Category: Weekly Challenge

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One 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 selected by Steven the Nuclear Man.
It’s Nightingale.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #102?
	Daphne of Going Broke
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Tom from Footnote
	Terry the Quiet Time
	Anima Zabaleta
	Guy David at Guy David dot com
	Craig from Wash The Bowl
	Terrence from Never Was
	Planet X-Ray from Planet X Podcast
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a South Gentleman
	Will Ross from 118 Migration
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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DAPHNE

We don’t hear many birds down here but we can hear the nightingales. Their song comes through the sewer grates and is the only music we have. The children can whistle their tune. Lovers dance to the sound. It is something that reminds us of life on the surface, before it happened. When the nightingales stop singing we begin to worry. Did something frightened them away? Was it a cat? A larger bird? Or worse. We hold our breaths, keep silent and wait…

STEVEN

Cherry blossoms perfume the air, decorating it with the fall of their
petals. I stand before her, my katana soiled with the blood of her
enemies. Her rescued family is my wedding offering.
I have read the tales of heroes. I fashioned my armor, my habits, my
life in imitation of them. I completed their trials, their feats. I
am the greatest of them.
I smile at her. I have read the tales of heroes, and I know how this will end.
She turns, walking away under the cherry blossoms.
As in all the tales of heroes, a nightingale sings.

TOM

Arnesto was tempted to open the book, but he wasn”t ready for that level of Pandoraic possibility. Maria had no qualms about messing with the timeline.
“Look, It has your name on the inside cover.”
Cervantes took a timid peek. Zounds. The author was Arnesto Arroway. Maria”s laughter echoed down the empty halls.
“Looks like I”m a great grand ma. It”s kind of comforting.”
“No it makes me dizzy.” Growled Arnesto closing the cover without read any of the passages.
“What”s this?” said Maria pointing on the writing on the wall.
“Its Quatermain”s nightingale!” Life in the sewers indeed Allan.

TERRY

Josh ran into the ship’s med section, using the last of his strength, he pressed his hand against the biometric scanner, the hatch opened.
He quickly climbed into the Nightingale, Mk IV., careful not to shift the cloth that kept the blood from gushing out of his leg.
It was foresight that Space Command included the automated med machine, without it he would be dead.
It would take the Nightingale at least two weeks to regenerate the large chuck of flesh that was missing. Then he would take care of that little red beast that had tried to eat him.

ANIMA

Le Rossignol was the best of the cat burglars. He could be in and out of a building in seconds, never setting off an alarm. He never did it for monetary gain. No, it was always for singing.
He’d intone Gregorian chants in marble bathrooms, and trill arias on grand staircases. Once, he even broke into Cathedrale Notre-Dame to sing Mozart’s Requiem by himself.
However, Rossi lost an early morning challenge to Le Coq, who thought the Eiffel Tower should be his personal roost.
Shamed, he jumped the Big Pond.
Americanized, “The Nightingale” now busks in Grand Central Station.

GUY DAVID

The record was spinning endlessly, caught in the groove. It was obvious she wasn’t coming. He just set there feeling like a fool. A sudden wave of anger swept over him. He was getting used to this, it has happened too many times. He got up swiftly, half knocking down his chair. He opened the door and left, slamming it behind him. He wasn’t going to wait any longer. Behind him, the chair fell over the table that held the old fashioned gramophone, and the stylus jumped over. The voice of Julee Cruise singing The Nightingale filled the room again.

CRAIG

Some years ago while reading architectural digest I saw reference to nightingale floors, but no accompanying definition and promptly forgot about it.
Later while laying the wood floors in our mountain cabin I was amazed to find that the boards had unique and nuanced sounds as they rubbed against each other.
With a bit of ingenuity in fastening the wood you can create a magical ongoing conversation with the house.
Going room to room at times seems like dancing on a xylophone.
You skate from board to board creating warm enticing tones that will resonate in your memory forever.

TERRENCE

Long shadows fell across the witherhunch as Raoul looked out across the vast landscape. A grassy meadow with the occasional tree spread out before him. He stood under one such tree, the witherhunch had found safety next to a good sized rock. Raoul loved the night, watching the dark shadows dancing.
A soft song rose, started from his right and spread out across the land; he heard a loving sigh in the distance. Raoul reached up, picking the nightingale off the branch. He looked deep into its eyes and it sang to him as her squeezed the life from it.

PLANET X-RAY

Jack gazed dreamingly at the singing women on the stage. He could understand why the theater had billed them as the Nightingale Sisters, their voices where as beautiful as any real Nightingale could sing.
They were also the loveliest ladies Jack had seen in a long time, Jack was going to enjoy this evening. He had sent them a red rose and a promise to dance till dawn.
They had all accepted his invitation, eager to dance so lightly across the floor in their gay dresses to the sound of the stringed instruments, to be merry until the next dawn.
But Jack had darker plans, as the sharp blades in his pocket would attest. By dawn, the nightingales would no longer sing, but would croak instead, and the rose he had given them wouldn’t be the only thing running red.
And the nightingales sang on.

SOUGENT

It’s after midnight and I can’t sleep, I mustn’t sleep, if I sleep they will find me and then….
No! I can’t think of that.
I cautiously move through the dark forest, I hear the song of a nightingale in the distance and a feeling of dread comes over me.
Is it really a nightingale, or is it a signal from one of *them*?
I look around nervously.
Two wizened little men approach a motionless form on the ground, one of them pokes it with a stick and snorts, “sleeping eh?”.
The song of a nightingale fills the forest.

WILL ROSS

Gail Winters. They called her Nightingale, the stripper who could sing. Tonight I just call her the victim. We’ve been here before, but, If you tell my wife that I’ll deny it. The Station boys visit after work, drink a beer and watch her dance. She’ll sing, “My Funny Valentine” or “Fever” before she strips down to her dainties and hustles the rubes. Tonight she’s in a pool of O-Positive, all because she tried to break up a fight and took a beer bottle behind the ear. Station boys arn’t happy. Killer’s in for a rough night.

PLANET Z

Y’all knows Colonel Harlan Sanders, but what abouts Lieutenant Yancy Ottercott?
Two reasons why, son:
He warn’t talented with a pressure cooker as his neighbor, and one day while cooking up a bird, the lid blew off and stove in his fool skull.
The other reason was that he warn’t cookin up chicken. He was frying up nightingale.
Didn’t bother pluckin them. Left the feathers right on, dipped and breaded those suckers whole.
Crunchy, sure, but Harlan’s chicken couldn’t be beat.
As for the mashed potatoes, well, Harlan swiped that recipe from Yancy.
Not that he’d be needin it anymore.

Welcome to the Weekly Challenge Number One Hundred And 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 selected by JD White.
It’s Life In The Sewer.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Who had the best stories in Weekly Challenge #101?
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Aini
	Planet X-Ray
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Terry Tee from Quiet Time
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Anima Zabaleta
	Tom from Footnote
	Craig from Wash The Bowl
	Bryan from Ka-Klick.com
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Gentleman
	JD White from Writing.com
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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STEVEN

I rise from the manhole, from my sewer home. Rain runs down my green
skin and the scratches in my shell. It has been twenty four years,
and I tire easily. My brothers’ weapons slew many soldiers before
they fell. Only I remain.
Our enemy is in his home, now just a slumlord with antique armor. He
watches our old cartoons and laughs. All anyone remembers are pizza
eating caricatures, our innocence as youths.
The enemy eats his pizza, ignoring the irony. He forgets that our
ninja skills surpassed his. Tonight, I will remind him.
I draw my swords.
Cowabunga.

STEVEN #2

I had sent the link to my grandmother, parents – all of those people
who like to see what I’ve written. And then – only then – do I start
to listen to the podcast. He dropped the F-bomb. Before the intro
music.
I am so glad I mentioned the dirty words.
I am going to be in trouble. I’m sure of it. I was going to run
away, but I would miss them. Instead, I’ll go down. It’s warm in
winter, and there’s never any traffic jams.
Once my nose adjusts, I might get used to my exiled life in the sewer.

