Category: Weekly Challenge

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 Ten, 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 sick.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tura
Thomas and his new book!
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Chris Munroe
Serendipity Haven
Logan Berry
Sevi
Bonchance
Guy David
Steven Saus and the books at Amazon!
Zackmann
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Lizzie Gudkov
Danny
Cliff
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…

Obligatory cat photo:

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.

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TURA

Zaprut is the oldest city of which we have any record. Only its name survives, for the city was overtaken by a calamity so sudden, and so total, that none survived to say what befell it.

The name became synonymous with disaster, and in Roman times, hearing of some military debacle, senators would angrily declare, “Sic Zaprut!” — “thus was Zaprut!” fearing that Rome itself might pass the same way.

And that is why, nowadays, when a footballer wishes to express the depth of his emotion when his team loses a match, he will profess to being “sick as a parrot”.

THOMAS

I’m sick. My eyes swollen, my ears ring,

I have a rash all over my thing.

When I walk, I stumble, my intestines rumble,

my nose is dripping, I’m constantly tripping.

My chest tight, my bowels are loose,

my guts feel like they’re in a noose.

My breath is stinky, I can’t use my winky.

My livers hard, my spleen is jumpy,

The back of my neck is red and bumpy.

My throat is tight, my teeth are loose,

my tongue tastes like mildewed moose,

No work for me today, but no work, no pay.

Oh, wait,

it’s a Holiday!

CHRIS THE NUCLEAR KID

Winter is Near

I walked and walked occasionally tripping over the immense weaving of roots and scratches covered my arms, legs, and face. It had been about two months when I first started my journey and it was getting colder so I knew it was nearly winter. I kept walking for a while then stopped to rest and eat.

Setting up the tent I had brought with me, I went to sleep. The next morning however, I felt sick. Looking around I noticed it had snowed during the night, which explained why I was feeling sick. Over the night I’d caught a cold.

MUNSI

I’m gonna drop some sick beats.

No, seriously, these beats are the sickest. You ain’t never heard beats this sick.

These beats are so sick the CDC has declared them a class one biohazard, and warned that exposure to them isn’t safe, dog.

The death rate from exposure to these beats is 96%, and they’re airborne, bro!

That’s right, airborne! No body-fluid contact required for transferral of these sick beats!

These beats are the sickest. The sickest!!!

…and unless the United Nations meets my demands, I will drop these beats.

You have been warned. You have twenty-four hours to comply.

SERENDIPITY

This is why you should always proofread your copy! Who’d have thought losing a single letter could cause so much grief?

“WANTED – Slick individuals who won’t take ‘no’ for an answer” – that’s what the ad should have said, but some bozo at the agency dropped the ‘L’ from ‘slick’.

Which is why I’m sifting through résumés with hobbies that include doing rather gruesome things to ducks and; ‘modelling with earwax’.

Then George turned up for his interview…

“So, why should I give you this job, George?”

He opened his jacket, revealing an arsenal of scalpels.

I gave him the job!

LOGAN BERRY

Genvie and Tolly had a contest: who could be the worst, in one week? Genvie kicked things off by parking illegally in a handicap zone at a mall, while she leisurely shopped for a new soft toy for her cat, Stinky. Tolly shared a dorm room with an academic exchange student from Indonesia, whom he made cry by shaving her head she was asleep.

Genvie kept saying she ”could are less” when she meant she ”couldn’t care less”. Tolly drove below the speed limit in busy highway traffic. Genvie painted an abstract picture in shades of yellow, to which she glued golden raisins in a random pattern.

The shellfish in Tolly’s ciopinno was so aggrariously undercooked that seven of his twelve guests were violently ill, and one died. Genvie purchased a shotgun and killed her next door neighbor, Gus, for continually allowing his dog out onto the roof at 6 a.m. on weekday mornings, where he barked and disturbed the neighbors. ”That was really sick,” Tolly admitted to Genvie on visiting day. ”You win.”

SEVI

Sick

Sick…
Of my life
Selected for me
No reason to go on
With the charade
All the lies

Sick…
Of him
His power
The control
Unable to make my own decisions
To live in a free world

Sick…
Of instilled fear
A life full of coercion
Unrelenting rules
No flexibility
To be who I want to be

Sick…
Of the lies
The ongoing propaganda
To be someone I am not
Trying to squeeze into an iron mold
It constrains me

Sick…
Of this world
The Earth
The Wind
The Fire
The Water

I am begging, transcend my soul to heaven.

BONCHANCE

The Car

Dave set out to buy a safe car for his daughter.
He was regretting his purchase.

It had everything on his list and within budget.

His wife followed as he drove the gift to his daughters apartment.
A kid must have been the previous owner, all black inside and out,
black rims, black tinted windows, oversized tailpipe. He only hoped his
daughter wouldn’t think it too hideous to drive.

He parked, stepped to the curb when a passing young man said
“dude sick car!”. He nodded confirming the judgment but
then noticed it was meant as a compliment.

He smiled.

GUY

The yellow acid known as a lemon smashed through my mouth, distributing throughout my body. I should have known that it would contain the virus. I could feel the nanobots working up and down my body, changing it. I knew what was coming. I’ve seen it happen to many of my friends before, too many. My body would change, my memories would fade and I would no longer be. Who knows which terrorist group released the virus. Maybe it wasn’t them. Maybe it was a madman in a basement somewhere. The end result – we are all ending up as trees.

STEVEN

She was sick. Lied about everything- her parents, her past. Did drugs and fucked her lovers in front of the infant. Blew a grand on a drug fueled orgy when we were reconciling.

Her child was sick. It explains the shit smeared on the wall, the threats and violence, the last videotaped assault, the knife and murder plan hidden under his bed.

His second mother was sick. Her father’s abuse, a string of others, the reinfected by the violent child. Gone now – maybe healing, maybe not.

But I see the common factor.

He’s in the mirror.

Time to heal.

TOM

Hello America I’m Morgan Freeman and I’m here this evening at the 100 word challenge at podcasting.is.fullofcrap.com to share with you the tragic tale of Tommy M. Yes dear listeners Tommy appears to be a normal health young man, but lurking under the surface is a silent killer.

Tommy suffers from a terminal case of Objectphela a compulsive drive to attain 100 mid-century objects. This condition is triggered by viewing the Lionsgate production of The Lost Room. Yes see Tommy blankly staring at ebay listings scrolling untill his fingers bleed.

I found the Motorola 17t13

Sad. Give so more may live.

ZACKMANN

I think I got that new mutation of the bird flu. Being the whitest of white boys, I should have seen my doctor when people started complimenting me on my dancing. Good dancing is the first sign of the Disturbed Strain of the bird flu virus. No really, it was on the news and everything. The worst thing was when I started growing feathers.The feelings of hate and anger were no treat. It was bad enough I could not stop physical activity until fainting from exhaustion. You can say that I got up and got down with the sickness.
zackmann

REDGODDESS

Lola was on alert to fight back sneaky germs during the flu season. She stocked on multi-vitamins, ginger roots and cold medications for a month’s worth. She’s been exposed to some sick zombies leaking fluids from everywhere. On the trains, she noticed some couldn’t breathe. While few were always on the brink of sneezing. Others were coughing non-stop in their oversized coats with tissues on the other hand. The rest were too weak to even dry their red droopy eyes. Lola was determined to beat these viruses before plotting and snatching their chance to trap her to a sick bed.

LIZZIE

Hidden in the corner of the attic under piles of dusty newspapers, she noticed a trunk. Inside, amongst old diaries, curls of hair and baby shoes, there was a letter dated 1905. She read through “… dangerous and… are sick. Stay away…. has purple eyes. Do not marry him… become killers…” She was shocked. Who was this person? Above the trunk was an old mirror. She looked up and she understood. The stranger did marry into the family despite the warning letter, because she too had purple eyes and this inexplicable urge that had driven her to a complete solitude.

DANNY

My dog peed on the carpet again! I had just taken him out two times in the past 40 minutes, yet he still pees right on the carpet. I can’t leave the litte monster alone, so I decide to sleep on the floor in an attempt to keep him from peeing on the carpet. Background noise from the television finally lulls me to sleep, the dog nestles beside me. I eventually dream of being trapped at the bottom of a foul, polluted waterfull. I suddenly wake up to a face full of urine from the back end of my dog. Sick.

CLIFF

The Waiting

“The king is dying,” the cry went up.
As my father lay still, all manner of charlatans came to the palace. Shamen and healers plied their craft, but his majesty did not awake. Physicians used leaches. Mystics burned incense. An exorcist cast out demons. Still, Good King Leonard did not stir. All in the land who claimed power over disease took their turn to no avail. All, that is, except the old alchemist up on Watchtower Hill, the one that sold me the poison. When my father finally died and made me king, the old man would receive his reward.

Hey, Mort! Did you hear about Mary’s kid?
What, the trouble maker? What did he do now?
He just came back from the dead, that’s all.
Dead? I didn’t even know he was sick.
He wasn’t sick, you idiot. The Romans crucified him.
Ooh, that’s gotta smart. That’s a tough way to go, ya know?
Doesn’t matter. He ain’t dead no more.
What are you talking about? Dead’s dead.
Nope. Some folks saw him walking around. Said he was going to bring eternal life to everyone.
Thomas, I swear you’ll believe anything. I’m hungry. C’mon. Let’s go find some eggs.

NORVAL JOE

“Some prince you seem to be.” The ranger laughed as he stood over the vomiting elf. “No stomach for the lesser forms of life?”
“Don’t badger his highness, Traveler” Shareeka said. “That trait is one of the reasons we need him along. He’ll feel sick whenever goblins are near.”
“What about Spleen?” Owen asked. “Will the half-goblin still go with us?”
The wizardess chanted some words and the elf climbed shakily to his feet.
“You could have warded the creature before we met,” the prince said, “and saved me the discomfort.”
“Yes,” Shareeka said, controlling a wicked smile. “I know.”

PLANET Z

The comedian Spike Milligan wanted to have his tombstone inscribed with the phrase “I told you I was ill.”

However, despite his fame and stature in society, the church said no. Apparently, they followed the principle of John Waters the filmmaker, who said that he wanted a plain tombstone with just his name because humor ages, and eternity is too long for a joke.

The church and Spike came to a compromise, where the phrase would be added to his tombstone translated into Irish.

John Waters, on the other hand, is still alive, and his pencil-thin mustache remains fabulously rakish.

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 Ten, 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 Fool.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Tura
Sevi
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Zackmann
Thomas
Almo
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Steven the Nuclear Man
Tom
Fourworlds
Guy David
Cliff
Danny
Norval Joe
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Planet Z

And if you want to spam your social networks with this episode, use the Share buttons at the end of the post… imagine they’re like these rocks:

Hurl them through the Interet’s windows… spread the love and welcome and hope!

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.

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Tura

In olden times, only the Fool could tell the truth to the King, and not be executed. The King had to seem Wise, but only his Fool was truly Wise.

So Wise did Fools become, that during one disputed succession, the Fool himself was crowned King. And the Fool’s wisdom was seen for the shadow of his betters’, and sat on the throne he was only an ordinary fool.

But those who would be King were satisfied, for now they could plot and scheme without fear of the King’s Fool. And thus have we been ruled by fools ever since.

Sevi

Reflecting back on one’s life
Do you remember…

The silly “boy” crushes of yesteryear
Insane acts of behaviour with strangers
Over indulging, until you begged for forgiveness.

Wild and crazy nights
Only to awake violently shaking your head
Swearing you will never do that again!

How many times can one be so uncool?
Did people gossip about your stunts
Laughing at you over steaming hot coffee chat?

You became the front page news!
Growing older, maybe maturity will cure the insanity
On that sentinel birthday
Enter a life of stability and boredom!
You will never be again that silly fool!

