New, Year, Eve

Every year, Troy would write an astrology report. While he viewed it as a seriously researched report, most sales were for the comic value. As an example, here’s the report that came out on the eve of 2019:

“With the new year bringing in the Year of the Wombat, it’s important to remember that good things come in old packages. Now’s the time to grasp the future and also to remember the past, which will bring happiness and health. If you walk and chew gum at the same time, expect to step on a crack. Stay away from bubble gum.”

2018, memory, *pick an emotion*

Mentalists are performers of logic-based “magic”, apparent psychic tricks, and more. Jan found that she liked to pick apart the different performers and figure out how things were done.

That was Jan’s mindset when she entered the small theatre, outside of which was a board promising to dispel the disbelief of any and all by the Amazing Alan.

During the act, Alan invited Jan onstage.

“Jan, please think of a memory from 2018. Concentrate.”

Jan thought of the last mentalist she’d watched.

“After that show, you and three friends had burgers at Buster’s”.

She was amazed - he was right.

Abscond, Belittle, Nuts

A well dressed gentleman sat quietly on the bench seat on the city bus, a black satchel nestled on the seat next to him. Wireless earbuds linked to his phone, which was actively searching local news. The report he’d anticipated began to run:

“A brazen theft at the Met today. Who is responsible isn’t know, but what is known is that a priceless necklace was stolen. Police are…”

He turned off the radio feed and relaxed.

The team’s plan to “abscond” the item was nuts, or so he’d thought. But it worked. He wouldn’t belittle the next plan…

Plumber, Bag, Crap

At the shop of Ravello and Son, PlumBers, a family owned business since 1806, calls come in on a daily basis asking for help they aren’t prepared to give:

“I took a crap and now it don’t flush. When can ya get here?”

“A plastic bag got stuffed down the kitchen sink and I thought it’d wash down but now my kitchen is ankle-deep in water.”

Ravello and his son don’t work with plumbing. Instead they work with lead (the chemical symbol being PB). While business is slow, they are the only ones in town that do that work.

Shrimp, Butterfly, Seventeen

Of all the storytellers that live in the sea, not one kind is more full of tales, both tall and true, than water molecules. And of them all, the ultimate social butterfly is one particular molecule named M’kewl.

On this particular day M’kewl was talking the ear off of a shrimp who was busy eating by sticking her head in an ocean vent (it’s unclear if the shrimp was sticking her head deeper into the vent to drown him out). M’kewl was listing off the seventeen mountains he wants to climb.

The shrimp shrugged and kept on pretending to eat. 

Blanket, Field, Somersault

Memories of youth, memories of Spring. The Spring of Youth, of days gone by. Memories of somersaults and skinned knees, of picnics under the shade of a solitary apple tree, growing alone in a field of unkempt green. Memories of laughter and bright sunny days. Sweet memories of a first kiss - memories of the first blush of adulthood to come.

The tree is older, more majestic, producing ever sweeter fruit. The same can’t be said of the body housing me, cancer-ridden and dying. My last breath should be of apple blossoms and fresh grass. And so it shall be…

Blessed, Poverty, Cargo

The city was faced with a decision - invest in public transit? Or invest in an alternative?

After a long and contentious debate, the decision was made to set up a program for group-share automobiles. The reasoning was that having the ability to transport stuff was vital, thus the program’s name “Cargo”.

Millennials embraced the decision, but those in poverty weren’t so happy. They complained that unlike Yuppies, they aren’t blessed with the ability to rent the cars, either not having credit cards, or they’re being prohibitively expensive.

Despite the complaints, the city council doubled down by buying more cars.

Knowing, Silent, About

Ah jeez, not again. The silent treatment. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried, all he seemed to get from her was The Silent Treatment (capitalized because she was just so good at it).

He tried hard to contain his frustration, which just made him more frustrated. He knew she was doing this deliberately, knowing the silence would push his anger ever higher.

What had he done to deserve this? He had no clue.

“Fucking god damn fucking mother fucking piece of shit. Siri!”

Siri couldn’t hear a thing - the microphone was broken.

