The 100 Word Stories Podcast

Richard Lisa Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is You stink! LISA We’d just gone out for some smokes. That was all. It’s not like there’s much else to do when the powers out is there? It was a hot day – tempers had been frayed. Then the air con stopped working. Alarms started beeping down the street. I tried a light switch and nothing! They called us animals in court. Like we’d hunted in a pack. Scapegoats is what we were. They were making an example of us. I mean, the door was open. I left the cash on the counter. It’s hardly my fault if some looter took it is it? RICHARD --- Dead Man’s Hand --- Dad always won at poker. It didn't matter, we only played for pennies, the only thing at stake was pride. Still, it would have been nice to win more than once in a while. It was his thing though, and we spent many an evening happily playing cards and enjoying a bottle of bourbon. He's been gone a while now, and I miss those evenings together. I found his old pack of cards whilst clearing out some boxes, so I invited the boys round for a game. Now we know how he always won. Sixty three cards in the pack! LIZZIE He packed a bag and grabbed the jeep. It's urgent, they said. And off he went. The terrain was rugged, the whole trip a disaster. A flat tire. The jeep started leaking oil. When it finally died, he was stranded in the middle of nowhere. What now? That's when they appeared. He had never seen them, their faces painted, their hair braided with long strings of many colors. They didn't talk, but he could hear them. Need help? He nodded. When he woke up, he got dressed, packed a bag and grabbed the jeep. He wondered. Where would they be? SERENDIPIDY I was raised by a pack of wolves; abandoned in the forest, left to fend for myself, they found me, nurtured me and kept me safe. I learned their ways, lived as one of them, earned their respect and their loyalty. And now I am the alpha. I am in control, and they obey me, protect me, with their very lives if necessary. And tonight, we hunt. Do you hear the chill howls as we approach? Do you see the red glow of our eyes? The snapping and flash of our teeth? And, when you cry wolf. No-one will hear. TOM 52! For five years I have traveled everywhere with packs of cards. Waiting for open heart surgery, In church during church. At tables to dinner at tables to vote. I have created a number of pack tricks which I call the COVID Collection. I going to present my best full pack trick this Tuesday in Oakland for the 100-year meeting of the oldest magic club West of the Mississippi. The pack produces four Royal Flushes in a row. Then four Straight Flushes. It’s called Primo Vi-gintillion. Still working on story to frame the impossible. Got the how, lookn for the why. NORVAL JOE Billbert’s dad quickly tied up the unconscious intruder and called the police. When they arrived, Mr. Withybottom told the officer, “He said he was looking for Sabrina Hecksaohos.” The officer gave Billbert and Mandy the side eye. “I know you two. You claimed your butler was poisoning someone.” Mandy scowled at him. “John did poison my dad and he just tried to kidnap us in front of the police station.” The cop laughed. “We found that guy wandering around and waving a gun.” He turned to his partner. “Harry. Pack up this perp and let’s go talk to the butler.” PLANET Z Every year I buy a new hurricane preparedness pack with several weeks of dehydrated meals. I donate the old one too the local food pantry. Lots of other people do this, so the county is up to the rafters with dehydrated, eggs, and chicken cacciatore. The water purification tablets have a much longer shelf life, but sometimes I forget and leave those in the packs and have to buy new ones of those too. Does bottled water expire? I don’t know. I’ve seen a few cases of those at the food pantry, so maybe I should donate those as well.

... and that's 20 years. George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "You're the Jerry Lewis of pirates," grumbled his exasperated captain. The rest of the crew laughed. Except for Frenchy, who said that George was no Jerry Lewis. George looked up Jerry Lewis in the encyclopedia and learned about a technique called "video assist." Directors could watch instant reviews of shots instead of waiting for the crew to develop and print the daily footage. George tried it with his performance But he still kept falling overboard, but now with the expensive equipment. Frenchy roared with laughter. "You ARE Jerry Lewis!"

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. To pirate groupies, he was pirate enough. Oh, you've seen them, there at the taverns and bars, hanging out at the docks. The beer might be free, but the price you pay is an STD, or even worse, a long-term relationship. Pirates who settle down just aren't the same. They can't just go out on adventures and looting and pillaging, no matter how much they want to. They've got familiars, mortgages, bills to pay. Which makes the urge to get back to the open sea all the much stronger.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Especially on laundry day. If there weren't any open washing machines, he'd dump someone's finished load out on the floor and toss in his own. How dare they make him wait? It's called a timer. Even though the washing machines said liquid only, he'd fill the little detergent drawer with powder. And he'd overload the machine, cramming as much as he could in there. No available dryers? Another finished load tossed on the floor. The worst of it was him standing there naked, waiting for his clothes to dry.

