It takes a lot of energy to make a wish come true.
The amount of energy depends on the wish.
Little wishes, a little bit of energy.
Big wishes, lots of energy.
Where does the energy come from?
From the mass of the star, of course, based on Einstein’s formula.
You know our sun is a star, right?
Scientists thought we could slow Global Warming by wishing the sun slightly smaller.
But something went wrong. We wished too much of it away.
So, go ahead and sing “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.”
But not like you really mean it.
Elephants
Kelly searched the classifieds for a bathtub big enough to drown an elephant in.
“Money’s no object,” she told herself, wringing her hands. “This is justice.”
It took a flatbed and a crane to deliver it.
However, she never thought about how she’d get it into the house, so the tub ended up in the back yard.
“It’s an above-ground pool,” she told the neighbors, and she hired men to build a deck around it.
“And a ramp,” she said. “A very sturdy ramp.”
She’s sitting on her porch, with a bag of peanuts, waiting… waiting…
Do you hear elephants?
Weekly Challenge #308 – I don’t know what it is
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 Eight, 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 I don’t know what it is.
And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:
InertialVoom
Bonchance
Logan Berry
Tura
Lizzie Gudkov
Tom
Chris Munroe
Serendipidy Haven
Zackmann
Steven The Nuclear Man
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Cliff
Buttermilk
Guy David
Abernathy and Sachy
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Norval Joe
Planet Z
And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post.
The more people see this on Google Plus, Facebook, and Twitter – the more explaining you’ll have to do with your loved ones, coworkers, and parole officers.
Myst says “Listen!”
Inertial Voom
The Ataturk Curse:
We were in the trenches at Tripoli. The Turks fired their cannons at us.
I saw a figure that looked like Buddha floating above the struggle. Bullets did not affect his calm appearance.
The Turks scrambled over the trench and I drew my knife. I noticed my enemy had my face, I dropped my knife and ran, and so did my enemy.
Miles away, I looked in the water to see my reflection while I quenched my thirst in a small stream. I had the uniform of a Turk, and had a face I did not know.
Bonchance
The Drive
I don’t know what it is, appointments are always on Monday.
Heavy traffic with long drives and still no time to talk.
Tom could see her friend in the back seat texting.
In the passenger seat, Kristen was watching the miles pass through the window, listening
to music on her headphones.
He smiled as he heard the music. Remembering how he used to scold her for having
it up too loud. He laid his hand on her hand.
She squeezed his hand tight and smiled still looking out the window.
Tom returned his attention to driving, thinking, talking’s over rated.
Trebble Stew
What is it, bones?
I don’t know what it is Jim, but I know I didn’t put it in here.
Scotty leaned his head down to the pot and smelled it, saying,
” I don’t know what it is Cap’n but it don’t smell right”.
Jim nodded his head and said let’s give it to the Vulcan, he can eat anything.
If he gets sick from it we’ll just say it must be too much garlic, like last time.
Spock always did say that humans had a rather bland taste in food.
Which explains why he had so few human friends.
Logan Berry
It was round and shiny. Droplets of dew slithered down its skin. It hung heavy among the leaves. She had never seen anything like it. She encircled it with trembling fingers and pulled until it came away. Ravenous, she brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. It smelled sweet but tart, too. Sour but tantalizingly ripe. She bit.
“I don’t know what it is,” she whispered, “but it’s good.”
“Let me taste!” her companion cried. She ignored him, her eyes closed in heavenly bliss. “Dad says we have to share,” Adam muttered sulkily. She considered his words, and generously relented.
Tura
There is a secret that all make semblance to know, yet none speak. It is whispered in the darkest corners of the fitful night; for one day it appeared as a graffito scrawled in the stifling summer heat of a derelict alley in Montmartre; it is written in a book that does not permit itself to be read.
It is the secret that God told to the serpent, the serpent told to Eve, and Eve told to Adam.
But I think that the true secret is that the secret has been lost, and none any more knows what it was.
I run frantically. A dead-end is ahead, and yet another. I run and turn and run again. Stopping for a moment, I look up. All the windows are closed, the doors locked. Fearful, people are hiding. But he is out there, lurking in the shadows. Suddenly, he appears from nowhere, confident. I can feel him right behind me. I turn around slowly. It is time. I grab my sword and slash him dead. I smirk and walk back to the central plaza, to the light. This strange force, I don’t know what it is, but the city is still mine!
Tom
“I don’t know what that is,” said Tommy. Most ads in McCall’s and Red Book were highly identifiable. Even objects he had never actually come in contact with held enough temporal form to not cause question. But this ad was weird. A single blue box smack dap at the edge of the page. Where most ads were peppered with claims, description, and testimonials this one had one single word upon that small blue box. Tommy asked mom “ What is M-O-D-E-S-S ?” She blushed, then laughed “Because.” He didn’t get the joke, figured it was just some unfathomable adult mystery
Munsi
It’s an improv rule: Once something’s said out loud it becomes a fact.
