Never explain the light

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There is a light under the water, about a mile offshore.
We sent a crew out.
They never came back, no answer the radio, either.
You can’t see it in the daytime, but at night, it’s bright enough to light up the ocean.
We called the Coast Guard, and they said to just let it be.
“What about the crew?” I asked.
“Hold a memorial service,” said the Coast Guard. “And fish elsewhere.”
They won’t tell us anything else. The Navy just sends us to the Coast Guard.
Whatever it is, it’s getting brighter.
And now, it’s starting to sing.

Orangeness

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I woke up early on Sunday.
Jenny’s still asleep.
I should surprise her.
Jenny likes the pumpkin spice pudding. So I dumped the powder into a plastic container, added a cup of milk, and closed the lid.
After a minute of shaking, the orange goo was all over the kitchen.
Jenny had poked holes in the lid for her frog hunting. Can’t keep them in a sealed plastic container without air holes, you know.
She woke up, looked around the kitchen, and said if I wanted to surprise her, I should do a halfway decent job of cleaning the kitchen.

Weekly Challenge #182 – Crushed

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-Two, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s Crushed!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories of the week?
Lynda
Stephen
Anima
Zackmann
J Radimus
Jim
Norval Joe
TJ
Guy David
Jeffrey
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Lynda

Dearest Eliza,
As I’m sure you recall, our cousin Jack has been undertaking the peculiar task of collecting bits of thread for the past seven years, and I am grateful to you for your contribution of the clippings from your pantaloons, however I must report the tragic news that our dear cousin was crushed beneath his great ball of fibers this past Thursday.
Do not grieve, as Jack prized your threads above all others and had little interest in anything save that hideous tangle. Had he not rejected my advances I would have happier news for you.
Regretfully yours,
Gertrude

Stephen

I loved Sally, though I couldn’t understand why a model like her would
be with a nerd like me. I told myself I would do anything to get a
girl like her.
That’s why I didn’t object when she squished the bug during sex.
“It’s what gets me off,” she said.
It had been so long, I didn’t care. And at first, it was a little exciting.
Then it was spiders. Centipedes. Mice. Birds. A hamster.
When it was finally my own head squeezed under her stilleto heel, I
realized I didn’t really love her.
It was only a crush.

Anima

“Once there was a little girl that did not like to go to bed. She’d do anything to stay up past her bedtime, even if it was only a few minutes extra.
She’d turn the clocks forward, just a minute or two each day, so by the end of the week she would have a whole quarter of an hour more, all the sweeter because the time was stolen.
Slowly the minutes accumulated into hours, the hours became days, and in the end, the little girl was crushed by all the time she had on her hands.
Good night, sweetie”

Zackmann

Like the mailbox under the snowplow, like the Balikbayan Box marked Fragile, like the shellfish the bird hit with the rock, like rocks into cement, like the peanuts for my sandwich, like the bug under foot, like the corn under the grinding stone, like the grapes for the wine, like the oranges in the juice, like the flowers in the pages of the dictionary, like the olives for oil, like the garlic in the press, like the aloe vera for ointment, like the Mercedes in the bailer, like the acorn under the steamroller, like the whiskey rebellion, I am crushed.

J Radimus

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Jim

He walked down the street in the rain, under the glow of the streetlights. The pain started just below his ribs under his left arm. It always was worse when the weather turned cold and wet.
He thought for a moment that his brain must look like old wagon trails, the places where “why” happened all worn in with ruts from the constant traffic in those parts.
Looking down, he saw that someone had left a single rose on the mat by the door. She had been here, while he was gone.
He bent down to pick it up, reaching for it. Then he remembered. The bones had been too fragmented, the nerves too damaged. The doctors had fused the bones.
He stared at his useless hand for a moment, then straightened. He stepped on the rose, grinding the petals and stem under his shoe.
Then he fumbled for his keys with his good hand, and went inside.