Serendipity

They say a fool and his money are easily parted. The particular fool in question was ‘Rooster’ Arlington; a chicken farmer, not known for his wit.

That’s how Chickensurance Inc. came to be.

It was all legal – proper policy and certificates, and a killer sales pitch – “Look at it this way, Sam, regular livestock insurance won’t cover you for natural disasters… you get a tsunami, earthquake or lightning strike – you lose the lot – with Chickensurence you’re covered! Five bucks investment per bird gives a fifty dollar return.”

Twenty thousand policies – sold!

How was I to know it was twister season?

Zod

I won’t use this prompt as an excuse to do a story about Mr. T.

I’m better than that, and I’ve gone to that well too many times already.

I mean, it’s 2012, does anyone but me even remember Mr. T?

I have the breadth and depth of my creativity to explore, and I can come up with something original and insightful if I work at it.

But it’s hard to resist! Knowing I could turn this prompt into a Mr. T gag so easily makes every word I type agony!

Will nobody take pity on me?

Zod damn it…

Lizzie

“No time to explain! Get in the car!” said the total stranger. “Just get in the car!”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

And he did. He couldn’t believe himself. He did get in the car. They drove for hours to a town called “Hell”. He chuckled. They got out of the car and walked to an old house.

“Come with me.”

And he did. As they entered the house, he could not believe his eyes. It was a massacre. There were people hanging from the ceiling all over the house. The man looked at him.

“Fool, you’re next. It always works!”

Zackmann

In the news of today.
Christopher Moore author of Fool has release a cookbook called Cordon Bleu.
Zombies are blocking the freeway.
Unemployment is at one percent.
Walt Disney company says it is sorry about ACTA, SOPA, and PIPA.
Zombie Jesus waits for you under the spaghetti tree
Wait, Chris Moore’s new book is Sacre Bleu.
There are no known zombies despite how most of you will look on your morning commute.
The economy still sucks
Major corporations are still evil.
and Jesus is still not a zombie.
This is the last time I do a newscast on April first.

Thomas

Little Johnny learned that there is no fool like an old fool when he was in the second grade. The old fool that he knew, intimately, was his grandpa Big Johnny. Big Johnny would spend hours playing catch the thumb while he rocked in his big chair on the porch. He’d put his left thumb up, and try to catch it with his right hand before he tucked his thumb into his fist. He’d do this for hours, and sometimes grandma Minnie would play too, laughing so hard that she leaked when Big Johnny missed ten times in a row.

##

Chuckles played the fool, indulged in buffoonery and acted foolishly. This kept Chuckles out of the military when all his mates were being drafted, and by acting foolish and naïve, he was never punished by his parents or the IRS for making errors on his tax returns. He drooled, stuttered, rolled his eyes, picked his nose in public, passed wind, shop-lifted, cut in line. Playing dumb had many rewards, including qualifying for Pell Grants, weekly groceries at the food bank, and copped feels from his girlfriend, Dione. When caught driving too fast without a license or insurance, he played dumb.

Almo

I was walking through the mall when I saw my ex, Cindy, shopping at Saks. “Is this what my alimony is going for?” I asked as I walked up behind her.

“Who the hell are you?” she said.

“You can’t fool me, Cindy. You can dye your hair and get colored contact lenses, but you can’t erase that tattoo.” I reached under the hem of her skirt to find the rose on her thigh.

That’s when she slapped me, a hard right-hander across the face that left my cheek flushed, mostly from embarrassment.

You see, Cindy is a lefty.

Chris

I wasn’t like most people. My parents died in a fire on my tenth birth day.

When I was eleven I found a chest full of weapons. There were swords, bows, arrows, and armor. I trained day after day until I mastered every weapon in the chest.

When I turned fourteen I was ready to begin my journey. I planned to travel to the nearest village for supplies and perhaps make a friend.

I wasn’t a fool so, I packed large bag with food, clothes, and extra weapons. I slung the bag onto my back, and began my long journey.

Steven

The valley lies before me. Sounds of muskets and dying men echo, bringing the scents of gunpower and blood. I close my eyes on the carnage and wonder if I shall see home and Elizabeth again.

My sergeant’s hand rests upon my shoulder. “Captain, look.”

But I do not need to look. I do not need intelligence from the balloon scouts. I do not need to strain to hear the sound over the din of battle.

I can feel the gargantuan footfalls as the enemy’s steam walkers come over the ridge.

“Goodbye, Elizabeth,” I say, and rejoin the Light Brigade.

Tom

Ok the Universe is cold capricious, and often malicious at it doles out
its share of comic humor upon us semi sentient souls. But somewhere in
that black heart it saw fit to add 5 days to my mother pregnancy. That
tiny adjustment reduced the amount of future ridicule by a whooping 95%.
Its bad enough have a name which rhymes with Salome. If hear that one
again I got an ice pick ready. But to have been born at April Fool’s day
that had future serial killer written all over it. Thank you universe for
throttling your Tomfoolery.

Fourworlds

I used to think of myself as The Fool. Not a fool. The Fool. You know, the Tarot card. I was a long haired lad with a light heart and an untroubled mind; blindly grasping at each passing object of desire; completely oblivious to both the receding chaos in my wake and the approaching chasms I always just missed stepping into.

Decades later, I’m not that guy anymore. I’d hoped to mature eventually into The Magician, but never developed the discipline to get there. I resonate most strongly these days with the Ace of Wands. I can live with that.

Guy

He follows her around like a dog, and Yogerthy Yogurt loved it until he started chasing cars, barking and digging holes, hiding bones in her backyard. She tried throwing a stick into a bottomless well but he climbed out and fetched. She tried driving him to ever increasingly remote locations and accidentally forgetting him there, but he kept returning. Even when she refused his marriage proposal, bone ring and all, he kept coming back wagging his tail. She eventually had to call the dog catchers for him. The guys from the asylum just didn’t have dog food on their menu.

Uncle Monster

I just knew I would find it this time. The day was going perfect and my journey was taking me closer than I had ever been. After a slight deviation, I found my way back on the narrow secluded path leading to that beautiful dream I was reaching for. I walked along with great confidence that I would finally have the wonderful “prize” I sought so feverously! I could see the goal, I moved along quicker than ever and reached the end anticipating my prize, but to my dismay, found only a note that read “April Fools, you missed again!”

Danny

Walking into this putrid establishment, I expected to get the run around by the staff. I first interrogated the hotel clerk. “Don’t lie to me! Tell me, the suspect, is she here?” “Well yes,” the clerk repsonded. “She was here at 3:15, then she left, came back at 3;17, left again, was promptly back at 3:20 to use the bathroom, claiming some emergency. She left again at 3:30, came back at 3:33, hailed a cab, and we have not seen her since. “Bullshit! Do you think I’m a Fool?!!!,” I screamed. “Well, duh,” the clerk responded, “While explaining this, she was able to get away.”

Norval Joe

Owen felt out of place in the tavern, but not because of his age or the alcohol served at the bar. It was the sheer number of people crowded into the dark, smoky, common room. Raised on a farm he’d never seen this many people in his whole life.
“I’d be a fool to say I’ll take you to the mines of Grool,” the ranger said under his breath.
“I didn’t think you’d be afraid of goblins,” Shareeka teased.
“Nay, it’s not what’s in the mines what unnerves me,” Traveler said, “It’s what we must pass through to get there.”

RedGoddess

Rita devoted the last 11 months around executing her dream wedding, with high school sweetheart, Rob. They met on a blind date through friends. It was love by the time the pie a la mode was served after sharing an entree. They rented a one-bedroom apartment in her parents’ neighborhood. They carpooled to work. She was even contemplating quitting her job to be closer to his. Everything was set for her spring wedding on Cape Cod, minutes from the Kennedy compound. After seeing a Blue Man group show, he declared, ” I can’t do it.” She felt like the biggest fool.

Planet Z

Farmer Nedwyn spotted The Traveler walking along Market Road.

“Are you sure it’s him?” the mayor asked.

“Black cloak and cowl, silver staff,” said Nedwyn. “And The Cards were already in his hand.”

The Cards Of Fate.

The mayor sighed. “I hope it’s a good fortune.”

A table and a chair were dragged out of Mossbeard’s Pub and placed in the town square.

All work stopped. A crowd gathered.

The Traveler sat down, dealt out three cards, and turned each over.

Death.

Death.

Death.

The crowd gasped.

“Just kidding, people,” croaked The Traveler, and he got out the real deck.

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 Nine, 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 Rhymes With Itch.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Logan Berry
Tura
Sevi
Julie
Serendipity Haven
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Zackmann
Guy David
Tom
Danny
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Cliff
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.

Oh, and since it’s the internet…

There. Obligatory cat photo.

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Logan Berry

Sneaky Footsnap was a snitch,
He had a plan to make it rich.
Bertha Cussmore was a witch,
Who made a fortune selling pitch.
Sneaky dressed up like the bitch
Certain none would note the switch.
His clever ruse had one small hitch,
Sneaky Footsnap had a twitch.
By virtue of this telling glitch.
Sneaky wound up in the ditch,
Lifeless, cold, without a stitch.

Tura

“Burn the rich!” chanted the crowd blocking the road. I asked one of them, “What’s this, an Occupy revival?”

“No, ‘rich’ is short for ‘rhymes with itch’. We can’t call odd old women with too many cats…you know, rhymes with itch. That would be Hate Speech!”

“But there’s no such thing as witches–” A rubber bullet immediately knocked me to the ground, so I didn’t get to see what happened next, with the tyres and petrol cans, while the mob and the riot police looked on.

Afterwards, they charged me with Hate Speech, Denial, Obstructing Free Expression, and Provoking Violence.

Sevi

Links of strong steel
Hitched securely
Behind wheels of freedom

Desire to travel somewhere
A wish to wander elsewhere
True desire to escape
From the pain within me
The external torture
You inflict within

All around me
The hot sharp knife-like words
Piercing through my soul
Screaming through my vulnerable body
Rendering me helpless and
Unable to move away from it
An Inability to make it stop
Boxed into a dark damp hole
No exit to escape

One day
Clarity offers hope
An oppourtunity to break free
From the constant torture
From the pain
Step on the gas. Go!

Julie

OK, so it rhymes with itch.
I went to Catholic school, and we were not supposed to use certain words. Not that I didn’t have the temptation to do so, but there were consequences. We didn’t have Starbucks, or Dunkin in those days either. The coffee sucked, and so did the plaid polyester uniforms.
Our Vice Principal was named Sister Fish. Marjorie Fish. No joke. She rhymed with itch. A lot. Especially when she caught me smoking in the girls’ bathroom and I tossed the cigarette and hit her in the leg, burning a hole in her support hose. Busted!

Serendipity

It was the Flea family’s holiday and Father Flea was determined to make it a cultural experience.

“We’re going to the literature festival!”, he announced, to the groans of the rest of the family, “I’ve picked up a programme and there’s plenty for us to do.”

“Will there be amusements and games”, Bobby Flea asked?

“Candy Floss and hot dogs?” – from Gemma, with a winsome look.

“No. We’re going to listen to poetry”, came father’s response, to universal groans, “It’ll be fun – an all day event called, ‘Flea poetry through the years – Rhymes with itch'”

Would it be fun? Probably not!

Muns

I’d thought losing my soul would hurt. It didn’t.

Well, maybe a little, but only for a moment.

Afterward, I thought I’d feel empty, like something important had been taken from me, and that much was true.

Something had been taken from me.

Guilt. Shame. The burden of caring about the needs of others.

Their absence is a weight removed from my shoulders.

I finally feel free.

My high priest takes the soul, weds it to the phylactery, and sends it with my minion to be hidden somewhere it will never be found.