AINI

Life is such a great journey. We learn a lot from living which helps us to deal with
different kinds of situations that we face. Living is a wonderful experience.
As for me, I love my life. It is amazing and a lot of fun. In life you can do so many things
that you can enjoy or learn from. In my life I have great things like money,
a home, my own room, a soft bed and a lovely pillow on what I put my sleepy
head every night. My life is fabulous. All these gorgeous things around me make my life perfect.
However, there is just this big word ”but” to all this. This is my life only when compared to life in the sewer.

PLANET X-RAY

Norton strolled down the tunnel looking for the valve that would drain this section. To think he had spent almost his life in the sewers and he couldn’t find one lousy valve.
His mind kept going back to last night’s bowling. It just wasn’t the same without Ralph. Oh sure, Laurence bowled great, but he wasn’t Ralph. He was just too stiff and didn’t joke around like Ralph did.
Plus, Norton was still in shock from when the cops handcuffed Ralph and led him away.
Oh sure, Ralph had said it a hundred times in the last 20 years, but who though he’d actually do it.
Well, he still had his life in the sewers to look forward to, poor Ralph would be in prison and Alice, well there just wasn’t any coming back from the moon.

GUY DAVID

Most of the time, only the rats and I live here. I say most of the time since every once in a while, a lonely traveler finds his way here.
This is the real underground. Got used to the smell, the crap flouting here in the sewer, you’d be surprised what people flash down their toilets. One can find all sort of strange toys down here for use on hapless lonesome travelers. Their screams can be heard for miles, but there’s no one to hear.
Would you like to come visit? I’ll have a special room ready, just for you.

TERRY TEE

Bizrocca strolled slowly along the walkway deep in thought
Here she was working her ass off to keep them living the life style that they were accustomed to, and what does he do.
He gives her that tasteless birthday cake with little meat in it, and she was sure he had used the neighbors pet as the main ingredient. Why she had found the toenails from seven of the beast’s feet in the cake for god’s sake.
And just what does he say”.
“But my lumpy dumpy, I wanted to catch that 4 legged beast the earthling brought with him, but it was just too fast for me.”
Too fast for him, shit, he was just too fucken lazy to get off his ass and leave their comfortable house.
Well, that was life in the sewer, it just doesn’t get any better than this on Mars.

ELISSON

I row through the Underground, navigating past the Ordure Ocean, the Beeyem Bay, the Sea of Shit. I”m a regular Crap Mariner, sailing the sewers like Jason and the Cacanauts.
After all these years, I”ve gotten used to the reek. Almost.
Life was different once. You might remember me: I was the Ty-D-Bowl Man.
With my blazer and jaunty captain”s cap, I”d paddle around in toilet tanks, freaking out the housewives. You”d freak too, if you found a little dude rowing a boat in your tank. Great gig while it lasted.
Lousy defective flapper valve.
I still miss my cap.

ANIMA

After pulling on hipwaders, I slurp the last of the tea. Collecting my Browning BAR and a fistful of.338 Mag cartridges, I head down the main utilidor”
I can tell its after 8 ” there’s lots of brown trout nudging downstream. Sometimes, I come see the afternoon surge around 4:30, weekdays. In this sector, trout are quiet on the weekends.
CHUDs have been spotted to the north… that’s where I’m headed. My job is to protect topsiders from becoming lunch, but I do it more for the fun. I hope to bring home a huge trophy mount today. Wish me luck!

TOM

It was cramped but doable. The easy bake on Maria, Maria in Arnesto”s lap. “Is the air always red here?” Ask Maria. “No last time it was green about the constancy of pudding.” he said gazing out at the mists of vermilion. “Are we there yet?” laughed Arroway, the Kronomer didn”t get the reference. The mist cleared to reveal a dim dust filled room. Something was very wrong. As they stepped into the room Maria noticed the following scrawled on the wall: Life In The Sewer. On the floor was a package from the future: Book Number Three.

CRAIG

The dog is dead, cat living in a tree, me I”m living in a city sewer.
Everything I ever owned or dreampt of owning is out of reach
cause I”m living in a city sewer and someone has closed the grate.
Neighbors are rats and their getting fat living in the city sewer.
We all bob like apples when it rains in the city sewer.
The other day Hank drowned living in the city sewer.
We all scramble for heat when buses idle over the city sewer.
In the summer we all hold our nose living in the city sewer.

BRYAN / KA-KLICK

The elevator sank quietly into the shaft. His spirits racing ahead of it. As it came to rest at the lobby his spirits continued into the abyss. The doors slid open silently. He clicked across the sterile marble and glass space and stepped out into the street.
It was a cool night and the grates in the street billowed forth a steady cloud of steam.
It made him pause to wonder: What would life in the sewer be like?
Could he just fake a really bad accident, set up some kind of secret lair, become the phantom of Wall street?

SOUGENT

It’s the smell you notice at first, when you first go in, a raw foul stench that permeates the air.
It clings to you, thick and cloying, wrapping around you like a warm blanket.
Moist and steaming, it flows around you.
So strong, you can taste it, every nuance, every flavor.
After a while, you get used to it. Stay long enough and you learn to love it.
Ah, yes, close your eyes and inhale deeply, breathe in that wonderful fragrance.
Life in the sewer.
My life, my world.
It’s the life of a sewer rat.
JD WHITE

I stand in a dim shaft of fading yellow light.
Around my legs the black stagnant water is disturbed only when I move.
Before me the curved walls of the tunnel quickly fade away into the darkness.
The smell no longer turns my stomach.
At the edge of my vision red pinpoints no longer blink out when I scream.
Time has lost its meaning here where the only sound is the scurry of sharp claws on wet stone.
For long years I fought its call until its blasphemy overcame my will.
It draws near in the dark.
The Cthulhu comes.

And I love it.

DAPHNE

I moved to the sewer after it happened. I wasn’t the only one there. Some people went to the subways but we found that the sewer gave us more mobility. They run all over, we were able to get to supplies we needed to live. We’ve managed to adapt to living down here. We can go to the surface, but only at night, it’s only safe at night. The remaining surface dwellers help us out, until they get caught. Kids talk about the surface like priest talks about heaven, you might get to go there someday if you are good… and dead.

PLANET Z

Every cell in our bodies is a living thing.
Fat cells.
Muscle cells.
Nerve cells.
And blood cells.
The collective that is you may be dead, but these cells will live on for as long as they receive oxygen and nutrients.
As I watch the blood drain from your body, run down the gutter and into the sewer, I imagine that your life’s journey is not quite over.
Life is taking a detour, if only briefly, into the sewer. Bon voyage, life! Pleasant journeys.
Oh, and your kidneys, packed on ice, will live on in a very wealthy businessman in Tokyo.

Welcome to the One Hundredth Weekly Challenge, where I post a topic and then challenge you to come up with a 100 word story based on that topic.
(If you’re curious, this is episode #1,402 of this podcast. 1,514 – 96 – 16 – 1 = 1,402)
The topic this week was selected by Phish Frye of Purple Stripe.
It’s Cake.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #100?
	JD from Writing.com
	Steven the Nuclear Man!
	Keeme from The Keemecast
	Evamoon the Lunatik
	Hope Clary
	Kaklick from Ka-klick.com
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Anima Zabaleta
	Guy David from Night Guy
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Sougent from SL Adventures of a Southern Genlteman
	Craig from Wash The Bowl
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Stuart from SLPN
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Phish Frye from Purple Stripe
	Houston from Tatertots For The Masses
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

This is important, because there’s prizes on the line.
Go ahead and listen to them and then vote for your favorites (multiple selections are allowed):

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JD

The cake floats before us, made buoyant by the 100 candles adorning its upper surface.
100.
The century mark.
A sign of longevity, wisdom, and occasionally intelligence.
The cake descends slowly coming to rest on the brightly decorated table cloth.
Many paper plates of various colors are spread around the table.
Forks and cups of clear plastic are nearby.
A green plastic cake knife cuts through the wonderful white icing, biting into the rich brown interior releasing words that spill out and then float upward until they swirl around the guest.
100 words for each.
Happy birthday 100 word podcast.