Blast, Certain, Allowed

“Well… apparently someone had a blast while Mommy and Daddy were gone. Didn’t they? Oh yes they did, didn’t they? That certain someone knows what they did and that it wasn’t allowed, don’t they? Oh yes they do!

“Toby, was it you? Was it you, Toby? No?

“It was you, wasn’t it, Rexy Maximilian, wasn’t it? Look what you did to the couch. Bad dog! No dinner for you tonight!”

Rexy whimpered and slunk away. How did she know? Breath? No. Fabric in teeth? No. Hmmm… As he walked away, couch stuffing in his fur fell right and left. 

Today, Once, Together

“Today was a really great day. Thank you for everything.”

“I really had a great time too. I don’t think we should do this just once, but instead we should do something together again soon.”

“You know, I think we should. It feels good to expand connections this way.”

“I agree totally. So what do you think, maybe next week? And not in the library but instead at the coffee shop?”

“Um… sure… ok!”

And so that next week, the two severe introverts sat quietly together in the coffee shop, reading, giving each other plenty of space.

Yule, Celebration, Naked

“Here at the Bunny Ranch, the finest whorehouse in Nevada, ‘Yule’ be naked and in the celebration spirit in no time!”

Times had changed in the Puritan States, as owner Nic Dictacular (not his given name) liked to call the United States. It was amazing how little it took, in the form of a campaign contribution to his representative’s re-election campaign, to see a law passed allowing commercials to be run, in prime time, on cable TV. National advertising! Only a few years ago, he’d had problems simply opening a bank account. And now he was on cable! Amazing!

Toucan, Grouse, Mime

“Hey Jerry. What’s up?”

“Barbary got loose and I don’t know where he’s got to!”

“Your toucan? Wow. What are you going to do?”

“I’ve been watching youtube for ideas. Aside from a fair number of contributors who grouse that owners allow toucans to get loose far too often, I found one idea I think might work.”

“Great! What is it? And please don’t tell me it has anything to do with your flapping your arms and sounding like an idiot.”

“Toucans are smart, Sam. I’m using mime to show Barbary that he should come home.”

“Jerry, you’re an idiot.”

Frequent, Unicorn, Miles

In the Elven Kingdom of Elyenvere, there is a charity drive every year for elves that were crippled in the interminable wars with the dwarves (“damn their hearts!”). The lords and ladies of the Kingdom lead by example and donate gold, supplies, and of course their excess Frequent Unicorn Miles.

Many outside the Kingdom are, of course, a bit bemused by the concept of Frequent Unicorn Miles. The elves of the kingdom respond, proudly, that they are progressive elves who feel that unicorns should be paid to do their work and not simply ridden like slaves (or dwarves).

Bluster, Serve, Overhead

Laughs were shared around the dinner table, as Chad, home from college for the holidays, told of an exchange on the airplane starting with bluster and ending with humble pie served:

“Sir, you cannot put that bag in the overhead bin. Please place it under the seat in front of you.”

“I’m an American! I can put this bag in the overhead bin! It’s my right! I paid for my seat and my bag goes in that bin!”

“Sir, if you don’t comply with my instructions, I’ll have you removed from the flight.”

Meekly, he did as he was told.

Art, Substance, Spleen

There is an art to venting one’s spleen in such a way that listeners will want to hear more. To unleash the power of anger and discontent that resonates within the masses, one must deliver substance and not just incoherent vitriol. The job of the successful orator who wishes to wrest control from the people, indeed be handed it by the people, one must speak of pathos to the body politic.

Therefore, preparation and practice is paramount, both in terms of familiarity with issues and also with delivery. Fury masked by humour is always effective.

Time to unleash the mob…

Wrapped, Rapt, Rapped

“Tommy, can you help me? I don’t understand this.”

“Sure Taibo.”

“Ok - ‘Little Jenny sat rapt in the living room.’ She sat in the living room and she was rapping?”

“No - rapt means her attention was focused on something.”

“Ok - ‘Her attention was drawn when someone rapped on the front door.’ So… her attention was on the front door?”

“No - someone knocked.”