And I rise from my altar, immortal.

izzie

The old witch who knew zilch about motorized vehicles kept driving her broom into the drainage ditch. She didn’t know there was a switch to override the broom’s ignition glitch. Yes, it was an older model, just because the witch liked everything kitsch. So one day a fellow kitsch witch told her that Mr. Fitch, the rich man with the barber’s itch, had solved the broom’s problem with a simple machine stitch! The witch was very suspicious which made her scream in a high pitch “I hate machines!” and again she nose-dived into the drainage ditch which was full of…!

Zackmann

“I don’t know if old medicine is always a bad idea. Much of our modern discoveries originated with third world medicine men.” said Alex
“Are you giving up on modern medicine?” asked Jake
“No not really, we tried modern medicine first although what granny has currently seems incurable with modern medicine. Granny saw this professional on a morning talk show, who has had a great deal of success with cases like hers. We decided to try her before using Hospice”
“Is she a specialist?” inquired jake
Alex replied
“Well, you could say that but her job title ends in itch”

Guy

I wanted to make a speech
In order to find my own niche
But I just couldn’t reach
My papers who where scattered at the beach
So I gathered them each
Into a notebook I stitched
Still the words began to screech
Until my voice came at the wrong pitch
And they had to pull down the switch
Less my audience I would enrich
And make them rich
So I had to ride my ostrich
All the way to a ditch
Where I was picked up by a witch
Who didn’t even flinch
As she turned me into a sandwich

Tom

Rhymes with itch

Sounds with ditch

No No

Two syllables

first syllables

fly

mosquitoes

no

your flapping your

arms

your a condor

don’t give me that look

your the jerk who’s going to lose us this game

ok

your pick something out of the ground

and your smelling it.

It a flower?

yes

flower

and

something comes out of the flower

and it bits you

no

it stings you

a bee

good

second syllable

your riding a horse

no

your flying a horse

no

your flying on a a

broom

be broom

well fuck you too

your a witch

bewitched

Danny

The Witch with a severe facial Twitch, who lived in the English town of Ipswitch, looked at the topic for this weeks challenge, certain that Crap Mariner was challenging her to write a story without swearing. The Witch, whose name was Mitch, accepted the challenge, insisting if she did swear, she would beat herself with a switch. Mitch clacked away on her typewriter, completing the story without a hitch, despite her facial twitch. “Here you thought I couldn’t get through this weeks challenge without calling myself a bitch!” she exclaimed. After a long sigh, Mitch beat herself with a switch.

RedGoddess

In this depressing economy, many are doing jobs they thought were only reserved for high school drop outs and so called illegal aliens. Working Americans find themselves at the mercy of those shall we say “rhymes with itch.” Depending on the day and the imprint of their assaulting insults, many names are reserved for those bosses, managers, upper management and the rest with big titles but lacking in little common courtesy. People’s identities and dignity should not be tied to their jobs, hourly wages or where they rank on the poverty line. When least expected, Karma will scratch them out.

Uncle Monster

I was tired of reading my own stories so I put an ad on Craigslist. I got one response. It was not quite what I was expecting.

Hi. I’m responding to your ad for voice talent. I’ve been at this for some time and I know my way around a recording studio. I can send you samples of my work. I’m currently employed but I’ve decided that it’s time I got out of the basement and struck out on my own. My contact info is attached.

I think I’ll keep reading my own stuff. I just didn’t like his pitch.

Norval Joe

Spleen launched himself across the woodpile at the boy. His razor sharp claws extended and acid-icor dripped from his fangs. He dropped to the floor and hissed at the woman and boy across the woodpile. He lept with all his might, the muscles of his thighs like tightly wound springs. He flew across the woodpile at the boy and could taste his blood.
The woodpile still between them, he screamed and launched himself again, only to drop to the ground, where he’d started.
“What are you, a witch,” Spleen hissed at the woman.
Shareeka laughed.
“Something like that,” she said.

Planet Z

Deep under Mount Thundercloud, we found The Shadow Machine.

Acres of pipes and motors and engines. Built by the ancients.

It still feels warm.

What does it do?

I don’t know. Nobody does.

All these plans and blueprints and manuals are in the language of the ancients.

All their power.

Just waiting.

Buttons. Switches. Dials.

Which to use first?

What? Google has the language of the ancients in its Translate site?

Oh. Okay.

We’ll take the plans and manuals back to…

It’s on your mobile?

Damn. That’s impressive.

Powerful.

Who the fuck needs this ancient shit, right?

Let’s go home.

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.

Lizzie

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.

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 Seven, 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 Fingers.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Bonchance
Tura
Taralyn
Buttermilk
Lizzie Gudkov
InertialVoom
Chris Munroe
Zackmann
Guy
Tom
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Cliff
Steven The Nuclear Man
Red Goddess/TalkMarie
Danny Dwyer
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.

---

Bonchance

Lucky Haskins was an amiable person who always had a good word to say about a mate.
There isn’t a soul who knows him that doesn’t smile when someone mentions his name.

Lucky has done a lot of time in the joint. He built up a phenomenal list of friends in law enforcement agencies to
compliment his contacts on the other side of the law. Lucky never had a bit of good luck even before the accident,
back when he was known as Fingers Haskins.

No one was surprised when Lucky decided to give up trying to be a thief.

Tura

You know how, if you repeat a word over and over, the meaning drains away? And if you stare at a faint star, it disappears? My girlfriend was into Zen meditation. She stared at her self until it dissolved.

Afterwards, I stared at my fingers a lot. Where do they end and the palm begins? If they’re made of atoms, do they really exist? Isn’t it all just emptiness?

So how could I have strangled a non-existent person with non-existent fingers? The jury didn’t buy that, so here I am, staring at four walls all day. Staring until they disappear.

Taralyn

Fingers, little extensions from your hand, but when do you feel them? For me, it is when it is freezing outside and I have to go out and scrape my windows before my drive to work. While scrapping I start to feel them, but oddly enough it isn’t till I’m done and back in the warm car that they just ache, and I’m sooo aware of them it hurts. I can literally feel the bone piercing up through my flesh, I almost want to cut them off in that moment it hurts so much, but then they warm up, ahhhh.

Buttermilk

16 ladyfingers,
strong brewed coffee, room temperature. Maple syrup, cream cheese, soft. Sour cream, frozen whipped topping, thawed, unsweetened cocoa powder, for dusting, and 16 ladyfingers. They’re the pivotal main ingredient. Damn, where am I going to find 16 ladyfingers at this late hour? Even if I could find one lady to take them from, that would only be ten fingers. And I wanted to double the recipe, so now we’re up to four ladies’ fingers. She said she really wanted Tiramisu for dessert, but I just don’t see how i can possibly manage it now without all those fingers.

Lizzie

His fingers typed fast. The keyboard was steaming. The processor was going as quickly as it could. He was relentless. Clic clic clic. He had to write 5000 words within the next 7 minutes and he was running out of time. “The police found a strange object….” clic clic clic “… for no good reason, the neighbors…” clic clic clic “… thus creating a huge misunderstanding…” and he typed furiously. Suddenly, the phone rang. A shot. Puzzled he looked at his wet shirt. Blood… Clic… 5000 words deleted, clic. One journalist down. The cursor blinked alone on the white page.

Inertial Voom

Loving Hands

He was an old black man who had lived in the Congo during King Leopold II of Belgium’s reign. He opposed the government, and he knew what they would do to him. I watched him eat, deftly quiet, with the clicking of metal fingers.

He was lucky, he had friends who rushed him to a hospital in another country, while bandaging his wounds. I did not need to ask him if he needed any help. He seemed so capable, and he had a hearty laugh. I did find it awkward shaking his metal fingers on his prosthetic hand.

Munsi

It’s an old expression, but a true one: Feed a cold, starve a finger.

That’s not right.

If you have a cold, feed yourself finger food. If you have no fingers, you’ll starve.

Feed yourself cold fingers when you’re feverish?

Wait, I’ll figure it out, just give me a minute!

Chop off your fingers and leave them out ‘til they get cold?

That’s not it either.

This isn’t going well, I admit that.

Still, you knew I wasn’t a doctor when you asked me for advice about your cold.

Now: Let’s start cutting off fingers and see where it leads!

Zackmann

“I wish I ate before we started cleaning this building.” said Sara
“I will buy you some lunch after we are done cleaning,” replied Jan the lead housekeeper.
“Look this box has lady fingers written on it, I think they will not mind if I only take one.”
Jan said “I read in the newspaper that Mulligan Smith and Thomas Blackhall get packages here at Skinner Co so don’t even touch that box.”
Sara opened the box and said “I feel sick” then held up a mason jar.
Jan said “What do you know, this box’s label says Lady’s fingers ”

Guy David

“How many fingers do you see?” the doctor asked. “What?” I asked, still dazed. “six” I added. “Close enough” the doctor cheerfully announced “now take off your coat”. I wasn’t wearing my coat and I quickly pointed it out to him. “That’s odd” he said, “here, have another drink” which was strange since I didn’t have a first one yet. Even stranger was that I didn’t recall getting there at all. “How did I get here” I asked. “Never mind that” he answered getting his big plastic hammer, “let’s see what happens after I bang this on your other head”.

Tom

A tuff tale to tell
She was so tiny. I could nearly wrap my fingers around her. She vibrated as I held her. Somehow this six week old cat had been flung into the middle of the road. The Vet told us the kitten had major nerve damage in the shoulder. She suggested removing the leg. We opted out for hope. The leg never recovered it remain curled up at her side. As cats grew up on our property they learn how to sit with their paw curl up. Even cats who hate Emur lifted their paw. She was my cat for 18 years.

Chris the Nuclear Kid

There was a time when darkness didn’t cover the earth. Then there came there came a mystical stone called the Gladiator. Many Platonians, a race of Goblins, Would have given anything to get their fingers on the Gladiator. The power of the Gadiator was more powerful than any thing any one had ever dreamed of. However, like most powerful things, it had an Achilles Heel. Anyone with possession of the stone could do anything including destroying worlds. Long ago the very first receiver used the stone and used for evil. And now, darkness covers the planets to this very day.

Uncle Monster

At thirteen, I lost my left pinky mowing the lawn. Yeah, it hurt like hell but I got my first robot finger.

Then an index finger got chomped by a horse. They’re right. Never look.
I lost two fingers to the blade of a band saw in shop class. A pinky got caught in the door of a Ford. A cheap pawn shop ring cost me my left ring finger.
The last two I lost in Vegas. Don’t ask.

Then I lost my job.

Yesterday, the prosthetics got repossessed. So, who’s got two thumbs and not much else? This guy!

Steven the Nuclear Man

“They don’t sound like twigs,” I say, snapping its pinkie. “don’t you agree?”

The sociopath screams, and for a moment I think I made a mistake. But it’s charming and superficial – one of them. No conscience. No empathy. No remorse.

“Brian,” it shrieks, “let me -”

I silence it with a smack to the mouth.

“They say,” I tell it as I apply the brand, sizzling flesh, “torturing a person can make you a sociopath. Without empathy. Without feelings.”

I lean close as the light goes out of its eyes. “So tell me, when do the emotions leave?”

RodGoddess/talkwithmarie

Lola hated her bony alien-like fingers. At age 11, she broke two of them, playing hide and seek in her parent’s basement.The pain was unbearable and she had stitches to prove it. Till this day she can still see the fading scars. She had hoped to accomplish more with them than the usual daily tasks. Every time she hears her favorite musicians perform on stage, she wishes she could play the guitar like Tukso, Shannon or Mic. She longs to wiggle those fingers on a piano like Alicia Keys or John Legend but her fingers are just scarred childhood memories.

Danny Dwyer

“Fingers.”

