I suppose I could try painting over the bloodstains?

#3 – Distant Lands

Every destination has it’s own distinctive smell.

Whether it’s the drifting fragrance of incense and frangipani, the aroma of beef ribs cooking over smoky wood barbecues, the scent of wet leaves and hot, fertile, soil, or even the stink of open sewers and decaying roadside rubbish. Every place has its own unique smell that tells you more about the culture, lifestyle and attitudes than any glossy photograph or travel agent’s polished prose will ever dare to reveal.

The smell of a place always tells the true story.

If I had my way, every travel brochure would be ‘scratch and sniff’!

#4 – Old Jack

“I’m looking for Old Jack”, I announced to the men stood at the bar, “does anyone know where I might find him?”

“And why would you be doing that, matey?”, asked a grizzled old seadog.

“It’s fishing I’m after, and I’ve heard he’s the best – they tell me he’s practically a fish himself!”

“Aye, that’ll be Jack! He’s down at the harbour – go out the door, turn left, down the hill, turn second right, then left, then just follow your nose.”

“You mean, go straight ahead?”

“No, I mean, follow your nose – you’ll smell him, afore you see him!”

#5 – Into the Open

His shock in the mortuary convinced George he should leave the hospital. The putrid smell of decaying bodies lingered in his senses, causing him to feel profoundly nauseous. It struck him that a hospital would likely contain numerous shocks of a similar nature, and he was determined to leave in all haste before encountering further unpleasantries.

Finally, he found himself at a doorway signposted ‘Exit to Street’.

With thumping heart, he eased the door open a crack, this time sniffing cautiously for any noxious warning smells. Then, pushing the door wide, he stepped with some trepidation, into the open air…

SERENDIPITY

The hunter cautioned me to stay silent and keep low: our quarry was no more than a few yards away – a family group, in a small clearing.

Carefully the hunter tested the wind: it was blowing towards us.

“We have to stay downwind”, he whispered, “if they should smell us, they’ll panic and flee, and we’ll not eat tonight.”

We’d masked our scent with earth and plant juices, and tonight the wind would be our ally.

Stealthily, we crept forward, closer still, paused, then sprang at the group!

The humans didn’t stand a chance… and we feasted well that night!

LIZZIE

The ability to trace toxic particles was carefully developed. A whole generation of genetically modified humans with a heightened sense of smell prevented the end of civilization for a century. As their lives expired, one by one, society trusted toxic levels to be so low that there were no replacements. At the turn of the century, when the flow of time shifted unexplainably, humans became lost in a world of mutating units, as they were called, the ones who went outside. They had a vague recollection that there was a solution for the problem but they just couldn’t remember it.

CLIFF

It wasn’t enough for Dave that he’d gotten my promotion. He’d robbed me of it. He hacked my computer, stole my research, and then turned it in as his own. I’d protested and had simply been marked as a jealous spoilsport. But even that wasn’t enough. With his bonus, Dave bought a fancy Italian sports car. He offered to let me sit in it, saying that the interior smelled like money. Instead, I tossed my coffee cup into it. The gas in the cup smelled like money too. When I struck the match, I decided it smelled more like justice.

*****

I love my country. I love the values and ideals that this country was founded upon. I truly believe that America has generated some of the most amazing people and ideas in history. And yet, I am ashamed of some of my countrymen. The final straw was a few years ago in Egypt. We’d toured the pyramids and were approaching the Sphinx when I heard a couple of distinctly American voices behind me.
“Hey, that statue has no nose!”
“Really? How does it smell?”
“Smell? It sphinx!”
I love my country, but when I travel abroad, I say I’m Canadian.

REDGODDESS

It’s been a few weeks since Lola has spent time with her lover. They had been inseparable since the New Year, but now they are slowly seeing less of each other. It’s like they’re playing hide and seek with their hearts.
After months getting to know him, she doesn’t want to play games. Somehow, she has avoided giving him an answer about his proposal. She still remembers his words.
In spite of her resistance, she misses him more than she’s willing to admit. He smells so delicious, she says to herself. while undressing before bedtime, Lola concocted a secret plan to show him how much he means to her. On their next date, he finally will taste a new side of Lola, and he’ll get his answer on the spot.