STEVEN

The recipe amused her: “As this homey dessert bakes…” It was
appropriate, in an overdone kind of way. He had been gone for just
over a year. He would appreciate a little care package.
The scoop whuffed a small puff of flour onto her mother’s old
cookbook. When she cooked, her mother’s memory was close. She could
almost hear her voice.
“Sissy, get all the ingredients together before you start cooking,” it chided.
Fine.
Sugar. Eggs. Baking powder. Metal file. Chocolate. Vanilla.
Her son called from the other room. “Mommy, when will Daddy come home?”
“Soon, baby. Real soon.”

KEEME

Tossing and turning in bed, I wondered, will it start again, the sweet whisper of temptation?
As sleep drew me under, the aroma of this magnificent, cruel pastry dragged me back!
“STOP IT” I yelled out. “You’re wrong, I don’t want you or your lies!”
But it was relentless.
Damned dirty cake!
It saw through me, watched me as I thrashed about, fighting the urge, wanting, mercilessly luring me closer.
I KNOW! I’ll throw you out!
As I slowly made my way to this delicious adversary, I reached out and grabbed an apple.
Not as satisfying, sure, but still sweet.

EVAMOON

Alma bent her legs first one way and then another, trying to find the right fit. In the end, she discovered if she curled up on her side and tucked her right foot tightly behind her left ankle there was just room to snug her hips inside the rim of the round pan. She leaned forward, pressing her breasts against her thighs; left arm beneath her cheek and right snaked into the small space above her feet. It wasn”t easy, but wasn”t her family worth a little sacrifice?
After dinner the kids all begged for an extra slice.

HOPE

Cake, soft and squishy, and fluffy, and sugary or tart and sweet and everything complete! What can I say about cake? It is my favorite food. I crave it in all forms. I crave it in Chocolate. I crave it in Vanilla, I crave it in Carrot. I crave it in Red Velvet the most!
Because Cake is my favorite word I use it to describe people as well. The word cake is used to describe people who make me feel sexy, bring no drama, and always make me laugh! Because I can have my cake and eat it, too?

KA-KLICK

He rose from his desk. Alone in the building, it was that quiet time, before the cleaning crew came but after even the most dedicated employee packed it in.
His legs quivered as he rose. Would he have the nerve to go through with it? This was going to take planning but he had to get it done before things hit the fan.
He stepped through the doors of his corner office, to make his way through cube land, confronted by the remains of Charley’s cake.
Poor guy, wasn’t going to enjoy retirement as much as he’d thought this afternoon.

TERRY

Bizroc looked at the recipe once again as he prepared the ingredients,
1 cup of ground malni root
1 teaspoon of fugg powder
1 torful egg, divided
1 tablespoon of groggy grease
2 cups of briz flour
Yup, he had all of them set aside.
Now all he had to do is find the main ingredient.
He had seen the two legged earthling a couple of times,
that would be more than enough meat,
maybe too much, he hated to be wasteful.
Ah, but that four legged earthling he saw running round the last few days
would be just right size for the recipe.
How to catch it, that was a problem, it was so quick.
Well, Bizrocca better appreciate her special birthday cake this year,
with all the trouble he was going through to make it for her.

ANIMA

Baby Shower: White and pink. Games played, chablis drunk.
Sweet 16: White and yellow. Ritual passage into adulthood; Stolen kisses playing “Spin the Bottle”.
Graduation: A purple scroll on a field of white: 6 years tedium commemorated by eggs and sugar. Cake ignored. Keg well attended.
Marriage: All white pastillage and fondant. Top layer lasts longer in the freezer than the vows do.
Funeral: A final slice to a white life. Still trying to scrape the frosting off.
Marmalade tiers between dry white crumb layers: first kiss, first car, first child, first marriage, first million… the sweetness of life…

GUY DAVID

They wanted to bake a cake to be remembered. They wanted to break the world record. What they came up with was huge. 100 yards long, 100 yards tall and 100 yard wide, strawberry, vanilla cream and lime. It was a masterpiece. Then, the cake came to life and started eating people. They had to call in the army. It was messy. Now, I’m left to clean up the mess. I think I just found the cake’s heart. It’s still beating. I wonder…
“colonel Jackson, look at that giant matza marching in the street. I think we have a problem”.

TOM

An alarm wailed through the infirmary of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Maria released Cervante”s fingers and ran into the hall. Cervantes continued reading Ellie”s message. He stop at the words: Easy Bake Oven. “How in Zeus will I fit two adults and an oven onto the Kronomotive?”
Suddenly a screen on the wall illuminated. Cervantes still wasn”t comfortable with the concept of images flying through space, but of course he was flying through time. “There was a brench in the hemorrhage collector. We grabbed the first contain we could find.” She held up a toy oven and a cupcake.

ELISSON

Gary Gateau was a uranium miner.
Every morning he would don lead-fiber coveralls and facemask and descend
into the bowels of the Athabasca Pit. Every evening he would shamble
home exhausted, encrusted with triuranium octoxide.
Caked with yellowcake.
Gary hated the yellowcake. It got in his nostrils, his ears, his eyes.
He knew that eventually it would kill him. But he had to make a
living. Ironic, that, he thought.
Today, however, was his birthday. He rushed to his shack, eager to
celebrate.
His face fell when he saw that his wife had baked a cake.
A fucking yellow cake.

SOUGENT

Lord Farnsworth reached over to the side table and rang the little
bell which would summon his diminutive robotic butler, Rett.
Wheezing, mechanical sounds drifted down the hallway, “You rang sir?”,
Rett asked.
“Yes, you bumbling fool”, Farnsworth exclaimed with a thump of his
cane, “I want some cake, right now!”.
“Yes sir”, Rett said with a mechanical wheeze that sounded almost like
a sigh. He departed for the kitchen to retrieve the cake.
Once in the kitchen, the robots demeanor changes. “It is cake you
want? Then cake you shall have old man, enjoy it while you can.”

CRAIG

The invitation was waiting when Sally turned on her computer. Reading
the email she thought “I need more then cake to chase away this mood”.
Still, it was Saturday and a few sweet bites just might help.
Fork in hand Sally went to the bakery, headed to the sample table and
went from one end to the other. With each bite her feelings of not
belonging desolved just a bit more.
Leaving the bakery Sally walked six or seven miles assuaging her guilt,
then hailed a taxi for home.
The bakery”s computer waited to send Sally a new sweet invitation.

CALEB

When he saw the size of the cake, Laurence Simon thought he knew what
was coming; but from whom? Ellison might jump out of the cake with a
crummy story, or Tom with something bittersweet that lingered on the
minds tongue like the memory of espresso. Laieanna would pop out with
something deliciously on topic. Guy or Caleb would predictably do the
unexpected and throw pies if in that cake. But when tentacles like steel
cables wrapped around his throat and pulled him into the cake”s
slavering maw Laurence thought, “Oh boy! Andrew Ian Dodge is back,
welcome back Andrew!”

STUART

The old man sat in his chair not thinking or expecting much for his birthday.
Then again at the age of 85 you have so many old friends who have passed away and it seems like nobody wants to even be with you. He longed for cake. Even now it was something he could not really have. He can’t even walk up the street to get his own cake these days.
That’s when it happened…
The whole family flood in to the tiny terraced house bearing gifts and cakes. He couldn’t even describe how happy he was to eat cake.

