The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Richard Tom Lisa Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pawn RICHARD --- Something blue --- "You're not going." She meant it. No negotiating. Mind made up. Still, there was no way I was going down without a fight. I was determined to make a stand. "C'mon" I pleaded, "it's a one-off. I won't get another shot at it. Surely I deserve one. Please?" It didn't work. "No! You'll spend the night gawking at strippers, get blind drunk and end up naked, tied to a lamppost at the other end of the country! I know what stag nights are like!" "OK" I countered "then, I guess there's somewhere else I won't be going..." "Our wedding!" TOM 1001 All things pass through Chicago Since we’ve passed into a new millennium, seems fitting to regalia all with a story at the dawn of podcasting. When I was doing seven podcasts a week, one of them was interviewing podcast authors. Emboldened by its success and at this point running out of authors I reached out to the author of the sci-fi novel The Sparrow. Mary Russell kindly set aside her morning to talk. I Asked a few questions no one had ever asked her about her work. About caring capacity. When the interview was over she send me limited edition of her book. 1002 Your not going home again. Phil had worked for the college for 25 years. You would've thunk they would have gotten him a gold watch, a service pin, at the least a go away party. Nada, zip, zilch. Phil was cool about it. He would say when its time to go, better go. All the same some place with pull at your memories, such was the tiny college under the oaks. So on random Friday Phil walked the campus. He was pretty much ignored by even former coworkers. Its like Thomas Wolfe say you can’t go home again. LISA Short Tale about a short Skirt Picture the scene. It’s 1986 and there’s a roller disco at the weekend. Wars have taken less planning. We’ve chatted about outfits for weeks. It’s been decided that everyone will get ready at mine & we’ll get the bus from there. On the night Dad shouts ‘You’re not going out like that!’ from his comfy armchair. I’m equally humiliated and pleased. I say I’ll change. I know I must look amazing. It becomes a useful gauge – if Dad approves of the outfit I know it isn’t working. In time I become an expert at getting changed in small toilet cubicles. SERENDIPIDY I see you quivering in the corner, terror written in your eyes. Both you and I know this can only end one way, and it's not going to go well for you. It never would: that's the way the world works, and we both know that the odds are overwhelmingly in my favour. It's just a matter of time before I get bored, and you become paralysed with fear. And then, I make my move. I'll pin you down, my claws piercing your flesh, then move in for the kill. Cat and mouse. And, little mouse, you're not going anywhere. NORVAL JOE Billbert turned to face the sound of approaching steps. Before he could make out who approached in the darkness, he heard from behind, “You’re not going anywhere.” Like a gorilla had grabbed him by the neck, a jolt suddenly shook him before he lost consciousness. The following morning, Mandi walked into the kitchen. “Mrs. Weinerheimer. I think Billbert is gone.” Billbert’s mother put a hand to her heart and asked, “What makes you say that?” She shrugged. “I went to ask him a question last night and he wasn’t in bed. This morning, I checked again and he’s not there.” PLANET Z Back in school, my mother would never sign permissions slips for fieldtrips. "You're being punished," she said. But she never said for what. My friend Bobby faked her signature. "There," he said. "Problem solved." Except that my mother had called the school to make sure I didn't go. At least when I was being beaten for it,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd been taking to long periods of melancholy and self-doubt. Or he'd obsess on the most esoteric things. "A container is a container because it contains things," said George. "If it's empty, is it still a container." "Well, it still contains nothing, right?" said the captain. "Yes, but nothing is nothing," said George. "I don't think it counts." "What if a container has the potential to contain things?" said George. As the two debated, their ship drifted closer and closer to the massive container ship they'd planned to raid.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Consultants put together a focus group to figure out what was wrong with George. "Why doesn't he have an eyepatch?" said a housewife from Burbank. "And a peg leg. And a hook for a hand." "George is such a weak name," said a lawyer from Thousand Oaks. "Maybe some color of beard could be his name?" Others suggested that George be recast as a sidekick to a better pirate. They prepared a report for George, who threw it in the trash. Along with all of their invoices and bills.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He hadn't planned on becoming a pirate. He hadn't planned on eighty thousand dollars in student loans, either. All for a Bachelor's degree in Social Justice. Nobody would hire him. "What if you paid for me to get my Masters and PhD?" he'd ask the interviewers. Security escorted him out. George tried to organize protests against them, but nobody would join. "Call us when you have a Masters or PhD," said the ACLU. That night, George noticed some pirates robbing the company's warehouse. George smiled, and he joined them.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His annual reviews reflected this, and George got "Needs Improvement" while other pirates got "Meets Expectations" or "Exceeds Expectations." George didn't get a raise or bonus, and he envied the other pirates for their fancy new gold teeth and shiny new cutlasses. Rummy Joe showed off his bright new parrot. "He speaks five languages," he said. George sighed and went back to work. He figured that whoever got killed, he'd just loot their body for the coins, pry out their gold teeth, and exchange his old cutlass for theirs.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He was always stopping and asking for directions. This was awkward at best, and dangerous at worst. Stopping in the middle of a battle for directions led to many unnecessary confrontations. Trying to make the best of it, the crew would board and capture the enemy vessels. One time, George got so lost, he wound up on the moon. Nobody's sure how he managed that, but the lack of air made it very hard to sail. And breathe. "Hard to starboard!" gasped the captain, and the ship turned around.

