The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z I think I mixed the ending a bit oddly... oh well. You can see the topic here: The next topic is Train RICHARD Sold! I bought it on Amazon: No, it wasn't cheap, but maybe I was swayed by the product description. 'Absolute peace of mind, and total security', it said, and then to ram the point firmly home, it went on to detail exactly why I had no need whatsoever ever to worry… Waterproof, leak proof and rot resistant. Non-fade, colourfast and hard-wearing. Biologically and dermatologically tested, additive free, hypo-allergenic and vegan friendly. Safe, secure, tried and tested, and a lifetime no-quibble guarantee. I had to have it. If only I knew what the hell it's supposed to do! LIZZIE The security unit monitored the whole house. Total Security, stated the ad. But the resident cat hated it. When the security unit started growling, the owners thought they were doomed. Killed by a security unit. The horror. Well, the unit was just bored. Eventually, the feline and the unit struck up a friendship when the unit started purring. The cat thought that was rather amusing. But then the security unit was fired for being too noisy. So, the cat made a big fuss. Long story short, the unit stayed. Cats rule. If they want total security, they get total security. LISA Where We’re in a room with a huge fire. There’s cakes and tea. Our eyes are out on stalks but at the same time we all wince from the brightness. You can see for miles and yet you can see nothing. We’re remote. But based on the opulence of the room we’re in- this is not some rural backwater. Our captor explains. “It’s a gated property. You, the chosen ones, will have total security here- you can walk for miles and not meet a soul. We keep the gate locked. To stop outsiders getting in, not to stop you getting out.” SERENDIPIDY Good choice! As panic rooms go, you really couldn't do much better. Concrete walls, solid steel door with multiple timer-secured deadlocks and three-sixty external surveillance systems. Total security. I see you've stocked up on supplies for at least a week too. That shows great foresight and planning. Well done. Because, let's face it, with a character like me stalking the neighbourhood, you really don't want to be taking chances. But, I do feel there's something you may have missed. A secure panic room is great, once you're inside. Not so good, if I got in there before you! TOM Not So Good My wife works in a clinic. In the clinic are departments who would sell their first born for an extra 4 square feet. Now that square footage in her office has been usurped for reasons of security. In a safe of considerable weight are keep the holy grail of medicine. My wife doesn’t buy into admins reasoning for a safe in her office. They muse for the need for ToTaL Security: a safe behind a lock door. Gail pointed out there is an 18 inch window in her office. To maintain Total total security they moved it to the john. 854 Water Torture Remote The codename for the project was: Water Torture Remote. DARPA funded it in the late 60s. The core of the project was to train solders in lucid dreaming. Once in a heighten state of consciousness images of prime targets would be scanned on the retinas. Targets were merged in dreamtime. At this point the suggestion that water was filling the targets lungs would be planted in the target’s consciousness. It almost worked; problem was the guys running the scanners got linked-in. Water Torture Remote took them out. Needless to say, the project was summarily defunded. Nothing in DARPA ever truly dies. NORVAL JOE "Come on, son. Let's go home," Billbert's father said. Billbert rattled the handcuffs. "I can't dad." Billbert's mother looked like she was going to grab Vattash by the throat. "Why would you cuff a child during a friendly chat?

He stood there, a dark and shabby man, rotten teeth and wild hair. Clothed in dirty rags, surrounded by dozens of shabby commoners. Roman soldiers watched them all. "That's Jesus?" I said. "For real?" "Kinda puts things in perspective, eh?" said Dr. Marks, holding his camera steady. We were posing as merchants, and tracked the group for a few days. And when it was over, we went back to our boat, threw the time circuits, and appeared back in the Institute. We both took a big breath of fresh air. "Man, I need a shower," Dr. Marks said, and laughed.

Baby woke up cold, bound up and tied to a tree. She looked around as best she could. There were trees all around her, and all she heard were crickets. She tried to scream, but there was a gag over her mouth. The last thing she remembered was leaving Archie's place and going home. And her husband... he came back a day early. "What do you think it will be?" a voice whispered in her ear. "Starve, dehydrate, or freeze?" It wasn't any of those. It was a shovel to her skull. And he used it to bury her deep.

Of all the childhood games out there, the one I hate the most is Simon Says. Because I never got to play it as anything but Simon. Sure, telling kids to step forward or raise their hands can be fun. But it was never enough. It led to my being a megalomaniac, ordering kids to rob banks, smite enemies, and far, far worse. I tried it on my family, but they were also Simons, and my parents never relinquished their iron grip on power. Oh, I also hate dodgeball. Getting hit in the face with a rubber ball sucks, too.

