Father

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Sitting here on the park bench, watching the kids run and play, I feel like I have been missing out on the joys of fatherhood.
What would it be like to raise a child? Would all my doubts and fears fade as I take on that role? (Or, I suppose, the role take over me.)
No. The doctors warned me about thinking like this, trying again.
My hands clench and release, over and over.
Stop.
Not again. No more blood. No more screaming.
I get up slowly, walk back to my workshop, and stare at the puppet-boy.
Stay wood, Pinocchio.

Weekly Challenge #219 – Goblins

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Nineteen, 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… was…. um…
It’s Goblin!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Nikita Cat
Zachmann
TJ
Steven
Guy
Norval Joe
Justin
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Nikita

I’m Sylvester, a Cat.
I live on the streets.
One sees, and experiences, a lot here.
Your mind can play tricks on you.
For instance, Saturday, passing near a Ballroom, I saw a white creature in some bushes.
Mother always warned us about Goblins, saying they were worse than Coyotes, though she never said what they looked like.
I warily watched the bushes, ready to run if need be.
There was no need.
It was a Rabbit, and as it dashed across the lawn it looked over its shoulder, in my direction, with a look of terror on its face.

Zackmann

Once a human fell in love with a goblin woman in a land where goblin woman were very beautiful and goblin guys were ugly a sin. She grew to like him. They spent much time together. One day the human guy somehow got this beautiful goblin gal pregnant. He decided to ask her parents for permission to marry her. She tried to tell him that goblin culture was different and she begged not ask nor go anywhere near her family but he wanted everything done properly. That night her family invited him to dinner with great pleasure. He was delicious.

TJ

Unemployment is only one aspect of the oft cited Misery Index. Inflation
is another. Some researchers stop there, but I believe my metric is more
accurate. It pulls in air and water pollution, hate speech, bad movies,
sick days, breakup songs and the quality of daytime television. Some
breakups are better for everyone and some sick days are actually
shopping days, so to balance it all out, my numbers adjust for goblins.
It’s simply a fact: The more goblins we have to deal with, the more
miserable we are. Especially when we overcharge for that sweater.
That’ll be $42.50, please.

Steven

“Whoever heard of a blue goblin?”
The three women stared at the lumpy figure. The darker-skinned one
kicked him. Not too hard, but he grunted anyway. A small arachnid
dancing on top of the goblin’s head started to smoke.
The palest woman flipped a small mirror between her fingers, flashing
glints of her dark hair. “It could be dangerous if there are more.”
The blond woman smiled down at the goblin. “I think he’s kind of
cute.” The other two stared at her. “Cute in a creepy way.”
As they walked down the tunnel, she glanced back. “But cute.”

Guy David

“The Golbins are coming.” I looked at the man with the unwashed hair and the seven day beard and was sorry I set next to him at the bar. I had to correct his mistake though. “Don’t you mean Goblins?” “No – those are completely different creatures. Goblins are little and green and they are are only after your money. Golbins are furry and cute looking until they go for your throat.” I gave up and went home. Later that day, when I went to bed a little furry creature attacked me and gave me a good bite at the neck.

Norval Joe

Gormfindle wrapped a boney-fingered hand around each of his long pointed ears and pulled them hard. They stretched enough to overlap across the top of his head. He twisted them around themselves unitl they lay across his hairless head like an absurd tiara.
Fardtweezer stretched his puffy green bottom lip down over his chin, exposing three rows of crooked, yellow teeth.
They looked at one another and giggled.
Their teacher turned in time to see the display, and barked, “that’s enough, boys.”
Diurnia, the dark elf they tried to empress, only rolled her eyes and muttered, “goblins are so stupid.

Justin

The goblins lowered the bucket down the wishing well to steal the coins.
“We’ll be rich!” said the one with the bulbous nose.
“Hush you, and keep a look out for the trees!”
In the forest where they were trying to rob the well, a group of walking trees kept guard.
The bucket hit the bottom, coins clinking.
“It’s not sinking into the coins, how are we supposed to scoop it?”
“Why didn’t you send someone down there to fill it up?”
The trees waved and the ground shook. The lookout pulled the other goblins away.
“Cheese it, the copse!”