Norval Joe

The disco ball continued to spin; spots of colored light whirled around the dance floor. Abba sang “Dancing Queen”. Kevin lay, supine on the empty gymanasium floor. His midnight blue, crushed corduroy, three piece, suit soaked the blood as it poured from the bullet hole in his chest.
The crowd rushed away from the sound of the gun to reveal the pistol where it was dropped among the confetti and crushed carnation corsages.
Kevin’s date rushed back to his side and knelt, crushed. All her hopes and plans were just destroyed. The after dance party would have to be canceled.

TJ

It could be a part of the wing in a 747. It could provide a key element in the housing for a lightweight, life-saving nanotechnology. It could just become another beer can, the materials for which we didn’t need to first invest the energy to dig up and refine. It’s a crushed, very old Pabst Blue Ribbon can at the side of the road. You can see where it used to be one of those pull-tab jobbers. It could still be any of those things, however. All that’s missing is for you to pick it up and turn it in.

Guy David

The crush test dummy looked pissed. “Are you trying to kill me?” he asked indignantly. The tester just looked at him, blinking in disbelief. “You are not real” he said, “you can’t be real.” The dummy shook his head and rolled his eyes. “Maybe I should teach you a little lesson” He said. Soon the tester found himself in a test car running at 150 MPH towards a wall. As he screamed the car crushed into the wall and two air bags opened, saving his life. “Oh – that looks like fun, let’s do this again” said the crush test dummy.

Jeffrey

Being crushed is no fun, ask Clark Kent. He was crushed by evil superman in Superman three. But really being crushed doesn’t hold a candle to having your heart crushed. If you’re really crushed, unless you a Clark Kent, there’s an end in sight. If you get your heart crushed that’s a different Story. Remember in junior high when you asked that girl to the dance and she dumped you right there. Had to explain where you date was to your dad. Then she had the gall to invite you to her birthday, expecting a good gift. Too much sharing

Planet Z

Crushed in a hydraulic press, the evil robot from the future reached out at his assassination target time and time again, barely missing her with each thrust of his powerful arm.
“Must… terminate… you…” said the robot.
Then, he stopped reaching, and his scary red eyes faded to darkness.
His target, a bloodied and battered woman who would be the mother of the future resistance movement, sighed with relief.
As she got up, the robot’s arm grabbed her by the neck.
“Fooled ya,” it said.
Its fingers crushed her throat, and then tossed her corpse to the ground.

Airport Security

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It’s a long way to the big city and their airport, so we built ourselves an airport right here.
Sure, we don’t own no planes, but them government folks offered up a bunch of money for airport security, so we built us an airport.
All it took was paving up Carter Road long enough to land a plane. Old Man Murphy’s hog farm is what we call a terminal, barn’s the hangar.
The security money pays for a lot of whiskey.
You can find Murphy on the road, yelling at his pigs to clear the runway.
Reckon they’ll ever fly?

The Forgotten Birthday

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When a school is named after someone famous, the staff usually goads the students into some kind of birthday celebration to commemorate all the things that person did for society.
However, when that birthday falls on a holiday like Christmas or comes up during the summertime, it usually passes unobserved.
Not on my watch.
When I was named principal of this school, I took on a sacred oath.
Yes, he was born on the Fourth of July. Fireworks, right?
Wrong. The city hosts the fireworks display elsewhere.
I will do them here, at Yankee Doodle Dandy Elementary, do or die.

Losing Faith

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His Holiness woke up after surgery to find himself watched by his assistant.
“We prayed for your recovery,” said his secretary. “We are delighted that The Lord has seen fit to deliver you back to us.”
The Pope raised an eyebrow. “It was the doctors, not The Lord,” he said tersely.
The assistant left the room to speak to the lead surgeon. “I fear you cut too deep,” he said.
The surgeon agreed. “That region of the brain is strongly tied to Faith. Damage can result in this behavior.”
“Or death,” suggested the assistant. “Make it painless and quick, please.”

