Welcome to the 100 Word Stories podcast at podcasting.isfullofcrap.com. I’m your host, Laurence Simon.
This is Weekly Challenge Number Three Hundred and Forty-Three, 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 Mine.
And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:
- Jeffrey
- Munsi
- Tom
- Serendipidy Haven
- Lizzie
- Singh
- Bonchance and Sevi
- Cliff – Uncle Monster
- Danny
- Norval Joe
- RedGoddess
- Steven the Nuclear Man Spec The Halls!
- Zackmann
- Planet Z
The next weekly challenge is on the topic of Marijuana.
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:
JEFFREY
Sour Cherries
by Jeffrey Fischer
When we were growing up, my brother and I loved to play soldier. We’d grab branches and pretend they were M-1s, or paint our faces with mud and pretend it was camouflage. Every fall, as the sour cherries dropped from the trees in our yard, we would try to dodge the sticky fruit, pretending they were land mines. I was good at this part while Henry always came home with cherries stuck to his sneakers.
In Afghanistan, Henry and I both drew escort duty. We’d move ahead of the main conveoy, searching for snipers and IEDs.
Back home, I place a whiskey bottle on Henry’s grave. “Henry, man, you could never dodge the sour cherries.”
MUNSI
Mine
By Christopher Munroe
I’m sick and tired of telling you kids to stay out of my fields.
You trample corn, you dig up carrots, you treat the land like it’s your personal playground. And I’m sick of it.
Thus, I’ve buried explosives just under the ground. I know they’ll also destroy my crops, but the loss of a few crops to keep out intruders is, to me, a small price to pay, and I’ll pay it gladly.
So: Stay out. Starting today, trespassers will explode. Respect my property or die.
It’s not an unreasonable demand.
They’re not your fields after all.
They’re mine.
TOM
In a flock of sea gulls there is no real personal property to speak of. “I have so little to points as mine,” said Johnothin 685. “Take that crust of bread over there. Watch this.” “Mine.” “Mine mine mine mine” “Fuck, nearly got my head ripped off.” “Look, Johnothin 438 found a Taco Bell wrapper.” “Mine mine mine.” “Hey, show a little love over here.” “It’s landfill time.” Screched Jonhnothin 1066. “Mine mine mine.” “Why, isn’t that Marcel Marceau over there with a Big Mac.” “Mime mime mime” “my my my, he doesn’t look like he going to make it.”
SERENDIPITY
Down here in the mine, safety is paramount! That’s what they teach you first day on the job – it’s our mantra, repeated every time we descend into the depths of the earth.
The trouble is, most miners are a lot softer than you’d imagine and they’d simply go to pieces over the canaries we used to detect gas. So the canaries had to go.
Now we have a hi-tech gas detector – it’s a big metal box, with a tube extending all the way to the surface into the Detector Building.
(It’s full of canaries… but please don’t tell the miners!)
LIZZIE
“How far is it?” the scientist asked.
Silence. The path became narrower; breathing more difficult, as darkness closed in.
There was a chilling scream.
“What was that?” he asked. The others looked at one another.
A second scream brought the group to a halt.
“It’s not safe,” stuttered the supervisor. “Someone unblocked a hole and released a swarm of wasps. We are trying to contain them, but…”
Decades later, this story long forgotten, a group of people unblocked the entrance of the mine. In a matter of minutes, the whole town had vanished under the rage of unexpectedly resilient wasps.
SINGH
Letters to the Emperor (Circa 1312 AD)
by Chris Mooney-Singh/Singh Albatros
Venerable Lord,
Here are designs for the Submarine Dragon-King. Made of iron submerged on a board in an ox-bladder, detonation is determined by a joss stick set burning above. Without air, of course, it would stop glowing. Thus, the fuse connects with the dragon-king via a long piece of goat’s gut. The joss floats upon wild-duck feathers in a container. Launch it downstream toward enemy ships in darkness and when the joss burns down to the fuse there will be a great explosion.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist.
Venerable Lord,
I am pleased the campaign against the invaders was successful and the device is in service. Today, after much deliberation, I humbly submit another design. This dragon-king is spherical, made of cast iron. The fuse ignites by enemy movement disturbing a trigger mechanism underground. Cords and axles rotate a steel spinning wheel. When trodden on, weights drop. A pin-flint sparks the fuse. I recommend clusters of nine be dug into a grid of eight auspicious squares surrounding the city as per my diagram.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist.
Venerable Lord,
It is seven years since I left the court for my villa and peach orchards. As per your request I again submit a recipe for poisonous gunpowder in hand-lobbed or catapult-launched grenades. I advise this mixture of tung oil, urine, sal ammoniac, faeces and scallion juices be heated, then coated upon dozens of iron pellets, bits of broken porcelain combined with saltpetre, sulphur and charcoal. Even the birds in the air will not escape this flying sand bomb releasing ten thousand fires.
I humbly submit this for the defence of the kingdom.
Jiao Yu,
Principal Alchemist (Ret).