DAPHNE

It was her 100th birthday, all her family and her few friends who were still alive were there. They had a party and at the end the birthday cake arrived. She was given a piece then stood up to address everyone, the room got quiet to hear what she had to say:
“What the hell? I live 100 years and you give me a sliver of cake with no frosting? Well fuck you, food police! Give me a real piece with roses, lots of them and that better be real frosting not that shitty whip cream stuff.”

PHISH FRYE

The wedding was going well but I was nervous about the cake cutting.
Of course, our friends were goading us into slamming the cake into each other’s faces, but it meant more to us than that. It was a symbol of our vows, our first test of trust as newlyweds. Would she keep her promise? Could I trust her with my life? I closed my eyes, waiting for her answer.
Slowly, lovingly, she placed the cake in my mouth. Promises kept. Our trust formed. Our lives, together.
In the end, divorce was the only option.
The cake was a lie.

HOUSTON

Dang it Wade, David Carr just signed with the Giants. Brad Johnson is
old and feeble, sure Carr has created a suckstorm everywhere, but I
think I could mold him.
What about Tony Romo?
Jessica Simpson has his loins all a quiver! We have got to do
something to get his focus back!
Jerry, I know we bombed two years in a row in the first round of the
playoffs, but I think he is coming around.
Why is that Wade?
He made you a cake, look!
Wade” That cake looks like a set of boobies. Get Romo in here!

LAIEANNA

In the frigid air, Purple Sprinkle 39 from bottle 142668 awoke in the
dark. He remembered the avalanche of white frosting that sent him
sliding to the platter below. One absent piece from the cake and the
icing on top had become unstable. He got up and felt the layered
edges of the open pastry, determined to climb it’s spongy middle and
make his way back to his rightful place among his brothers who called
for him. He needed to return before the fridge opened and the cake
was taken away again to celebrate 100 Word Story Challenge’s 100th
birthday.

PLANET Z

Old Gertie died last night.
One day short of a hundred.
The TV people will be here in an hour to tape her blowing out the candles.
We bought a big cake just for that.
We’ll just have Fuzzy Norma sit in for Gertie.
She doesn’t talk much, except to say “Yes?” and laugh.
Neither had? I mean have any family around, so I’ll do all the talking.
After the party, we’ll quietly ship Gertie off to Shady Springs.
Don’t worry. None of the residents will blow it.
I’ve told them if they say anything, they won’t get any cake.

Welcome to the Ninety-Ninth 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 Elisson of Blog d’Elisson.
It’s Hemorrhage.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #99?
	Bryan from Ka-Klick
	Sougent Harrop from SL Adventures of a Southern Genlteman
	Anima Zabaleta
	Craig from The Open Site
	Daphne from Going Broke
	JD from Writing.com
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Guy David from Guy David
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

BYRAN

It was a hemorrhage. Red ink filled up the balance sheet, there was no
end in sight. He stared and stared at it, somehow hoping that by sheer force of will he could make the numbers rise, but there was no hope.
There was nothing left to be done. He was ruined, his family would be picking up the pieces for years to come, and he was to blame.
There was his insurance, but it wouldn’t pay for suicide. He had to figure out how he could salvage something of his existence, but it HAD to look like an accident.

SOUGENT

So the other day, I’m crossing the street minding my own damned business
when this motorcycle appears out of nowhere and knocks me flat on my ass.
I’m lookin’ around, wonderin’ what the hell just happened, when I notice
that I’m hemorrhaging large quantities of blood from the mangled stump
that used to be my elbow.
As I start to pass out due to the loss of blood, my life starts to flash
before my eyes and boy, is it strange.
What’s a midget butler and a giant robot doing in my flashback?
Jeez, I shoulda just took the bus.

ANIMA

Billy
(look at that scabby blonde girl,
thinks she knows everything,
’cause she spelled “omniscient”
hope i get an easy one like that.)
Contestant #5: ENCEPHALITIS
E-N-C-E”.
(almost my turn” i can’t take this any more”
i call this fun? my brain’s about to explode”
hurry up already”)
Contestant #33: PHLEGMATIC
F-L-E-M”
(ha ha he’s out” oh crap, i’m next”
no freaking way will i do this again”)
” #9?
I’m sorry; may I hear the word again with a definition?
HEMORRHAGE… A PROFUSE”
(thinkthinkthink” why’d I get this bloody word?)
H-E-M”

TOM

Arnesto through the accelerator on the Cronomotive. Ellie blew him a kiss and she was gone. About the steam time machine balls of light rolled over its surface. When he arrived at 2099 a crystal structure encased the Cronomotive. Cervantes felt faint and fell forward. Hurriedly a crew extracted the St Elmo”s time hemoglobins.
When he awoke Maria was holding his hand. “You experienced a bit of time hemorrhage.” “Time Bleed?” Arnesto croaked. “When you arrived last month you set up the hemarrhage collector. Here”s a message from Grandma.” Cercantes read shook his head. “It seem you”re traveling with me.”

CRAIG

Ellen walked straight to the back room of the old bakery joining the
five of us already present. We sat hushed as the baker brought us the
mythical liquid chocolate cake.
As Ellen sliced into the cake chocolate lava hemorrhaged from the center
engulfing all six layers. Off in a corner the baker smiled and a dog
barked.
Each of us was served a piece dripping with liquid chocolate. Savoring
each bite we thought how poets lived for just such a moment and
experiencing feelings boarding on rapture we all in unison smiled at
Ellen, wishing her a happy birthday.

DAPHNE

As I sat to write this story the ideas started to flow. I had a noir story about a body and a knife, but nothing congealed. I had a financial story about shopping sprees and lots of boots, but it wouldn’t fit. I had an amusing tale about wind-up toys leaking oil, but it dried up. I finally figured out I could write about my ideas hemorrhaging out of my brain to fast to write them down but then I ran out of words to tell it. Darn that limit who can write something good with only 100 words?

JD

They taught me the word hemorrhage in medical school.
Such a descriptive word. I like to hear the word.
They taught me to use a scalpel to relieve human suffering.
That’s what I do. Relieve suffering.
I have helped many who suffered great pain. I have helped her.
She lays in a heap on the bricks of the alley. I watch as the blood pools about her, black by the light of the gas lamp.
She had called to me from the alley and I could hear the pain in her voice.
Stepping close I said ?Just call me Jack?

TERRY

Fuel, glorious Fuel!
I started early in the morning searching the cargo wreckage.
I had just about given up finding anything worthwhile.
Then I found it,
Fuel, glorious Fuel.
With it, came Hemorrhage.
Now I can Hemorrhage in the morning,
Hemorrhage at noon,
and Hemorrhage at night
I had forgotten how I enjoyed Fuel and their Hemorrhage
No, not fuel as in gas,
Fuel, the band, and the Best of Fuel CD I brought.
There’s nothing like a little Hemorrhage in the morning to get you going.
This is Josh Jones, survivor,
Signing off

LAIEANNA

The day Heaven rained down on us was a Tuesday. It wasn’t harps and
halos, but there was no doubt in the location. A sunny day turned
suddenly dark with black clouds slithering, lightening temporarily
blinding us, and thunder keeping everyone staring with hands clasped
over ears. Maybe hours passed, but it seemed seconds. The sky opened
up and from nowhere, Heaven began hemorrhaging beautiful angels with
burnt wings. They plopped to the ground like wet towels. Turning to
the man I just knew was the devil, he smiled back, saying, “Not my
doing. I think someone is cleaning house.”

GUY DAVID

They called him The Hemorrhage Man. He would bleed for them at the snap of a finger, the blink of an eye, and he loved it. They would circle him like vultures, thirsty for him, and he would feed them, every last one of them, and still, blood would pour, never ending streams of it, red, fresh, satisfying.
They called her pale fountain. She was a stream of water, the sun dancing between her clear shores, forever smiling, she was beauty in her eternal youthful essence.
They made a strange couple, but when they made love, blood and water united.

