Obsidian Falls

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Obsidian Falls is really in Oklahoma, but through a surveyor’s error and a history of stubborn city councilors, they remained a Kansas municipality.
Mapmakers never could find a solution that satisfied the residents. Usually, they’d mark the region as Oklahoma, include Obsidian Falls on Oklahoma maps, and ignore the protests and death threats.
So, Obsidian Falls moved.
Every brick, every tree, every sidewalk and every fence.
It took over a year to complete, block by block vanishing and reappearing 3 miles North.
The surveyor didn’t have the heart to tell them they were still 2 miles short of their goal.

Daisy 5.1

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Daisy looked in the mirror and made a list of everything wrong:
Hips wide.
Gangly. Matchstick arms.
Freckles.
Thin hair.
Yuck.
And the chest. She said B, not D.
“No” she says.
A doctor nods, and the umbilical disconnects.
Back in the jar, her brain linked up the body catalog and browsed the new styles.
She’d always wanted green eyes.
“Maybe I’ll wait for Spring,” she thought.
The simulator worked up a sketch, and she scanned it for an hour before authorizing a growtank to begin.
Another tank quietly recycled Daisy 5.1, crediting her account and waiting for another order.

Battle

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Thop, Demon Storm of Arrows, watched his followers gather at the Canyon Fortress of Mists and grinned.
“Tonight, they will celebrate your doom,” he said to Shishksnikt, who was smiling at his own forces.
His Twenty Fists made their way along the rockfaces, sword on their backs.
“Warriors fight, warriors die,” he responded. “Your cowards and their toys are no match for steel.”
Behind them both, The Grim Reaper sharpened his blade and nodded. “I guess I’ll have to cancel my dinner plans!” he trilled. “Souffle tomorrow night, boys?”
Thop and Shishksnikt sighed. Next time they’d just flip a coin.

Country Music Star

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There’s a country music star on television.
She’s standing there with a guitar, but she doesn’t play the guitar.
She doesn’t play anything.
Doesn’t write anything either. Someone else writes the songs.
She doesn’t even sing her own songs. Someone else sings them for her and she just mouths the words.
That’s not even her up there. Someone stood in for her, and nobody noticed the difference.
When she won a Grammy, she didn’t bother showing up to the ceremony to pick it up.
They filed a missing persons report that night.
She was never found.
Isn’t this music great?

Weekly Challenge #162 – Mosquitoes and Prosthetics

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Sixty-Two, 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 Mosquitoes and prosthesis.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Justin Y from http://www.jrtblog.com/
Guy David from http://guydavid.com
Platinum Lightning
Justin L from http://www.thespaceturtle.com
Danny from http://dannymachal.com
Tom from http://footnote.libsyn.com
Anima from http://zabbadabba.com/
Daphne from http://daphneabernathy.com
Lynda from http://sisterpepperspray.blogspot.com/
Norval Joe from http://norvalsoutlook.blogspot.com
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Justin Y.

Sally the mosquito’s tale is a sad one.
She was special, and not in a good way.
She once tried to suck blood out of a prosthetic arm, breaking her stinger in the process.
She had to have her stinger amputated and replaced with a prosthetic one.
Sally eventually broke it too trying to go after another prosthetic arm.
Sally’s family realized that she was hopeless, and put her in a mosquito nursing home instead of getting her another prosthetic.
Now she just lies there, hooked up to a blood IV, crying, and dreaming of sucking blood from prosthetic arms.

Guy David

The wooden legged pirate pushed the bar doors open and entered. His parrot chuckled. Looking around, they both captured Elvis in the corner of their eyes and took a sit next to him. “Is that your bus out there?” asked the pirate. “Yes” answered the strangely named man, “That’s my bus. I call it The Umbrella.” The wooden legged pirate obliterated an insect in one swift, almost invisible move of his hand and said “mind if I joined you for a ride in your patchwork bus?” “Sure” answered Elvis “it’s a free ride.” That’s how Elvis got his first passenger.

Platinum Lightning

Hello, my mosquito friends.
Try to bite me again. You will find that you can’t! You and your diseases have given me prosthetic arms, prosthetic legs. Even my skin is artificial. I’m a f*cking ken doll now, thanks to you little bastards! But I’m alive, and now I have the upper hand. I’m in a wheelchair and I can’t breathe by myself, but I can still press buttons, and when I press this one, you little sh*ts will be blown to pieces with your friends and families. So tell me, my little insect friends, who is the superior species now?

Justin L.

I’m lazy. I have always been lazy. Been lazy since before I lost my arm and got the chance to keep on living. I would have died, being that I was too fat and slow to get out of the way of the truck. A vampire found me. I smelled cheap wine on his breath. Who knew vampires could get drunk. Gave me life again, sort of. I did good, got a prosthetic arm and filled it with mosquitoes to go get me blood, I trained em, see? Worked out real good until that pesticide plant got built next door.

Danny

“Buzzalina, come dear, tell me what happened,” the surgeon said.
“Oh doctor, I’ll never be a mother now. I should just kill myself; I’m useless.”
“There there, sweet, sweet girl. Things will be okay.”
He held her while she wept. No, she would never bare any children and she would probably ensure her own end. A broken proboscis almost always means instant death, she was lucky. One could call it a miracle from up above – a testament to the power of faith and the prayer of her family.
A.P. – Cybernetics Inc. releases organic flesh like covering for metal replacement limbs.

