Welcome to the thirty-fourth 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 this week was selected by Steve from iLaugh and he chose Rehab.
Ten stories were submitted this week. Double digits!
No rookies this week? BOOOOOOOOOO!
And, as always, the usual madness by Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):
WE GOTS PRIZES:
I will be sending the winner the cost of a cup of coffee through PayPal. And who’s on the five dollar bill? Heh heh heh…
So listen, vote, and tune in next week to find out who won!
The full text of each story:
ELISSON
Superman strained, sweat glistening on his brow. Nothing happened.
It had been two months since his last brush with Lex Luthor – ambushed in a cave lined with green kryptonite.
He was lucky to be alive – but he was still weak as a Super-kitten.
Sure, his X-ray vision was almost fully intact. He could even bend steel bars, leap buildings at a single bound. But not all of his muscles had recovered after eight weeks of rehab, and the wolf was at the door.
He tried again. Strain. Clink.
That takes care of the rent, he thought. I’m back!
CALEB
You told me to try art therapy; you said that playing a musical instrument would keep my mind off of my addiction and my hands busy. So I did.
I went for a walk along the sea side playing my axe when I heard someone playing along. I followed the sound and happened upon an octopus playing a xylophone.
So we jammed. Music knows no language; no inter-species bigotry.
And when I tell you about how I was horbgorbling along playing my sousaphone with a cephalopod, you want to keep me in rehab for an extra two months? I’m outraged!
LISA
“Hello, my name is Lisa.”
“Hello, Lisa.”
The crowd waited, anticipating more…
“Well, the holidays, and well, the little baby in the manger just looked so cute, all those lights, the music, my parents’ hopeful faces… I don’t know why I couldn’t control it, how it managed to seep into my brain. I can’t explain why or how I lost my reason. But it’s gone. All gone.”
After the meeting, she prepared herself for what was to come: three weeks of detox with a head full of electrodes, hooked up to the “de-jesus” machine at the Dawkins’ Atheist Rehab Centre.
ANDREW
Rehab, god I hate bloody rehab. I made the mistake of going last year.
Not because I was addicted to anything you see but for the schmoozing.
The damn place was full of music business types cleaning up because of
their employers latest campaign against drug use.
D.T.s didn’t stop the bragging about the girls and hitts, then there’s
Pete Doherty.
I never believed it but there is a lot of truth in believing that
people who behaved like arseholes on coke were no less arseholes
when they were sober.
Being in rehab damn near drove me to do drugs.
CAROLINE
Keeping up appearances was very important for the Brown’s. When John put himself in rehab, Mary kept up the sham that he was away on business. She even went for a week to her mothers on the pretext of visiting him. All was going well until he found out his dog had been hit by a car. He came out so that he could bury her. But half way through detox and unpredictable he ran through the neighbourhood in his PJ’s. Wearing only one sock and loudly proclaiming ‘diddle diddle dumpling my son John’ the game was up.
B
Granny’s addiction was getting way out of hand. At first, no one cared that she was hooked. The past 3 years had been her happiest since Grandpa passed away. Her depression had lifted as if by magic.
But the family had grown weary of having Granny hyped up all the time. Always anticipating her next fix. She no longer hosted holiday gatherings or made her signature cookies and pies, and, worst of all – she had ceased making quilts for the newborn grandchildren.
An intervention was in the works.
Fran called the Senior Travel Club….”Hello? I need to cancel a membership…..”
LAIEANNA
He stared outside the window, wishing his youth would return. The
substance did different things back then. It made him fly! What
changed? A girl. She wasn’t his first love, but she had shown him a
new use for the powder.
Friends hated his sour attitude. In no time, his boyish nature and
wild ways were reduced to a sad man huddled on the floor of a cold
manor.
Who knew pixie dust could become an addictive drug. The institute was
trying to help him quit, but he knew it was too late. He would never
go back to Neverland.
LEE
Five years after the operation, Lisa was still visiting her doctor.
“My eye doesn’t work.”
Dr. Borges sighed. “You’re eye works fine. Here, read these letters.”
“A-E-R-T-D-S-P-C”
“Told you. Eye works fine.”
“Eye does not work fine.”
“It does.”
“Doesn’t.”
“D…ok look. I’m gonna suggest you see a specialist friend of mine. There’s nothing else I can do for you.”
Lisa went home in a funk, made herself tea and picked up the phone.
“Rehab.”
“Hello, I’d like to make an appointment with Dr. Shank.”
“Specifically what for?”
Lisa took a deep breath. “Well, apparently, I have a blinking problem.”
PJ
Are you serious?
I don’t belong here!
But the woman who thought she was in charge of all things Paula had heard this all before… and only shook her head.
“It’s for your own good”, she said, in a condescending way.
Well..
The only thing Paula hated worse than being told what to do is being told what to do in a condescending way.
“Give me the credit cards dear, you’ll feel a lot better”, she sneered.
Paula quickly exited, leaving the now bloodied scissors on the floor behind her.
Shopping Addiction Rehab?
Shopping IS what makes her feel better.
Z
Hard drives die.
Memory banks forget.
Systems get infected with viruses.
Connections are healthy.
And so on.
As machinery becomes more lifelike, so does the terminology.
Take for instance, this robot. Ninth generation, limited artificial intelligence, but an extremely life-like carapace.
I mean skin.
We call it a “him.” We thank “him” for performing a task.
And if he fails to perform, we take him to the rehab clinic for rehabilitation, not the repair shop for diagnosis and calibration.
Of course, those with cybernetic prostheses now say they’re going in to the shop for repairs.
Fair’s fair, I suppose.
Thanks to everyone for sending in their stories, and I look forward to what you’ve got to write (and say) next week.
The theme for next week’s Weekly Challenge will be posted shortly.
(In case you’re interested, I’ve settled on “Clair de Lune” as the opening music and “Moonshine” by Michael Oldfield from the Tubular Bells II album.)