“Uh huh… ‘Mother answered the door, allowing Father to walk in with a large package wrapped in bright paper.’ So Father knocked on the package?”

“No - the package had bright wrapping paper on it.”

“I hate English.”

Insidious, Placate, Put

“Here at the public relations firm of Blather and Blather, we can take any issue you want to highlight and demonize the other side effectively. Want to promote an unpopular political opinion? We’ll run ads about the insidious plot of your political enemies to steal jobs away from the citizenry. Want to promote your extreme view of religion? We’ll prepare speeches declaring that to placate those against you is the same as committing murder! Want to restrict the ability of minorities to improve their fortunes? We’ll put them in their place! We’re Blather and Blather - demonizing populations - for YOU!

Ice, Pocket, Synthetic

Jimmy the Nose had flipped on Bobby the Brain, a smuggler of South African diamonds, known as “ice”. Wire taped to his chest, Jimmy was meeting with Bobby about the incoming shipment. Two guys Jimmy didn’t know were already with Bobby.

“Stevie, Davie, this is Jimmy. Ok - make sure the shit is genuine. There’s a lot of synthetic ice floating around and I’m not going to deliver glass or zirconium to our buyers, got it? Here’s the details…”

Later, the cops raided the purported delivery site, but all they found was Jimmy, dead, with the mic tucked in his pocket.

Sick, Tired, Erected

“When you want a baby, you find a man and he builds something.”

Mary Constallas held court with a small group of neighbourhood girls every day after school. She was an authority because she was older than us (she was seven, we were six) and had an older sister.

“You see, he gets an “erected” and that means to build something.”

Her pronouncements still ring in my ears:

“My mom says she’s “sick and tired” whenever she doesn’t want to cook dinner. When I’m older, I’m going to pick just one.”

Forty years later, her words became a story…

Oblivious, Knock, Corrupt

“Ze needs of ze corrupt are ze same az zoze of ze virtuous.”

Orientation for the new psychologists  coming in to serve the needs of congressional staffers in Washington DC was, in a word, weird. Why did they need to listen to someone who thought he was Sigmund Freud?

“Ven zer iz za knock on za door, ve cannot be oblivious of ze needs that haz brought ze person to you. Ve are not here to judge! Ve are here to listen.

“Invite zem in. Have zem get comfortable. Offer a cocktail. And zen ask zem about zeir mudher.”

Extend, Prevent, Knickers

No one knew if the name was deliberate or not, but if it was it was clever. They were teams of pickpockets who would nick valuables from their marks using the distraction of not wearing trousers. Thus the name: Knickers.

Law enforcement was having a difficult time stopping them, despite attempting to extend knowledge of the gang’s modus operandi to the public. How does one prevent a thief from dropping their trousers in a crowded place, thus causing all activity to stop for a moment and giving the accomplices time to work their craft?

Police were, for the moment, stymied.

Scuttle, Birch, Dragonfly

In the showroom, the kitchen had been magnificent. Rich reddish-brown cabinetry of heartwood birch seemed to glow from deep within the wood. Fabrics thin as silk but as intricate as dragonfly wings served as table linens. The finest appliances in slate grey were set perfectly into the room and made the kitchen as functional as could be.

However, reality didn’t tread the path that planning had laid. The contractors, paid in advance, were no-shows. The showroom emptied and now an empty warehouse. Phone numbers disconnected and e-mails unanswered.

The dream of a perfect kitchen had been scuttled.

Further, Introductory, Transmit

The atmosphere in the Command Centre was tense. Not one of the experts crammed into the room had ever faced this situation before; not a single person ever had.

“Prepare to transmit introductory message, phase 1” blared the Director’s voice over the intercom.

Months earlier, a signal had been received from an area near Betelgeuse - a signal that was clearly from an advanced civilization. Humans were getting ready to respond.

“Transmit introductory message, phase 1. Prepare to load further message codes upon my command”.

Humanity had just said Hi back to ET. Would the message be welcomed?

Espresso, Compilation, Remote

After waiting in line outside the coffee shop for ten minutes, I finally made my way inside and prepared for another longer, but at least warmer, wait.