Only 10 years old, I was “playing” with a blender, when I dropped the middle portion of the blender lid into the running blender. In a panic, I reached into the blender to pull out the plastic piece. My left index finger now was hanging on my body by just a small flap of skin. Dad rushed me to the hospital to have my finger sown back on, while my mom was returning from the airport with my Aunt Ruth, only to find my blood dripping from the kitchen ceiling. Aunt Ruth’s new nickname for me from that point on was “Fingers.”

Norval Joe

Owen whined at the wizardess, “Why do I have to be in charge?”
A smile of pained patience wrinkled Shareeka’s unblemished brow.
“Because you are to be king,” she said. “And it’s your queen who is captive.”
“I know,” Owen grumbled and counted on his fingers, “But, we have Traveller, the ranger to guide us. Findert, the dwarf from the mines of Grool. We have Elbowner, a royal elf, and Spleen. Well, no. A half goblin wouldn’t do. But what about you?”
“Me,” the wizardess laughed. “No. The others in the party know me too well to accept my leadership.”

Planet Z

I have a horrible case of the hiccups.

I’ve tried every remedy I know:

A spoonful of sugar to disrupt the swallow mechanism
Breathing into a paper bag to reset blood gases
And even one I saw in an online trivia site: sticking my finger up my asshole

Yes, the finger trick actually works. Because you can’t swallow while you shit. It’s a disruptive neural signal.

A friend of mine suggested a spoonful of peanut butter.

I tried it, and it worked, but It’s a lot messier than sticking just my finger up there.

And a waste of peanut butter.

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 Six, 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 Game.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Thomas
Tura
Lizzie Gudkov
Pau
Zackmann
Tom
Bonchance
Robert
Chris Munroe
Jessi
Fourworlds
Steven The Nuclear Man
Guy
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
Danny Dwyer
Cliff
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.

Oh, and let’s all have a heaping plate of…

Yummy!

---

Thomas

The game was played with alcohol and chainsaws. Each contestant was to drink 6 ounces of Vodka, fuel and start a chainsaw, and run with it, barefoot, around the city park. The first one to stumble and remove one of their own body parts was the looser, of course, while the last one left standing and remaining out of custody of the police, was the winner. This game was invented by the local crowd at Gateway Tavern in Port Angeles, to celebrate logging. Last week, the game was played, and brought out the State Patrol’s swat team and tac squad.

My 7 year old daughter caught me copying another one of her stories, so the game is up. I have no imagination of my own, and relied on little Rachael for all my submissions. Rachel is home schooled and has a social and intellectual IQ that is off the charts, in spite of her autism. Therefore, I cannot participate in 100 word stories because of my deep shame and embarrassment, much less the ribbing and scolding I’ve had to endure these last, few days. So, with this, goodbye to 100 word stories and the dozens of you that contribute regularly.

Tura

My opponent had considered her move for fully two hours, while I no less intently studied the position, tracing out glimmers of possibility.

“Ah,” she adumbrated at last. “Do you see?” She rapidly sketched on the blackboard a braided Diaconescu quincunx.

Thunderstruck, I gasped, “Excluded by Hammersmith duality!”

“Negated by Favisham’s Little Theorem.”

“But the Fronsky diagram–” Her genius burst on me like a large hadron collider, “–is obstructed in quine!”

“Precisely,” she gesticulated, “so! Mornington Crescent!!”

We warmly shook hands. “Thank you,” I said, in the traditional acknowledgement of superior play after a hard-fought game, “for enriching my understanding.”

Lizzie

“Oh, come on. You didn’t know him; he was just a cat.”

“No, he wasn’t. I have seen photos of him, watched videos with him and heard his voice in the podcast.”

“Aren’t you being overdramatic here?”

“No, all the way across an ocean, I did know him. I felt him drift away. Anyone who has ever shared his life with a cat knows what I mean.”

“Ok. Fine. But wasn’t this supposed to be about games?”

“Yes. But I just don’t feel like it.”

“And you don’t have one hundred words either.”

“Yes, but who cares?”

Pau

“Game is over” she told me crying as I entered home from work.

“What do you mean?” I replied

It was ten o’clock. I had had a special bad day and I was really tired. I didn’t want to fight with her: she always won this kind of matches.

I left my wallet on the floor and let her to explain. She admitted her love affair and she wanted me to be comprehensive.

And I was. In fact I knew something.

Today I had just fired him and now I had a free hand to ask her for the divorce.

Zackmann

First Rule: You are playing The Game.
Second Rule: every time you think about The Game you Lose
Third Rule: Lose of The Game must be announced
No one wins

“I told you forget about that stupid game you cant win. It is over. I am not playing” says Dylan
“You wish you could forget about the game. You are too, everyone is playing even if they don’t know they are” I retort
You know what Crap Mariner did, he picked Game for this weeks topic making you think of The Game. Now repeat after me
“I lost The Game”

Tom

“I’m game.” said jack and raising the Henny shot gun over his shoulder. He and Frank moved along the waterfront following the trail of body parts. “Do you ever get tired of Zombie stories?” inquired Frank when he heard the pack moving to his left. Frank sensiblely froze as Jack leveled the shot gun, then he dropped and rolled towards Jack. The first round took out five of the closest the second the three to the left. From the ground Frank picked off the two on the right. Lifting him to his feet Jack said. “You got game bro.”

Bonchance

“Carl I haven’t seen you in ages!

I heard you were laid up and stuck in the house.
Still playing that Misty Realms thing?”

“Yes it is all I have to pass the day.

I am worried about Abraxis though he keeps trying to reach 10th level mage and gets so depressed when he fails.”

“George and Martha the neko couple are divorced again and I’m not so sure they will get back together.

“Carl?”

“Yes Alex?”

“You do know it’s just a game, right?”

“What? Oh, yes of course.”

Alex looked at Carl, he was not at all convinced.

Robert

Chronic House of Cards Syndrome, a condition that occurs
post-Parkers-Brothers-Monopoly, broke George Liptom in two, creating
an empty fragment of a child touched by both physical and
psychological pain derived from a nexus of crippling isolation,
self-absorption, paranoia, and the overwhelming anxiety of potentially
landing on Boardwalk or Park Place after a recent hotel development,
which eventually led to drug abuse, a host of sexually transmitted
diseases, chronic inflammation of the bladder, and premature death.
George’s story eventually led to federal legislation to demolish the
architecture of all card houses. George’s mother could only muster up
these words, “…gingerbread houses.”

Munsi

As the assassins kicked in my bedroom door, I knew the game was up.

“Don’t hate the player,” I called as I bolted for the window, “hate the game!”

But they wouldn’t listen.

“You think we’re playing games with you?” Their leader asked as they wrestled me to the floor. “This is no game!”

I thought it was game over for sure, but before they could finish me off, my alarm clock sounded!

I woke just in time to see the team of assassins kicking in my bedroom door. And that’s when I realized…

I was still inside the game.

Jessi

She maintained exactly 5,000 Facebook friends, thousands of Tweeps, a massive FriendFeed, and Klout. Oh, her Klout. She could Plurk, Digg and Buzz while voting, stacking, and Stumbling.

One day, she had an original thought.

She wanted to share it, but she knew it wouldn’t re-tweet (it was too complex). Reddit would hate it. Hundreds of Facebookers would unfriend her without actually reading it. Digg would bury it, and it wouldn’t help her Klout at all.

Realizing she had followers and “friends” everywhere, but no one to talk with, she logged off with a simple hashtag.

#Goodbye

No one noticed.

Fourworlds

Baseball. Football. Basketball. Hockey. I loved them all. Trading cards. Sports Illustrated. Radio play-by-play. My childhood resonated with the unfolding drama of each passing season. That was a long time ago.

I haven’t watched a single game since my bookie skipped town and disappeared with my winnings. I was eighteen. Now I’m fifty. Seems like an overreaction. But I don’t regret it.

The decision gifted me with tens of thousands of hours over the last three decades. Time that would have otherwise been squandered on trivial sports-related pursuits. I’ve found much better ways to waste my time.

Steven

The soccer ball careened across the pitch, smacking up a spray of mud
as it hit the ground in front of Mitch. Mitch didn’t move, just
stared upward.

The opposing striker ran past, kicking the multicolored sphere into
the goal. John, his words a cursing stream of consciousness mixture
of Joyce and a drunk sailor, ran to Mitch. Mitch didn’t respond, even
as John’s spittle sprayed across his cheek. Mitch just kept staring
upward, sweat beading on his forehead.

John’s cursing slowed. John slowly tilted his head upward just in
time to see the gigantic foot slam into the ionosphere.

Guy

I stretched the line of my bow and shot a straight arrow using magical fire. The Rakuda fell down dead. I looted it. Got some Soft Fur and some coins. I looked for more Rakuda. Only six more to go. I spotted a few more of them, but then I saw it, the majestic Kirin, so rare and beautiful, his long neck towering high above me and his innocent eyes wise, timeless. I fitted my finest arrow and called up all my magic into it, air, water and fire. It shot straight through, killing him on the spot. Epic drop.

Now – I wanted to point out that if this story comes in a little late this time, it’s all Philip ‘NarvelJoe’ Carroll’s fault. You see, I started to listen to The Price of Friendship this weekend and I just can’t stop. Darn you philip for writing such an excellent story. You, gentle listener should listen too if only to understand my predicament. Just follow the cat over to podiobooks.com, look for The Price of Friendship and give it a listen. I guaranty you too are going to miss your deadline. Incidentally, this recommendation is exactly one hundred words long.

TalkMarie

There are countless reality shows about celebrities, famous wannabes and housebound attention hungry strangers. This onslaught is commercial goldmine for media networks and Ryan Seacrest. Survivor is the most successful show that took watching a packaged game to a heightened level of guilty pleasures. Imagine a bunch of misfits and type A personalities competing for cash or love. They do ANYTHING to win. Most gamers lie, cheat, deceive, bully and outwit their competitors. The worst in people, is captured then spoon fed to consumers. If anyone questions such damaging behaviors, there is only one true answer, “it’s just a game.”

Danny

Our rowboat glided towards the dark beach along the shoreline, as Dr. Strange-Exotic/Cookie’s castle at the top of the cliff loomed over the beach, lit only by the light of the full moon overhead. The good Doctor greeted us as we landed on the beach, adorned with many weapons, including an AK47 and a Bazooka. The Doctor looked like a bloated Rambo about to go deer hunting on Dick Cheney’s farm. “I take it we will be hunting humans,” I stated. “No, your thinking of the MOST dangerous game,” Dr. Strange-Exotic/Cookie responded. “This is the LEAST dangerous game, we’re hunting mosquitos.”

Cliff

I watched them sitting round the table. Five faces, impassive behind the cards, determined to give nothing away. A tell could be anything. A twitch. A smile. To a real player, the eyes could be read like a roadmap.

The red headed kid was the new one in the group. He thought he was playing a friendly game of cards. The regulars saw him as easy prey. He adjusted his cards and then looked at Tina.

“Got any fours?”

My ten year old daughter threw three cards on the table in disgust. Looked like they had a real game now.

Norval Joe

Owen crept through the underbrush, an arrow ready in his bow. Across the meadow, he saw the largest doe of his life.
“An animal that big would feed my uncle and me for a year,” he thought and raised the bow.
“What’re you doing?” A girl’s voice asked from behind him, and the deer ran away.
Owen turned, furious. A girl his own age, maybe seven or eight, frowned at him.
“This isn’t a game,” Owen shouted. “My uncle and I needed that deer to eat.”
She glared and said. “This is my Grampa’s meadow, and that was our cow.”

Planet Z

There once was a cat who liked to play Fetch.

If you threw his toy mouse, he’d chase it, pick it up, and bring it back.