PLANET Z

Once upon a time, before all this crap they air now, MTV used to play these things called music videos.
Duran Duran and Weird Al and Pat Benatar and all these performers lipsyncing to crazy-ass minimovies, animations… whatever they thought would convince people to buy more of their music.
Then there was Nena and 99 Luftballons ” a foreign antiwar message set to a pop beat.
Red balloons mistaken for a strange aircraft… war breaks out and cities are destroyed.
No, it never happened that way. Thanks to MTV, our culture hemorrhaged into garbage and incivility.
Shut it off. Now.

Welcome to the Ninety-Eighth 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 Tom from Footnote.
It’s At My Funeral.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #98?
	Phish Frye
	Anima Zabaleta
	Craig from The Open Site
	Storm Thunders from From The Eye Of The Storm
	Terry from Quiet Time
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy from Guy David
	Daphne from Going Broke
	Josh from A Work In Progess
	JD from Writing.com
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

PHISH FRYE

Overslept. No idea how tired I was. As I try to put on my slippers, my feet just keep passing through. I really must have overdone it last night.
Downstairs to the kitchen. Not even a note taped to the fridge. She’s really not coming back this time.
Staring, blurry-eyed, at the cofee maker, trying to remember the night before.
“My sister?”, she asked.
“Yes”, I replied.
“But why?”
“Because she swallows.”
I probably shouldn’t have rolled over and gone to sleep at that point.
Or bought that over-sized pillow.
Gave up on the coffee. Late to my own funeral. Interred ten minutes ago.
I guess mother was right.

ANIMA

I am transitioning into the grey realm of “Adult”. Where do I fit? I am too young to be old, but too old to be young; I must embrace middle age.
The passing of youth shall not go unnoticed. At my own funeral, I will have black horses with feathered plumes draw the hearse; followed by a Dixieland jazz band. I shall bury the fears and vagaries of inexperience in a box six feet under, and joyfully don the wings of maturity.
I wear tattoos as memento mori, etched in earlier years, to remind me of
the temporality of youth.

CRAIG

Hunched in the locked confessional booth fearful of discovery, holding
my breath I squint through the cracked stained glass.
Sitting directly in front of me wearing a black floppy Hedi Lamar hat
was Delilah. Animated as always her head bobbing to and fro blocking my
view of the mourners.
Sure, I wasn”t dead but I felt like I was. That damn Delilah was causing
me as much grief at my funeral as when we lived together.
I whispered pleadingly “please Delilah take off your hat.”
Mourners came and left my funeral. Tell me, how can I ask who they were.

STORM

The ratings are astronomical. And the wave of condemnations only draws more watchers. It’s all that raw humanity, framed and outlined by the horrifically inhumane context. It’s a pricey show to make, right up there with “Bridezilla!” its only real competitor, but the advertisers flock to it. The fans love the show – laughter, tears, raw truths revealed, heartbreaking stories, secret lovers and previously unknown children, the episode where the guy ended up in the emergency room when his wife found out he was fine…
Truly, “At My Own Funeral” is the most devastating example of reality TV ever made.

TERRY

Day what, I don’t know, I’ve lost track of how long it has been since the crash.
I have just spent the last several days working with the communications equipment and have partially repaired the Vid-Comm. I now can at least receive transmissions from Earth but still unable to let Space Command know I am alive.
The first transmission I have received was ICN anchor Dan Quayle discussing the explosion of the landing module on descent and how the Phoenix, the main ship, is still in orbit around the planet. He said that Space Command will be remotely using the Phoenix to survey the planet for wreckage but there was no hope for survivors.
This evening, Dan narrated during the memorial service as President Clinton and the First Husband placed wreaths for each of the crew members next to a stone replica of the Phoenix. I never thought that there would be a day where I could watch and be at my own funeral.
This is Josh Jones, survivor, signing off.

TOM

Ellie Arroway bedded Cervantes on day one. “You said I would have to take the initiative.” As Arnesto caught his breath he noticed an ancient manila folder at the night stand. The label on the edge read “At My Own Funeral” a pencil scrawled signature read: A. Cervantes. “A man should not know his fate,” he protested. “Don”t get all Doc Brown on me. Look at the photo.” Arnesto saw himself at 80 laidout and himself at 40 standing next the Queen, a young girl on her lap. “That”s Herminie Arroway the great great great grandmother of your grandchild Marie.

GUY

A crow spread his wings and flew away. The men carrying the coffin looked up and smiled at their black feathered friend. A clown in a business suit juggled cats. Everyone cheered and threw colored confetti. The four men put the coffin on the ground. A man and a woman jumped right on it and made love. “A life ending, a life beginning” proclaimed someone from the crowd, I couldn’t see who it was, was too busy being dead, but I know my friends where going to remind me how wonderful life is, and that’s the way I wanted it.

DAPHNE

I stood in the back watching the mourners. The closed casket with a photo on it… a photo of me. They said the only way I would be able to escape her was to produce a body. So I went to the morgue, claimed a Jane Doe and paid for a proper funeral. They said after years of living two lives it would kill me, I guess they are right. She was trying to take over, saying I needed her to live. Well I’m alive and she’s heading off to cremation. Before I leave I’ll sign the guest book “My deepest sympathies on your loss, Daphne”.

JOSH

The enemy vessel returned fire; apparently their feelings were mutual. Dead and dying men littered the deck, but the Captain stood fast with determination. He watched as the ship surgeon and priest moved through plumes of smoke, like angels of mercy amidst thudding musket-balls and cannon-fire. Untouched by any, they reached a hopeless young man ravaged by shrapnel, and the priest knelt to read his last rights.
“…Amen,” the priest finished and stood up just as a musket-ball splattered the sailor’s face.
The Captain returned his attention to the battle. His funeral, a traitor’s funeral, would not be as distinguished.

JD

They came over the palisade by the hundreds. Our only weapons, sharpened sticks and rocks. Afterwards, nothing was left to bury.
They found us hiding in a cave. Our mutilated bodies were tossed into the canyon below.
In the deep woods the legionary put us to the sword. Our bodies left to feed the wild dogs.
They sank the ship and left. We floated for days without water, before the sharks came.
The jungle erupted with automatic weapons fire. We tried to run. They left us to rot where we died.
Death is always near. Not so a decent funeral.

LAIEANNA

Proportions are wrong. I see myself, bigger than life. Crying is
happening all around. I’m staring at family and friends through a
kaleidoscope view. It’s nauseating. I tolerate by concentrating on
the why they’re here. So many from my past. Some deeply ingrained in
my memory and yet others a fleeting face I can’t quite place. What am
I doing outside myself? Oh. I’m dead, but still seeing myself in
all the massiveness I had become.
Casket door closes and I’m alone with myself in the dark. The air
won’t last. I had such a short time in this reincarnation.

PLANET Z

Dr. Odd fired up the time machine and ordered it to send him ahead a thousand years into the future.
Instead, something jumped out of a rift in the fabric of spacetime and the machine crashed.
Bruised and battered, Dr. Odd climbed out of the wreckage to discover that he’d collided with a duplicate of his from another dimension.
The investors would be pissed about this project’s failure, so he killed his mirror-twin and ran.
There were a lot of questions raised at his funeral. Thankfully, he didn’t have to answer them from his new hollowed out volcano headquarters.

(Ending music “At My Funeral” by Crash Test Dummies)

Welcome to the Ninety-Seventh 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 Elisson and Caleb.
It’s Mufaletta and Navel Lint.
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #97?
	Tom from Footnote
	Caleb Bullen from Black Tie Martini Club
	Terry from Quiet Time Podcast
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Josh from A Work In Progress
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Laieanna at Hodgepodge Point
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

TOM

Arnesto”s first jump was to Dec 1st 1999. He was greeted by a beaming female stranger who called him Pooky. This completely rattle Cervantes for it was the term of endearancient Ways
Ament of his mother. “You said you”d look surprised and should be reminded that time is like navel lint.” She handed him a Mufalleta and said it was his favorite food from the future. “Have we “” started Arnesto. “Yes and a lot more!” said the director. “You said you always leave just before you arrive.” She handed him a very old box. He handed her a very new book.

