To The Orcs

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John’s house had a storm drain in the back yard.
To Billy, it was a tunnel to the great underground orc kingdom.
“They made it look like a storm drain to fool the surface-dwellers,” he said.
One day, Billy took a butcher’s knife and a flashlight down the drain.
“To glory and treasure,” read the note he left on the refrigerator.
He never came back.
The police asked questions, and John kept saying “The orcs got him.”
John spent a lot of time in therapy after that.
To this day, he’s always watchful, and he never goes near storm drains.

Weekly Challenge #119 – Occupy

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man, and we went with Occupy.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #119?
Planet Z
Lunette Foroux
Guy David from Guy David
Stephen the Nuclear Man
Planet Xray from Planet X Podcast
Jeffrey from The Great Hites
Tom from Footnote
Mike
Anima Zabaleta
Thomas Merkel
Brad Z. and The Cat
Justin the Space Turtle
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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

PLANET Z

The Martians came to liberate us from the Robot Army, but in the end, they just changed the letterhead on the occupation government memos and made things worse.
The pods on our necks itch worse than the identity chips made our palms itch.
Machines lay unattended as we head to the fields, planting the crops our new overlords command us to grow.
“To solve world hunger,” they say.
Have you eaten recently?
Neither have I.
The air is changing. Sunsets are redder. Martians have been seen going around without their breathing masks.
And our aching throats are starting to burn.

LUNETTE

I occupy a small space inside the skull of a human female. I’ve been experimenting on her. I attempted to interface with her nervous system, but it was just a hopeless mess.
Eventually, however, I was able to take control of her fingers and her eyes under certain limited conditions. For example, when she’s seated in front of a computer, she becomes totally distracted, and then I can make her look wherever I want and type whatever I want her to say.
Tonight, I’m attempting, for the first time, to take control of her larynx. So, is it working? Can you hear me?

GUY DAVID

Words of sadness are to occupy this space and time. I have grown weary of my travels, has occupied no home. The road is dusty, and so am I, the dust of time has covered me like a blanket, keeps me cold at night, as my sleep is occupied by haunted dreams, tormented dreams.
To you I’m but a shadow, that thing in the corner you wouldn’t touch with a stick, maybe toss a quarter, just to ease your conscience, maybe get rid of some useless change, but I’m alive, yes I’m alive, just to annoy you, I’m still here.

STEVEN

She adjusts herself on the sheet. The technician straps her in and
steps out of the room. The table slides her towards the scanner’s
large ominous doughnut.
“Hold your breath,” the computerized voice says. A whir, then: “Breathe.”
They saw it first on the x-ray, the little dot now an invading force.
“Hold your breath.” Pause. “Breathe.”
It colonized one lung, lymph nodes, spleen. “Hold your breath. Breathe.”
This is what it must feel like to be Iraq, she imagines. “Hold your
breath.” Her bones ache with cellular Abu Gharibs and Basras. How
much has fallen?
“Breathe.”
“Hold your breath.”

PLANET X

Ah, another warm, lovely morning on the planet Xray.
My morning begins with the ritual of reading the newspaper along with one of my other daily rituals, occupying that little room down the hallway.
There the problem presents itself; I live in one of those cheap hotels on the edge of the spaceport. Of course it only has a common bathroom on each floor and I do so enjoy reading in a relaxing manner.
Despite the sign on the door that I occupy it, there’s always somebody that interrupts me, well, maybe I’ll leave them something to remember me by.

JEFFREY

“This is not what I have been trained for.” I said to Johnson in the other bunk.
“No basic training was a lot of screaming, “What are we going to do? Kill! Kill! Kill!”
“Yeah I remember that.” I said and we laughed.
“What about, What makes the grass grow? Blood! Blood! Blood!” He asked.
“Yeah I remember that too. they should have taught us What makes you sweat more? Occupy! Occupy! Occupy!” I said as we sat here in our tent sweat pouring from every spot on our bodies, wondering why we were, Johnson smiled but we didn’t laugh.