No matter how foolish the idea sounds, it’s what’s happening and you have to commit to it 100%.
After a number of years doing improv, I started applying this rule to my day-to-day life.
Anything suggested, if even remotely feasible, I’ll agree to.
It’s gotten me into my share of trouble, to be sure, but it’s also led to some of the weirdest, wildest times of my life.
So I’m sticking with my improv rule. When opportunities come up, I’ll always accept them.
Because I don’t no.
Serendipidy Haven
There it is, on the mantelpiece – rescued from the gutter. I don’t know what it is.
Curiosity got the better of me, and now it sits there, intriguingly organic and fibrous – a mystery waiting to be solved.
I like to think it might be one of those desert flowers: its dry husk ready to burst into bloom for one magical moment, like a chrysalis springing briefly into life… it’s probably not. More likely a simple piece of street flotsam; somebody’s thrown away fruit peel, or the skeleton of an old leather purse.
I don’t really care.
It’s my little mystery!
Zackmann
“You have a disorder.”
“What do you mean?”
“Because you download all those ebooks, most of which you never read. Just because they are free, doesn’t mean you have to download them.”
“But some on Digital Ink spot are only free for a limited time. Gotta catchem all.”
“See what I mean and your Internet friends like DAVe Avila and Jeremy Shipp are just enablers.”
“If I have a disorder then just what is this said disorder called?”
“Just because I don’t know or no one has of yet coined a name for it doesn,t mean it isnt a disorder.“
Steven the Nuclear Man
It is layered deep.
Black words shift, sliding in interlocking shields, serifs sculpting sinister glyphs.
They guard it. They keep it from me.
My shears of punctuation and logic (pieced together with loci of syllogisms) puncture words, play havoc with layered defenses.
The words scream non sequitur shouts of agony and rage. I press on. “You should have!” Snip. “Immature ass!” Snip. “You didn’t!” Snip. “You never!” Snip.
The last word screams “I’m leaving,” but I snip snip snip it away.
I reach into the center of the fallen fortress to claim my prize.
I don’t know why I’m alone.
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
The weatherman predicted record breaking temperatures. No sun in sight but traffic is already backed up. Everyone is in a hurried state to grab something before reaching work. By 11:12 am, a nearby hotel bursts into flames as commuters run for cover inside various businesses. Within minutes, flashing red and blue lights blanketed the city streets. Firetrucks and ambulance vans dispatched to the affected neighborhood. At exactly 11:21 am, the whole city went pitch black. An old lady covered in ash asks the officer directing traffic, do you know what’s floating in the air? He mumbles,”I don’t know what it is”
Cliff/UncleMonster
Who knows
I don’t know what it is. It just sits there staring at me with its dark probing eyes. Three feet tall and covered in rust colored fur, it watches me as I go about my day. I never see it move but it shows up wherever I go. No one else has seen it or at least, no one will admit to it. I’ve stopped asking.
I can’t touch it. I can’t bring myself to try. I just ignore it, pretending it isn’t there, that I’m not crazy. I can’t help but wonder, though. Does it know what I am?
Butter Milk
Hey, check this out…
What is it?
Look. have you ever seen anything like it?
whoa, what’s it called?
poke it
no! it looks all spiky
feel right here
oh wow! weird!
look what happens
when you do this…
wow, cool! let me try!
can you smell it?
kinda smells like grass
doesn’t it look weird?
totally weird, it’s all spirally.
don’t drop it
ok, don’t worry. I won’t.
I found it out in the field
i want one!
look, look at this here
hehehe it’s so cool!
i think so too
Sorry, what did you say it was called?
Guy David
I entered the building, the microphone hidden in my shirt. Everyone was already there, blending in. The mall was full of people, shopping, talking, arguing, living their lives. I headed for the second floor. The mall speakers started playing the music. I started singing, my voice also coming through the speakers. People stopped in confusion, wondering what’s going on. A woman on the first floor joined in, then another woman on the second floor. We exchanged looks and winked. As the final singer, another man on the first floor joined In, I knew our lives would never be the same.
Abernathy and Sachy
Barnabus had always wanted to be a contestant on Guess What It Is, finally his day is here, his dream has come true and he was ready. He wore his favorite purple cardigan and didn’t change his socks from the night before.
Barnabus was wedged between a professor and cryptozoologist, if he wasn’t nervous before, Barnabus was now.
