PENALTY STORY: The City Of The Dead

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The entire city is rubble.
No bombs. No floods.
Earthquake.
Bodies covered with dust, blood, and debris all over the place.
There is no light, except for the fires sweeping through buildings and the moonlight in this grimy night.
No sirens of ambulances. Water flowing through busted pipes.
Just endless screaming, crying, and shrieking.
In French, Spanish, and English they shout “Why?”
Another aftershock, a rumble… more clouds of dust kicked up in the air, people run but have nowhere to go.
I pick up the remote and bring up the program guide.
There must be something else on TV.

Dragged through the mud

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I like to drag people’s names through the mud.
So, when it rains, I gather up the phonebooks and drag them through the mud.
People think I’m just playing in the mud and they point and laugh at me, but the joke is on them!
Unless they have an unlisted number, their names are being dragged through it.
I have an unlisted number, so I’m not dragging my name through the mud.
I’m as clean as a whistle.
Well, except for this mud on me. But you can’t avoid getting mud on you when you drag names through the mud.

Tuesday Tax

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He goes door to door, collecting the Tuesday Tax.
Sometimes, it’s a chicken. Other times, it’s a flake of gold.
I pay with recycled motor oil.
Nobody ever pays the Tuesday Tax in cash.
The law doesn’t require it, so people take their frustration out on the Tuesday Tax Man with the most difficult of barter to exchange.
He writes his collections in a huge ledger, tears off a receipt, and drags everything back to his truck before moving on.
We found his body the next day, silver bullet in his chest.
He wrote the receipt in his own blood.

The Dolls

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No matter how deep I dig, I keep bringing up buckets full of dolls.
I knew that my dog steals them from neighborhood kids to bury in the back yard, but I never knew how many until I had to put in new flowers.
There’s hundreds… thousands in here.
There’s no way my dog did all of this. It’s just too many, and way too deep.
As I go back down, two dolls fall on my head.
I look up.
It’s my dog… and another dog.
He’s teaching others.
A howl. More dogs come.
Dirt rains down.
They’re burying me!

Weekly Challenge #194 – Choose

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Ninety-Four, 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 Choose!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Anima
Mick
Norval Joe
TJ
Justin
Zachmann
Steven
Arri
Ishtar
Katharina
Katharina
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

Anima

Melly, don’t forget – State dinner tonight. I know how long it takes you to choose shoes.
She HAD forgotten…
What to wear? The blue dress, yes. It conveyed a sense of serenity and quiet elegance. Very important at formal functions. Francisco would do her hair and make up. Panic! Shoes! Surveying the closet shelves, she furrowed her brow. No, she simply could not bear to wear anything as old and outdated as what she saw here. Edualdo would need to make her something fresh and fantastic, double quick.
That settled, Imelda called in her assistants and started making arrangements.

Mick

“What’s it gonnae be, pal?”
“I desire something to eat. Can you recommend a dish?” Charles asked.
“There’s nae dishes here, bud. This is a chippy, not the bloody Ritz. We’re about to close, so it’s haggis or pizza. That’s yer lot.”
Charles took a moment to consider the limited choice.
“Pizza, please.”
The deep-fried pizza handed to him, wrapped in newspaper, bore no relation to the peasant fare he had once enjoyed in his youth. He sunk his teeth into the crispy disc, warm fat pouring down his chin, thrilled by the assault of flavours and textures.
“Good choice.”

Norval Joe

The mountain man stood knee deep in the powdery snow. The pass through the mountains was still another 3000 feet above him, and the day was rapidly reaching its end. He hated it when he had to make a decision with no obvious ‘best’ choice.
For example, should he continue up the pass and hope to find a sheltered place to spend the night or stop now and find a place to conceal himself.
He heard the dogs getting closer and remembered the last choice he had made. Should he kill his wife, or only the man in her bed?

TJ

Jane sat (outside or inside) a (bar or coffeeshop) and drank (espresso or beer). Suddenly, a (Porsche or Lambourghini) swerved to the curb and the driver waved to her. It was Dale, her (husband or boyfriend). She (hopped in and they drove off, or she waved him away, choosing to stay with her new friend, Michael). A motorcycle pulled up next to her, driven by her sister, eyes flashing adventure. Jane (hopped on back and they rode away laughing, or Jane’s nails dug into Dale’s arm, or Jane sipped her beverage and felt the poison take effect). What happens next?!

Justin

Would you rather? That’s how the new justice system works. If you’re convicted, you have two choices of punishment. They did it to reduce the prison population. Many times prison isn’t even a choice! In fact, since they broadcast the results, it generates revenue with advertising and premium content sales. Some crimes get more viewers, since the punishment always has a tie to the crime. Robbers normally have to give up their own possessions, murderers frequently die. My favorite? Liars. Why? The judge can lie, saying any punishment they want fits the crime. Judge Simon always picks the best punishments.

Zachmann

Come with me, I want to take you to my new special place. I found this little shop a few weeks ago and want to treat you. You will not believe this place. There are so many choices here that I have trouble making my mind up when I order. I may have let people go ahead of me in line to have more time to choose.
I can not believe it I take you here with thousands of tastes, colors, and sensations. The best ice cream store in the world and you you choose to order plain vanilla .

Steven

She lays in the motel bed with him, afternoon sun hot on bare skin.
Two rings lay on the nightstand. Hers is a frilly feminine one her
husband chose. His is a thick, simple, plain band. He told his wife
what style of ring he’d wear.
He didn’t make a decision on his own after that. Not until they met.
She kisses the rough stubble on his cheek, and wakes him. She
carefully does not say – refuses to say – “Time to go.”
They kiss, and they dress. She will leave her ring on the nightstand,
and wonders if he will.