Bigfoot

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Deep in the woods, Bigfoot sits on a rock and stares at his humongous feet.
Exhausted from the constant chase by photographers and scientists, he pondered the meaning of life.
“Pedicure,” he growls.
A branch snaps.
Bigfoot crawls under a fallen tree trunk.
The leaves rustle, and then a deer approaches.
Bigfoot sighs. Is he paranoid? Is everything a potential threat now?
“Zoloft,” he grumbles.
He shakes dandruff from his fur, ponders using a sharp rock to shave it off, join a circus as a giant, or play basketball.
Do they make shoes his size?
Another branch snaps.
He hides.

The Returning Snow

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I watch the weather reports.
The first snow will be coming.
I doesn’t tempt me, though. That first snow never lasts.
I’ll wait for when the snow builds up and doesn’t just melt away the next day.
There’s no sport in the bodies showing up so quickly. No challenge.
I’ll wait.
In the meantime, I’ll check the engine in the snowblower and check the oil.
I’ll wipe down the walls in the basement again.
Last year was a light year, certainly, but it doesn’t mean it’s any less messy down there.
It’s the least I can do for my guests.

Dunk

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Ever since the Chicago Bears dumped a Gatorade jug over Mike Ditka’s head to celebrate their first championship since 1963, it’s been a tradition in football to upend your sports performance drink over your coach to celebrate a victory.
Every so often, a joker will fill the jug with ice so it’s a really cold shower for the winning coach.
It was a cold game in Green Bay that brought on a new twist: a trainer had provided an extra jug of hot chicken soup to warm players during the bone-chilling subzero chill.
The coach was not screaming in joy.

Weekly Challenge #181 – Forty

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Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And Eighty-One, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic this week was… was…. um…
It’s Forty!
The excellent theme music is by Guy David.
VOTING

Which were the best stories this week?
Josh
Eva
Cary
ChestMutt
Stephen
Anima
John W.
Brad
Almo
Guy David
Basrai
Lynda
Justin
Norval Joe
Ishtar 1
Ishtar 2
TJ
JRaqdimus
Dedric
Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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


Josh

Joey plunged the hotdog into the water and watched it expand before pulling it out and cramming it into his already full mouth.
Chewing furiously he imagined himself a viking destroying his enemy, piercing through soggy armor and rubbery flesh with spear-like incisors. He fought only to kill. To send his opponent like its twenty-seven brethren before it, to the bowels of hell.
Joey grabbed the cup and pulled deep, not minding the soggy chunks of bread collecting on his lips before slamming it back down. He braced himself for the melee of approaching challengers .
Only forty more to go.

Eva Moon

Amir stifled a groan of discomfort and shifted his aching bones as much as he could in the cramped quarters, but it provided little relief. How long must I wait? He settled his shoulders against the rough ceramic and occupied his mind with thoughts of how he would spend his share of the loot. Even split forty ways with the other thieves, it would still be enough to make a comfortable life for a frugal man.
At last he heard the shuffle of bare feet outside his hiding place and the sound of the clay lid above his head being slid aside.
The last thing he knew was the smell of hot oil.

Cary

Birthday candles blazing, Pintu leaned over the cake with his ears pinned back, to prevent them from singeing. As he took a deep breath grandpa shouted out “how many is that now?!” Pintu held the captive air. From the opposite side of the room Grandma returned even louder “5”! Pintu still waiting, his little cheeks bulging. Grandpa responded “If he’s 5 then I’m forty!” “Death plus forty!” Grandma shouted over the huddled crowd. “You would know!” yelled back Grandpa. Pintu still hovering over the flaming cake, only his eyes following the volleys. His cheeks turning a patient shade of blue.

ChestMutt

The night was dark and spooky as the kids walked through the woods. All they wanted was a silly scare, but now, in the forty degree weather, all they wanted was home. The fall festival was a hit for them, and they gathered as much candy and food as possible. The sugar rush they were now on made them easily convinced to go through the thick trees in search for the ghostly creature that hid among them. Somewhere, a tree branch snapped, sending them into a sudden panic as they turned and ran the ten feet out into the clearing.