Richard Lisa Lizzie Serendipidy Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is You’re not going RICHARD --- Glen Talnara --- Sometimes you have to treat yourself, even if it means being extravagant. Everyone deserves to feel special every now and again. My treat? A forty year old, limited edition single malt. Lovingly distilled on a remote Scottish island, following a family tradition, centuries old. It wasn't cheap. Actually, it was eye- wateringly expensive, but I felt I deserved it. I was out the day it was delivered. UPS left a card. They also tossed the box over my eight -foot fence, where it landed on a pile of rubble. So, no whisky for me, just a box of broken glass. LISA The Start of a Not Normal Day It felt like the outside was inside and everyone was in a temper. Glass glittered the carpet and Dad was looking for someone to blame. We were shouted at to keep back but the cat didn’t listen and ran through the shards. The glass had gone into my brother’s school shoes. A speck of blood from the cat’s paw painted red on the carpet. I wanted my breakfast but I didn’t dare say. Dad had something else to shout about as the cat dragged a half alive sparrow from behind the TV. We were going to be late for school. LIZZIE Sparrow, a limited edition of dolls, had everything but sparrows, the symbol of protection and hope. A doll house, doll furniture, doll-everything. It looked dark and gloomy. An adult now, his sister still loved dolls, the pink kind. He hated his sister. When he gifted Sparrow to her, she loved it. Well, that didn't work, he thought. So, he got another doll, wrapped in a white shawl, a reminder that even when you're trying to get revenge, there is always a glimmer of hope. OK, great, now he wanted to destroy the damn thing. He smiled. Perhaps that would work! SERENDIPIDY Isn't the birdsong lovely? Most would agree, but not I. You see, birdsong is by no means cheerful or joyous. In reality, it is bleak and despairing. The sparrow sings of pain and anguish, of death and destruction, of such sorrow it would break your heart. The songthrush sings of shattered dreams, like broken glass shards, harsh and piercing. The robin, mourns each passing day, cursing life and its misfortunes. Songs of woe, of loss and melancholy. But, not the crow. The crow's harsh cawing is a joyful, happy sound. He's laughing at all the other birds, poor, sad things! NORVAL JOE Peering through the broken glass of the small window, Billbert saw that Sabrina was blindfolded and gagged, and wore oversized coveralls with the arms wrapped around and tied in front of her like an ouroboros. A dot of red light appeared beside Sabrina. A laptop computer sat on a table next to her. Its webcam had just come on. Were her captors in another room watching Sabrina from a distance or was the camera aimed at the window, watching him? The back porch door burst open and feet pounded down the wooden stairs. Billbert had the answer to his question. PLANET Z I don’t know why I collect Pez dispensers, but my closet has dozens of bins of them. They’re all kinds of different designs and colors and characters. If I get one from a series, I have to complete the whole set. I used to have them out on shelves to display. But after we moved, I haven’t taken them out of the bins yet. There’s one that was a limited edition Tiffany glass dispenser, but I think it got broken in the move. So instead, I’ll probably put my Millard Fillmore dispenser on the lit rotating stand on the shelf.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Which made him the perfect patsy for Long John Silver. What? You don't remember George from the book Treasure Island? Well, that's because I'm not talking about Robert Louis Stevenson's book. I'm talking about Treasure's Island, a porno flick in the Seventies. Treasure was a chick with huge tits marooned on an island with a pirate. "So, why do they call you Long John?" was her first line. And last one. After that, they did things that I can't tell you about here. Go rent the movie yourself, cheapskate.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to plan raids. Maybe overplan them. He'd draw up detailed maps from scouting missions, lay out a model on the table with intricate hills and trees and ships. "They have working sails and bells!" said George, flicking a tiny bell with his finger. TING! He spent so much time planning, thee was never any time to conduct the actual raids. So, his crewmates would sell his models to museums and rich aristocrats. "Hey, we're low on art supplies," said George. "We'd better plan a raid on Michael's."