CALEB

She said, as she put down her Mufaletta, “I think this sandwich has navel lint in it”.
I asked, “Do you even know what navel lint tastes like”?
She said, “Oh I know what navel lint tastes like, I”ve had my tongue in more belly buttons than you”ve so much as seen”
I said, “I dunno” I”ve seen a lot of belly buttons”
And then she threw out a number. A number I won”t share with you because frankly, you won”t believe it. But I believed it; I was there. I said, “honey, you”re the weirdest woman I”ve ever known”

TERRY

Day 4 ” May 16, 2012
After putting it aside for a couple of days, I find myself trudging back to the wreckage of the living module of my once proud ship. I think the shock of losing my fellow crew members has abated enough so that I can give them a proper burial.
Reflecting back on to each of them, our time together in training and the 2 month trip here has given me a new prospective on life and friendships.
Sergeant David Mirowski, the security NCO of the crew was a huge man, but now so very small after the flames of the crash has claimed him. It may be crazy, but the one thing that I remember best about him was his 30 year collection of navel lint that he kept neatly rolled up in a ball. I’m going to bury it with him since it meant so.
Lieutenant Regina Rodriguez, my co-pilot, so beautiful in life along with being so talented in many areas. During our trip to Mars, she would prepare dishes from her home country at least once a week to give up a change from our bland rations that we were provided. I think my favorite was the Mufalleta she made last week.
I couldn’t find the body of our final crew member, Sprocket, the Labrador Retriever that Space Command sent along. I wonder if he made it out before the fire or was in some other part of the ship, I guess only time will tell.
This is Capt. Josh Jones, Earth Space Command signing off.

GUY

Aunt Mazal and uncle Hezki came to visit us from Israel last summer. They insisted on making their famous Mufalleta. They disappeared in the kitchen. We waited. Strange sounds followed. They emerged with what looked like discolored pan bread, a small dish with honey and another with chocolate spread. Mother shrugged and dipped a piece of Mufalleta in honey. It was then, we noticed the little gray blobs on the Mufalleta and the fact that uncle Hezki had one hand up his nose and another picking up lint of his naval. We never invited aunt Mazal and uncle Hezki again.

JOSH

“Fire!”
At the Captain’s command twenty broadside cannons spewed hell’s fire, smoke and brimstone orbs into the air. The spheres carried with them the thunderous echo of dissension and presented it one by one to their target with the fury of a scorned lover. Unrelenting, the battery reduced the marked ship to splinters of charred wood ? naval lint.
They would not misinterpret or ignore his subtle message. After all, most things are more gentle than the kiss from a cannonball, but few are as conclusive. On this day, the Captain had many final kisses to deliver, to many former lovers.

ELISSON

Katrina devastated New Orleans in 2005, but Hurricane Louis sounded its
death knell in 2023. The city drowned, never to recover.
Both the Navy and the Marines sent in frogmen to salvage what cultural
artifacts they could. There was a huge demand for experienced
Muffuletta Divers.
It was a heartbreaking job, one that was physically demanding. The
divers needed concentrated rations that packed a caloric punch.
Chocolate filled the bill.
While the Marines favored Godiva at first, it was a Swiss chocolatier
that won the hearts of the Annapolis boys. Oh, how the Big Easy salvors
loved their Naval Lindt.

LAIEANNA

“I’m sorry,” Amber said, staring at her mufalleta. Justin first
thought she was talking to the sandwich till she bit into it and
continued. “It’s just not going to work out between us.” Her mouth
moved with each word, exposing the beginning of her digestive process.
“I’m not attracted to you. You never fart or belch. You don’t
smell; hair is neat and your skin is smooth. For god sakes, you don’t
even have navel lint!” Justin sadly bit into his own food. “And you
eat salads! You’re not a normal guy.” She gawked in disgust,
finishing off her meal.

PLANET Z

According to The Bible, Adam gave names to everything.
But if he and Eve were crafted by God’s hands, then they were not born of a mother, so they had no navels.
After their expulsion from Eden, Cain’s birth presented the couple with a few new and somewhat messy items requiring labels.
“Baby,” muttered Adam, pointing at his squalling son. “Umbilical. Placenta.”
Eve picked up the baby and began to nurse.
“Mind getting me some clean fig leaves?” she asked. “My old ones are a mess.”
Adam went gathering, because it took a lot a leaves to cover her-
“Mufelatta,” he mumbled. “I should name something that.”

Welcome to the Ninety-Sixth 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 Elisson.
It’s Steampunk
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in the Weekly Challenge #96?
	Caleb Bullen of Black Tie Martini Club
	Elisson of blog d’Elisson
	Terry from The Old Coot Cast
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Night Guy
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	JD from Writing.com
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

CALEB

Joey Ramone looked into Wendy O Williams” eyes and said, “Your eyes are like two limpid pools drawing me in to an oasis of love”
He felt her tremble as he pulled her heaving bosom close to him and as their lips met
they both heard a single distorted guitar chord
with an incessant 8th note rhythm, relentless like the engine powering their love.
Their hearts raced as groping hands
pulled each other nearer
and a second chord was added
as zippers gave way and
unwashed blue jeans
fell to the floor.
No need for a third chord,
it”s punk.

ELISSON

Doctor Rauchfisch stood over the basin, trimming his muttonchops
carefully with his straight razor. He rinsed. A splash of bay rum and he
strode out, clapping on his top hat and walking-goggles.
Dodging the press of Stanleys and Vapormatics that clogged the street,
he arrived at his office and rode the hydraulic lift to the seventh floor.
Taking a polished mahogany case out of his desk, he unfolded it,
snapping the steam hose into the wall outlet. Rapidly clicking clockwork
signaled the Difference-Engine”s readiness.
He smiled. Life was so much easier since the invention of the World-Wide
Steam-Powered Computational Network.

TERRY

I have just woken up from the strangest dream I have ever encountered.
In the dream, I was living the life of someone called Oswald Bastable in the early 19th century on earth. We were in the process of chasing some Chinese guy across the Pacific, when our difference engines quit and we had to switch over to the steam powered motors. This slowed our descent enough that we were able to land on an island without any damage or personal injuries of the crew.
My very able assistant, Penelope Tugbottom and I frolicked along the island beach while the crew made repairs to the engines so we could continue our chase.
This was so unlike my real life crash landing on Mars that I encountered several days ago.
The loneliness and stress of the past few days had taken a toll on me, I guess I better not be reading Moorcock’s The Warlord of the Air or any steampunk material for that matter, so late at night.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command signing off.

TOM

Arnesto Cervantes joined The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen in 1899. His contribution to the organization was the Kronomotive a steam driven time machine. The Kronomotive could jump 100 years between overhauls. Refueling and repairs on average took one month. Queen Victoria approved a two year voyage for Arnesto”s steam jumper. The mission was at once simple and tremendously complex in nature. Arnesto would take ten 1000 page books to be delivered to each jump point. At these centitaral coporarites he requested a list of 100 questions be written in each book to be answered by a millennium of future minds.

GUY

The train stopped and puffed blue smoke. The metal figure stepped up and boarded it, Kevin following. He knew metal men weren’t supposed to exist in the 19th century, but he didn’t care. Time paradox or not, he was keeping his bodyguard close at hand. He knew well enough there where dangerous things around. This was the wild west after all.
Suddenly, a flash appeared and his metal bodyguard was torn in half. “I should have guessed Steampunk Girl would follow me here” thought Kevin as two silver disks flew away from the robot wreckage and disappeared in the distance.