Stephen

In this world, lawyers are real predators. Feral copyright attorneys
hunt the streets. Outside, a patent infringer’s gunship ravages a
corporate skyscraper. The building rumbles, preparing to launch into
low orbit.
I shake my head. The scene fades as I toss the paper – my fortieth
attempt at a believable world – into the wastebin.
I write again, and the world fills in around me. Giant insects buzz,
a velociraptor screeches, and I quickly throw that paper aside.
I pick up my pen again. This time, I write you. Your world, your
cities, your people.
I’m not sure if I like it.

Anima

“If you’d paid Big Louie on time, I wouldn’t have to come visit. Why would a sweet old granny like to bet that kind of money on the fights anyway? You just don’t look the type. What’s that? Hold on, I’m gonna pull of the tape now…”
“It’s not me you want, you goon! I’m Joan Smith, not John Smith!”
“You aren’t John Smith, Apartment 4D?”
“No! he’s in 4T!”
“Eh. Benny, let go the old lady… and remind me to get a new cel phone in the morning, you can’t understand a thing anybody says on this…”

John W.

Red and blue lights flashed behind me. I pulled over, rolled down my
window and placed my hands on the steering wheel.
When the officer approached I could see my reflection in his mirrored
sunglasses.
He spoke in a calm yet firm tone, “Sir, do you know why I pulled you over?”
I didn’t answer. I knew why.
“Sir, you were doing 87 mph in a 40 mph zone,” he said.
Still I did not answer.
He looked in the back seat and said to me, “Follow me, sir.”
We raced off together to the hospital, my wife in labor.

Brad

Once upon a time there lived a bewitched princess that had been asleep for 40 years. Her queenly mother prayed for a hero to come and break the spell. Her mother’s prayers were answered when a valiant 40 year old prince with gold mail and super fast horse fought his way past dragons and swamp monsters and stuff like that to get to her and wake her with a kiss. But then he realized that she was 18 when she fell asleep and that would make her 58 so he passed and married a 22 year old duchess from Notlob.

Almo

Peter slipped on the wet, muddy floor, then slipped heavily on something else. “Shit!” he said, an interjection and a description. He cleaned himself up, cursed the cow, and began mucking out the pen. He looked uncertainly at the hay, which would mildew if they couldn’t figure out a way to dry it out soon.
He caught a movement out of the corner his eye. His father.
Peter’s frustration boiled over.
“Look,” he yelled at Noah. “It’s been 39 days of the same thing!”
Peter glanced at the cow. “If this rain lasts forty days, It’s burger time, baby!”

Guy David

Forty butterflies are dancing on my grave. Forty red flowers are arranged in a circle on the cold stone. Forty paid maidens are weeping for me. I scream “I’m alive, I’m still alive, let me out,” but no one hears. The earth tastes sweet in my mouth. I sob. I’ve been here for forty thousand years. Still there’s no sign of me becoming hungry or tired, forever doomed under a spell to stay alive in my grave, counting eternity. The walls of my grave disintegrated long ago. I’m now part of the soil. I’ll stay here forever. It’s my destiny.

Basrai

She asked, with her broken English: “Today, for tea, bring beef home.”
“Beef, for tea?”
She smiled broadly: “For tea, today.”
“You’re not kidding.” I gasped.
“For tea. You don’t know?”
I shook my head. That was the price for entering into a crossed-culture marriage. Your digestive system would, sooner or later, be compromised by strange customs. I imagined the slice of beef floating darkly in the sweet, aromatic Indian tea. She called it tchai.
“I am not drinking tea with beef, especially on my husband’s fortieth birthday. Please.”
“Forty. Your husband forty. I cook good. Not beef with tea.”

Lynda

Come one, come all, gather ’round and see the clockwork kid, the wonder of the modern age! Built by robots on a faraway island forty years ago, a group of opportunistic pirates couldn’t let a good thing go to waste so they brought him here, to entertain you! Wind him up and he’ll weave you a unique tale guaranteed to blow your mind!
You’ll be dazzled by his wit! You’ll marvel as he interacts with the fiercest of jungle cats! You’ll drool over his delicious bread!
Run, don’t walk! Don’t even wait for the bus! Witness the magnificent clockwork kid!