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He wanted to fly a Jolly Roger over the ship, but he wasn't very good at sewing. The first flag came out all crooked. "Looks like the Jolly Rickets," said the captain. "You know, because of the bones." "I get it," grumbled George, and he tried again. "More like the Jolly Osteroperosis now," said the captain. "Maybe we can check eBay?" George kept trying and failing. Eventually, he ordered a He-Man cartoon Skeleton iron-on patch. "Have I mentioned recently how much of a disappointment you are?" said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. While sailing around the Hawaiian Islands, he called "hard to port" when he meant "hard to starboard", and ended up running into some very hard rocks. "Welcome to Maui," said the natives, handing out flower leis to each crewman who crawled out of the wrecked ship. While the pirates enjoyed the... um... hospitality of the island, George worked on repairing the ship. It took him three weeks, and the crew begrudgingly set sail again. And hit the rocks again. "Hooray!" shouted the crew, crawling back to the happy natives.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Some people like coffee. Others prefer tea. So, when his shipmates raided and plundered, George would grab the tea and coffee. The tea was useful for bribing British Navy vessels to let them go. The coffee was useful for bribing American Navy vessels. George couldn't stand either coffee or tea. He preferred rum. Lots of it. So much, he was pretty much wasted off his ass all day. No wonder why his aim was so bad with the cannons. And he tended to steer into the rocks so much.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He also wasn't a very good public speaker. At the annual pirate conference, the keynote speaker dropped out at the last minute and the organizers begged George to fill in. "Sure," said George. "When is it?" "Right now," said the emcee, shoving George on to the stage. George rambled about himself for an hour, telling endless boring and pointless stories. The audience booed and rushed the stage, dragging George to the exhibitor's hall where several vendors were proud to demonstrate the latest available in plank-walking technology and hangman's nooses.

Richard Lisa Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO The sparrow, Waveform, Limited edition, Ouroboros, Broken glass RICHARD --- Narrow --- As things go, it was a pretty narrow requirement, some would say overly-restrictive and limiting. I guess that was the point, really. It'll never work, I thought. It's not sustainable, people aren't going to like it, and it's not something I could ever imagine having any real longevity. I'd give it a few months, maybe a couple of years, at best. Still, nothing wrong with giving it a shot - what was there to lose? Anyway, I was wrong. But, to keep a long story short, I'm sticking to the formula. I'll leave it right there, and keep it brief. LISA The Straight and Narrow There was a pleasing symmetry to the fact that it was Michael’s first day at the job centre and Peter’s first day out of prison. They looked equally uncomfortable as they sat either side of the desk. Meanwhile gossip spread round the office quicker than blood on lino. Michael was oblivious and asked “What experience do you have?” before checking his computer. “Well,” Michael didn’t flinch as he saw **MURDER CONVICTION 2001** capitalised in bold across his screen. “There’s an opening at the Abattoir?” The office fell deadly quiet as Peter shot Michael a killer stare. “Excuse me. I’m VEGAN.” LIZZIE Tea, toast and UFOs. Why not? By then, UFOs were part of everyone's lives. They had come from a planet with an unpronounceable name, waved a lot of hellos when they landed and everyone was totally smitten. How cute, how nice, how... someone ventured the word cuddly, although no one knew how that conclusion was reached and everyone preferred not to know. When the UFO exploded, everyone rushed to help. Oh... It was a different kind of UFO. Who are these now?! Well, they were certainly not cuddly. "How is your tea, and toast, sir?" The alien waved him away. SERENDIPIDY It’s just as well you lot aren't narrow-minded. After all, my stories aren't exactly polite after-dinner conversation. They're not particularly, fluffy, fun-filled or family-friendly. Unless, of course, your family happens to be into murder, desecration, body fluids, cannibalism, rot and decay… And, if that's the case, perhaps you should invite me around for dinner sometime, and maybe we could some exchange ideas? You could be featured in my next story! Or, I could just report you to the cops! Then again, there's a good chance I might murder you gruesomely, before