Sometimes, he’d bring you a toy, expecting you to throw it for him to chase.

When his toys were piled up, he’d take them away from the pile.

People watched him play this game on a webcam, trying to guess which toy he’d take next.

When the Christmas tree went up, he’d put his toys under the tree, one by one.

Now that he’s gone, the toys sit on a shelf, just gathering dust.

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 Five, 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 The Meaning Of Life.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Chris Munroe
Zackmann
Thomas
Jessi
Botgirl
Tura
Scott V
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Lizzie Gudkov
Sail2Byzantium
Taralyn
Jeff Hema
WareCats
Buttermilk
Tom
Guy
Bonchance
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
Pamela
Danny Dwyer
Cliff
Norval Joe
Steven The Nuclear Man
TREED
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.

---

Munsi

The Meaning of Life

Life’s what happens when you’re making other plans.

Tho’ in my case, I didn’t make plans.

I didn’t have time to, between my day job, the writing, the comedy projects and endless drinks with friends. There was always too much going on to stop, focus and make plans.

Does that make my life less meaningful?

The meaning of a life is shown in what you choose to focus on, but I’ve been so unfocused…

So I’ll put it to you: what does this make the meaning of my life? I’d love to ponder it, but I have shit to do.

Zackmann

Her house looked like that movie scene in which bad guys torn the place apart.
She said “Zack, What are you doing?”
“I am looking for the mean of life.” he replied.
“How many times do I have to tell you that even though I work on Sunday morning there is no reason why you cant go to church yourself.”
“You dont understand.”
“Try me”she said
“I borrowed Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life DVD from the local library. If I dont find it, I must pay a late fee and replacement cost as well as a restocking charge.”

Thomas

He strove to be the meanest, stingiest, grouchiest, smelliest, most dreadful man in the group. He hated groups, and this group of strict conservatives, and all it stood for, irritated him to the point of piercing a hole through his stomach with his own, self-generated brew of stomach acid, thus threatening his life and causing him untold pain–as if he was shot through his middle with a burning bowling ball. He joined and tried to keep his words and opinions to himself, but manners and smell forced the group to disband within minutes of the opening of the meeting.

##

Professor T continued work on her latest book, The Meaning of Life. The Professor taught philosophy 101 and Beginning Zen Archery at the local community college. An eccentric woman, The Professor was convinced that her book would answer all the questions that people had about the true meaning of life. The first few chapters contained hundreds of equations and logic diagrams, totally incomprehensible to anyone that attempted to slog through it. The balance of her book was filled with crude drawings and diagrams, interspersed with obscene caricatures. The professor’s work ultimately concluded that the Meaning of Life was continually reductive.

Jessi

Demeaning of Life, by Jessi Firethorn (with apologies to Cole Porter)

Cole had the right idea, I thought, forking the gooey mass on the half-shell. Life’s about the experiment. When Gabriel blows that horn, this prodigal will head home having spent all ten talents, made blue lagoons of life’s lemons, and battle-rammed every door that got in my way! These delicacies are touted to boost the heart, brain and libido, and this oyster is mine.

Slurp. Swallow. Well, almost swallow. All 50 million Frenchmen were wrong. This is disgusting. This is detestable. Return these to the bay, please, and check that off de-list.

Now, who knows how to dance the Beguine?

Tura

I saw a sage, who declared to the crowd about him, “Life has no meaning!” And a second nearby shouted to his admirers, “That life has no meaning, IS its meaning!” And likewise a third preached, “Life has only the meaning you give it!” And I marvelled that each group looked fiercely upon the others, and would come to blows.

So I shouted, “Pshaw! One cannot insert so much as a cigarette paper between your beliefs!” And they united as brothers to beat me and drive me away, then returned to their strife.

That was the meaning of their lives.

Scott

Stanley lived quietly in the cheap suit his mother bought him as a graduation present. He spent his evenings carefully arranging his turnips in their prescribed order on the bric-a-brac shelf. He had carved them in occupational therapy, carefully contouring the surface of each to resemble a family member. He found the taproot useful to serve as the tails of kittens he wished to own. Stanley didn’t work. He’d made his money dumping buckets of boner pills into the inboxes of the unsuspecting. Squishing the turnip head of his mother made it all worthwhile.

Chris

(No Text Sent)

Lizzie

“What is the meaning of life, dear?” he asked with a naughty look on his face. “Is it the two of us touching each other, up and down?”

She had a severe cold and was certainly not geographically motivated.

“The meaning of life?”

He nodded enthusiastically.

“Well, it’s having a sweet hot chocolate, and a bitter chocolate for when I need to bite my tongue,” she said crisply.

“What about me?” he pleaded.

“You don’t taste like chocolate. You taste like… damped cereals.”

“Damped cereals?!” he asked.

To which she rolled her eyes and said, “Ok, pass the bitter chocolate.”

Sail2Byzantium

I found the crack in the floorboards searching for Barbie in the dark. A tiny pillar of light seeped through it. I examined the crack, poking my finger in, but I had to look. At first, it was just flickers of light with the sound of glass clinking on glass. Odd smells emanated from below like a cross between catbox and bad eggs.

A man in a mask stood beneath me at a table. The mask came off and it was Daddy. Relieved, I tucked myself again. But, one night a few weeks later, the lab exploded beneath me.

TaraLyn

I lean back on the rock ledge and dangle my feet into the cool water. The morning sun slowly comes around the corner and caresses my body. I pick up my book and open it to the bookmark. It is so quiet, all I hear is the water smoothing out the bank. I smell the leaves on the ground…the crisp air relaxes me as my hair lifts off my shoulder floating on the breeze. I watch ducks float by and think..I bet they are good friends. My eyes focus on the page and read, This is the meaning of life…..

Jeff

It was 5 am when my cellphone vibrated. I opened my eyes instantly.

« He bought the farm, call mum ».

This is the second time I’ve had to go through this predicament. The first time I was 7 years old.

I still react the same way, I’m never affected by the death of a family member but by the tears my relatives drop.

Undaunted, I woke up an hour later and left the house for my job interview .

I felt just OK. Am I turning into Dexter? No, perish the thought!

People come and go, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

WareCats

When we are little children we never wonder about “what is the meaning of life?”

Then we grow to our teens years and wonder “what is this life for?”
In our twenty’s we believe it is all about working, schooling and “how to get ahead in life.”

Through out our adult life we ponder “what have I done that is worthwhile in my life?”

The golden years hit and there you are holding that brand new grandchild in your arms.
It is then that you realize you have found that this is the true “meaning of life.”

Buttermilk

Row: Said three times for emphasis, it’s a call to action. Life’s not a spectator’s sport. YOUR boat: You can’t row someone else’s. Stop trying. Gently: Don’t be so hard on yourself. Try to take it easy. DOWN the stream: Go with the flow. The stream knows where it’s going. Merrily: Said four times for effect. Stop taking yourself so seriously, and try to have some fun! Life is but a dream: This one or any other is nothing but a thinly veiled illusion. So many chase the Meaning of Life, but it turns out we learned it as kids.

Tom

Your warm, fed, no one messes with your space, you don’t even need to breath. Then some jerk with forceps grabs your head, turns you up side down, and slaps you on the ass. You’re the smallest kid on the playground. The bigger kids give you a ration of shit. As you move from peer group to peer group the amount of unkind acts pile to the heavens. Your boss, ex-wife, and anyone having a bad day make sure you will have a bad day. Somehow the well of human kindness springs eternal in spite of the meaning of life.

Guy David

They where a paper clip company. When they created the paper clip making robot, they instilled in him a sense of the importance of making paper clips. Paper clip making became his reason for being. The presentation went well. They turned him on, and he sipped from a pile of previously prepared materials, quickly converting them to paper clips, then he run out of materials. First, the meeting room table went. The technicians tried to shut him off but he converted them as well, then he stormed through the building converting everything and everyone, then he went for the exit.

Bonchance

In times we experience some turmoil and strife,
we may find ourselves asking the meaning of life.
Some of us in youth might seek elders for advise,
perhaps with age we’ll get an answer that is wise.
So once in that moment I went to my mentor
asking the old man what we were put on this earth for.
Grandfather told me stories of things he had been through,
of wonderful people and those also who were cruel.
Boy, you don’t have to be a genius or even very clever,
the answer is quite simple, you just need to endeavor.

Botgirl

“Oh my god, he’s right!” she said out of nowhere from across the bed. “Life IS getting meaner.”

“Who’s right?” I mumbled, half asleep. Definitely not ready for the morning after.

“I think his name is Monty something,” she said.

I had the same kind of fuzzy memory of her name, but it didn’t seem an appropriate time to bring it up.

“Anyway, Natasha loaned me his movie yesterday and I just figured out what the title means.”

I had to ask.

“The Meaning of Life,” she said.

Yeah. I went home with the waitress. Again. Damn you Warren Zevon.

RedGoddess

There are many questions that will haunt mankind for generations to come. Who am I will top the list. What is love is another and of course the meaning of life will be philosophical icing. In this era of TV gurus, we have many masters to turn to, from Oprah to Chopra but we’re still puzzled by the contradictions. Sadly, we’re left with more questions than answers. I wonder when one is economically drained, deprived, desperate and depressed, is that a priority? Whatever motivates one to get out of bed daily, will ultimately reveal how they live through the meanings.

Pamela

Why?

I still hated New York, but with half of the city’s scum frightened to be alone in the alleys, I couldn’t quit.

Before he lost consciousness, one asked me, “Why?”

I was glad he couldn’t see my face because it was blank. I had no answer. The next several nights, I wandered, thinking. The risk, the late nights, no social life.

Then: a muffled plea, scuffling feet. A block. An alley. A woman, a man, a purse.

And me.

And the answer. It was simple and, as I moved her away from the mess, rewarded by two words: thank you.

Danny

My fictional son and I were making our escape from my violent non-fictional ex-wife across the Arizona desert on the back of a donkey named “Meatloaf Flying Spaceship.” I asked aloud, “What is the meaning of life?” Meatloaf responded, which left me stunned, I had no idea the donkey could speak. “Life would be more meaningful if you guys would get your fat asses off my back so I could breathe.” We quickly obliged. ”I think all of our lives will have more meaning if we just keep fleeing from your crazy ex-wife.” After spotting my ex-wife in the distance, I quickly agreed.

Cliff

Marie’s Quest

I found it.
-Found what?
The meaning of life.
-Oh, really? Fortune cookie or box of cracker jacks?
Neither! I did the pilgrimage and found the guru. He’s lived alone in a cave for thirty years meditating on it.
-Ok, I’ll bite. What did he say.
Sex.
-Sex?
Yep. Wild passionate sex.
-Really?
That’s right.
-A guy who’s been alone in a cave for years thinks sex is the meaning of life. Did he tell you this or show you?
Well, both. Why?
-Oh, Marie.
Do you think he was taking advantage of me?
-It’s clown college all over again.

Norval Joe

Owen looked from his uncle to Cindy’s grandfather and beyond to the unknown woman brooding by the door.
“I’m engaged to Cindy?” he asked. “When were you going to tell me?”
“Owen,” The dark woman said, “My name is Shareeka. I’m the wizardess who hid you here. You and Cindy must be presented, together, on her 16th birthday, or all our effort, indeed your very lives, would have been without meaning.”
“So,” Owen said. “We have to find where the princess is hidden, get her, and get back by her birthday?”
“That’s right, Owen,” Shareeka said. “You have 42 days.”

Steven the Nuclear Man

Chasing Someone with Dynamite

“Father, what is the meaning of life?”

He sat back on his bench, running a hand through his thinning hair.

He knew.

He knew the touch of her hair and hands on his back. He knew the glow
of her skin in morning sunlight, the spice smell of her sweat.

The way the universe hid inside her eyes when she said she loved him.