George was a pirate, but he wasn’t a very good pirate. Fear consumed him, and when faced with a decision, any decision, his inner dialogue drowned out any course of action. George stood there, eyes wide open, but seeing nothing. Hearing none of the angry voices around him, the hands grabbing his arms and trying to shake him out of his paralysis. Endless ”What if?” rolled around in his mind, and the crowd around him grew angrier and angrier, cursing and swearing. The girl at the register looked past George. “Next please? Welcome to McDonalds, may I take your order?”

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. The captain was always looking for things for George to do, other than pirate stuff. When the captain learned of an upcoming solar eclipse, he sailed into the total eclipse path. "George, I know what you can do," he said. "We don't have time to sail to Walmart to get those special eclipse filter glasses. Can you scrounge the cargo hold and make some for us?" George tried. And, well... After the eclipse, the crew were covering their eyes and screaming. "I'm sorry," said George. "I'll make more eyepatches."

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After a long and difficult week, George muttered "Thank God it's Friday." The clouds parted, a light shone down, and a voice boomed "YOU'RE WELCOME!" The light faded, and it began to rain. George was left confused, frightened, and wet. "What the fuck just happened?" said George, shaking and holding on to the railing to keep from fainting. George looked around, but there was nobody there to ask: "Did you see that? Did you hear that?" It was just George on the deck, standing there, soaked to the bone.

Richard Lisa Lizzie Serendipidy Tom Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is Pack RICHARD --- Snooze --- What's that beeping? Mostly still asleep, brain barely functioning, it slowly dawns on you: The alarm is going off. Clumsily, you fumble for the hateful thing at the side of the bed, hitting the snooze button, before crashing back into the pillows for the next ten minutes. It's not like this in the movies. No -one ever hits snooze in films. They either hurl the offending article across the room, or wake pleasantly refreshed; no yawning, hair and makeup pristine, sheets artfully draped across them, hiding anything remotely offensive. The alarm sounds again. I hit snooze. Ten more minutes, please. LISA What's that Beeping? It hasn’t been a first date like in the movies. He’d come round to mine but my smoke alarm needed new batteries and was beeping. He went to get some and didn’t come back... not meant to be. I necked the wine and spent the evening scrolling facebook. Then I saw, in a local community group, a picture of a car wrapped around a signpost. One person seriously injured & taken to the General. It was him! I went straight to the hospital, pretended to be family and here I am listening to the beeping of his life support machine. LIZZIE That way. No, this way. And they continued to argue even though the signpost was right there. A policeman approached and asked where they were going. They stuttered. The policeman frowned. Bicycles, they said. The policeman pointed to the rent sign and waved them away. But... What if..., one of them started. The policeman rolled his eyes and jokingly asked where they hid the body. How did he know?! No more asking for directions. There was only one possible way. The End. Funny how an open-ended story can be as annoying as people who don't know where they are going. SERENDIPIDY You passed the signpost a good half hour ago, the one that said three miles to go. Surely, it can't be much further? You peer into the darkness… It's the middle of nowhere, you've no signal and the satnav is blank. Perhaps you took a wrong turning somewhere along the way? Suddenly, the car engine stutters and dies. You roll slowly to a halt. The silence presses in. You're alone. Guess you should just sit tight until the morning and make the best of it. Except it's never quite that simple in the movies. Are you afraid? You should be! TOM It was a good Gig Gary was a Federal Information Designer. His job was boring, but his hidden quest was bright and shine-y. He wanted highway signs to be bright and shine-y. His office was piled high with Sample Signposts. Lots of vermilion and forms straight out of the Memphis movement. For a dyed in the wool bureaucrat, he sure had a deep exult for glitter, I mean rainbow glitter. It of a tip there. The sample signpost that got him promoted had 47’s face in the middle. And it was gold plates. With orange lettering. It was impossible to understand, just like the man. NORVAL JOE “What’s that beeping?” Mandi asked as they climbed the ashlar steps to the open front door. “It’s the panic alarm. Wait here,” Billbert said, levitated, and soundlessly entered the house. Like a scene in the movies, a man in a mask held a gun on Billbert’s parents. His mother made eye contact and quickly looked away. Fortified by her superpower of efficiency, Billbert knew what to do when she nodded. He shot forward as both his parents dropped to the floor. Billbert grabbed the intruder, lifted him, and slammed him into the wall. The gun flew from the thug’s hand. NORVAL JOE After weed had been decriminalized in the city, Bradley sold at the late night Pink Floyd show at the Science Center planetarium. "We're here to make sure everybody plays nice," said the cops. Bradley thanked them for their service, offered up free samples. Bradley went back to selling,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He spent an unusual amount of time exploring the arts and humanities instead of hunting for treasure. Where other pirates would loot a museum, he'd walk the halls, listening to the tour guide, appreciating the art, and admiring the brush strokes and chisel angles. He tried his hand at sculpture, creating a pirate figure out of butter. It won second place at the State Fair. Proud of his work, he brought it back to the ship. His crewmates spread it over their bread. George grumbled, and swabbed the deck.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He fell for lots of scams. One time, he took a pamphlet from a group at the airport, and he ended up on an avocado farm wearing an orange robe. He enjoyed harvesting avocados, but missed being a pirate. So when the farm was raided by pirates, he asked if he could join them. It was his old crew. "No," they said. "We've been doing great without you." The last sack of avocados they hauled away was unusually heavy. Safely aboard, George crawled out and smiled. Home at last.