Planet Z

Jacob Golbin had a goblin’s taste for gold.
Literally. At every party, he’d insist on kissing the hand of the hostess and her guests, his tongue darting across their rings.
He’d dance closely, nibbling earlobes to savor each earring.
He wasn’t kissing the back of Lady Montclair’s neck… he just wanted her necklace.
But rings were his favorite, I warned you, didn’t I?
Let him get a taste, but withdraw your hand before he bites.
Just keep the icepack on your hand and stop looking at your finger in the plastic bag. It’s fine.
The hospital’s right up the street.

Fruit

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Are tomatoes vegetables or fruit?
After decades of research, Dr. Milton still didn’t know the answer.
In fact, his latest findings suggested that they were both.
This is not an unreasonable conclusion, fruits and vegetables are just two terms created by man to describe his surroundings, right?
A wave of depression fell over him. All those years, completely wasted.
He hung up his lab coat and just wandered for a while.
He roamed through war-ravaged Spain, angry and frustrated.
“Care for a tomato?” offered a pushcart vendor.
“Damn you,” growled Dr. Milton.
Bunol. Spain. 1945.
Yep. That’s how Tomatina began.

Green Tea

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The mystic prepares to read my tea leaves.
“Drink,” she says when the tea ready.
So, I do, and she turns the empty cup on the saucer.
As she lifts the cup, her eyes open wide.
“This is horrible!” she says. “You are going to die soon!”
“What? How? Why?”
She picks up the phone and calls for an ambulance.
“How am I supposed to die?” I ask, grabbing and shaking her.
She draws a gun and shoots me in the chest.
“That’s how,” she says, checking my wallet and taking out the money. “He attacked me!” she whined, practicing.

Lawnmower

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I don’t like mowing the lawn.
So, I bought a robotic lawnmower.
It’s eco-friendly, running on batteries charged by solar cells. And the motor is very quiet, almost a whisper.
This way, it can run during the day or at night.
It knows where to mow using a set of guide wires I’ve buried along the property line.
Just charge, set, and release inside the invisible fence.
The next morning: a beautifully-cut lawn.
And three dead hookers on the grass.
The first time I ran it, there was only one.
I’ll bury these three next to her.
Under the grass.

Bessie

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It’s winter in Detroit, midnight.
Bessie sits alone out on the patio in her nightshirt, waiting.
A black robe comes out from the shadows.
“Where have you been all these years?” she asks it.
A raspy whisper, like dry bones scraping against each other: “It was not your time.”
“My sons, my Stephen are all gone.” She feels a chill deep within her. “Is it my time soon?”
“Soon.”
“Will you wait with me?”
Death sits down next to her, they hold hands, and wait for morning together.
Sleep.
Deep sleep.
She wakes up in the hospital with pneumonia.
“LIAR!”

Crimson

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Crimson waves, the blood tide is rising.
This is no moon. We have landed on a living thing.
Are the natives a roaming immune system? Parasites?
No idea. We will samples so researchers back on base can make the call.
We can’t stay much longer. The landing gear cut up the creature something fierce, and it’s wanting to scab over.
The more we dig out the struts, the more patch-cells it sends.
As we lift off, I figure next time, maybe we’ll use a bubble-craft, something soft.
That’s when the tentacles hit the hull.
Brace yourselves, we’re going back down!

Make me pretty and dead

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“Make me pretty and dead,” said the model to the robotic plastic surgeon.
At least, that’s what the translation engine thought she said.
She stripped naked and stepped into the surgical chamber, watching the various lasers and scalpels warm up.
Behind her, a defibrillator prepared to administer a lethal jolt of electricity.
A technician ran into the room and shouted “STOP!”
The lights on the robotic surgeon all turned off, and the model covered herself with her hands.
The technician handed her a robe.
“Sorry, mistranslation in the software,” he said. “And, come on, aren’t you already drop-dead gorgeous enough?”