“It is,” he lied through the screen, “to love the Lord God with all
our heart, all our mind, and all our soul.”

Father Adam closed the panel, sat back, and remembered Lilith as he wept.

TREED

Bob and Dave, the Existentialism Experiment

“The meaning of life?”

“Yes, Bob, the meaning of life.”

“Well, Dave, you contemplating the meaning of life is, well, quite frightening.”

“Frightening?”

“Yep. Means you are actually Thinking. A scary though I know not of, Dave.”

“Bob.”

“Dave.”

“You ended that sentence with a preposition.”

“Why Dave, I did not know you knew what that was.”

“Not funny, Bob.”

“I’m sorry, Dave.”

“Now, back to the point.”

“Which is…?”

“The meaning of Life.”

“I don’t actually have an answer for you, Dave, but I do have the answer to Life the universe and everything.”

“Really? What is it?”

“42”

Planet Z

The meaning of Life?
It’s just fucking cereal.
There’s no hidden messages in there at all, no ulterior motives.
If you pour it out on the table, it’s not going to resolve any deep mysteries of the universe.
Just put it in a goddamned bowl, pour some milk over it, and eat it.
I don’t care if Mikey likes it or not.
Fuck Mikey.
All that matters is you and this bowl of cereal.
Eating it won’t make you complete… it’s just a nutritious part of a complete breakfast.
Quit making such a big deal.
And pass the orange juice

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 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 Crack.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Jessi Firethorn
Tom
Thomas
Lizzie Gudkov
Tura
Chris Munroe
Zak Claxton
Jeff Hema
Buttermilk
Steven The Nuclear Man
Zackmann
Bonchance
Guy
Botgirl
Danny Dwyer
Cliff/Uncle Monster
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
Norval Joe
TJ
TREED
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.

---

JESSI

CRACK IS
WHACK

The storm sirens had been going off all night. The wind had been gusting up to 50mph for a couple of hours. Drenched and shivering, I was throwing newspapers, envying these who had jobs that allowed them to sleep until daylight.

“Crack.”

The sound above me was not loud, but it was distinct and ominous. One of these 1942 shelterbelt tree branches was about to come crashing down, but which one? Which way should I run? I froze.

“Whack.”

As the lights blurred and the pain came, I wondered if they would tip for the paper on the porch.

TOM

A CODE OF HONOR

Crack. It sounded like a cow’s rib getting hit with a baseball bat. She dropped to the floor of the kitchen. I always thought Timmy was a dick, but stepping purposely on that tiny crack in the driveway was just plain cold. Mrs. Franks wasn’t the nicest mom on the block but you just don’t break your mother’s back, thus the sing song rhyme. There was only one thing the kids could do to set things right. We bury him in the ground up to his head and pour honey over it and let the fire ant go to town

THOMAS

There was a crack in the fabric of time. Johnny had been putzing around with the equipment in his dad’s workshop, and he cobbled together a device made up of three, usually independent devices.
After he put power to the main unit, he heard an enormous roar, and when he looked out the window he saw a jagged tear in the horizon, and each half of the panorama fell away to reveal a deep, black rift,
seemingly empty and going on to infinity. He examined it more closely with his telescope, and noticed some licorice jellybeans.

##

Pouring the glass of vodka, she popped Zoloft, and morphine, and stirred in an ounce of elixir of turpin hydrate; neat. A couple of lines of Bolivian marching powder off the tub’s shelf, then a
large rock of crack in her pipe, taking off the edge. She ran scales, warming her voice for the concert, and started to feel better. She spun around a few times to the left, to the right, then sank
beneath the bath water. The last thing she saw before she drew her last breath was the bottom of the rubber duck floating above her head.

LIZZIE

Special Valentine Special

Valentine’s Day is such a chocolaty day. It starts with kisses and… chocolates obviously. There are “I love yous” Forever-and-Ever and Never. Candle light romantic dinners and kisses and… chocolates, of course. A nice piece of jewelry in a velvety box magically opens way for more kisses and more “I love yous”, while the romantic candle burns lethargically. I have nothing against Valentine’s Day, mind you. Cuddly arms waiting, drab kisses and velvety forevers are just so special. Never will come back tomorrow in harsh tones of reality. But, yes, Valentine was great, thank you for asking.

and…

(No text sent – check her site)

TURA

The crack of doom shall swallow up this world
And all that is upon it be destroyed
Resolved into– yes, what?

Uncle, if this is a sonnet, you’ll never fit it into 100 words at that rate.

Tish, attention span of young people these days… Ok, the first quatrain says the world will end, the second lists some ways it could happen, the third says we’d better get to the stars before it does, and the couplet ties a Shakespearean ribbon on it. Howzat?

But now it isn’t a poem!

This conversation’s just 100 words though. I’ll send it instead!

(And for anyone who can stretch to reading 113 words, the whole sonnet is at turabrez.blogspot.com)

MUNSI MUNSI!

CRACK

If I understand correctly, people with cancer cook meth.

Right?

I mean, that dude from that show that one time had cancer and he cooked meth like crazy! By the end of the second season the cancer was in full remission.

I don’t completely understand what the connection between the two is, I’m not a doctor, but it was pretty clear.

Cooking and selling meth cures cancer.

I think that’s how it works, anyway. There could be something I’m missing…

But it’s all very abstract. I don’t have cancer.

I just have a lingering cold.

So: Wanna buy some crack?

ZAK

One year, our company rented a white van to get around Vegas during the trade show, figuring it would be cheaper than taking cabs everywhere.

Arriving in the morning, we parked in the convention center lot and went in to do our business-like schmoozing and bullshitting that one does at a show. That evening, we walked out to find that about 50 identical white vans were parked in a row, and none of us could recall exactly where we’d parked, nor identify any distinguishing features of our particular van.

We all took cabs back to Caesar’s Palace.

JEFF HEMA

SCOLDING

‘We are not just hanging out here. We have aims to reach, buddy! Last time you had an A was at the first semester.’

‘I am a tough cookie but I can’t help it, the exam was tougher than me. I will catch up teacher.’

‘That’s because you have tunnel vision toward my explanations.’

We can tell since that day that he saw the light. He was convinced that only hard work and discipline are keys to success.

The whole incident happened when he got the worst grade in class, so a wake-up call was necessary.

BUTTERMILK

Alone. wandering a wasteland, dragging my heavy, frozen heart through the dry sand. The thick layer of ice around it, a necessary precaution against the brutal mutilation it had endured. I thought I would never be so vulnerable again. I was a strong stoic, heaving my burden across the desolate landscape. I went to see the sacrifice everyone was so enthralled with. There, a gorgeous beacon of light stood by the entrance, offering guidance and direction. You spoke truth to me, and i heard the groaning of the ice around my heart just before it shattered with a loud CRACK!!!

STEVEN THE NUCLEAR MAN

”That woman was very nice. You were very polite to that woman.” I am talking to myself. Just to keep my social skills in practice. There are few visitors since the highway moved.

I glance out the window to the motel, to her room. “You shared supper with her. Maybe you really were… sexually interested.”

“No!” I yell as I hear the woman scream down below.

“Oh God, Mother,” I yell, running for the motel, “Oh God Mother, what have you done?” I step on every crevice in the sidewalk, but I know Mother will never, never, leave me alone.

ZACKMANN

Hey, did you see that news article that Paul Cooley guy posted about the underbelly of The Street? Apparently cookie dough is to puppets what crack is to humans. Like many of our favorite shows of childhood there was an unknown drug problem behind the scenes. Cookie Monster often came on set so toasted on cookie dough that he couldn’t complete a sentence in proper English. Do you you think they started only letting Cookie eat fresh produce on screen because the network cared about children’s health? So what do you know, it wasn’t George Lucas who ruined your childhood.

“Oh my, Nicky, you look like you look like you got the stuffing beat out of you.”
“Oh Rod, I couldn’t tell who it was. It was so dark but when he demanded my wallet he sounded so much like Ernie”
“Let me stitch you up before you make a mess.”
“Rod it must have gotten really bad for a Street puppet to come all the way to Avenue Q”
“Nicky that is what happens to a neighborhood after cookie dough additions. I don’t know how we can ever feel safe in
this city again. I hate the Street Puppets”

BONCHANCE

CRACK!

The US economy was finally starting to rebound thanks to another influx of the yuan. The year was 2046. The United States was no longer involved in any wars of any kind. They forfeited their role as the world police. George was going over the current events. He needed to determine the signature color of the day, in support of the new government initiative that started this month. George half heard the restaurant clown on the television commercial say “and remember boys n girls about our limited time deal, you get a free side of McCrack with every meal!”

GUY DAVID

A crack opened at the edge of the universe. I took out the key and closed it since that’s what I do. I track the cracks and close them with a matching key. I have a key for every crack. Once I close the crack I sniff the vacuum of space for another one. There is always another one. My job is never done. The universe is not merely curved, it’s cracked. Here – I can smell another one. Guess I have my work cracked out for me. Someone managed to hinder another part of this universe. Won’t they ever learn?

BOTGIRL

NEWT ON CRACK

Crack.
“Ouch!”
Crack.
“I want you stop, goddamn it!”
Crack.
“How can I remember the safe word if you dont let . . .”
Crack.
I’m warning you. I’m a fucking attorney. I will sue your . . .”
Crack. Crack.
Sorry. I was joking. You know I could never let this go public. My wife. My constituents. My . . .”
CRACK.
“Ow!”
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
“Shit. Is that blood running down my back? You could scar me permanantly. What if some papparazi shoots me on the beach?”
CRACK.
“Oh my god. Oh my god! What was that fucking safe word?”
CCCCCCRRRRRAAAAACCCCCKKKKK!
“Jesus H. Christ!”
“Finally,” she said.

DANNY

Bubbles, the high class prostitute, back from Holland and her insane search for the Hollish, is back in her upper east side condo in Manhattan. Relaxing in bed nude, with her statuesque boyfriend John, she grinds up crack cocaine, then snorts it out of the crack of John’s ass. Bubbles states, “I can’t believe there are no Hollish people in Holland, just all of these Dutch.” John responds, “I can’t believe you keep snorting crack cocaine out of my ass after what happened to Whitney Houston.” “Your right, John,” states Bubbles, as she sprinkles the crack into a joint instead.

CLIFF/UNCLEMONSTER

TAKING LIBERTY

I used to think being obsessive compulsive helped me be a better thief. After all, I never ever left fingerprints.
If I break in, I fix it on the way out. I leave NO evidence.

The last job I did was in Philadelphia. It went so smoothly that I had time to see the local sights. Betsy Ross’s house. Independence hall. Then I saw it. The crack. I knew I had to fix it. I had to. I really have no choice. Which is a problem. How am I going to get a one ton bell back to my garage?

REDGODDESS

She’s dubbed the golden voice of her generation. Her songs make you feel emotions you thought were buried deeper than your heart. This rag to riches diva found herself seduced by the traps of hollywood fame. She had access to all chemicals with a price tag. She married and divorced a bad boy, the epitome of crackish. In spite of her demons, she remained beloved by fans pulling for her. Countless failed rehab attempts, she became disillusioned by sustained wealth to declare “crack is whack” to the media personalities, who judged yet admired her as another “gone too soon” celebrity.

NORVAL JOE

Owen peered through a crack in the door.
His uncle spoke with Cindy’s grandfather and a slender, dark haired woman, dressed entirely in black.
“Owen,” Uncle Fleck called. “Get out here.”
“Yes, sir,” Owen said, stepping through the doorway.
“Not much time, boy,” Fleck said. “Listen. We’ve been hiding you here from an evil wizard. You’re a prince, heir to the throne.”
“Ummm,” Owen said unsure what to say.
“Turns out, your friend Cindy is a princess and heir to a throne of her own,” Fleck continued. “You two were betrothed as babies. Problem is, the evil wizard has her.”

