One Block Away

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I work in the Theater District. There are events going on all the time in this area.
And yet, I’ve gone to so few of them
I pulled up each venue’s calendar and looked over the past few months of events.
I missed a touring Broadway show I wanted to see.
A popular comedian came and went without catching my attention in time.
There”s that ballet someone was raving about in a local forum.
From my desk, it takes me 95 steps to walk to the performance hall next door.
I really need to get out more to these things.

Weekly Challenge #102 – Nightingale

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man.
It’s Nightingale.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #102?
Daphne of Going Broke
Steven the Nuclear Man!
Tom from Footnote
Terry the Quiet Time
Anima Zabaleta
Guy David at Guy David dot com
Craig from Wash The Bowl
Terrence from Never Was
Planet X-Ray from Planet X Podcast
Sougent from SL Adventures of a South Gentleman
Will Ross from 118 Migration
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


DAPHNE

We don’t hear many birds down here but we can hear the nightingales. Their song comes through the sewer grates and is the only music we have. The children can whistle their tune. Lovers dance to the sound. It is something that reminds us of life on the surface, before it happened. When the nightingales stop singing we begin to worry. Did something frightened them away? Was it a cat? A larger bird? Or worse. We hold our breaths, keep silent and wait…

STEVEN

Cherry blossoms perfume the air, decorating it with the fall of their
petals. I stand before her, my katana soiled with the blood of her
enemies. Her rescued family is my wedding offering.
I have read the tales of heroes. I fashioned my armor, my habits, my
life in imitation of them. I completed their trials, their feats. I
am the greatest of them.
I smile at her. I have read the tales of heroes, and I know how this will end.
She turns, walking away under the cherry blossoms.
As in all the tales of heroes, a nightingale sings.

TOM

Arnesto was tempted to open the book, but he wasn”t ready for that level of Pandoraic possibility. Maria had no qualms about messing with the timeline.
“Look, It has your name on the inside cover.”
Cervantes took a timid peek. Zounds. The author was Arnesto Arroway. Maria”s laughter echoed down the empty halls.
“Looks like I”m a great grand ma. It”s kind of comforting.”
“No it makes me dizzy.” Growled Arnesto closing the cover without read any of the passages.
“What”s this?” said Maria pointing on the writing on the wall.
“Its Quatermain”s nightingale!” Life in the sewers indeed Allan.

TERRY

Josh ran into the ship’s med section, using the last of his strength, he pressed his hand against the biometric scanner, the hatch opened.
He quickly climbed into the Nightingale, Mk IV., careful not to shift the cloth that kept the blood from gushing out of his leg.
It was foresight that Space Command included the automated med machine, without it he would be dead.
It would take the Nightingale at least two weeks to regenerate the large chuck of flesh that was missing. Then he would take care of that little red beast that had tried to eat him.

ANIMA

Le Rossignol was the best of the cat burglars. He could be in and out of a building in seconds, never setting off an alarm. He never did it for monetary gain. No, it was always for singing.
He’d intone Gregorian chants in marble bathrooms, and trill arias on grand staircases. Once, he even broke into Cathedrale Notre-Dame to sing Mozart’s Requiem by himself.
However, Rossi lost an early morning challenge to Le Coq, who thought the Eiffel Tower should be his personal roost.
Shamed, he jumped the Big Pond.
Americanized, “The Nightingale” now busks in Grand Central Station.

GUY DAVID

The record was spinning endlessly, caught in the groove. It was obvious she wasn’t coming. He just set there feeling like a fool. A sudden wave of anger swept over him. He was getting used to this, it has happened too many times. He got up swiftly, half knocking down his chair. He opened the door and left, slamming it behind him. He wasn’t going to wait any longer. Behind him, the chair fell over the table that held the old fashioned gramophone, and the stylus jumped over. The voice of Julee Cruise singing The Nightingale filled the room again.

CRAIG

Some years ago while reading architectural digest I saw reference to nightingale floors, but no accompanying definition and promptly forgot about it.
Later while laying the wood floors in our mountain cabin I was amazed to find that the boards had unique and nuanced sounds as they rubbed against each other.
With a bit of ingenuity in fastening the wood you can create a magical ongoing conversation with the house.
Going room to room at times seems like dancing on a xylophone.
You skate from board to board creating warm enticing tones that will resonate in your memory forever.

TERRENCE

Long shadows fell across the witherhunch as Raoul looked out across the vast landscape. A grassy meadow with the occasional tree spread out before him. He stood under one such tree, the witherhunch had found safety next to a good sized rock. Raoul loved the night, watching the dark shadows dancing.
A soft song rose, started from his right and spread out across the land; he heard a loving sigh in the distance. Raoul reached up, picking the nightingale off the branch. He looked deep into its eyes and it sang to him as her squeezed the life from it.