TOM

The Arnestos embraced on the platform. Despite his anger at Allan he knew the man did what was needed, and as such, vowed to learn from the ancient African avatar. At each jumppoint he would study their Books and make the proper adjustments to readjust to a transversing time line.
When the Cronomotive came to a rest Cervantes was greeted to the sound of 200 hands clapping. It reminded him of a, by now, ancient Buddhist joke, he smile, which only caused a louder volley of applause.
They handed him book four on its cover a gold plate read OCCUPY

MIKE

“Well, what about that ‘Superman’ movie, when Clark and the evil Superman merge?” demanded Frank.
“Nope,” countered Jeff. “First off, they weren’t the same person separated by time, they were the same person split apart. So, you could say he was just re-integrating.”
“The best film example I can think of is ‘Timecop’,” Jeff continued, “right near the end, when the Senator’s past and alternate-present selves touch. They kind of melt into each other, and then the whole mess just dissolves. Two objects cannot occupy the same space and time.”
“But, what about…?”
“Okay,” Jeff interrupted, “Take a car wreck…”

ANIMA

I wake from the nightmare in a clammy sweat.
It’s always the same… I have been traveling and I NEED to reach the terminal.
It’s usually a seedy third world country, but sometimes not.
Strangely, once inside, I find myself utterly alone: the other travelers have vanished.
The intercom is sputtering foreign gibberish.
I peer fruitlessly at each door I pass.
Finally, I spot it – that universal icon of relief…
Entering the tiled room, I see hundreds of 50s style stalls, turquoise blue, extending as far as the eye can see. Every indicator knob is in the red –
“OCCUPADO”

THOMAS

“What a piece of crap… desert, cactus, desert, snakes, desert, scorpions, more desert. And even more desert. Why we chose to occupy this ass end of the world is beyond me. We only came here to help the people and we end up annexing the whole stinkin’ place. This war was a waste if you ask me. Those damn invaders deserve this place. Sure, there is a little bit of gold out there in the hills, but our nation is wealthy enough. No good could possibly come from helping to liberate this god-forsaken land from that bastard, General Santa Anna.”

BRAD Z

Lost Cat
Each night I would lie in my bed waiting for Erwin to leave his workshop. I had been reading his work since I’ve lived with him. But now…this recent piece that he was working on… well… it was really concerning me…that’s when I noticed the steel box in the corner that had arrived this evening. Quickly I looked over todays writings…. To prove theory cat is to occupy box with poison and….
The next day a new sign was posted in the towns sqaure.
The sign read: Lost Cat, cat with collar. Please contact Erwin Schrödinger

JUSTIN

Have you even been in a public place, and suddenly you feel your bowels let go? It feels like you have to flatulate, but you know that if you do, you’ll spray paint your underwear and pants. You’ve got to hold on, walking as normal as possible, until you get to a restroom. Then when you get there, there are two stalls, both occupied. One has a parent and child, the parent talking the kid through the procedure. The other has a grunting person who really needs to give a courtesy flush. Hopefully the janitor likes cleaning up the sink.

Naming

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The dealer shook my hand and handed me the keys.
The spaceship was mine.
“What are you gonna name it?” asked the dealer. “We can paint it on the hull for you, no charge. And if you want us to work up a nice logo for it, that wouldn’t cost all that much.”
I looked the ship over, from engines to nosecone.
I drew a blank.
“How about George?” said a voice.
Was it the dealer?
No, he was gone, making another sale.
“My name is George,” said the ship. “Now let me come up with a name for you…”

Cruise

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It was a beautiful cruise ship. the Majestic, white and powerful.
Too bad the company went bankrupt.
So, what to do with an unused, unwanted cruise ship?
Someone suggested making a jail out of it. But there were protests about the conditions prisoners would be kept in.
On a cruise ship.
Right.
The military bought it in the end, practicing their anti-terrorism tactics.
When they’d stormed it as many times as they could, it was floated out to sea and used for target practice.
As if the Air Force and Navy would ever face off against cruise ships in combat.

The Teacher

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One day, a crate arrived marked TEACHER on the side.
An electrical cord dangled out from a hole.
“Plug it in for 8 hours,” a note said.
So, the principal did.
All of the kids sat quietly while the box hummed slightly.
After 8 hours, the crate was unplugged and the kids left.
Until it was school time again. Once again, kids sat down and it was plugged in.
A dozen kids showed up on Saturday, wanting to learn more.
“Go home,” said the principal.
None showed up on Sunday. They were at church, staring at a crate marked PREACHER.