Tom

Doctor Dan had an unusual practice some might have called it bizarre. The doctor produced prosthetics for mosquitoes. Legs, wings and stringers. Advances in nanotechnology made it possible for Dr Dan to work wonders. The grateful mosquitoes families pay for services in singular drops of blood. Of course millions of drops of blood can amount to a sizable quantity and here lay the monies that allowed the doctor to continue his calling. Dan expanded his mission to include Ant Farms and Flea Circuses. When doctor dan die the mosquitoes erected a statue. On they wrote sins of Walter Reed washed.

Anima

“Freaking skeeters. Gordamn mini vampires. Gonna be nothing but dried husks iffen that plane don’t come to pick us up quick like.”
“Hold your water, Jack. The pilot said today or tomorrow. So we wait. ‘Cides, you guys wanted to moose hunt in Alaska”
“Ok, Round 22. On three! One, two, “
Slap, slap, thonk.
“How many didja get this time, Joe?”
“14. You?”
“I’ve got a bloodbath– 27!”
“Pathetic, boys. I killed 45.”
“Yeah, but you cheat Phil. You’re using that fake leg of yours .”
“Disability has its advantages, doesn’t it?”
“Alright ? Here we go – Round 23…”

Daphne

We all have our jobs here in purgatory. Some people have to try to make iced tea, other have to shovel the coal, they are the lucky ones. My job is to attach prosethetic wings and legs to injured mosquitos. Bugs that swatted at or worse bug zapper survivors. Try gluing a wing to partically fried stub. Summer is coming, my busy season. Only another 99 years of this.

Lynda

In high school all the cool kids wanted to be vampires, but I had smaller plans. I was fascinated by the real bloodsuckers that could fly wherever they pleased–even sacred ground in broad daylight. Mosquitoes.
I studied night and day, starving myself until I weighed only a few pounds, and when I was sure it could be done, just before chopping my arms and legs off, I went online.
I paid every penny I’d saved by not eating on a brand new prosthetic proboscis, and I swear that thing is just a bendy straw that reeks of tomato juice.

Norval Joe

The veterans administration hospital didn’t know what to do with the patient, so they sent him to us, at Acme Orthotics and Prosthetics.
He had served his country in the Department of Defense, Biological weapons development program. He had a traumatic amputation during a training exercise.
We built him a prosthesis from carbon fiber and epoxy resin for lightness and strength. We used a custom silicone liner for suspension. Finally, we added multiple poly-centric joints to allow the artificial proboscis to coil and extends naturally.
The challenge was fitting a prosthesis that small.
That, and keeping enough Benadryl on hand.

Planet Z

Sylvia legs were beautiful. So long, so soft, so perfect.
When she lost one to bone cancer, the artificial leg was so… crude.
No worry. I create props for the movies. Sometimes, I use my expertise to develop lifelike, functional replacement limbs.
A lot of soldiers send me thank you notes.
With her new leg, we danced, we did everything.
It felt so real. I saw a mosquito land on it once, trying to draw blood.
The cancer came back. This time, she died.
The leg is in our bed, waiting for me to finish building the rest of her.

Hangover

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How many shots of tequila did I drink?
Five?
Six?
I can’t remember.
But what I do know is that I feel the worst I’ve ever felt.
I always remember how bad I feel.
So what I will do is wait until I feel better, then I will do five shots of tequila.
When I wake up hung over, I can then compare how bad I feel then to how bad I feel now.
If it’s the same, then I know I had five shots of tequila.
If it’s not, then I know I had six.
Pass me the bottle.

Mr. Fist Around My Throat

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My throat hurts.
It feels like someone clenched a fist around it.
But you can’t see anyone with a fist on my throat.
Maybe it’s my old imaginary friend.
His name was Mr. Fist Around My Throat.
Looking back, he wasn’t much of an imaginary friend. He was more of an imaginary bully. And he beat the crap out of me day and night.
I got even with him, though. I took medicine which stopped my imagining him, and he vanished.
Now he’s back.
Are these the right pills?
I knew I should have drilled a hole in my head.

Shedding

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We have a black cat and an orange cat.
Despite both being short-haired cats, they shed. A lot.
Every time I lay out a black shirt, the orange cat lays on it and sheds.
Every time I lay out an orange shirt, the black cat lays on it and sheds.
I know what you’re thinking: don’t lay out any shirts. Hang them up as soon as they come out of the dryer and the cats won’t shed on them.
You’re not the one carrying a pile of shirts around and the cats looking so cute, you have to pet them.

Pot Of Gold

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The Leprechauns lost their gold to humans who followed rainbows right to them.
Leprechauns have long memories and even longer lives, so they worked with what little they had left to make real estate deals and investments to build up their fortunes once more.
Late-night advertisements offered cash for gold, luring desperate humans to mail the shiny metal back to the Leprechauns.
They learned their lesson with the rainbow-attracting pots, and built massive secure vaults deep under Ireland to store their treasure.
To keep the curious humans at bay, they set out a few pots filled with poison-coated Iron Pyrite.

Sushi dealer

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The dealer skillfully floats the cards, gently landing in a pile in front of each of us.
He stands there with arms at rest, waiting for the first bet.
We stare back at him.
He doesn’t blink.
“We ordered sushi,” I said. “What’s with the cards?”
The plastic on the cards is starting to melt into the cooking surface of the table.
We look at each other. Did we go to a Japanese restaurant or a casino?
The cards are a mess.
Somewhere, in Vegas, a sushi chef is waving knives around.
He’ll probably get better tips than our dealer.