PLANET X-RAY

Jack gazed dreamingly at the singing women on the stage. He could understand why the theater had billed them as the Nightingale Sisters, their voices where as beautiful as any real Nightingale could sing.
They were also the loveliest ladies Jack had seen in a long time, Jack was going to enjoy this evening. He had sent them a red rose and a promise to dance till dawn.
They had all accepted his invitation, eager to dance so lightly across the floor in their gay dresses to the sound of the stringed instruments, to be merry until the next dawn.
But Jack had darker plans, as the sharp blades in his pocket would attest. By dawn, the nightingales would no longer sing, but would croak instead, and the rose he had given them wouldn’t be the only thing running red.
And the nightingales sang on.

SOUGENT

It’s after midnight and I can’t sleep, I mustn’t sleep, if I sleep they will find me and then….
No! I can’t think of that.
I cautiously move through the dark forest, I hear the song of a nightingale in the distance and a feeling of dread comes over me.
Is it really a nightingale, or is it a signal from one of *them*?
I look around nervously.
Two wizened little men approach a motionless form on the ground, one of them pokes it with a stick and snorts, “sleeping eh?”.
The song of a nightingale fills the forest.

WILL ROSS

Gail Winters. They called her Nightingale, the stripper who could sing. Tonight I just call her the victim. We’ve been here before, but, If you tell my wife that I’ll deny it. The Station boys visit after work, drink a beer and watch her dance. She’ll sing, “My Funny Valentine” or “Fever” before she strips down to her dainties and hustles the rubes. Tonight she’s in a pool of O-Positive, all because she tried to break up a fight and took a beer bottle behind the ear. Station boys arn’t happy. Killer’s in for a rough night.

PLANET Z

Y’all knows Colonel Harlan Sanders, but what abouts Lieutenant Yancy Ottercott?
Two reasons why, son:
He warn’t talented with a pressure cooker as his neighbor, and one day while cooking up a bird, the lid blew off and stove in his fool skull.
The other reason was that he warn’t cookin up chicken. He was frying up nightingale.
Didn’t bother pluckin them. Left the feathers right on, dipped and breaded those suckers whole.
Crunchy, sure, but Harlan’s chicken couldn’t be beat.
As for the mashed potatoes, well, Harlan swiped that recipe from Yancy.
Not that he’d be needin it anymore.

The Memo

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Everybody who reads the secret memo dies.
So, it’s been filed away…
deep in the archives…
locked in a filing cabinet…
which is locked in a closet…
which is in a locked room…
accessible only by locked stairs…
and the door to the stairs is locked, too.
But I have the keys on this keyring.
Let’s see…
To the door.
To the stairs.
To the door.
To the room.
To the closet.
To the cabinet.
Here. Take this keyring.
If you don’t believe me, see for yourself.
Read the memo.
Oh, and when you do, can I have your stapler?

Dancing Goddess

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When the Goddess begins to dance, people from all around will gather by the shore and watch her move in the tide with such grace and beauty.
They drop everything and sway in the evening mist.
Mothers let their babies slip from their grasp and fall into the surf.
Nobody notices the splashes. The Goddess laughs as each sacrifice is made.
Sometimes, after the dance, their bodies wash up on the shore, and there is much grief.
The Goddess has rejected the children.
But when the children wash out to sea, it is said they have become her royal consorts.

Yorick

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The old jester imagined that he would be telling jokes in court to laughing royalty, screwing maids in the barn, and dining on the best of what the castle’s kitchen had to offer.
Instead, he had a mouth full of mud and his back ached from the weight of the young prince.
“Horsey!’ shouted Hamlet.
Yorick groaned with each kick to his ribs.
At first, it was a delight. But with each passing week of being a plaything, Yorick grew weary.
Yorick never did get the laughter, maids, or feasts.
He died a broken man, a feast for the worms.

The Hive Queen

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Ambassador Grindmar’s report to the Hive Queen was positive: the negotiations were going well, and peace would come at an insignificant price, easily made up for with future mutual trade and growth.
“Where is that Grindmar now?” asked the Queen.
The bodyguards upended a preservation-cask, spilling Grindmar’s butchered carcass on the throne room floor.
“That’s unfortunate,” said the Queen. “But the negotiations completed, correct?”
“Yes,” said Grindmar’s replacement. “The war is over.”
“Good,” said the Hive Queen. “Let us Prepare a feast in Grindmar’s honor.”
That night, Grindmar was as delicious as she had been skilled in crafting peace treaties

Trademark

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In all the signals the aliens sent us, there was never a harsh word or a profanity uttered.
Completely friendly.
It wasn’t until their delegation landed and their people walked around did we realize it was going to be an issue.
You see, in their language, many corporation names and trademarked brands were the most vile things imaginable.
“Coke” was a revolting sexual act.
“Disney” was scatological in nature.
“Ford” was akin to genocide.
And so on.
So, eventually, they gave up on our planet and went on to the next one.
While we drank our Cokes and waved goodbye.