I like to dip my cheese pizza in ranch dressing. I also like Doritos. So, I bought a bag of pizza-flavored Doritos and a bag of ranch-flavored Doritos and ate them together. It was a dumb idea. Because the flavor dust gets all over everything. And they don't stack like Pringles. So, I'll dip pizza-flavored Doritos in ranch dressing. But I won't crumble up ranch-flavored Doritos and sprinkle them on cheese pizza. That's stupid and messy. Some idiot came up with a bag that mixed pizza-flavored Doritos with ranch-flavored ones. Just because you can think up an idea doesn't make it good.

You probably only know of the two Wicked Witches and the one Good Witch from the classic film, and maybe you know Mombee from the later sequel, but the books are full of spellcasters, sorcerers, and other practitioners of magic. Ding Dong was especially proud, powerful, and dangerous. The few who knew of her existence knew not to mention her, let alone insult her. Munchkins are as ignorant as they are small, so they didn't realize their mistake of singing "Ding Dong, the witch is dead!" "No," a voice muttered. "You're dead." A massive firestorm wiped Munchkinland from the map.

Can you hear the mortars? They're silent again. After the bodies were piled into trucks and hauled off, we brought the stretchers to the creek. Washing the blood and guts off of the canvas, getting them cleaned up for the next wave to come in. We'd wash ourselves, wash the blood and guts off of ourselves, trying to wash out the memories and noise and smell away. Wondering when we'd end up on the stretchers, taken down the hill down to the trucks, piled up, our blood and washed off and... and... Can you hear the mortars? Hear them again?

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Total Security NORVAL JOE A shocked expression flashed onto Officer Sheepdip's face. Before she could close the door, Billbert shouted, "Mom, Dad. I'm in here." The door slammed shut. Having been led through the office to the interrogation room, Billbert knew his parents must have heard him. His parents burst into the room and seeing him handcuffed to the table, his mother turned on Vattash. "What are you doing to my son?" Vattash stood, an embarrassed smile on his face. "Ma'am we were only having a friendly chat. I assure you, our agency values citizens' rights and would never think to infringe upon them." LIZZIE Comfort and quality. The true values of a traditional railroad company. And then there was Herbert, the old man who was the new employee. He made everyone's lives as difficult as possible. When he kicked a passenger's... backside... out of the train for complaining about everything, everyone was horrified. Why wasn't he fired immediately? And then, they received a letter. He owned the company and gave all employees a share of it. And he did so, because he realized that dealing with the public was a pain in the... Comfort and quality, yes. But also respect for the staff. There! SERENDIPIDY Let's play a game. You're on a crowded lifeboat, and some of you need to be thrown overboard, or none will survive. Your task is deciding who lives and who dies, based on the perceived values, skills and benefits they bring to the group. It's not an exact science, but I'm sure there's plenty of fun and interesting discussion to be had, and - at the end of the day - it's the greater good that matters, not the needs of the individual. Except for my needs. Which is why you're all in the lifeboat, and I'm still on board the ship! LISA He's Back He’s back, he looks like he’s really pleased to see us. “Morning! Sorry I’ve been away, so long, I hope you’ve been well looked after? It’s time I explained things properly. I think it takes a near death experience to make you reassess your values, and appreciate what you’ve got and what you, perhaps, could have. "Please. Come upstairs and get comfortable. I wasn’t planning on having that car accident so this explanation and apology is long overdue." He’s exuding charm and care. We’ve spent months in his basement but he’s acting as if we’ve just popped over for tea. TOM A man's reach should exceed his grasp. What Timmy valued was last square of property in the worst street in London. Which had the worst meat-pies in London, but you could get a close shave upstairs. The value of that tiny plot of filth was small but the owner of same plot was adamite in retaining it. Timmy had exhausted all reasonable courses of action. Driven to a dark metaphysical opinion, Timmy summoned the likes of the companies founding father and his 16 feet of chains and chests. This should have done the trick, but Marley took a liking to the owner. They had tea regularly. Damn. 853 We think In Centuries For centuries phosphors tied themselves in knots trying to find the evidentiary underpinning for a Supreme Being. Investigation into origins of this question often lead into speculation about the nature of a power much greater than ourselves. This lead to speculations about God; more specifically, arguments designed to establish the existence of God with the use of “unaided reason”. Example: “First Cause” argues there are events that occur now, and these must have been caused; however, for there to be events now, there must have been a first cause; that is God. In the end Evidence just wasn’t there. Bupkis. RICHARD Welcome to the real world All day long, every day, I stare at spreadsheets, tracking the values of assets and projecting profits and gains based on historical performance? Sounds really boring, right?