Weekly Challenge #218 – Rent

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number Two Hundred and Eighteen, 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… was…. um…
It’s Rent!
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Guy David
Steven
Zackmann
TJ
Norval Joe
Justin
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

Guy David

A rift opened and the little green men started pouring out. The message was played over and over again in every known language: “people of earth, your attention please. Your rent is overdue. You would be evacuated.” Gravity failed and people started drifting out into space, screaming. Some people tried to hang onto furniture and other odd objects but the little green men zapped them with ray guns until their grip failed. They demolished all the buildings and made sure every trace of humanity was erased forever. When it was all over, the quadropods moved in. They payed in advance.

Steven

Anton dropped the drained husk. “My first real kill,” he whispered.
The longing, a lonely emptiness he’d never really noticed had
vanished, filled with the pulsing warmth of blood.
Kelenthia slid behind him, raven hair brushing his ear. “You did
well, my fledgling,” she said. Her fangs sank into his neck. It was
not the willing surrender of the Change. She forced herself into him,
and took, and took, and took.
She left him lying there, the gnawing emptiness back in his gut.
“The extra, the passion, the pleasure belongs to me,” she’d said.
“Consider it rent on your afterlife.”

Zackmann

I was so glad when we bought our first house and didn’t have to pay rent and not so glad when we moved into our second house with a Home Owners Association. I suspect that Home Owners Associations were devised by Edwin Windsor of How to Succeed in Evil because in addition to paying two mortgages and property tax you also get to pay rent to have bitchy neibors and keep all houses the same color. Not that the Rent paid to HOA is all bad, it did pay to re-shingle the roof and maintain a small rarely use park.

TJ

Peals of laughter rang out from the back yard as Wubbles the Clown
chased the children around the bouncy castle and through the
shrubberies. According to the game they were playing, whoever had his
balloon was “it” and everyone would chase after him, and when
Wubbles had it, the kids chased him until he “tripped” and it was
all one big pile of kids and Wubbles and giggles and clown shoes. Until
the police showed up and tackled Wubbles and took him away, after the
real Wubbles the Clown escaped from the van and called in to the
Rent-a-Clown agency.

Norval Joe

Vastus Lateralis silently slid the two headed battle axe from its scabbard on his broad leather belt, his knuckles white, as he gripped the shaft angrily.
The dwarf stood nearly as tall as his shoulders were broad, taller with the rusted steel helm pressed down hard on his furrowed brow.
He jumped back suddenly as the silent hiss of a sword passed before him and rent his thick leather breastplate like silk.
“Ye’ll be stealing no more of me gems, elf,” he swore as he brought the heavy axe down between the pale green double glow of the thief’s eyes.

Justin

The beginning of the month is here; Time to pay the rent. I’ve been meditating to focus on stability and strengthening my inner self. This should help me keep my able to stay on task and not lose the jobs I need to do to pay the rent.
I walk the streets wearing my nicest suit. I find and invite a hobo for a meal and I take him home. I shove him down the basement stairs. He splashes at the bottom, screaming. I meditate. I can’t afford to have my sanity check bounce. I hate paying rent to Cthulhu.

Planet Z

“You don’t drink beer,” said my roommate. “You only rent it.”
He stumbled to the bathroom. The more he drank, the more piss on the floor for me to mop up later.
Bastard.
He was sloppy with his finances, too.
I just bought a timeshare on a keg of Guinness. Four Irishmen and I will make a bundle trading it up to double-malt whiskey.
Five years ago, I was investing in box wine fixer-uppers. Now, my wine rack’s full of every medal-winner from the past century.
If only I could get out of this dump and ditch the slob, right?

Lottery

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We entered the lottery, hoping for a big family.
It’s not likely though. The government reduced the prize pool again.
We’ll be lucky to get a dog.
As a pet. The Lottery Law says no eating pets without government approval.
What happened to us? Where did we go wrong?
Hope? Change?
How did we get from The American Dream to the government sterilizing and executing people for eating a stupid dog?
Madness.
Maybe, just maybe, we’ll win. We’ll get the big family.
The lottery agent whispers “No laws against eating children anymore, you know.”
And they taste better than dog.