LAIEANNA

An enhanced prostitute, Rose captivated the passengers more with her
wafting scent than the dance she performed. Thomas Persuade took his
opportunity, convincing the adjoining train car guards to sleep while
Dr. Dushan used his clunky, brass backpack to melt the iron door under
blows of the train whistle. Big Micky stood guard. The Baroness,
close by, concentrated on her glowing ball. She was key to their
escape before the rear soldiers were even aware they were there.
Getting passed the locked door, Big Micky grabbed the treasure, and
Baroness transported them from the locomotive in a cloud of smoke.

JD

The book was a success. Awards were bestowed upon the author.
The movie was released and generated, in its first six weeks, ten times the production cost.
Of course there were detractors auguring that the premise was wrong and the research flawed.
But the media ran with the story, citizens groups organized, government agencies intervened, and now we are required to cut back.
Who could have envisioned in the latter part of the 20st century that the release of heat and water vapor from our steam engines could so change the world and bring on the the fifth Ice Age.

PLANET Z

Welcome to the Ninety-Fifth 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 Laieanna and Tom.
It’s Worst Job and Storage
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

What were the best stories of Weekly Challenge #95?
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	John from A Work In Progress
	Guy David from Guy David.com
	Terry from Quiet Time
	Storm Thunders from Eye of the Storm
	Tom from Footnote
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	JD White
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

---

ELISSON

The worst job I ever had was manager of the U-Store-It unit out on the
Wharton Freeway.
It wasn”t the pay (which sucked), or Corporate (which really sucked).
It wasn”t even the clientele, although most of our customers weren”t
what you”d call Model Citizens.
No, it was the astonishing number of dead bodies that would appear in
the unrented units. Every couple days, we”d find another, chewed up
pretty bad. The cops were mystified, and it got to where I wasn”t
sleeping too well.
Then one night I saw them, and I understood. “Tekeli-li,” they moaned.
I never came back.

JOSH

Bologna again. Rick stared at the sandwich and its round edge of meat between the crusts before he took a grudging bite. A hero sub would be nice once in awhile. This tastes horrible and it’s so small, he thought as he stuffed the remainder of it into his mouth.
Rick grabbed the shovel leaning against the Cadillac’s bumper and dug a few more loads from the long shallow pit. His stomach growled. What he wouldn’t give for roast beef. He pulled the stained lumpy burlap sack from the trunk and dragged it into the hole.
Pastrami would be best.

TERRY

I have just returned from exploring parts of the wreckage after crash landing on Mars.
I have discovered that I am the lone survivor and have found several usable items in the closest part of the wreckage, along with solving a couple of problems.
My first problem being that the oxygen level in the atmosphere is about half the amount of Earth’s. The fix for this is an extraction pump that that was in the cargo bay, now all I need is a large tank for storage of the oxygen.
The second problem I found is that the living area of the craft is a total loss, burning up on impact; all that is left is a metal caucus along with the charred remains of my fellow crew members, may they rest in peace.
Without the living area section, the only toilet facilities are now in my command module. After the 2 month journey here, these have become completely filled and must be emptied, which maybe the worst job I have ever had to do.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command, signing off.

GUY DAVID

I must have the worst job in the world. I store broken dreams. I do this because that is my job. Not because I want to. I receive the dreams, confine then so they wouldn’t hurt anyone, so that people would be able to get on with their lives.
Last night, I run out of storage space, and all the broken dreams spilled out. Dreams of disappointments, of forgotten real life dreams, half forgotten memory dreams, all spilled over me. I had to inspect them one by one, put them back in place. Now I’m never going to dream again.

STORM THUNDERS

There’s always that awkward moment when you’re aware but before the shell’s done uploading. Then the shock as data starts pouring through the senses. The reassuring feel of filtering algorithms learning and adjusting – I’ve had those fail before, and lemmie tell you that’s a nightmare! Then the quick mental inventory of available tools and sensory inputs, and ransacking what’s stored in memory to determine the job that you’re here to do. It isn’t always obvious; part of why we’re sent is our ability to come up with creative solutions.
Even the worst job is better than being in storage

TOM

Worst Shmrst who”s to said one act is any less fitting in the services of the lord then another, but working shipping and receiving is that technically working in the field of the lord. I remember the August the antifreeze trucks arrived. The stuff was so dense it had to be perfectly loaded within the vehicle. We twowheelerd stacks of 6 cases down the aluminum ramp directly into back storage. Here by hand we stacked walls of antifreeze 8 cases high, deadlifting the last above our heads. Sweat dirt raw hands and backs all work is the work of the lord.

CALEB

They said it would be the job of a lifetime; go to sleep on earth and wake up some time later as the first ambassador to an as yet undiscovered alien world. But no alien world ever found me and cryogenic suspension doesn”t really stop the brain so much as slow it. A normal dream reflects upon the previous day”s activity but my last day was billions of years ago, long since forgotten in time. So now I float through space unable to move unable to wake, dreaming of nothing for eternity. I should”ve stayed in school” This job sucks.

JD WHITE

George’s job filled him with angst and anxiety.
Not really the job, you know, but the consequences of the job.
Each day of his existence George was tasked to move souls from the cold storage vault into the bodies of people that had lost, or just misplaced their soul.
This, if you have the right temperament, could be most fulfilling.
George did not have that temperament.
George was always stressed.
George always developed ulcers.
George always committed suicide.
And then Krishna or Vishnu or whoever would reincarnate him.
It was the best of jobs, it was the worst of jobs.

PLANET Z

The boys down in the warehouse always did the worst job of keeping things organized and secured.
You didn’t know what you’d find when you’d pry open a battered crate hauled out of storage. The manifests were hastily scribbled notes that had nothing to do with what was tossed willy-nilly into the box.
“Something Expensive Damaged Beyond Repair” was a good guess, I’d say.
The CEO got fed up with the damage and stormed into the warehouse office.
The boys down there didn’t take too kindly to getting fired, and they chopped him up.
We’re still finding bits and pieces of him.
Something expensive, indeed.

Welcome to the Ninety-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 Tom of Footnote.
It’s Pen and Ink
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which stories were the best from Weekly Challenge #94
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Tom from Footnote Podcast
	Storm Thunders from The Eye of the Storm
	Guy David from Guy David dot com
	Terry the Old Coot
	Houston Keys from Tater Tots For The Masses
	Elisson from blog d’Elisson
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club Oddcast
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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LAIEANNA

The shopkeeper pulled a pen and inkwell from under the glass counter.
“Take this and use your favorite pad of paper to draw your dreams.”
The shopkeeper packed up the merchandise and handed it over to Fiona.
“Just remember the potency wears off within hours. Go home and
imagine.”
Fiona did just that, only to return to the shop minutes before
closing. The shopkeeper looked up at her strange new companion and
smiled. “How did it go?”
“Huge problem!” Fiona huffed, “He’s perfect except he’s purple! It
won’t wash off.”
“That’s what you get for drawing on frilly colored paper.”

TOM

The nuns said the uses of a ball point would ruin my penmanship that vessel sailed long before the world was burred in BICS. The ball of ADD Dyslexic contrails which is my brain never got the hang of laying pen to paper. I was never patient enough to master the Zen of pen and ink. It was always about whole body mechanics from the finger to shoulder. It was about a floating perpendicularity as precise as Marine Drill Sargent. But most important is was the feel for metal gently biting the surface of pulp a conscience contact with externality

STORM

I dream in colors
to the rhythm of the needle against their skin
Tapping
Trapping ink beneath the layers
Freeing secrets
The bells jingle. Usually they come asking for butterflies or skulls or lovers’ names. I look over to see another who’s heard the whispered rumors and come seeking. My inks mix with their blood, creating colors and lines showing the indelible marks within… Inner beauty, hidden scars, buried secrets… My pen flows, illuminating their truths.
This one I refuse. I speak her name aloud, shocking tears from him.
“I will not damn. Make amends before you face my needles.”