A government survey found a dozen indigenous tribes living in the rainforest we'd marked for farming development. It doesn't take much of a bribe to get the numbers and GPS coordinates. The army doesn't patrol out here, so it's easy to fly in one of our own survey teams. Handing out blankets and tools and other goods. They're most interested in the sugar cubes. The poison in them acts quickly. It's painless, and they die with smiles on their faces. The next survey will show this area as uninhabited, and after we make the claim, we'll roll out the machinery.

Fifteen minutes with an epsom salt warm compress, the bump on my cheek comes to a head. "Wash your hands again and squeeze it gently," says the virtual nurse. Yellow and white flow down my cheek, and I wash it out with deionized water and squeeze again until only blood comes out. Swab it out with a cotton swab, then hydrogen peroxide. The buzz of the pharmacy drone, it drops off the antibiotics. "Take two tonight, one tomorrow morning, and use a clean bandage," the nurse says. "I'll check in tomorrow." And I thank her, and head for the door.

Working from home and walking to stores, I don't drive my car much. After three and a half years, less than ten thousand miles. As little as I drive, I still ran over a nail and had to get a new tire. I figured I might as well buy 4 new tires, but the store owner insisted I just needed the one. Okay, fine. Thanks. A week later, I hit a pothole too quickly and tore up another tire. And I needed a tow to the tire shop. He's still only selling me one tire. At a time, I worry.

It's National Lemon Day. I go through a bag of lemons a week. They help prevent kidney stones. Well, the standard ones. The uric acid ones, you also need to do potassium, keep your pH in check, and avoid foods with purine, and so on. Every morning, I put 2 lemons on the cutting board. Ream a half lemon out with every glass of iced tea. Oh, I drink a lot of iced tea and water. Because I don't want to wait 10 hours in the emergency room for a dose of Demerol and a cat-scan. You know... the stones.

The Flugelheimer Circus Train took the curve too fast and went off the rails outside of Morgantown. Right out by the ravine, half the cars rolling down the hill into the rocks. The others like scattered crushed boxes, spilling out broken animals and people. The few survivors, limping and crawling and carrying each other to the lights of Morgantown. Ambulances and nurses rushing out, the Boy Scout Troop giving first aid, no comfort to the mangled. And where was Flugelheimer? Not in his private car. He was in Rio with the formerly-bearded lady, living it up with the insurance payout.

I work with a charity that builds schools in poor neighborhoods. Neighborhoods with run-down schools, not enough skilled teachers, old textbooks, and few after-school activities to keep kids out of gangs. We get a lot of grant money and celebrity support. And we use it to build the schools. The best schools. Beautifully and perfectly designed schools. Problem is, when we're done building the schools, there's no money left. Maybe enough for a ribbon for a politician to cut. And run, leaving behind an empty school with no teachers, no textbooks, no afterschool activities. Except for vandalizing the empty shell.