The Cut

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Two rival teams of surgeons square off in the operating room.
“What are you doing here?” asks a doctor.
“Johnson at three?”
They all nod.
“Shit. Goddamned scheduling.”
The hospital administrator is called in to officiate. He tosses a coin.
“Heads,” says the anesthesiologist.
The teams scrub up, walking to opposite ends of the table.
One will work from the feet up, and the other down from the head.
“May the best team win,” says the administrator, and he drops a silk to the floor.
Under the mask, the patient breathes deep, and scalpels descend to make the opening cut.

Flower Bandit

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We checked the video twice.
A man walks into the bank, gives the teller a rose, and she hands him all the cash in the drawer.
He kisses her hand and then walks out to the street, vanishing in the crowd.
No alarm at all.
Nobody knows who he is. His face is all over the news, but he’s not armed or dangerous.
The tellers refuse to say anything about him, but they insist on keeping the flowers.
We’ve checked for fingerprints and DNA… nothing comes up.
What’s curious is that since he started, sales of flowers have gone up.

Like Clockwork

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There’s a reason why people use the phrase “Like clockwork.”
Every gear must be in perfect alignment.
Every tooth, precise, as with every escapement, spring, and wire.
It all doesn’t just fall into place.
It has to be painstakingly planned and built to utter precision.
Every piece working together in harmony.
One piece out of place, and the whole mechanism fails.
It takes a steady, patient hand to guide all the pieces into position.
Then, snap the case shut, wind it up, and listen.
Do you hear the ticking?
It’s ticking. It’s breathing.
Another watch, another clock is born.
Amen.

The Voice

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We don’t talk any more about the VOICE. It just made the people in the neighborhood hinky. True, ever single thing said was spot on, all the same torches and pitch forks in the front yard gave one cause to pause and consider a trip to Paraguay. So what I did was ask the VOICE. He thought is was a great idea gave me a number of reasonable airfares and hotel accommodations. The VOICE gave me GW’s cell number and I got a job as his new public relations manager. Seem the VOICE gave him the inside info on Paraguayan Expatriatism.

This was Tom’s story for WC#118, but it got lost in the shuffle.
I have created two folders: This Week and Last Week.
It should help with keeping things better sorted out from now on.

Weekly Challenge #118 – The Voice

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One 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 selected by Anima Zabaleta, and we went with The Voice.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #118?
Steven the Nuclear Man!
Mike
Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
Guy David from Guy David dot com
Planet Xray from Planet X Podcast
Anima Zabaleta
Almo Schumann
Eva Moon from The Lunatics
Thomas Merkel
Brad Z
Justin the Space Turtle
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

Like jasmine, nighttime soft and delicate, heard in the sudden pause of a
dozen conversations.
Like curry, seasoning small talk into sublime soul sharing.
Like molasses, soft and comforting, though we’re “just friends”.
Like pure summer dew, innocent and clear kisses.
Like sugar, delicious and excruciatingly sweet.
Like butter, melting words enhancing our flavor.
Like yellow sliced cheese, once delightful, now blasé.
Like jalepeño, ferocious heat cursing stupid infidelities.
Like ice, a no-taste defined by cold, the absence of heat
Like copper, metallic aftertaste lingering long after the real thing is gone.
Like whiskey, hateful burning but never, ever enough.

MIKE

The interrogation had lasted for hours, seemingly, ‘unsatisfactory’ answers rewarded with increasingly strong jolts of electricity. Jeff writhed in pain.
The last charge had almost knocked him out.
“Tell me!” commanded the voice. “What did you pass to that agent?”
“I can’t say, and you’re supposed to put me on ‘The Box’, not fry me,” he screamed.
“You’re in a box; close enough,” replied the voice. A long sizzle, a longer scream.
Finally: “Tech data for the new radar.”
“Good,” said the voice, pleased. “We had to confirm the data’s validity. By the way – tell your CIA ‘Thanks!’ for us.”

TERRY TEE

Josh woke to the voice “tissue regeneration complete, blood pressure 120 over 68, pulse 55, thank you for using the Nightingale, Mk IV., have a nice day”
Easing the unit’s hatch open, Josh looked around the room, checking for signs of entry. Seeing none, his eyes went to the clock and stopped.
He had been in the med unit for three weeks, he hadn’t thought that the damage was that extensive on his first observation. Well, at least he has a purpose to survive now, if only to hunt down that little red beast that had tried to eat him

GUY DAVID

Chaketo Chirapa was podcasting about the simple things in life, all from his alien perspective. He started out small, not letting much slip out, afraid of being found out, both by his own people and by The Humans. As his listenership grew, his desire to have The Humans trust his little alcove of 118 migrating Chirapa grew even stronger, and he found his voice as a podcaster, a voice pleading for sanctuary, and people listened as his podcast became increasingly popular, and he was mistakenly recognized as a rising and ground breaking voice in fiction by both Sigler and Hutchins.