Implants

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How fast they grow up.
My little girl, Lisa, wants neural implants.
All the kids at school have them, why can’t she?
When her mother and I were kids, we had to wait until we were grown up to get them.
Now, the school system pushes the kids harder and harder. And it’s so much cheaper to jack in a kid to the network than teach them the old way.
The green hair took some getting used to. The piercings. The drinking. The boyfriends. The usual signs of rebellion.
But then, I guess the third grade’s been tough for her.

Weekly Challenge #101 – Life In The Sewer

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And One, 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 JD White.
It’s Life In The Sewer.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Who had the best stories in Weekly Challenge #101?
Steven the Nuclear Man!
Aini
Planet X-Ray
Guy David from Guy David dot com
Terry Tee from Quiet Time
Elisson from blog d’Elisson
Anima Zabaleta
Tom from Footnote
Craig from Wash The Bowl
Bryan from Ka-Klick.com
Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Gentleman
JD White from Writing.com
Daphne from Going Broke
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


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


STEVEN

I rise from the manhole, from my sewer home. Rain runs down my green
skin and the scratches in my shell. It has been twenty four years,
and I tire easily. My brothers’ weapons slew many soldiers before
they fell. Only I remain.
Our enemy is in his home, now just a slumlord with antique armor. He
watches our old cartoons and laughs. All anyone remembers are pizza
eating caricatures, our innocence as youths.
The enemy eats his pizza, ignoring the irony. He forgets that our
ninja skills surpassed his. Tonight, I will remind him.
I draw my swords.
Cowabunga.

STEVEN #2

I had sent the link to my grandmother, parents – all of those people
who like to see what I’ve written. And then – only then – do I start
to listen to the podcast. He dropped the F-bomb. Before the intro
music.
I am so glad I mentioned the dirty words.
I am going to be in trouble. I’m sure of it. I was going to run
away, but I would miss them. Instead, I’ll go down. It’s warm in
winter, and there’s never any traffic jams.
Once my nose adjusts, I might get used to my exiled life in the sewer.

AINI

Life is such a great journey. We learn a lot from living which helps us to deal with
different kinds of situations that we face. Living is a wonderful experience.
As for me, I love my life. It is amazing and a lot of fun. In life you can do so many things
that you can enjoy or learn from. In my life I have great things like money,
a home, my own room, a soft bed and a lovely pillow on what I put my sleepy
head every night. My life is fabulous. All these gorgeous things around me make my life perfect.
However, there is just this big word ”but” to all this. This is my life only when compared to life in the sewer.

PLANET X-RAY

Norton strolled down the tunnel looking for the valve that would drain this section. To think he had spent almost his life in the sewers and he couldn’t find one lousy valve.
His mind kept going back to last night’s bowling. It just wasn’t the same without Ralph. Oh sure, Laurence bowled great, but he wasn’t Ralph. He was just too stiff and didn’t joke around like Ralph did.
Plus, Norton was still in shock from when the cops handcuffed Ralph and led him away.
Oh sure, Ralph had said it a hundred times in the last 20 years, but who though he’d actually do it.
Well, he still had his life in the sewers to look forward to, poor Ralph would be in prison and Alice, well there just wasn’t any coming back from the moon.

GUY DAVID

Most of the time, only the rats and I live here. I say most of the time since every once in a while, a lonely traveler finds his way here.
This is the real underground. Got used to the smell, the crap flouting here in the sewer, you’d be surprised what people flash down their toilets. One can find all sort of strange toys down here for use on hapless lonesome travelers. Their screams can be heard for miles, but there’s no one to hear.
Would you like to come visit? I’ll have a special room ready, just for you.

TERRY TEE

Bizrocca strolled slowly along the walkway deep in thought
Here she was working her ass off to keep them living the life style that they were accustomed to, and what does he do.
He gives her that tasteless birthday cake with little meat in it, and she was sure he had used the neighbors pet as the main ingredient. Why she had found the toenails from seven of the beast’s feet in the cake for god’s sake.
And just what does he say”.
“But my lumpy dumpy, I wanted to catch that 4 legged beast the earthling brought with him, but it was just too fast for me.”
Too fast for him, shit, he was just too fucken lazy to get off his ass and leave their comfortable house.
Well, that was life in the sewer, it just doesn’t get any better than this on Mars.