I had time on my hands and so looked at all the occupied tables with everyone engaged on laptops, phones, and, rarely, with another person.

My eyes lit on one older man who was simply staring into space, looking at nothing in particular. Remote. What looked like a finished espresso in front of him. A lifetime’s compilation of cares and worries etched on his face.

He smiled sadly, sighed, and slowly left.

Baby, Boy, Birth

The silence in the board room was deafening, painfully so. The board members looked at each other, wondering if the others had heard what they’d heard. The silence, looks, and shrugs were evidence they had.

The CEO looked confused. He’d presented what he’d been sure was a winner. He began to feel (a very rare thing in any event) uncertain.

The proposal was for a new product for women who couldn’t conceive. A device would be implanted inside the uterus that would simulate an embryo that a woman would “birth” called Baby Boy in the Oven.

Then came the outrage.

Forever, Flight, Feathers

The seat’s uncomfortable. I wanna move and swing my legs and see if I can touch the seat ahead of me but mom keeps putting her hand on my legs.

I’m bored.

This is taking FOREVER!

Dad kept trying to say that this would be fun. We’ll ride on an airplane he said. I said that it’s called a flight. I guess I’m also precocious, whatever that is.

I wanna skip rope or run or do anything other than SIT HERE!

There are two feathers sticking out of Mr. Bun. Maybe I’ll tickle the baby with them.

BORED!!!

Nightshade, Blend, Laughter

Miss Eggplant and the Tomato Tornado burst onto the scene of Gotham City villainy when they started stealing all the nightshades in the city.

They weren’t super villains. In fact, they were more comic fodder than anything else. No one could figure out why they cared so much about these types of plants.

*****

In their lair, laughter erupted. Miss Eggplant and the Tomato Tornado plotted their plan. First, blend their haul in a giant vat. Next, extract the toxins. Then, give it to an unsuspecting public. Lastly, take over the world.

A few details still needed to be worked out.

Place, Porcelain, While

They sat around the fire, reminiscing. Years had passed since that fateful day when they’d found her, lying still on the cold ground. They still couldn’t forgive themselves for having been away while her life had ebbed away.

Happy had been their world with her in it. Singing as they set off daily and whistling while working; now everything was done in the silence of mourning.

Her singing and dancing and open take on life - gone forever. Only her porcelain skin and ever smiling ruby lips were preserved inside the crystal coffin - precious within precious - her final resting place.

Oh, My, Goodness

“Well, well, well. What do we have here?”

Raymond chuckled as he looked over Line 212 of Schedule C, Part III, of the tax return he was auditing. 

“Oh the tangled web we weave, Dorsky Bakery”. Raymond had to glance at the front page of the return to see who it was that had weaved said web.

Raymond knew that intangible assets such as Goodwill bought by a business were amortizable and therefore deductible, but to see line items like Goodness, Quality, Tastiness, and Novelty being treated the same way… Raymond laughed again.

“My word that’s creative accounting.” 

December, Call, Canada

Ember (nee “December”) watched the screen intently. She was waiting to punch the execution button on a large Call order on Canada Maple Leaf gold coins.

Her mind wandered as the screen hypnotized. What was with her genius parents who’d named her December (they’d wanted to name her after a month, like June, but wanted to do something novel). December - who the fuck named their kid December? Aside from them, of course.

Everywhere she went, she was the Frigid Bitch With Steely Blues despite trying to have a “warm” nickname with Ember.

The number she’d been waiting for flashed - Buy!

Frig, Fricken, Frack

“People, we need to get a handle on this plague!”

Virginia Whitehead, President of Don’t Say That Word had a look on her face that might have frightened…well… no one actually. But she thought it looked fierce.

“There are simply too many people using too many words that could be construed as… you know… that word!” She had a strict rule about using… you know… That Word.

“You mean Frig? Fricken? Frack? Fudge?” Harold Beltzer knew it would cost him his job if he said The Word. But he could play with his boss’ emotions all he liked.

“Yes!!!!”