PLANET X

With the object it in my hand The Voice in my head said “It’s Right”
But I knew that it wasn’t right.
Again The Voice said, “It’s right and you know it”
No, it can’t be right, it just can’t, as far back as my grade school days
I knew it wasn’t right, but then maybe the voice was correct.
The voice said, “now you’re coming around to my way of thinking, it’s right”
Well, no hurt in trying.
Right 15,
now to the left past 15 to 35,
back right, back to 24,
With a click, the lock opened.

ANIMA ZABALETA

Serena, I’m taking off the bandages now… are you ready? Blink once for yes, twice for no…
OK
The Vox in a Box is your 47th procedure… You are arguably the most perfect person alive –
You’ve had all the classics – the tummy, tush, tata trifecta; a complete body lipo; collagen lip injections…..
I must say, of your rarer augmentations, the removable arm quick release and orbital gyros for improved eye rolling are some of my finest work….
Gently now…. Let’s hear how the Vox works. Now you’ll sing like Yma Sumac…
Damn Chinese instructions….
Well then dear, ready for #48?

ALMO

Long, thin fingers held the card to the light.
A green stroke ran down the middle of the white card. He passed it to the heavyset man on his right and said, “One for Richardson.”
He held the next card and saw a yellow stroke. He passed it to the pinched-looking man on his left. The pinched-looking man traced a blue marker over the yellow. He returned the card to the center man, who held it to the light to look at the green mark.
“One for Richardson,” he said, smiling. The Voice of the People would be heard again.

EVA MOON

Alan felt the 15-foot tall papier mache wizard head begin to tip dangerously. Everything had gone so well at dress rehearsal. He’d spent hours learning to manipulate the rods and strings that controlled the wizard’s eyes and mouth while speaking his lines into a mic. The mic was the best part: a special filter gave him The Voice – deep, resonant and superbly wizardy. But now it was opening night of The Wizard of Oz. The Redmond High School theatre was filled to capacity and disaster loomed. The head teetered precariously. Munchkins scrambled for cover.
“OH CRAP!” the voice boomed.

THOMAS MERKEL

“Hey! It’s about time you made your way back.” A familiar voice jarred Eddie back. Blinking rapidly, Eddie tried to get his bearings, remembering where he was. Eddie was… almost… but not quite… dead. Always slipping between life and death, and back again. He preferred death over life. The voice kept calling him back, refusing to let him rest in peace. Every time he thinks he’s finally made it, his mother’s voice calls him. He would kill her, but he listened to her enough on this side of existence. He just could not think of listening to her for eternity.

BRAD

Today is my day, you must pick me!
No no pick me
You both went last time
You know you want to pick me
Don’t pick her; we can’t handle another day like that.
Oh shut up, your days are horrific
I am the only one who knows, you must pick me
Everyone knows you know nothing
You are all a worthless infection to him, I banish you all
Shut up Fred
You can’t banish us you little shrew.
In the morning I often just go with the loudest voice for my personality pick of the day.

JUSTIN

That voice, that terrible, horrible voice. I have heard it ever since I came to this place. Strange creatures with odd, legs, come here and some sort of spawn comes from them. I am forced to help them carry their strange, bulky things for them. The voice is always speaking to me, driving me mad. Above, in the skies, those, things, are always there, screaming their blasphemous cries into the atmosphere. I cannot take it any more, the voice, it is driving me to madness! The voice, there it is… “The white zone is for loading and unloading passengers only.”

PLANET Z

The voice.
I wish I had never heard it.
And yet, now that I’ve heard it, I need it.
Nobody believes that I heard the voice.
They think I’m crazy.
But I’m not.
I heard it.
And it was beautiful.
Once you hear such a voice, everything else is noise. Ugly. Revolting.
That’s why I did what I did, and if you try to put me through the surgery to repair my ears, I’ll just drill deeper.
Now, everything’s quiet.
I think I like it that way.
And I’m ready to hear the voice when it speaks to me again.