GEORGE WAS A PIRATE, BUT HE WASN'T A VERY GOOD PIRATE. INSTEAD OF RAIDING TOWNS AND SHIPS FOR USEFUL THINGS, LIKE FOOD AND AMMUNITION AND SUPPLIES, HE'D LOOT FLEAMARKETS AND GARAGE SALES, AND HAUL BACK A PILE OF JUNK. "THERE'S NOTHING QUITE LIKE THE FEEL OF A CLASSIC WEIGHTED KEYBOARD WITH SPRINGS AND INDIVIDUAL KEYS," SAID GEORGE, TAPPING THE KEYS AND HEARING THAT SATISFYING LOUD CLACK. "YOU DON'T GET THAT WITH THOSE THIN APPLE KEYBOARDS OR THOSE CHEAP PLASTIC ONES." "WHY ARE YOU SHOUTING EVERYTHING?" ASKED THE CAPTAIN. GEORGE PUSHED THE SHIFT KEY A FEW TIMES. "I THINK IT'S STUCK."

George had two tickets to The Moth. Nobody wanted the other ticket, so he went alone. He thought he was signing a guestbook, but it was the speakers list. When they called his name, George was confused, but they pushed him to the stage. He adjusted the microphone, took a sip of water, and said: "I am a pirate, but..." He hesitated, sipped more water, and said "But I'm not a very good pirate." He told stories for hours, the timekeeper just as mesmerized as the crowd. When George finished, no applause, not a sound. Just the spotlight and silence.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. After he was fired from his job, he built a pirate-themed escape room. Customers were thrown into a locked room and told that they were being held until someone paid the ransom. "This is lame," said a customer. "Where's the puzzles? Let us out!" Only when George got the money were they told they'd won, and were released. Pretty soon, George's escape room got a reputation as a scam. But before the cops could arrest him, George escaped, and had gotten another pirate job, and was back at sea.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He always felt guilty about the men that his shipmates killed in battles. So, when the ship docked in London, he'd load a cart with their bodies and take them to Sweeney Todd's barbershop in Fleet Street. "I'll clean them up so they look nice and presentable for their loved ones," said the barber. "Now sit down and let me clean you up. On the house." Afterwards, George would load the cart with dozens of Mrs. Lovett's meat pies. "My best customer!" she'd sing, kissing George on the cheek.