Free, Cutlery, Hugs

The holiday season had been making itself known to Ben: Black Friday had come and gone and the number of shopping days ’til Christmas was less than thirty. He felt alone and he knew others out there were feeling the same. And so he decided to do something about it.

Which is why he wandered his local mall carrying a sign, “Hugs not shrugs”, and gave free hugs to anyone who asked or even looked like they needed one. Such as the young man shopping for cutlery at London Drugs. One hug, two lives made a bit better.

Flop, Sizzle, Splat

*Sizzle*

The project to leapfrog supercomputer calculations from terra flops to mega splats per second (a bazillion times faster) had been hit by delay after delay. Lightning strike fried circuit breakers and sensitive components. A rogue rat chewed cabling. And now? Fruit fly infestation buggering up the electronics.

Despite visits by scientists, researchers, security consultants, asset protection managers, rodent extermination experts, and exorcists, the project continued to face extraordinary challenges. What was trying to stand in the way of progress?

Was it the case, like a few people were saying, that it was Mother Earth herself standing in the way?

Frail, System, Break

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, I would like to summarize my closing remarks. We’ve been told that human health is fragile and the human body frail, that systems fail and parts break - that this is part of the human condition.

It is irresponsible, indeed absolutely criminal, to allow anyone, no matter their position in society, to prey upon human life. We are not prey and we should not submit to anyone or anything that considers itself a predator.

And so, I ask you, members of the jury, to find Death guilty of mass murder.”

There, Their, They’re

As I strolled along the walk
‘round the time of the county fair,
I spied an unusual gent
In obscene square underwear

And as I looked closer
To discern what was there
I came to conclude
T’was worn with great care

Consider shape within shape
Oval within square
And I had to suppose
This has to be a dare

And others looking on?
The kids who could only stare
Their parents shielding eyes
And the gent catching glares

So where’s the gentry?
To shame this arse of a mare
They’re deep in their cups
And comment on the gent’s flair.

Exhausted, Full, Relief

There’d been no choice: orders were orders. HMS Gallant had to be on station on the other side of the Pacific in two weeks, despite it being typhoon season and an active one at that. But the Captain was a seasoned veteran and if anyone could navigate rough seas, he could.

Those thoughts were cold comfort, as was the taste of salt water, as he swam, exhausted, towards a life boat. One rogue wave had been the ship’s doom, already half full of water and sinking fast. The automatic distress signal called for relief. Would it arrive in time?

Grateful, Light, Feast

In Wat Buppharam there is an emerald Buddha (the original is in Bangkok) that has caught my breath and attention since I first laid eyes on it. Nothing brings me to a deeper sense of reverence and peace than it does.

In my mind’s eye, I can easily see myself slowly and reverently approaching the Buddha, bowing, then lighting a candle. Prostrating myself, I can feel Universal Love coursing through me and in return, my love courses through the universe. Eventually I bow again, then withdraw. 

I always leave feeling light and grateful for my soul’s feast.

Popsicle, Flamingo, Orange

“Peter Veet’s
Sour and Sweet!
Ice cream and candy
Peter Veet’s dandy!”

Peter Veet, President and CEO of the world’s largest confectioner, sat in stupefied silence while anxious ad agency representatives waited with saccharine smiles on their faces. He wondered why it was that after three months of “creative brainstorming services” (billed at top dollar), he had just listened to… this? 

And the billboard proposals! No pictures of their ice cream popsicles! No orange chocolate dandelions! Not to mention not even a glimpse of the company mascot, the proud Florida flamingo!

But all Peter could say was “Needs work”.

Dog, cathedral, accordion

Excerpt from Sociology Today, Nov 2018 edition, page 32, Article Summary, by Norman Gerverburder, PhD.:

“Sociologists have recently found that among all the classifications of humans, accordion players are perhaps one of the oddest. Much like bagpipes players, they can hear sounds that are inaudible to all living things, except perhaps exceptionally small species of dog.

Where a “baseline” human hears a rather wheezy and hollow sound that tries and fails to match the quality of an ancient piano, the player hears a symphony of sound, worthy of concert halls and cathedrals.

Further study into this phenomenon is encouraged.” 