TJ

The MUSEUM of FAMILY HISTORY – GOING UP

We picked our way through to what turned out to be a stairwell although
it resembled nothing so much as a tunnel defined by old dingy clothes
and piles of garbage. If the second floor had a ceiling it wasn’t in
evidence, although it certainly wasn’t open to the sky. But as we left
the main floor I couldn’t shake the impression that we weren’t alone
in Grandma’s house. And what she referred to as Uncle Jake’s
collection of 83 jelly jar glasses – some with jelly still in ‘em!
she said – wasn’t the only thing creeping me out any more.

The MUSEUM of FAMILY HISTORY – DOLLIES

The second floor clutter was more organized, placed when Grandpa was
able to get around up there more easily. An inventor, he held onto
anything that might be useful. But what use was a room lined floor to
ceiling with shelves of creepy baby doll heads? The limbs had been
configured along a towering armature, hundreds of cracked and naked
plastic doll limbs arranged so as the door was opened, a ball rolled
down along a track among them and they sprang unnervingly to life,
waving about and what was worse, the eyes in the heads flickered open
and shut.

TREED

“OH! BOB!”

“Oh geez. What is it now Dave?”

“LOOK!”

“What, Dave? Look at what?”

“I can’t describe this, Bob. You just have to look for yourself. But, HURRY!”

“Dave, I have told you, things that get you this excited tend to cause me some kind of pain. Physical, mental, emotional, psychic pain.”

“But Bob!”

“Don’t push it Dave.”

“OK, but can I tell you something?”

“Sure, Dave.”

“Whitney Houston’s right.”

“What do you mean Dave?”

“Crack is whack.”

“What?”

“You know that plumber that moved in across the street?”

“Oh, no.”

“Yep. Seems there’s a new moon a risin’.”

PLANET Z

CHIEF

The chief tapped me and my partner.

“Go get him,” he said. “Now.”

We grabbed the kid out of a restaurant on Main Street.

He didn’t resist.

Chief took one look at him, smirked: “Put him in the hole.”

So, we put him in the special isolation cell we’ve got in the basement of the station.

The chief collected up keys. “This one’s mine.”

He won’t let anyone down there to check on the kid.

It’s been a week.

“I don’t tell you how to raise your kids,” he growled.

He went back into the basement.

And locked the door.

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 Three, 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 A.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Barbara Blackcinder
Thomas
Murray
Tura
Chris Munroe
Lizzie Gudkov
Tom
Zackmann
TREED
Guy
Botgirl
Bonchance
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Steven The Nuclear Man
Cliff
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
Danny Dwyer
Pamela
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.

---

Barbara

I wanted to explore the other end of the tunnel
So I squeezed into it and headed for the light
I knew it was the end because here it was dark
I ducked as I walked, pulled my elbows in tight
I crouched some more, tossed my hat back off behind me
Got down on my knees and made shorter steps
Onto my belly I crawled like a snake
Only to find at my arms furthest reach
My finger extended until I touched with a nail
I saw end of the tunnel was just a flashlight

Thomas

Professor T had tunnel vision. He had no peripheral vision at all, and he could only see one student at a time as they sat in the front row. He would always focus on Jezzabel because she wore a red sweater, and was very buxom. Students arriving late would sit on each side of her as they slipped into the room twenty to thirty minutes late. Professor T wrote on the board in a long, narrow, vertical column, squeezing his lecture notes into a space only a few inches wide, while the rest of the twenty-foot wide whiteboard remained vacant.

##

Roberto’s tunnel stretched from his yard, under his neighbor’s garage, and into Texas from his home in Piedras Negras. He used the tunnel to visit his girlfriend. It took him five years of digging, and his tunnel was lighted and secure. He lined the walls with concrete. Roberto liked his tunnel so much he began to spend time in the tunnel even when he wasn’t visiting. He’d take his lunch down, and began sleeping there. As time passed, Roberto invited his friends down. Soon, he added a sound system and bar. Roberto’s Tunnel opened last Friday, serving dinner and beer.

Murray

People know about some of the caverns that run under the city, but few know how far they extend.

Under the bustling streets, 350 kilometers of tunnels lay. Some lengths are a tourist attraction, filled with the bones of the nameless that cluttered massive cemeteries years ago. Some lengths have been sealed off and are now inaccessible. Warnings have been issued that the unsecured caverns are unsafe, and should be avoided. There is no light, no map, and nobody who can help those who venture in and become disoriented.

That knowledge still doesn’t keep me from screaming for help.

Tura

We step out of the cage a vertical mile down the main shaft, into a side tunnel cut by an autonomous minebot. It’s smart enough to decide for itself the best directions to explore. But it’s broken down, and it’s too expensive to write off.

We plod single file down its sweltering, twisting tunnel. The robots are programmed to avoid each other, but we find the bot’s rear end sliced off by another tunnel intersecting this one.

A sudden commotion behind. Something explodes out of the wall, obliterating one of my men. Something alive.

The surface is very far above.

Munsi

“See that light at the end of the tunnel?” Ben Affleck asked.

He was a professional, and he could do this. He was an actor, actors do their job without editorial, and he’d manage.

It just didn’t seem fair.

He owned an Oscar. An Oscar for screenwriting. To be reduced to dialogue like this…

But it was his own fault. He should’ve demanded a complete script, but he’d signed on to make the movie because Daredevil was awesome, and it was too late to back out.

It was time to finish his line.

“That’s not heaven, that’s the A train.”

Lizzie

“I understand nothing of tunnels!”

“I really don’t care, that is the challenge for the week.”

“But what should I write?”

“I don’t care. Just write anything.”

“Tunnel…”

“Yep, tunnel, go for it.”

“Cut-and-cover.”

“What?”

“Or clay-kicking, I like this one.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Tunnels!”

“Oh, boy… She has just started doing these challenges and she is already going bonkers… she is hopeless…”

“No! Check it out. Here, look.”

“I don’t want to read that; get that away from my face.”

“Double-deck.”

“Shut up…”

“”Pipe jacking.”

“Shut… up…”

“Or box jacking.”

“Oh, shut up already!”

Tom

The bark banged into the shore. Burroughs, St Peter, and the Podcaster set foot on a sea of faces held fast in a mudflat that stretched beyond the horizon. With mics and mixers to a man this was the Plane of Podcasters threshold to hell. “Is that you son.” plead a face? “Dad,” said the Podcaster. “My dad’s not dead, you’re Norman Sherman. Bit me.” Across time and space a spark arched across the tunnel. The pads in the Houston bus suddenly released their charge and the unconscious passenger buck with the electrical jolt. Eye popped open. “WTF.”

Zackmann

When I was a kid my family went on a vacation and tried spelunking. When the tourguide said you had to climb down really far on a long ladder then the opening was four feet high, I ran to my mother who was waiting in our family car and said “I don’t want to die!” My siblings told me how much fun it was watching our father duck walk.
Oddly when I visited my father at work in the Transportation Building, I thought the tunnel between it and the Minnesota State Capital Building was the coolest thing since sliced bread.

Treed

Bob & Dave and the Tunnel of Love
by TREED!
Hey, Bob! Look over there!
Dave, what excites you usually causes me pain, so no, I am not looking.
But Bob, it’s a TUNNEL!
A tunnel?
Yes, Bob, a tunnel.
Is it lit? I mean, like have actual lights in it that are on? Or is dark?
Looks dark to me, Bob.
Then, no, Dave, I am not going there.
Well, can’t we just go look?
You go ahead, Dave.
Maybe it’s the “Tunnel of Love”? Hey! Bob, I see a light!
Dave, what’s that sound?
OH BOB! It’s the TRAIN OF LOVE!!
Dave, you are dead to me now.

Guy

Insanity must have drove me beyond all odds. I couldn’t see any light at the end, but I drove on. Visions on the wall might have been wrong, might have been true, but they didn’t deter me, always moving forward. My goal, my destination stayed hidden just beyond my reach. I carefully and methodically cleared obstacles as I came to recognize them, but more still came, revealing themselves as they came my way. My goal never came closer. I would keep on driving myself forward through this long wide tunnel. Nothing would drive me backwards. It’s the drive that meters.

####

She had the staff that metes, commonly known as the broom, and she enjoyed driving it through traffic tunnels. The rush of cars coming out through the other side, bumping into each other made her giggle. Getting rid of the evidence was a little messy. Usually it involved accurately targeted lightning bolts, directed at various witnesses, both in car and outside. She did enjoy the various commentators, both on television and in YouTube. She liked it when they called her “a force of nature”. It was when they started connecting her to the ozone layer that she gave up though.

Botgirl

We’ve been stuck in this so-called tunnel of love since 2110. It’s been dead and dark for fifty years now. Except for us. As the last living testement to human hubris, we’ve been cursed to spend the passing decades in this dank, dim place; our micro-fusion cores burning down far too slowly through the endless twilight.

We don’t know where you’ve gone, why you left, or if you’ll return some day. It’s just us. The biocybernetic miracles of the golden age. Calling out to you.

We’re transmitting live. So if you can hear this, Happy Valentine’s Day motherfuckers.

Bonchance

Milton plugged the network to his “printer”. The innards of the printer were removed. Installing a network tunnel and ghost bridge inside. Still on the phone, “And I said, I don’t care if they lay me off either, I told Bill that if they move my desk one more time, then I’m, I’m quitting. The firewall blocks my Oprah show and it’s not okay because if they take my Oprah then I’ll set the building on fire…I’m in the basement next to the furnace and can now watch Oprah in peace. Milton cleaned his desktop straightening the swingline stapler.

Chris

I walk slowly down the dimly lit cobblestone road. I turned a corner and gaped. In front of me was the world most vicious beast to have ever existed. The beast was as tall as a basket ball hoop, had a red eye and a gold eye. It is said that if you look into its third eye you burn and turn to a gold statue. But this one had only two eyes and a scar on its face. Then I realized why it had not moved. It was dead. I took a breath then i turned and walked away.

Steven

Plasma splashes against the ship’s hull; comm-carried screams dissolve into malfunctioning static. Sheila’s synthesized voice holds no emotion. “Shields have failed. Structural damage to port engine pylons.”

The rest of the crew looks back at me. My lieutenant’s bars never felt so heavy. “Jenkins,” I ask, “have you raised the captain?”

Jenkins looks at me. “The away team are not responding.”

“Enemy ship approaching attack range,” Sheila says.

Damn the captain for taking the whole bridge crew with him. Again. I feel sick.

“Get us out of here,” I say, and the ship falls into the wormhole between the stars.

Clifford

The portals opened all over Earth and they poured through.

I suppose they had a name for themselves, but we never learned it. All we knew about them was that they could breathe our air, drink our water, and that they could kill us. We finally learned to kill them back. It wasn’t easy. They were tough, but they weren’t invincible and we were motivated.

We taught them that humans didn’t give up easily. We taught them how to die. We taught them that lesson a lot. There’s only one lesson left to teach them.

Tunnels can go both ways.

Red/TalkWithMarie

It took 30 years for the state to build a world class tunnel, to be named after its favorite baseball player. Residents fought unsuccessfully for a voter-inclusive process. Local media labeled them over-zeaIous and unpatriotic. In spite of being ignored by politicians, the design committee and other power players, they were invited to the tunnel opening ribbon cutting ceremony. That morning, the Governor proudly took center stage among donors and residents. Just as he lifted the giant scissors, six three-ton sections of a concrete ceiling came crashing. Everyone ran away and left him buried in the rubble, tangled in red ribbon.