Lisa Lizzie Richard Serendipidy Norval Joe Tom Planet Z The next topic is Values LISA Broken Dreams The sound of a siren wakes us. It’s close and feels as if it’s above us. We scrabble together, unsure what to do, should we signal to them? Start shouting perhaps? It raises the same unspoken question- we’re not really prisoners, are we? The basement door’s unlocked so we’ve no great urge to escape. Why shout for help when we could probably just walk out anyway. “I think it was an ambulance not a police car.” “I can never tell the difference.” I wonder if Number 1 is back and whether we are, at last, going to get some answers. LIZZIE Broken dreams and a scratch. A deep cut, now nothing but a scratch on the surface of the skin, a faint recollection of pain. A deepness forgotten. Broken dreams and the urge to speak, to shout a future lost. In complete silence, in complete immobility. Broken dreams and a second, only a brief second, a signal from afar, a thump, a thump, a thump... The drumming, louder and louder. A cacophony of doubts building up. Broken dreams now and yesterday, and now. Broken. Dreams of futures unspoken. And maybe, just maybe one day, just one day... Maybe broken no more. RICHARD The Game of Life Welcome to the Arcade of Broken Dreams! Here are the games of despair and the wasted efforts, the hours of fruitless endeavour, and hopes betrayed. What will you play today? Will you play the claw machine? Clutching futilely at your goals, teasingly just out of reach, until - tantalisingly close - they fall from your grasp? Or perhaps you'll choose the coin cascade? Feeding its hunger with all you have in the vain hope of winning big, but you never do. Whichever game you play, you'll never win. Your life will never change. But, I know you'll be back again tomorrow. Guaranteed! SERENDIPIDY You'll find the urge to scratch irresistible. But, trust me, scratching is the very last thing that you want to do. By now, your skin is paper thin. It'll tear at the slightest touch, and you'll soon be ripping your own flesh from the bones. I promise you, once you start, you won't be able to stop. So, I urge you, don't scratch. Resist the temptation. Grit your teeth and hold on, no matter what. I know you'll give in, eventually, but please try not to scratch, just for a moment. At least wait until I've turned the camera on. NORVAL JOE After the officer asked the same series of questions for the hundredth time, he said, "Okay. Let's start over from scratch." Billbert had the urge to pound his head on the table. He interrupted the officer's line of questioning. "Officer Vattash, you said you were going to call my parents hours ago. Why aren't they here?" Vattash shrugged indifferently. "Maybe they weren't home." A female officer poked her head through the doorway. "Hey Vattash. The boy's parents are here. They're filing a missing person report." "Officer Sheepdip!" Vattash growled. He made an annoyed face and tipped his head toward Billbert. TOM It was the 80s If there ever an Arcade of Broken dreams it surely was Pizza Time Theater. The second restaurant in the chain was located in the back end of Town and Country in San Jose. I spend hours their glue to a space invaders. The place was a mad house of kids running around. Parents throwing back beer and wine that was on tap right next to the fountain dispenser. Only thing missing was the paper umbrella. When the whole thing folded, I was on the chapter 13 crew to sort out assets. Got that very space invader cabinet for a song. 852 Airship Archimedes In 1928 the airship Archimedes made its maiden flight. The DELG created a fight from Buenos Aires to Caracas. Of note Captain Juan Domingo Perón was on that voyage. The Archimedes flow for nine years. On the night of May 5 1937 the airship disappeared over the upper Amazon Basin.

Lucy was an old Series Seven. She did good work at the droid shop, and a vintage bot demonstrated to customers a bit of class, as opposed to the new Series Tens in the warehouse. But she had a hard time holding a charge, and those Series Sevens had an integrated hardwired battery. A swappable battery was a risky retrofit. Which Lucy declined. She spent all of her time tethered to a power cord, never going more than five meters from the reception desk. Smiling, welcoming people, waving people past, and arranging repairs for the broken Series Tens being returned.

There were ten of us Smith kids, and when the youngest Bobby went off to the Army, Mother had herself a bad case of Empty Nest. At first, she'd bake cookies for all the neighborhood kids, but between me and my surviving brothers and sisters, Momma had a bad habit of dropping things in mixing bowls without looking first, and thank God Daddy said he'd do all the cooking. So, she put out a bunch of birdfeeders and birdhouses, and the homestead was covered with birds. And bird shit. Even more reason not to take any of her cookies, kids.

Ah, Sweeps Month! Three times a year, the Nielsen Company would do detailed measuring of audiences. This would help them thumb the scales when setting rates with advertisers. To boost their ratings, the networks would shelf their usual crap and roll huge attention-grabbing stunts. Big stars on talk shows. Major plot twists on the dramas and comedies. Sweepstakes and viewer contests. And the usual excuses to pixelate tits and ass on local newscasts. Nowadays, most viewers use streaming or cable. Everything is measured to the microsecond. No more stunts. No more plot twists. Just the endless river of mindless crap.

There are jesters everywhere. Every office, every school. And on every train and bus. "Entertain us!" people shout at the jesters. And they do. Telling jokes, performing pratfalls. Juggling things, and simple slight-of-hand close magic tricks. They make everyone happy. Much happier than when there were clowns everywhere. People like the jesters more than the clowns. Clowns sometimes get sad, and they cry. Jesters do not get sad. They are always happy. Constantly in motion, going from person to person, cheering them up. Cheering all up who watch them. When a jester grows tired, another appears, and we are all happy.

It's final exam season. We bring our children to The Tower. The doors open, they walk inside, and the doors close. An hour later, the doors open again. One by one, the children who passed the exam come out. Some walk. Some run. Some crawl. Some are carried out. Maybe they'll wake up. Maybe they won't. As for the kids who don't pass, they're taken to the top of the tower. And they're pushed off the edge. Some parents stand back and watch. And pray. Others try to catch their children. And others just stand underneath, and accept their fate.