Dear Principal Alchemist,
Greetings from the State Library, Melbourne. I found your treatise – ‘The Fire Dragon Manual’ researching my paper on Song Dynasty Inventions of the 14th Century. My husband, who served during Operation Slipper in Afghanistan, land of ten million mines doesn’t salute you from his powered wheelchair. No need for gory details. You know what’s worse? We survive with alcohol and a copy of Disabled Sex for Dummies, while his ghost legs walk somewhere around Kabul.
I humbly submit this in late summer when the last of my backyard peaches taste bitter.
Mrs Peter Small
Australian Defence Force (Lieut.Ret).
SEVI AND BONCHANCE
Their home was draped in soft textures. A delightful haven from the chaos of the outside world. The bedroom was
their favourite place to be together. The muted colours on the bed, chaise and pillows screamed for intimacy.
He waited patiently for her each evening.
The wood chest was opened. He was ready to serve her as she entered their sanctuary. His silver tea set was buffed
to perfection, ready to infuse the fragrant tea. Orange pekoe was steeping. He placed the silver service on the
tea trolley next to the chaise, his chalis engraved with the words… “with love MINE”.
CLIFF
Listen, I know what you’re up to. I see what you’re doing. You think you can weasel your way between Gloria and me by asking your oh so innocent questions and making your little innuendos. Well, it’s not going to work, pal. Gloria and I are in love and there’s nothing you can do about it. I know your type. Think you can sweep in here with your perfect hair and sparkling smile and steal my girl. Well, she’s mine. You can’t have her. So go ahead and do your worst, detective. I’m not telling you where I put her.
DANNY
“Watch where you step when you walk across my field, I planted about 40 mines,” I said. “Why on earth would you do that? Are you nuts?” Jim responded. “My crops were being eaten by deer, so I put a silent deterrent.” “Won’t that blow up your crops along with the deer?” “You bet it will, but I’d rather wake up to a field of craters than a field full of eaten crops,” I responded. “Well, you may be sick and twisted, but at least you’re consistent. Hey, can I have a couple of mines?” Jim asked. “No, those mines are mine.”
NORVAL JOE
“Mine is not the best head for remembering things which be in the outside world,” the dwarf growled. “But the back entrance to the Silver Pick clan’s mine be in one of these valleys.”
The company stood a thousand feet above the high mountain valley, the sun descending at their backs.
“There,” Traveller said. “There, below in the trees.”
“Yes,” Shareeka said, “that must be the silver gates to the mine.”
Owen watched the reflected twinkle from the polished gates and asked, “Time is short. Will you make us birds and fly us down?”
“No,” Shareeka said. “We shall ride.”
In the original version of Dickens’s ‘A Christmas Carol’, Tiny Tim was Bob Cratchet’s wiener dog who was injured when run over by Ebeneezer Scrooge’s carriage. The story was rewritten after beta readers said they were disgusted by the pooches incontinence resulting from the paralyzing spinal chord injury. They felt a child, born with a disability, which was not the direct result of Scrooges driving would be more sympathetic.
Charles replied, “The idea to use the wiener dog is not mine, but my wife’s. She felt the little beast would add a touch of whimsy to an otherwise dreary tale.”
RED
When Lola was 17, her mother threw her out of the house. Weeks later, her younger sister ran away too and moved in with her. They grew a backbone, while struggling to stay in high school, and care for one another. There is no mine. They worked retail jobs and often ate at shelters, and sometimes dated drug dealers that bought them groceries.
Lola would sometimes see her so called mother at weddings and funerals. They would barely exchange a few words. On mother’s day, Lola’s sister gives her sunflowers. Lola is the only mother she’ll ever have or need.
STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN
I heard the dripping pop of lava just before the axe struck through the rock. I shouted, but it was too late; the red-hot rock flowed over me, and flames filled my screen.
I sighed as the front door opened. Dad was home.
“Spending time on that game again,” he said, still soot-covered from his day at work, a toolbag slung over his shoulder. “You need to prepare for the real world, son. Homework. Now.”
I turned off my computer and reached for my bookbag as he turned to leave.
The green limb of a creeper hung from his bag.
ZACKMANN
My kid just got offered a job mining so I started ordering him a pick and a shovel from the hardware store but He told me he was not mining minerals but the classics and he was being hired to look for quote new content on Project Gutenberg. Since they want to rewrite things that Disney has not taken yet. There is some fear that if he doesn’t succeed they might have to create something new or maybe even gasp use something they film optioned form one of our podiobooks friends. They think only a hit can remake a hit.
PLANET Z
The coal mine was running out of canaries. So, they called the mad scientist Doctor Odd to solve the problem.
He obtained some birds, took them back to his workshop, and conducted experiments.
His first solution was a stronger canary. Tougher canaries survive better.
“They’re supposed to be fragile!” grumbled the mine owner. “If they die, it means it’s dangerous.”
The next solution was a fast-breeding canary. Too fast. Their lifecycles were measured in hours.
Frustrated, Doctor Odd returned to his lab.
“Sorry, guys,” he told his canary-human hybrid miners. “I got fired before I could show you to them.”