It was the third round and he had no score, sweating his hand hovered over the buzzer as the display item was rolled out for everyone to guess. Barnabus knew what it was. With a quick reaction his buzzer sounded. “It’s a…”
Norval Joe
Spleen crouched behind the wood pile and watched as the woman and boy approached. The axe handle felt comfortable in his sweaty palm. His forked tongue slipped between his scaled lips and tasted the scent of their blood.
They couldn’t see him in the shadows under the eves of the woodshed, yet they strode directly toward the half-goblin.
“I don’t know what it is about goblins,” the woman said. “They think they’re invisible when they’re in plain sight.”
“What do you mean, Shareeka?” The boy asked.
Spleen laughed and launched himself over the wood pile to answer the boy’s question.
Planet Z
It used to be that there were just plain and peanut M&Ms.
You could tell which was which by the shape.
Now they have all different kinds: pretzel, peanut butter, coconut, dark chocolate, and even mint.
Oh, and white chocolate. And the peanut with peanut butter.
And instead of the usual boring colors, all kinds of crazy colors, too.
When I pick up an M&M now, I have no idea what it is.
Or if it’s an M&M at all.
These sleeping pills look like M&Ms.
And Rich Uncle Fred loves ‘em.
They’ll rule it suicide.
Better doublecheck the will.
Theater
The old theater was in ruins.
The mayor was an architect, and he drew up plans to revive it.
His wife was good with numbers, and she applied for grants, loan guarantees and stimulus money.
Her brother was a contractor. Another brother handled materials and supplies.
Cousins got hired on to handle the labor, the electric, the pipes, and the rest of the building.
They handled the parking lot, sidewalks, landscaping, and trees, too.
The grand opening was scheduled, posters went up, and so did the theater… in flames.
The mayor’s son sold insurance, and they all vanished like smoke.
Job Market
The job market out there is tough, and everybody’s beefing up their resume with exaggerations and lies.
Me, I’m beefing up my resume with beef.
I started by sending my resume with the finest steaks packed in a cooler with dry ice.
The recruiter threw out the resume and ate the steaks.
Then, I developed a special dye to etch my resume on to the steaks.
The writing vanished as the steaks cooked.
Finally, I made sheets of jerky and printed the resume on those.
By then, the recruiter had died of a heart attack.
And I got his job.
We are not alone
Fred hated everyone and lived alone.
He shopped online and had everything delivered.
He never answered his phone, doorbell, or email.
Every so often, he’d have to go out for something, like doctor or dental checkups. He’d get in the taxi, go his appointment, and come home as quickly as possible.
He wasn’t unhappy.
He just hated people. And liked being alone.
The SETI@Home program on his laptop flashed.
It analyzed signals for extraterrestrial life, and it appeared to find something.
Fred smiled.
Not because there was life out there, but because it meant more life for him to hate.
St. Bactine
Of all the priests and monks in the world, we are the clumsiest by far.
The Church calls us “The Order Of Saint Bactine.”
Not a day goes by where one of us doesn’t trip over a cassock, knock over a chair, stumble on the steps, or get a paper cut in the library.
Some say it’s an expression of the stigmata, but Christ was nailed through the ankles and wrists, not dragged around on his elbows and knees.
A demon, perhaps?
Unlikely.
Instead of an exorcist, we need ergonomics consultants and an interior decorator.
And elbow and knee pads.
The Evil Clown
Walking home from work, I saw a strange sight.
An evil clown was at the corner, waving a sign advertising a costume shop.
Halloween is next week, you know.
Anyway, I watched the evil clown dance and wave his sign at the passing traffic.
Not the most dignified of jobs, I know, but it’s still a job.
Plus, it’s unlikely that it’ll be outsourced to India, since there’s no point in some clown in Bangalore waving a sign around there when the store it’s advertising is in Houston, Texas.
“The economy’s looking up,” I said, and went along my way.
Smith’s Crooks
The Smith Administration was the most corrupt in modern history.
Congress is still trying to sort out the books to figure out where all the money went.
The largest chunk of it wound up in the pockets of Smith’s old college friends who he’d appointed ambassadors.
Unlike the campaign contributors who received the plum assignments of France and England and Berlin, these guys were posted to Oz, Narnia, and Mordor.
That’s right. They’d picked the names out of children’s books.
Sure, these crooks should be tried, but Justice won’t get involved because we don’t have extradition treaties with those places.
Billy Hill
My name is William Hill.
Call me William.
Do not call me Billy.
In school, the teacher would read the roll call.
So, he’d read my name as Hill Billy.
And everyone would laugh.
They’d ask me if I bathed in a creek, slept in a pig pen, or if my dad made moonshine.
Yes, I bathed in a creek.
Yes, I slept in a pigpen.
And, yes, my dad made moonshine.
It was the best moonshine in the state, and when he got a distillery license, we got filthy stinking rich.
(Okay, so maybe the stink was the pigs.)