Justin

The weary dung beetle pushed upwards. Rail fell, it pushed. Snow covered the ground, onward to pushed. Food was scarce, yet it pushed upwards still. Jobs came and went, hurricanes and sickness, but still, the dung beetle pushed up, higher and higher up the hill. Many years passed, as did friends and family. How long will can the beetle go on? Wait, there, is that the top of the hill? Just a little bit further now. Forty years the beetle toiled, pushing the turd uphill and now, with a final heave, the crap started going downhill. Happy birthday Laurence Simon.

Norval Joe

“Ok, you were right about the rain, only forty days and nights and we’re afloat. So maybe God is talking to you. But what’s with the sheep? You bring two of each of the other animals, why so many damn sheep? And why do we need to keep them in our bedroom? I know, I know, the whole arc is crowded and they did made good pillows at first, but there’s sheep crap everywhere. I’m not putting up with sheep for another day, let alone forty. You better do something about them or you and the sheep are going overboard.”

Ishtar 1

40 feet till I can be free.
My body can feel it, muscles loosening,
The skin slightly sweating in anticipation,
a smile on my lips.
Why am I reacting like this? It’s Friday afternoon.
The end of the work week. All I can think about is
the Freedom of what I am about to do.
20 feet till I can be free.
My Coworkers tell me goodbye, little do they know
it will be. They try to stop me, ask questions. Reports,
forms, evaluations, baaaah. Can’t they see it all means
nothing?

Ishtar 2

Eyes follow my movements, no one can figure out why I am so happy.
I’m standing in the courtyard at work, surrounded by my coworkers.
Gods they think I’m flipping out.
I smile at them and ask them to wait a moment. I can explain everything.
I slowly unbutton my blouse; light is shining from my eyes.
I can feel the skin of my back ripping away. The crowd goes silent.
In that instant, I feel the ultimate freedom. I’m hovering 10 feet up.
My body has changed, fire on my skin, dragon wings, oh the freedom of flight.

TJ

It’s been 40 years, so go out! Celebrate! Even if you spend the entire day inside, however, the very rotation of the planet carries you about 17,600 miles. This is about 6.4 million miles in a year and nearly 257 million miles in 40 years.
Forty trips around the sun have net you an additional tour of some 23.5 billion miles through the solar system. In that time, the sun has traveled approximately 173 quadrillion miles around the galaxy — at whatever endlessly relative speed that’s moving through the universe.
So seriously, if it’s your 40th birthday? Relax. You’ve earned it.

JRadimus

“” Forty
“Today’s forecast calls for unseasonably wintry weather, with a chance of freezing rain before sunrise and after sunset, mostly cloudy all day, with a high of 40.”
“Thanks for the reminder.”

“Ma’am, Do you know how fast you were going?”
“No.”
“You were doing 40 in a 20. I can’t ignore that.”
“Yes, Officer…I’m sorry.”
“I’m still gonna write the ticket, ma’am.”
She sighed.

“That was some cut. How’d it happen?”
“I dropped a vase and missed; I cut my hand and foot on the glass.”
“Well, you’ll be fine, now. Forty stitches, though.”
“Thanks.”
Some birthday. Guess which one? “”

Dedric

Each day the programmer goes for a walk around a pond to relax. He sees a man playing a flute. It echoes over the water and fills his ears with musical joy. A gathering of large fish are often seen swimming close to the man playing the flute. Ideas fill his head about a fairy from the woods that turned his wife into a fish, and that he plays only to lure his lost love back to him. It is a silly story without an end or a purpose. After forty minutes, the programmer returns to a life of stress.

Planet Z

The last thing Michael remembered was a warning to drink plenty of fluids and rest.
He woke up feeling great… forty years later.
He screamed.
“Your chart says you drank an herbal remedy,” said a face on a floating monitor. White nurse-robots floated around it, going in and out of Michael’s vision.
Michael tried to remember.
His roommate was reading a thick leatherbound book he said once belonged to his great-grandmother.
“Cures everything,” he had said.
“Where is that asshole?” said Michael to the screen.
He heard a yawn from the next bed over.
And a scream.