GUY DAVID

My pen is bleeding blue
Blue ink of pain pouring rain
Where does all this sadness come from
Time have sharpened the pencil
Wrote my life and laughed
And now my pen is bleeding red
A scream of anguish
The rage of time passing
And the stone wall
Unbreakable wall
My pen is bleeding blue
Blue ink of pain pouring rain
On wet paper
The wetness of tears
Maybe I could drown like Alice
Maybe disappear
But where would I go
Can’t run away from my past
So I stay in the present
Bleeding the blue blood of a pen

TERRY

Day 1 ” May 13, 2012
I have found myself alive and still breathing after crash landing on the planet Mars. I think the cause was a malfunction of the guidance system in the ship’s main computer.
The craft is a total wreck; it has spilt up into several sections with parts of it burning after spotting signs of smoke on the horizon.
My command module has sustained damage, but seems to be still pressurized and I have enough water and air for several days.
With the other wreckage burning, I have to assume that there is oxygen in the atmosphere, Now all I need to know is how much and how to extract it. I have tuned my radio, which looks as if it is still functioning; to S.O.S. But, only god knows if anyone will hear it.
My next chore is to suit up and explore the wreckage for usable equipment; I wish I only had pen and ink to set this record down on paper.
This is Captain Josh Jones, Earth Space Command, signing off.

HOUSTON

Hello my name is Stephen Hawking and Houston has asked me to resort to
pen and ink and recite some of my original poetry.
Her skin glistened in the moonlight,
My heartbeat quickened as I soaked in her beauty.
My wandering gaze moved from her lips,
To her plunging neckline,
To her”
Steve, Man, sorry, this just isn’t working.
What do you mean?
It just sounds, I don’t know” Creepy
FINE! JERK! The next time you need assistance with astrophysical
theory you may go elsewhere you small minded, cube dwelling, thick
browed technical support drone!
Uh. OK. Thanks anyway Steve.

ELISSON

A few cycles ago, I was glimming the morning Speedtext, where I saw the
most intriguing ad:
PORTABLE INFORMATION STORAGE SYSTEM
requires no batteries, stores images or alphanumeric characters with
equal ease. Data retrieval uses principle of SELECTIVE REFLECTION” in
conjunction with electromagnetic radiation source (not included). Access
any part of your database with simple manual operation! Available
preprogrammed with large variety of software.
Store below 451″F.
I had to have one! I scanned my credichip and waited for the transmuter
to zoop it.
It was a “book.” I was mesmerized. What primitive beauty!
The “pen” and “ink” come tomorrow.

CALEB

Hey Merle, come here! What”s all that ink doing in the pig pen?
That aint Ink, Jocephus, that”s oil!
Oil?
Black Gold, Texas Tea, Well the first thing you know ole Jed”s a Millionaire, OIL man!
Okay” So uh Merle, What”s all that oil doing in the pig pen?
Well either we struck oil and we”re going to be filthy rich and never have to work another day in our lives or one of the robotic pigs has blown a gasket. Now which do you think it is?
Aw Merle, those goddamn robotic pigs are more trouble than they”re worth.

PLANET Z

Back in the wild days of the Wordslingers, pens for hire would ride the range, silver pocket protectors in their button-down shirt pockets.
They’d square off on Main Street at high noon, standing there tall, staring each other down.
Their fingers twitching at their sides, ready to reach for their magnificent pens…
All around, the townspeople watched, the local newspaper’s literary critic measuring out column space for the loser.
They draw! Ink flies! Harsh words are exchanged!
One man goes down! Get this man an editor!
He arrives too late.
The victor bows his head, and writes the epitaph.

Welcome to the Ninety-Third 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 Duckyfresh Watanabe.
It’s Hygenic Products
The excellent theme music is by Guy David
VOTING

Which were the best stories in Weekly Challenge #93?
	Tom from Footnote
	Guy David from Sixteenth
	Daphne Abernathy of Going Broke
	Kelly Burt from Come Let Me Whisper
	Laieanna from Hodgepodge Point
	Caleb from Black Tie Martini Club
	Planet Z
Free polls from Pollhost.com

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

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TOM

Initially Jane loved Sammy for his impeccable cleanliness. He looked a lot like David Bowie in the Man who fell to earth. He had nearly every possible hygienic product imaginable. The Michael Jackson high speed nostril clippers, the Arnold Schwarzenegger govonator bikini waxer, Martha Stewart ankle hair remover. Sammy went as far as to have had his sweat glands surgically rerouted. It just might have worked between them if Sammy hadn”t take it just one step to far. Jane hurriedly throw all her clothes into overnight and raced out the door just after she saw Sammy bent over engaged in a tough on Monica Lewinsky extra contoured butt fosse.

DAPHNE

Have you ever watched an 18-Wheeler over turn? I don’t mean seeing the after effects of the helpless trailer on its side and the contents all over the road. I mean seeing it take an off-ramp too fast, tipping over on to two wheels and then come tumbling over with such a crash that the back doors burst open and the contents go everywhere. Well I have, and right now my car is covered in Hygienic Products… so I’m going to be a little late for work.

GUY DAVID

Lony was lazing on the sofa with me, when that salesman came knocking at our door. “Keep yourselves clean ladies, with the latest Crapking Super Hygienic cleansing products”. So much dirty sales talk.
We decided to have fun a little, but Lony got a little rusty since Droma barbecued her, so she turned him into an elf by mistake, while trying to turn him into a pile of dirty socks for our cat, Footnote. Now, imagine an elf, trying to go door to door, selling hygienic products. I just had to do something, so, I turned him into a frog.

KELLY BURT

I was a little concerned when I first left a toothbrush, but he took it well. Then I left some underwear. This was also tolerated. I assumed all was well– I assumed. That was my first mistake. The problem arose when I decided to leave my own personal “hygienic products”. I left my brand of toothpaste and hair products. This pissed him off. He decided that I didn’t like his products, therefore this was a personal attack on him. I’m glad I didn’t leave any tampons. I really would’ve been frighten if he had an opinion on my feminine products.

LAIEANNA

“I am the baddest dog around. No human tells me what to do.”
“Ha, you wish. All cats top you. We’re cunning and never ever do
what we’re told.”
“I’ll prove it! I’ll steal food off the table.”
“I’ll walk on the counters.”
“Oh. Oh! I’ll dig holes in the yard.”
“I’ll eat their goldfish.”
“I’ll chew up their house shoes.”
“I’ll shred the curtains.”
“I’ll bark all night.”
“I’ll pee throughout the house.”
“Well, I’ll drag whatever’s in the bathroom garbage all over the carpet.”
“It’s the wrong time of the month for that! You win, you disgusting animal.”

CALEB

The Following story is true nothing has been changed to protect the innocent.
In 2001 American Hygiene Products, a wholly owned subsidiary of Disposable Soft Goods International, purchased the assets of Drypers Corporation following their announced bankruptcy of October 2000, substantially increasing the sales of the company in North America.
The integration of the acquisition was successfully completed in the first quarter of 2002 and the combined Net Sales for Year End 2002 were in excess of 160 million dollars. Other major North Amrerican acquisitions included Dafoe & Dafoe international in 1987, DrySec in 1993, and Universal Converters in 1997.

PLANET Z

My name is Doctor Johnson N. Johnson, and I invented the cotton swab.
No need to thank me. Just knowing you’re using them in good health is reward enough.
Since then, I’ve invented many hygienic products.
But I have a secret. A dark secret.
Late at night, in my factory, I take off my lab coat and all my other garments and I roll around naked in the cotton bails.
So soft. So luxurious. Such a delight.
Don’t think the worse of me. Come down to my factory, feel for yourself.
It’s not a perversion! It’s Heaven, I tell you!