Danny Dwyer

We stared at the railroad tracks at the entrrance of the tunnel. “Hey, the Dude, I dare you to run through the tunnel before the next train comes along,” I stated.. “Your crazy,” the Dude responded. “Come on, the tunnel is only 10 feet long,” I responded, “you’ll be able to beat any train.” Heh, the tracks at the other side of the tunnel were angled at 90 degrees, oncoming trains whipped around that curve faster than one could react. The dude almost made it out of the tunnel before getting smacked by a train. There’s just something about a train that’s magic.

Pamela

I hated New York, but that’s where the job was. The alleys, while convenient shortcuts, can be like tunnels. You’re trapped. I was afraid of being raped or mugged. So I took martial arts and Krav Maga. One night I got ambushed. Tourists scared the creeps off before anything really happened, but it rattled me. Scared but determined, I jumped a mugger and left him in a dumpster the next night. And the night after that. And now the rapists and muggers fear the city’s open tunnel ways. Yep, I hate New York, but this is where the job is.

Norval Joe

Owen dozed while he walked and held unconsciously to the rope.
He woke when his shoulder brushed stone where the cavern closed off into a narrow tunnel. He ran his fingertips along its surface and recognized the horizontal grooves of gouges or chisels.
Owen’s eyes shot open and he gasped, “There’s a light ahead.”
Faint and far off, a distant glow betrayed an exit, or room with a fire.
“We must stay silent,” Traveller, the Ranger whispered.
They crept forward silently focused on the circle of light, oblivious to the creature that pulled itself from the lake in the cavern.

Planet Z

The Downtown Tunnel System connects all of the important office buildings and parking garages.

It’s like an airport terminal down there, with restaurants, convenience stores, barber shops, and even doctors and dentists offices.

Elevators and stairwells connect to the surface, not that you want to go up there.

That’s where the bums are.

They know not to come down into the tunnels, but every now and then, one comes down, and they’re so easy to spot in their ragged tattered and reeking clothes.

We don’t return them to the surface.

We send them deeper… and close the hatch behind them.

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 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 A.

And we’ve got stories by a lot of people:

Thomas
Tura
Botgirl
Lizzie Gudkov
Bonchance
Guy
Tom
TREED
Chris Munroe
Taralyn/a>
Zackmann
Cate Storymoon
RedGoddess/TalkWithMarie
Steven The Nuclear Man
Chris the Nuclear Kid
Cliff
Norval Joe
TJ
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.

---

Thomas

Young Miss Nancy had begun her private organ and music lessons. Her teacher, a strict Polish woman from a Eastern European Academy, assigned the first note for Nancy to master. It was middle A, and Nancy had to perfect it before proceeding to the next note. The finger had to be held and curled just right as she struck the key, over and over. A hundred times, a thousand, a million. Nancy’s finger ached, and her mother, in the next room, was trembling. The canary already took its own life, and the cat squeezed out the back window to freedom.

A

Matthew and Frances lived in an A frame on the edge of the old forest. They built it themselves, and now they were both up on scaffolding hanging the lights and finishing up the ceiling. They liked the house, having lived in V frames when they lived on the Texas panhandle. V frames were uncomfortable, as everything ended up at the bottom at the intersection of the walls. The house was cluttered and difficult to navigate in. Matthew had gone to the most avant garde schools in Canada and Connecticut, but had finally learned something about design and utility.

Tura

I used to work for the Oxford English Dictionary. I got the very first word to define. It’s not just the indefinite article, it has seventy-one distinguishable uses, spread over twelve centuries. “A-gnostic”, “a-new”, “a-bed”, “a-rise”, “a-down-a-down-day”…

You know how, if you say word over and over, the sense goes out of it? After year of research, condensed into four pages, I couldn’t bear seeing it.

When I retired, they gave me present, old book, “The Perfection of Wisdom In One Letter”. You know what that letter is? “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!”

So I emigrated to Russia. They don’t have word for it.

Botgirl

Jane909 had always felt different from her sisters. Although biologically indistinguishable, the singular nature of her identity was as plain to her as the nose on her perfectly symetrical face, Despite state-of-the-art genetics and intensive social engineering, a visceral sense of uniqueness blossomed through her eighteen years of life.

Today, she finally had enough.

Jane909 looked over the sea of identical faces and began her valedictorian speech.

“I am more than just a Jane,” she said. “And so are you.”

The angry mob of clones pulled her from the podium and carried her to the recycling vat.

Lizzie

“Let’s see. A map, a flashlight, some matches. Ah, a plastic bag, just in case. Also a notepad and a pen. What else?” she paused and looked around the room for clues.

“Clothes, perhaps?” he asked intrigued. It did seem like the logical thing to take while going camping.

“Nah, we are not going to stay long, are we?” She continued to fuss about, opening and closing drawers.

“We need some food”, he added.

“Oh! I know!” she said over enthusiastically, “We need a serpent!”

And she ran out of the room and vanished into thin air.

“A what?!”

Bonchance

Jack and the boys headed to Vegas. Jack was up then down, by the third day he broke even. “Well boys this was
awesome but I got to get back to the wife. The last conversation he had flashed through his mind. He was going out
for ice cream. Midnight, shoes in hand the lights came on. He heard, “Where”s the ice cream?” She said, you have 3
options,
A: find a lawyer
B:…
He slipped his shoes on, picked up his 35 year old single malt scotch he was saving, opened the door saying “I’ll
go with option A.”

Guy David

She was the first letter in the alphabet and she knew it. A quick look from her was enough to melt most of the alphabet away. People became speechless as she walked by, viciously robbed of their speech. She had the upper hand in debate, leaving every other letter far behind. She was a countenance, a word and a world on her own. She stood on a strong foundation and no one could collapse her. A coma was just a pause for her and no semicolon could keep her away. It was only at the full stop that she stopped.

Tom

Professor Hughes had a propensity for hand out ‘A’s. Others in the department would gently remember the old man that ‘A’ was awarded for work exemplary. This was not the professor modus operandi. He held firm to the principle that merely showing up constituted half the distance to successes. Add to this a willingness to prevail in the face of repeated failure a student was guaranteed an ‘A’. Dispute this vaulting sub-rosa of liberal mindness some underclassmen hell bent on a road to ruin did indeed earn their ‘F’s. The most famous being the cheerleader from Texas GW Bush.

TREED!

I DON’T KNOW!
Dave.
I just don’t know, Bob. Or… I forgot. I don’t remember… I don’t know.
Dave.
No, Bob. I know I should remember… but Bob, I don’t.
Dave.
Bob, don’t try to shame me into remembering.
Dave.
It won’t work, Bob. You can not intimidate or cajole me into saying anything, whether I remember or not.
Dave.
Stop it, Bob. It isn’t working.
Dave.
Ok, so I do remember. But, Bob, you don’t want to know. You know how you get.
Dave.
Ok, ok, I made an “A” on that psych test you made a “C” on.

Munsi

Plan A is to come up with something completely new. Something that’ll shed new light on the human condition.

I’ll use my words and the perspective of my life experiences to craft a piece of work filled with relatable characters in realistic situations addressing concerns that effect us every day.

In doing so, I’ll change the way we see ourselves, and hopefully put how we treat one another into better perspective.

Plan B is a hodgepodge of dated pop-culture references and nonsequiters designed to invoke nostalgia as I gently mock already familiar targets…

We’ll see which film gets funding first.

Taralyn

(No text sent)

Zackmann

This is Matt Jarbo, KZOM Radio. You know how dogs like to drink fluids from cars although most those fluids could kill them, well the undead seem to have the same thirst. Remember how we at Kzom Radio said they would likely be frozen still in a Canadian winter. We now know that zombies thirst not only for blood but alcohol and antifreeze. Never thought I would say this but the good the news is it will be negative forty tonight. So bundle up before going out tonight and don’t forget the baseball bats because even antifreeze will freezes tonight.

Cate

440

Wilewski hated me. Why? Eight years past squeaks and lousy embouchers of fourth graders, wind ensemble, both first chair! Now, taunts every day. Two tiers behind me, Paul’s snide whispers, throaty chuckles with trumpet pals. Ugly, as only adolescent males can dispose.

Dad said, “Not the saxophone. Everyone wants a sax.” I was naive, nine with perfect pitch and I never wanted to be any band director’s pet.

“Hey, Bar-thu-le-eeeee! What’s the difference between an oboe and an onion?” On cue the room hushed.

“Nobody cries when you chop up an O-boe!”

On cue, the baton. “An “A” please, Donna.”

TalkMarie/ RedGoddess

It was a normal end of the week school day for Amanda, a straight A honor roll senior. She’s been dreading first period AP Biology all morning. She wanted a break from all the exams, track meets, student body meetings and dealing with principal Pooh’s snarky remarks. As she walked up the stairs past the security officers at the main entrance with metal detectors, she noticed the chains on the side exit door were unlocked. She suddenly had an escape plan after homeroom, “prison break” style, back in her bed, with a pint of strawberry ice cream, playing her guitar.

Steven

I noticed the tear when I took off the cleansuit. Only a few millimeters wide, but that’s a vast chasm for a virus.

“Come on,” I told myself while removing the boots. I put the cleansuit in the incinerator. “The samples were all contained. The suit’s just a redundancy.” I just snagged some blisterpacks of antivirals.

My fever hit 100 by the freeway. Hallucinations – and the wreck – occurred at 103 degrees. Over 23 people have already touched me. Rate of contact transmission with gloves is 95%. The fatality rate is 85%.

I am the alpha of humanity’s omega.

Chris

“Henry come here!” I shouted up stairs.

“What do you want now Joey!” he shouted back.

“You want a dollar?”

“Ya!”

“Then say the letter a!”

“What I can’t say that letter!”

“Why not?”

“Well I was walking to my friends house and this asked if I had two dollars and I said I have a dollar and she asked if she could have it to buy some food and I said no so she left but, the next day I could not say the letter a!”

“So how are you saying it now?”

“Because I made the story up.”

Cliff

Perfect Paper the website was called. It claimed to search the internet for material for your term paper, tailored to your professor.
It promised an A. It cost fifty bucks. I was desperate.

Three weeks later, I got an anonymous email with my paper.

“Minimalism and its effects on literature”. On the second page was a single letter. A.

I spent the next two days scraping together an acceptable paper to turn in. I got a C.

Andrew showed me his paper.

“Positivism in modern academics”. Inside was one word. “Yes.”

He got an A.

NORVAL JOE

The eclectic company crept slowly through the dark. Their bare feet were soundless on the cold stone floor of the natural cavern, their boots removed and carried in their packs.
Spleen, a half-goblin and the only one who could see in the dark, lead the way, a rope tied around his waist. The rest of the group clung to the rope with Elbownor, the elf, at the rear.
A sound, like a rock dropping into water, sounded far off in the darkness to their left.
Owen knew, this far below the surface, it was unlikely to be something so simple.

TJ

A candy wrapper
A set of 1969 World Book encyclopedias
A jar with no label with gray liquid inside
A dry husk of something that might once have been a sandwich
A largely undifferentiated pile of laundry, groceries and garage sale
finds
A mass of unmotivated flies barely scatter as you approach
A cloud of dust rises as I step wrong and one of the piles shifts…
A quadrupedal skeleton is revealed.
Still, as granny leads the way, picking through piles of clutter in the
living room, I think I hear something upstairs… and I wonder how alone
we are…

Planet Z

Growing up in Ohio, my friend Paul had a cool A frame playhouse in his back yard.

It was infested with bees and wasps, but his dad would smoke them out now and then.

He’d draw comic books back there with superhero characters he come up with.

Then I found out he’d been tracing them from real comic books.

Did we have a falling out over that? Or something else.

His brothers? His sister? His faith?

I don’t remember. It’s been over thirty years.

I Google him… and then close the window.

Best to leave some things in the past.