JRadimus

Hell. Everyone’s got their own version of it. We’ve heard of the Greeks’ Underworld with Hades, a multi-headed dog, and the river of over-wrought music. Christians and Muslims have the fiery bowels of Hell itself. There’s enough ambiguity, Christians have added variations on the theme like Purgatory and Outer Darkness. Jews have a metaphorical pit of guilt and shame. Buddhists and Hindus have a sort of waiting room for punishments before coming back to Earth to take another crack at Nirvana.
Not even close. It’s an eternal game of Zobmondo, with literal consequences. Choose carefully: that Devil’s a bastard. Literally.

Arri

He had to pick a fork. One led to prosperity and the other to despair. But which led to what? There wasn’t time to waffle on the matter. NOW required a committed action.
But how to decide? No telling one from the other.
This is important. Doesn’t this rate a vision or insight, a clue?
Damn, not a clue in sight. Maybe from the view of others? No good. No sight there. Just fog. Mind numbing fog.
Let go…
With that he removed the barrel from his mouth, the 18 wheeler skidded to a stop with two feet to spare.

Ishtar

I don’t want to make this decision, this choice.
If I do then it will be my end.
Is it my depression, driving a spike in my brain,
purposely making me insane? Everywhere I go I see him.
I just want to hold him, touch him again.
The bullets in my gun are calling me. Choose, choose.
One minute you’re here, the next with him again.
CHOOOOOSE.
The seduction of this depression is so, so sweet. The spike
is driven further. The hammer click is so divine.
Choose.
Again that word. I see the light. Click. Click. Click. Click.
Misfire.

Katharina

“Come on! Would you ever choose one?” he was exhausted.
“But, I don’t know whether the red or the black one looks better!”
“Darling, you look fantastic in both!”
“Not helping!”
“Okay, take the black one.”
“Why, what’s wrong with the red one?” her voice sounded worried through
the half-open bathroom door.
“Just put one on already! I can’t bear to wait anymore!”
“Alright, I’m coming.”
She stepped out into the bedroom with her black lingerie. With a quick
move he was on his feet, unhooked the bra and panties and sent them
flying.
“Looks better on the floor anyway…” he smiled widely.

Planet Z

Ash was hungry. And too lazy to go to the grocery store.
So, he looked on his Pokemon shelf, trying to decide what he’d have for dinner.
He eventually decided on his old entry-level fighting friend, Pikachu.
Throwing the ball to the ground, he watched his favorite yellow lightning-rodent explode with joy.
It stared up at him with beady black eyes.
“I choose you, Pikachu,” said Ash, and he put it in the microwave.
Bad idea. The microwave started to spark, and the lights went out.
Smoke poured from the kitchen.
Ash pulled out his phone and ordered pizza.

Cheap Knives

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You can tell the class of friends you have by the quality of knife they stick in your back.
Sterling silver is the best. Those are the ones you forgive.
Stainless steel, maybe you don’t forgive them so quickly.
And plastic knives, those you should have never been friendly with in the first place.
The kind of knife matters, too.
A carving knife or a butcher’s knife lets you know they really care, while a butter knife will just slide right off no matter what it’s made of.
So that spork you stuck in my back, that’s low, man. Low.

The Brass Medusa

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I love statues.
But I always wonder about how they’re posed.
Usually, they’re just standing there, looking pompous or proud.
Or they’re on a horse. A leg or two up.
Sometimes, I envision the ancient Medusa, slithering around the early American colonies, staring at famous Founding Fathers and her gaze transforming them into brass.
Then I realize that they’d have their hands up, faces frozen in fright.
If I ever get famous to the point of earning a statue in my honor, that’s how I want to be depicted: like something horrible and scary turned me to brass or stone.

Get Out Of Bed!

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For some people, it’s the alarm clock.
For others, it’s getting licked on the face by their dog or cat.
What gets me out of bed, well, that’s kind of a moot point.
I never get out of bed.
Ever since the drunk driver hit me, I’ve been here.
The tubes, wires, and nurses do everything for me.
And when they can’t, well, they put me under and cut more stuff off or stick in more tubes and wires.
The brown tube there, well, that pumps out my shit.
Probably to the kitchen, based on how this damn porridge tastes.

Beehive

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Flossie has a beehive hairdo.
It’s got actual bees in it, too.
Whenever she needs honey, she fogs her head with a smoker, waits a minute, and then pulls out a honeycomb to scrape.
Then she sticks it back in her hair and walks around until the smoke clears.
The bees wake up, and all is back to normal.
How does she wash her hair?
How does she sleep?
How does she have sex?
Yeah, try myself, but I’m not beating that hornet’s nest?
No. Really. There’s a hornet’s nest down there.
Not even with a beekeeper’s gimp suit, man.

Meat Pie

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“Sweeney Todd will give you a close shave, and Mrs. Lovett will make you into a wonderful meat pie.”
I read the poster twice.
And smiled.
So, I hobbled into the barber shop and happily shouted “I’m really to be murdered and turned into a meat pie!”
Todd looked me over, ran a hand across my chin, and smirked.
“You won’t do at all,” he said, and told me to leave.
Mrs. Lovett was just as dismissive.
“I just chop up what Sweeney sends me,” she said. “No special orders.”
In the end, she did sell me a meat pie.