Prison For Life

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Seventy years ago, Allistar Muggs had been sentenced to life in prison without parole.
Turns out he’d sold his soul to The Devil so he could live forever.
Nobody believed him at first, but Allistar didn’t age a day as the years passed by. Nor did the increasingly brutal assassination attempts ever succeed.
He always seemed to heal up without so much as a scar, missing tooth, or torn-off finger. He’d wake up the next morning, same as the day they gave him a number to wear.
We sealed the freak in concrete and buried him in the prison yard.

Weekly Challenge #15 – Hill

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Welcome to the fifteenth 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 hill.
Nine stories were submitted this week:two rookies, and the never-ending regurgitation of madness from Planet Z.
Go ahead and listen to them by clicking on the grammophone thingy there in the left column and then vote for your favorite:

Who had the best story this week?
Marcus of LITB
Laeianna
Cynthia
Brandon
Kolek from the Kolektive
Elisson of blog d’Elisson
Will from Smart Bomb Radio
Andrew from Dodgeblogium
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 theme will be posted shortly, and for God’s sake don’t blame me for it. You’re the ones who voted.

The Gates Of Heaven

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Centuries went by, and Peter made a list of the things that annoyed him about Heaven.
He wondered about the Pearly Gates. Why have gates without a fence?
Then there were the harps. They were all left-handed.
Finally, nobody was sweeping up all the molting from the angels’ wings. Feathers feathers, everywhere.
One day, there was a lull in the death count, or maybe everybody dying that day was far too evil.
Either way, he had some time, so he asked God about his list.
God smiled. “I work in mysterious ways.”
Peter nodded, and went back to the Gates.

Galad (Part X)

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Andrew Ian Dodge brings us more from Galad’s tales…

“You bastard Galad!” grunted the large man. “You fucking promised me 5000 quid! And the pick of the women!’
“Yes, I did Ahmed,” he calmly paused lifting the man with ease. “You promised me that things would go smoothly.”
“What the hell you playing at?”
Galad tossed him into the large hole. He yelled behind him; “enjoy your 72 virgins unbeliever!”
Ahmed screamed as he plummeted into darkness unaware of the gapeing maw beneath him.
“But not before you help feed my helper!” Looking at the collection of fag ends on the ground. “Hope it enjoys the taste of nicotine.”

Laundry

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Vinnie horsed the duffel bag onto the counter.
He yanked the zipper, displaying the bag’s contents to the proprietor, an elderly Chinese who had been doing his best to ignore the red splotch on the side of the bag. It glistened wetly in the fluorescent light.
The old man handed Vinnie a cardboard stub. “You come back tomollow aftah five, OK?”
The next day, Vinnie came by at 6:30. He handed over his stub and received two cardboard boxes, each packed with fresh, clean Benjamins, profits from legitimate businesses.
Chang smiled. He owned the finest Chinese money laundry in town.

Thumbs Up

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Alicia wasn’t just a thumb model, but she was the thumb model.
If you had a photo shoot that needed a close-up of the perfect thumb, you called Alicia.
Sure, it was her left thumb, but her left thumb reversed was better than any right thumb on the planet, too.
Ten years ago, it was insured for two million dollars, and on every billboard on every highway across America.
Then, she thumbed her nose at the whole shallow modeling industry.
Now, you’ll see it by the side of the road, hitching a ride just a little more down the way.

Lighter

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Howard spent a lot of money on his silver torch-style lighter, so he wasn’t about to give it up when he went through airport security.
“Can’t I just get it checked?” he asked the TSA agent. “I’m late for my damn flight.”
“It’s too late for that,” said the agent. “Please surrender the item and proceed through the detector.”
Howard argued with the agent for a minute, and it ended with “Well, if you’re so worried, how about the lighter I’ve got hidden up my ass?”
Howard took a later flight. He also asked for a blanket to sit on.

Blind

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Like all of the test-tube psychics, Maria was born blind – genetically engineered to prevent her from seeing the physical world around her.
Instead, she saw the potential of the world around her. Meadows of possibilities and forests of decision-making trees wobbled through a fog of free-will.
Most of her group were passive observers, but Maria was one of the special ones. She could bend and shape her surroundings.
This was handy in important negotiations, and more than once she had wrestled an apocalyptic conclusion into an elegant and beautiful agreement.
It also kept her from walking into closed doors.

Gus

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When I was little, I had an imaginary friend.
Gus wasn’t another kid or a cowboy or a dragon or an astronaut.
Gus was a fireman.
Over the years, I made real friends, so I didn’t need an imaginary one anymore.
Gus became sad and slowly disappeared.
Last night, I lost control of my car and rammed into a tree.
The last thing I remember was the door being ripped from my car and Gus reaching in to pull me out.
“Thank you, Gus,” I said.
When I came to in the hospital, Gus was gone.
So were my legs.

Goodnight, Bum

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After my daughter died and my wife left me, I missed a lot of things I had taken for granted.
The thing I missed most of all was reading bedtime stories.
I knew the stories by heart, we all do. But there’s something special about opening a book and reading aloud.
It’s not just the pictures. It’s something about that book. Holding it up while you’re sitting at the foot of the bed, nightlight’s on, covers pulled up.
Now, I go out into the city’s alleys and read bedtime stories to the homeless.
It’s not the same. Certainly smells worse.