Lisa Richard Serendipidy Tom Lizzie Norval Joe Planet Z The next topic is PICK TWO: What’s that beeping?, Signpost, Sample, In the movies, Ordered LISA At the homeless Shelter Cheryl was soon to be divorced. She’d been volunteering at a pop-up feeding station for the city’s homeless. She’d watched her ex enter in the reflection of the tea urn and was pleased she was getting the chance to say goodbye. Despite a multi-million-pound fortune he’d said he was bankrupt so couldn’t pay any alimony and then simply disappeared. She poured tea for the recent arrivals. Her husband got a special cup with poison added. Lawyers were hired and found his hidden funds, paintings and offshore accounts. Cheryl inherited it all and opened a permanent homeless shelter. RICHARD --- Reflective --- What do I see? Not the person I am now. I see the passage of time. The hair, now greying, testament to the passing of the years; the lines and blemishes of a face, now careworn and weary from toil. A frown, where once there was laughter; eyes that no longer sparkle; a face full of character, if we are to be kind. A face growing old, if we are to be honest. She appears behind me, peering over my shoulder. "What are you looking at?" She asks. "Just reflections" I murmur, and close my eyes to hide the tears. SERENDIPIDY I like the hall of mirrors. I like the distorted reflections, the ungainly bodies, the twisted and deformed torsos. I like to imagine that what I see in the mirrors is a reflection of the true inner character of those who stand before them - the real person that lives within all of us. But when I stand before those mirrors, I see perfection. A person standing tall and proud; the broken soul, hidden deep within. In the hall of mirrors, only I appear unblemished: Beautiful. But just wait until I emerge into the world outside. And reveal my true self. TOM A rich interior Life When I saw the topic reflections a fragment of a lyric screamed up in my thoughts. After changes upon changes, we are more or less the same. But try as I may I could remember the line that went before. So I searched and found it was more reflective then the first. “I am older than I once was And younger than I’ll be But that’s not unusual No, it isn’t strange After changes upon changes We are more or less the same After changes we are More or less the same.” The poetry of my youth is always there. LIZZIE A dream covered in blue. The sun spying on the curl of my soul. Twists and turns and fears and so many futures waiting, just waiting. A dream covered in red. The sun no more. Just the rage, the blinding rage of powerlessness. And the anger and the hatred and all the gloomy futures in complete darkness, wailing in silence and waiting, just waiting. And then, my dream covered in time. The sun again. The sky so clear. The twists and turns of my future, waiting to be sheltered in blue and blue and blue. Maybe tomorrow. Yes, maybe tomorrow... NORVAL JOE John pulled out a gun, motioning Billbert and Mandi toward his car. In the vehicle’s window, Billbert saw their reflections and John was distracted, no longer watching them. He wanted to drag the guy into the air and drop him, but then John would know Billbert’s superpower. Instead, Billbert grabbed him, levitated forward rapidly, and stopped abruptly. The man was weightless as Billbert held him, but regained his mass as Billbert threw him forward. John landed yards away in some bushes. Billbert and Mandi ran around a corner before lifting into the sky and flying safely back to Billbert’s house. PLANET Z After centuries of industrial pollution, Earth was no longer able to sustain life. Undrinkable water, unbreathable air, unfarmable land. Nearly every species extinct and stored as a set of genetic sequences in a zoo library. Humans sent out terraforming pods across the solar system,

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. "This is because you do not follow the path of Buddha," said a strange man in a saffron robe. "All life is suffering. Craving causes suffering. Suffering, once identified, can end. Accumulating good karma can end suffering. Look within, and master your own fate." George looked within himself. Then he drew his sword and pointed it at the strange man. "Give me your karma," he said. The strange man laughed. "You cannot give or take karma." "Fine," said George. "Give me that robe." He wore it as a cape.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. Not that the Mardi Gras Parade Committee cared. They were looking for authenticity, not quality, and as long as George could stand on a float and wave, who cared, right? George showed up, expecting a big parade, a big party, and all the beer he could drink. That would make sense if the parade were in New Orleans. Or Galveston. But not in Fairbanks, Alaska. "Holy shit, it's cold," said George. George threw a lot of beads from the float. In that weather, hell, the women had earned them.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He liked to wander through fields. One day, George came upon a man with an easel and blank canvas, clutching his head, weeping. He looked up, staring at George with the bluest eyes. Mesmerized, George barely noticed that the man had taken his pistol, pointed it at himself, and pulled the trigger. George helped the man back to town, leaving him with the local doctor. "I wanted it to end like this," whispered the man to George. George returned to his ship, and hung the canvas by his bunk.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. He has so many brushes with death, he could paint a highway from New York to Los Angeles with them. "We're not the kind of men who die in our beds," said the captain. George took this advice to heart, staying in his bed as much as possible. "At least I'm safe in my bed," said George. The deck went unscrubbed, the sails went untrimmed, and countless other important chores went undone while George cowered under his covers. The rest of the crew tossed him and his bed overboard.

George was a pirate, but he wasn't a very good pirate. If you looked for Looting, Pillaging, and Plundering on Angie's List, George's ratings were awful. And his customer reviews were absolutely horrible. People can be mean on the Internet, but what people said on George's profile was brutal. You'd just as soon hire crackheads off of the street to crew your vessel than think about hiring George. When he did raid a town, the townspeople demanded a different pirate than George. "No!" growled George, and he proceeded with his looting and plundering. And more nasty reviews would appear online.