ELISSON

I row through the Underground, navigating past the Ordure Ocean, the Beeyem Bay, the Sea of Shit. I”m a regular Crap Mariner, sailing the sewers like Jason and the Cacanauts.
After all these years, I”ve gotten used to the reek. Almost.
Life was different once. You might remember me: I was the Ty-D-Bowl Man.
With my blazer and jaunty captain”s cap, I”d paddle around in toilet tanks, freaking out the housewives. You”d freak too, if you found a little dude rowing a boat in your tank. Great gig while it lasted.
Lousy defective flapper valve.
I still miss my cap.

ANIMA

After pulling on hipwaders, I slurp the last of the tea. Collecting my Browning BAR and a fistful of.338 Mag cartridges, I head down the main utilidor”
I can tell its after 8 ” there’s lots of brown trout nudging downstream. Sometimes, I come see the afternoon surge around 4:30, weekdays. In this sector, trout are quiet on the weekends.
CHUDs have been spotted to the north… that’s where I’m headed. My job is to protect topsiders from becoming lunch, but I do it more for the fun. I hope to bring home a huge trophy mount today. Wish me luck!

TOM

It was cramped but doable. The easy bake on Maria, Maria in Arnesto”s lap. “Is the air always red here?” Ask Maria. “No last time it was green about the constancy of pudding.” he said gazing out at the mists of vermilion. “Are we there yet?” laughed Arroway, the Kronomer didn”t get the reference. The mist cleared to reveal a dim dust filled room. Something was very wrong. As they stepped into the room Maria noticed the following scrawled on the wall: Life In The Sewer. On the floor was a package from the future: Book Number Three.

CRAIG

The dog is dead, cat living in a tree, me I”m living in a city sewer.
Everything I ever owned or dreampt of owning is out of reach
cause I”m living in a city sewer and someone has closed the grate.
Neighbors are rats and their getting fat living in the city sewer.
We all bob like apples when it rains in the city sewer.
The other day Hank drowned living in the city sewer.
We all scramble for heat when buses idle over the city sewer.
In the summer we all hold our nose living in the city sewer.

BRYAN / KA-KLICK

The elevator sank quietly into the shaft. His spirits racing ahead of it. As it came to rest at the lobby his spirits continued into the abyss. The doors slid open silently. He clicked across the sterile marble and glass space and stepped out into the street.
It was a cool night and the grates in the street billowed forth a steady cloud of steam.
It made him pause to wonder: What would life in the sewer be like?
Could he just fake a really bad accident, set up some kind of secret lair, become the phantom of Wall street?

SOUGENT

It’s the smell you notice at first, when you first go in, a raw foul stench that permeates the air.
It clings to you, thick and cloying, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
Moist and steaming, it flows around you.
So strong, you can taste it, every nuance, every flavor.
After a while, you get used to it. Stay long enough and you learn to love it.
Ah, yes, close your eyes and inhale deeply, breathe in that wonderful fragrance.
Life in the sewer.
My life, my world.
It’s the life of a sewer rat.
JD WHITE

I stand in a dim shaft of fading yellow light.
Around my legs the black stagnant water is disturbed only when I move.
Before me the curved walls of the tunnel quickly fade away into the darkness.
The smell no longer turns my stomach.
At the edge of my vision red pinpoints no longer blink out when I scream.
Time has lost its meaning here where the only sound is the scurry of sharp claws on wet stone.
For long years I fought its call until its blasphemy overcame my will.
It draws near in the dark.
The Cthulhu comes.

And I love it.

DAPHNE

I moved to the sewer after it happened. I wasn’t the only one there. Some people went to the subways but we found that the sewer gave us more mobility. They run all over, we were able to get to supplies we needed to live. We’ve managed to adapt to living down here. We can go to the surface, but only at night, it’s only safe at night. The remaining surface dwellers help us out, until they get caught. Kids talk about the surface like priest talks about heaven, you might get to go there someday if you are good… and dead.

PLANET Z

Every cell in our bodies is a living thing.
Fat cells.
Muscle cells.
Nerve cells.
And blood cells.
The collective that is you may be dead, but these cells will live on for as long as they receive oxygen and nutrients.
As I watch the blood drain from your body, run down the gutter and into the sewer, I imagine that your life’s journey is not quite over.
Life is taking a detour, if only briefly, into the sewer. Bon voyage, life! Pleasant journeys.
Oh, and your kidneys, packed on ice, will live on in a very wealthy businessman in Tokyo.

The Whole World

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I get so afraid of the world sometimes.
The whole damn world.
When the fear gets to be too much, I crawl into bed and pull the covers up to my chin.
Then, I just lay there, not even moving my eyes.
I am as still as a statue.
The shadows close in on me, looking, and I can feel them watching for the slightest move.
I’m just sitting here, feeling my heart beat. The rise and fall of my chest as I breathe.
What will they do next?
I don’t know. And that is what I find so terrifying.