NORVAL JOE

Ulnar Styloid, warrior and clan chief of the Olecranon Process scanned an empty sector of space represented on the three dimentional holographic display.
He had skirted the costal margins past the illiac crest and warped through a vascular dilation bringing himself into sub-talor neutral alignment.
Thuogh his vestibular class assault frigate purred like a Coratoid from the jungle planet of Vastus Lateralus, something told Ulnar, all was not right.
A smell eminated from the warp capacitor cabinet which made him think of overripe bananas, aftershave and death.
He was allergic to bananas and aftershave. The two, together, would kill him.

JUSTIN

The onslaught of Zerg across the planet is marked by the transformation of the landscape. Comforting vistas of stone, soil, and seed morphed into a nightmare of purple ooze, ghastly spires of bone and sinew, and maws birthing horrors of teeth and spine. This ooze, Creep, smells of fluids alien to our senses. The unfamiliarity causes disorientation and disgust. But as with anything, over time the field of battle on the foreign substance becomes known and familiar, along with the smell of blood and bile of the dead. Even after the Creep is burned away, the scent remains, a reminder.

SINGH

from ‘The Lady Punter’s Nose’

1.
Jocelyn inhaled her asthma spray. The $100 bet also made everything sharper. Inexplicably she smelled tinned tomatoes. The crowds were pushing her up against the rail, not just their colognes but all the acrid pheromones beneath reached out to stroke tentacles against her skin. For no reason she thought of chocolate; looking at the green turf of the track she tasted peppermint drops, and somewhere in the distance the horses were snorting salty and truculent as centaurs entering the barrier restless to run. As the last horse went in the gate something internally signalled tomato-red, she turned her head.

2.
And there he was – flannel suited with dark glasses, head above the crowd. Her eyes lit up, but Davidson, who’d entered as the late starter in the contrived courtship of Jocelyn Enzensberger stood there, crowd-locked so he could remain un-crumpled and aloof. The louder haler coughed its metallic cry like a lasso over the crowd gathering eyes raceward. A gust of wind picked up and riffled thousands of yellow trackside roses wafting spicy musk. It masked the alcohol buoyant crowd. The race about to start, they locked their glance for a moment.

Then, the caller said: “And they’re racing!”

3.
In this gambling fantasia, desire combined with asthma funny gas on an empty stomach was effecting her olfactory sense. A lady’s cream hat smelled vanilla. The security official’s orange vest promised fruit punch. It was her synesthesia playing up. When the horses careered into the home straight the jockeys’ silks were edible pink, green apple, jelly-red and blueberry candy floss. Then, her 20/1 outsider Filly Mignon glided over the finishing line and she could taste the rainbow. She turned to share her secret elation, but Davidson had gone. Everything turned suddenly rancid and she vomited on the rose bushes.

4.
The smell of winning was so strongly with her, heightened by the sense of loss. Why had he gone? Mick Dalby the fellow syndicate member she had erased temporarily from her side took her arm and offered a handkerchief. 

“Are you ok? That’s a pretty strange way to celebrate a win,” he said. Between them they had just clocked $4,000.

“I guess,” she answered dabbing her mouth with the handkerchief. She couldn’t quite explain the phenomenon either. Jocelyn had a rare form of neurological synesthesia, but nothing as acute as this had happened before. Some new switch had flicked on.

5.
As Filly Mignon returned from up track to the judges’s enclosure for weighing and presentation of cheque and winner’s cup, she got a strong whiff of horse lather and from now she would always associate this with the sensation of victory, just as the presentiment for selecting winning horses through her inner nose would always smell of tinned tomatoes. $2,000 richer, she was ravenous for Pasta Neapolitan, but couldn’t resist the temptation of sniffing out another jackpot win for the next race first. Strangely, Davidson’s presence was a part of it. To win, did she need to be in love?

PLANET Z

Sister Francis warned the boys not to sniff their own brains, but the boys never listened.

“Who ever heard of a boy sniffing his own brain?” they would say.

You do not laugh at Sister Francis, so they did it on the playground.

“What are you laughing about?” Sister Francis would say to the boys.

“Nothing,” said the boys.

So, she rolled up her sleeve, and punched each boy in the nose, driving bone fragments into their brains.

Any martial arts connoisseur knows that this results in instant death.

And no time for the boys to snuff their own brains.