November 2018 100 word Anonymous Challenge Story thread.

farntfar

Venu d'un pays ou il ne pleut pas
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This is the story thread for the November 2018 100 word Anonymous Challenge.

As usual, please do not post in this thread. Instead PM your stories to me and I will post them.

If you wish to discuss this month's challenge, you can do so HERE

Peter V, the winner of the September challenge has chosen the parameters.

Theme: Obsession / Addiction
Genre: Science Fiction or Fantasy


I will post any entries, which conform to the rules, received before the 27th of November at 23:59.
Any entries of more than 100 words will be returned to the sender for a second attempt. This second attempt must be returned to me within 24 hours.
Any entry considered not to be family friendly will be rejected.
Voting will run from the 28th until the 30th at 23:59 GMT, during which time the guessing game will also take place. (I'll post the list of authors on the 27th)

If anyone wishes to volunteer to be the extra/dummy author, please PM me to that effect.
 
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One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do.

I live alone. 1.
I own 1 each of the following; knife, fork, plate, cup, glass, bowl, lamp, table, chair, book, jacket, hat, shirt, pair of pants and socks.
Why?
Because, Before; Things would disappear and were never seen again!
That's when I discovered the greatest secret of Physics! Numbers don't exist!
That's right!
Zero is a number but Zero doesn't exist, so other numbers don't exist!
You all live a lie!
I lost my friends , my family when I tried to explain, but they couldn't comprehend.
Fools!
I live alone. I am deliriously happy!
I pick up the knife.
 
Addicted


“Fire!”

The sound of phaser fire followed the Captain’s command.

“Plant destroyed, sir!” I reported from my console.

“Watch for response vehicles. Keep everyone away.”

“Yes, Captain!”

“How long before you think Terrana succumbs to our demands, Captain?” the First Officer asks.

Smiling, the Captain answers, “My spy says the planet has less than two month’s supply of their precious Kyoin drug. We’ve now destroyed their monthly supply ship and the last chemical plant creating it. In maybe a month, panic will set in. They’ll be dealing with us by the end of next month!

We’ll all be rich, soon.
 
"Ideas"

They shambled well. I suppose even a zombie has to have one talent, and this was fairly basic to their rôle, if unhygienic.

Halloween leftovers, dripping decomposing manuscript from outstretched, begging hands. Seeking 'braaiins', not to devour but to suck out the inspiration, the talent - the ideas. Needing the nourishment of their peers, if not the physical.

Moaning past cracked pot, through crowded gaming corridors, converging on the writing forums, ghastly hope illuminating eyes. There are the challenges, the potential for aid, for improvement for the lost horde.

The lost, the damned… critiqued. Perhaps lost, perhaps recuperable.
 
Beware of spoilers

Damn.
I really thought we were gonna get him this time.
.
Mind you, it wouldn’t be the first time I’d thought that.
.
.
He always manages to turn the tables on us at the last minute.
Sometimes by being smart, but often just by dumb luck.
.
.
The younger lads say we should just ignore him.
So I tell them the creator wants his death.
.
.
And this time I really thought ......
Only he never showed up.
.
.
.
She came instead, which was a BIG surprise.
Oh well.
Next time perhaps. Emergency temporal shift.
 
One to be Done


“You’ve been sitting there on that game for three days , Andra!”
“Aren’t you supposed to be delegating with those frog people, Mom?” Andra threw off her headset. “Damn, we lost to a Karpastian dreadnaught!”
“I’m just concerned about you. You need to eat. You haven’t slept.”
“Whatever.” Andra grinned as her game booted up again. “Number one is mine this time, Telnox220!”

A small insectoid child stared at the screen. AndraSaps sent another dozen messages.
“Screw this game. She wants the top so bad, whatever.” He threw his headset off as he headed outside.
 
Junkie

Max sat in the interrogation room clutching his stomach. His head pounded and his body trembled.

"I need a fix. I'm hurting bad."

"Sorry." Sergeant Reese shook her head. "This isn't just another possession rap. We caught you selling the stuff."

"Give me a break, lady. It was one little packet."

"Tell me who your connection is and I'll talk to the judge. You'll get rehab instead of jail."

Max groaned. "Pete's Auto Shop. He keeps it hidden in the back."

"Thanks. I'll be right back."

After long minutes of agony, she returned with a steaming hot cup of coffee.
 
Mezzanine

Azrial found me at the boarding house on Castle Hill. A retreat run by the local diocese, it's narrow cells are dark and warm and brim with serial absconders such as myself.

We hide beneath the plaster, packed shoulder to shoulder across the back wall of the TV room and every other room with a screen. There we wait, to influence the buildings aged occupants, to guide their hands to remotes, to dusty DVDs and streaming video services.

The angel cannot indulge our fandom, but for me only the seventh season remains, so I persist. I must see Sunnydale again.
 
One Night in Heaven


“Ambrosia. It’s none addictive, and yours for just nine ninety-nine dollars a snort.”

“It’s a wrap,” the director shouted, and the shoot erupted into chaos.

“That was crap. There’s no way it can it go out. I tried it and it’s as addictive as hell,” said Phil Smith, the leading actor.

“Too late,” replied the director, “it went out live. That’s why we’re all freezing our nuts off in an OB session.”

“Well, I’m not saying those lines again, no matter how much they pay,” Phil said.

“Okay, we’ll get the writers to look at the ad’s diction.”
 
One soul, one life, one life, one life...

Custodian Eurikemos dipped the quill in ink and mumbled:
“Fifty to Malgon.” Added after a moment: with chance. “If he behaves,” he giggled.
“Neeext... oh no, not you again. You exhausted your lives.” The red glitter in the soul hand, widen his eyes.
“Is that a...”
“... feather from Fjalar, the rooster who announced the Ragnarok. One can write the future with it.”
“And one hundred years to Dalai Lama. Again in Tibet?”
“Yes.”
“Someone is addicted to that place” said Eurikemos returning to his ledger.
 
A Free Ride

Max at depot said they'd over ordered pods and Melanie should take one.
Hadn't she earned it?

After work she kerb crawled Hastings Spaceport for over an hour.
She couldn't recognise some species through their filthy rags – just projected trope compass; needle drawn unerringly to 'fix.'

Gull-wing swallowed the expressionless tramp into the back seat.
They taxied, cleared to jump.
“Your lucky day,” smiled Mel.

The passenger frowned in her rear-view. As a panel slid back, the exposed pod began to stir.
To cover his ecstatic sobbing, Melanie eased the radio up a notch. Life was good.
 
The End of the Trip

The room was spinning. All the colors of the rainbow. I reached out to Barney, Brenda, Betty, but couldn't reach them. They laughed. They turned into grotesque creatures, bears with wings and giant claws. Flames leaped from the floor. The creatures walked through the fire. Suddenly I was in a different place, no longer in my room at Haight Ashbury. I was on a trip. Through beautiful countryside. But the creatures and fire were following me, charring where they walked. I was at the end of my trip. Where was I? The creatures beckoned to me. They knew.
 
Of Course, I Could Stop This Tomorrow.

But today...

I flick the switch and I'm there. In the garden this time.

It's sunny, warm – it always was. Rebecca smiles as the twins chase around her billowing skirts. They run towards me giggling, arms outstretched.

It's not me now, of course. It's me then, six years younger. It's me then that picks them up and hugs them – whilst I look on from a distance. My heart breaks.

Of course I could destroy the time machine, look to the future. I could stop this tomorrow.

Who am I kidding? I miss them so much.
 

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