Radio Free Hell

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Silvia’s parents thought she was retarded, but her inattentiveness was due to constant buzzing in her ears.
Despite the doctors’ many treatments, it grew worse over time.
Many years later, Silvia learned about meditation, slowing herself down to manage pain.
The buzzing slowed to a ringing, and then… a stream of voices.
‘Why did you kill me, Arthur?”
“It’s not fair.”
“The pain!”
“I’ll see you in Hell.”
Radio Free Hell. In her skull.
Then, she heard them…
“We wasted our lives worrying for her.”
Her parents. In Hell.
She drove knitting needles into her ears and embraced the silence.

Weekly Challenge #1 – Bunnies

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Welcome to the first Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
The topic is: bunnies.
You have until midnight on Friday the 21st to email me your story.
It would be preferred that you attach your own recording of the story, but if I have the time I will record and include all of the contributed stories in a single collection, which will be posted next Saturday.
If this takes off and there’s a healthy amount of participation, I may go ahead with my plans to create 100 Words Or Les Nessman 2.0. (With weekly themes instead of daily themes to cut down on burnout and attrition.)
Good luck, and feel free to e-mail me with any questions you have.

Midnight came, and midnight went. Time’s up!
There were 11 stories this week. Go ahead and listen to the stories (click on the grammy-o-phone icon there on the left side of this entry) and vote for your favorite:

Who wrote the best story?
Andrew Ian Dodge of Dodgeblogium
Tommy of Striving For Average
Borealis of Sunidesus
Jim Thompson of Making Movies
Elisson of Blog d’Elisson
Justin of Fat Elvis
Rahel Jaskow of Elms in the Yard
Senobia
Beck of Incite
Jim Parkinson
The Mystery Man from Planet Z
  
Free polls from Pollhost.com


Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.

The Wacky Adventures Of Abraham Lincoln 56

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Abe firmly believed that if he forfeited the confidence of his fellow citizens, he could never regain their respect and esteem.
First, he promised candy. Lots of it.
Nobody fell for that. They never did.
Then he offered flowers to everyone. Some people warmed to his overtures, but they saw that he’d given out flowers to everyone and thought even worse of the desperate president.
Finally, he sent soldiers around to beat everyone up.
Sure, they didn’t regain their respect and esteem, but they sure as hell feared him.
“Good enough for me,” said Abe.
What a bully he was.

Critical Mass

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Superman’s forehead glistened with a film of sweat as he strained with momentary effort.
Clink. House note.
Strain. Clink. Car note.
Strain. Clink. Electric bill.
Every month, the same routine. Scarf a few charcoal briquettes, crap out a few water-white diamonds. That was how the world’s most famous superhero kept the wolf from the door. Couldn’t very well knock over a bank, could he?
The system worked. Most of the time, anyway.
Of course, there was that grim Tax Day back in 2016 when Lex Luthor doped the charcoal supply with plutonium. Where Metropolis had stood was now radioactive glass.

Apple Fatwah

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Andrew Ian Dodge looks across The Pond at a new Mecca…

Those who got offended by the Danish Mohammed Cartoons of Death might take exception to a new Apple store that looks just like the focus of the Haj. Several wags in the news refer to it as the Apple mecca. Just think of it: future generations will be used to hearing from Islamists that “Apple computers are the tool of the infidel.” There will be fatwas for believers to trash every Mac they find and burn Apple shops worldwide. Universities in the US will fall prey to Muslim pressure and no longer sell Macs to their students. Infidel Mac die!

The Hottest Girl In Class

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By far, Veronica was the hottest girl in the class. She’ll really make you sweat.
At 900 degrees, ordinary desks would melt or burst into flame at her slightest touch. So she sat at the back of the class in a massive heat-sink, uncomfortable in her tungsten gown, taking notes with a ceramic stylus.
On most days, the air handlers barely kept up with her, but today we’ve got all the windows open in January.
Nobody sits next to her at lunch, although some occasionally approach her asking if she’ll reheat their soup or grill their sandwiches between her palms.

Waiting For Pentecost

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They carried his broken, bleeding body to the cave, weeping with every step.
They laid him down, bade their farewells, and sealed the cave entrance with a massive rock.
Three days later, he arose, clad in pure white raiment. He leaped to the mouth of the cave, rolled the rock away, and stepped into the blinding sunlight. Almost as quickly, he retreated into the depths of the cave, shaken and fearful.
That terrible dark shape on the ground! He shivered in horror. Could it have been the Devil himself?
No matter. After six more weeks, Punxsutawney Jesus would try again.

Bizarre Weather

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A creepy story in the fog-filled alleyways of London from you-know-who:

“A journalist has been found turned inside out near the O2 centre this morning..”
“Oh did they say who it was Sage?”
“Yes it was a certain Jonathan Grimes of Groniad fame.”
“Oh yes him. Did they say how he happened to be in such a state?’
“Nope, but there were reports of bizarre weather in that part of Greenwich last night. And Londoners were complaining of a strong fishy smell all over the city.”
“No one else was hurt I hope.”
“Not that its says here.”
“I suppose we will need to investigate…” sighed Rupert.
“Yes, I suspect so.”

Headache pills

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Jennie pulled open the mirror and fumbled through the bottles of pills.
“Where are you… where are you…” she muttered, pulling bottle after bottle off of the shelves, looking at their labels, and dropping them in the sink.
“Where are my headache pills?” she whined.
She then looked in each of the drawers, sliding each one out and then slamming them shut.
No headache pills.
She turned out the light, went back to bed, and felt a lump under the pillow.
The pills!
She shook one out of the bottle and dry-swallowed it.
Pain filled her skull.
“Not tonight, dear…”

Aryan Nations

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Andrew Ian Dodge plays connect the dots with the common enemies of civilization and peace…

A poser for you clever lot:
If you are the head of Aryan Nations do you support an invasion of Iran?
The reason we ask this is that Iran means Aryan. The Nazis were keen on Iran (as they considered them fellow aryans) and spent a great deal of effort exploring the country. Persian prayer rugs have the swastika on them in its various forms. And lets face it Iranians, or at least their leaders currently, share an absolute loathing for Jews with the Aryan Nations. I am betting the AN lot would cheer if Israel was nuked by Iran.