feasting on your warm flesh! TOM Not still waters For many years we had a small home in British Columbia. It was on a rather small island wedged against a rather large island. To navigate between the two was a salt water channel named Seymour Narrows. Any one reviewing a Nautical Map would be greeted with a mass of jumbled tide lines. Dozens of reforming whirlpools. For centuries it was considered the most hazardous waters in North America. A graveyard of broke hulls. In the 1950s the largest mass of TNT in history blows a hole in Seymour Narrows. All the same pilots treat the passage with extreme care. NORVAL JOE Billbert went back to his room, got dressed, and pulled on his jacket. He pushed up on the wooden window frame, to slip out, but it stuck, leaving only a narrow opening. He squeezed through as quietly as possible and flew straight to the house with the van in the backyard. The van was there with, ‘It’s a Dirty Job Septic Service’ painted on the side. “This must be the place,” Billbert muttered and floated from window to window, looking for any sign of Sabrina. Finally, through a basement window, he saw her, blindfolded, gagged, and chained to a chair. PLANET Z The font that I use the most is Arial Narrow. It’s compact, clean, and easy for me to read. In the past few years, My eyesight isn't as good as it used to be. Other fonts like Times New Roman with its serifs look...

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "We're running low on provisions, George," said the captain, handing George a large burlap sack. "Go get some snipe." George ran up and down the beach for hours, hooting like an owl. The rest of the crew watched from the ship, laughing and drinking. Until George came back. The sack was twisting in his arms, emitting horrendous growls and shrieks. George threw it down on the deck. Everyone stared at the sack for a few minutes as it thrashed about. "Let's just order a pizza, okay?" said the captain.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Most pirates could hold their liquor. George couldn't. He was a lightweight and an awful drunk. One flagon of grog, and he was stumbling. Two, and he was under the table. George threw up a lot. When he threw up, he imagined that he was feeding a nest of baby birds, and he was their mother. An alcoholic, pathetic mother bird. Not as much feeding her chicks as vomiting all over them. "Get him down from the balcony!" roared the captain, covered in vomit. "Before he does it again!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. His navigation skills were awful, and the ship ran aground on Antarctica. Members of the crew who left to hunt giant penguins for food mysteriously vanished. George himself led a rescue team, only to discover the hunting party's horribly mutilated corpses. Further George went, coming upon the wall of a strange stone city. Pools of bubbling, putrid masses, babbling insane nonsense. "The Elder Things," mumbled the first mate, before he tore out his own eyes. George ordered a retreat and, for years, warned others never to sail there again.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He'd had lots of ideas that would make the ship run more smoothly. But the captain wouldn't listen to any of his ideas. His crewmates ignored him. He even told the ship's parrot, which just squawked and asked for a cracker. George gave up caring, and became horribly depressed. And then, the captain called for all hands on deck. He announced all of George's changes. "We'll be the best crew on the seas!" he said. "All thanks to this brilliant parrot's ideas!" George looked for a cracker to poison.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He got shipwrecked and marooned a lot. Sometimes, so marooned, not even a downed pilot in the middle of the Sahara Desert could be more marooned. So, imagine the shock of him being asked by a little boy to draw him a sheep. "I thought I was alone on this deserted island!" shouted George. This distracted George long enough not to notice a plane passing overhead, which he could have signalled for help. But that didn't matter. The pilot ended up crashing in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. When a pirate broke something, they'd toss it overboard. But when it was still useful, they'd throw it in the cargo hold. The hold eventually filled up with all kinds of junk and clutter. There was no room left for cannonballs and powder and other vital pirate stuff. So, George suggested a garage sale. "But we don't have a garage," said the captain. George dug a saw out of the hold and started to cut a garage door into the hull. The captain tossed George and the saw overboard.