Flag, Forest, Pistachio

The setting sun cut clear lines through the ragged flag that sagged wearily against the tepid breeze.
Nadia trudged home, numb to the surrounding destruction.

Everything she’d had was gone, taken by some marauding army or militia or other - it was hard to tell them apart. Husband and male children forced to join one of them. Her income, her pistachios and the trees they grew on, napalmed and unrecoverable. Her little home in a little forest now little more than a hovel, not fit for a dog.

One foot followed another followed another. Not a single tear fell.

Earlobe, Confetti, Soap

Confetti woven in her hair and Bae’s vicious words stuck in her ears as she closed the bathroom door. Bae - better Bae than Grandma Beatrice, better cool than dried out stool as she liked to say. So of course on her 70th birthday, a bellybutton piercing. Earlobes just weren’t cool enough.

And also as she liked to say, no risk was too big, no molehill too tall, for her totally pathetic and skittish granddaughter.

I’ll show her.

Soap and iodine to disinfect and prep the area, ice cube to get the nub hard, and the needle… Ready?… ready??… Ready. And…

Avocado, Eucalyptus, Shenanigans

“hello welcome to shenanigans i’m shannon I’ll be your server can i take your order?”

Being a server at the new yuppie “bad boy” bar, something between Hooters and Bennigan's, was soul suckingly bad. Bad boy yuppies? Almost as pathetic as geriatric punk rockers.

But this was as good as she could get right now. She was on the  run from the law and angry women who’d been burned and blinded by her eucalyptus infused avocado oil healing masque. So she’d made a small formulation mistake… geez… 

“yes sir we offer several sides such as fries…”

Amphibian, Picked, Efficient

She picked it up carefully.  She had to – frogs are slippery.

Arthritic fingers held the quivering amphibian while cold eyes studied it.  “No, not you”, she muttered unpleasantly, and dropped it back into the swamp water.  Clearly annoyed, she wondered where he was hiding this time.

She wasn’t evil, just an efficient problem-solver.  Mosquitoes that bite? People who annoy?  Both solved by turning annoying people into mosquito-eating frogs!  Her husband, for instance...But she needed him to fix the leaky roof.  So she needed to change him back.  Again.  Reluctantly.

She spied another frog.  She picked it up carefully.

Screwdriver, Silk, Super

Kirk knocked on the apartment door.  The super said 3607 had asked specifically for him, problem unknown.  Growing up, Kirk’s mother had called him her “apple blossom”.  Now here he was in the Big Apple working maintenance - a turn of a wrench, a twist of a screwdriver – but secretly dreaming of silk frills and high tea.  The door opened and his heart began thumping.  Stern, demanding, her cigarette smoke caressing the air in lazy swirls, 3607 smiled knowingly.  She handed him a large pink dress and lace gloves.  Weak in the knees, he entered and she closed the door. 

Republished 13 Aug 2020: https://onehundredwordsbyparz.blogspot.com/2020/08/throwback-thursday-not-funny-today-old.html

Tabasco, Almonds, Annihilation

“Mornin’ neighbor-man.” 

“...hey...” 

“Still playing Quake III: Annihilation Online?  I thought you were going to catch some z’s hours ago.”  

“...was...”  

“Fuck dude.  Kill the game.” 

“...later...”  

“You eaten anything?”  

“...those...”  

“A bag of chocolate covered almonds?  Oh man...what’s in the bottle?”  

“...here...”  

<glug glug Phhfftttt>  “Holy shit!  What the hell is this?”  

“...gin, Jolt, tabasco ...”  

“Jesus fucking Christ it’s horrible!”  

“...need it to keep fragging bastards...” 

“No, you need to go home and get your drunk, skunky ass off my couch.”  

<retch>  “...unh...sorry dude...” 

“Asshole!  You booted on my couch!” 

“...zzz...”

“Nice…”

Dormouse, Torchlight, Slip

The tales of Prince Charming’s exploits are legion.  The tales of his brother are less well known.

Prince Moribund approached the ruin on his mangy nag.  The weary sun was just setting, highlighting the flicker of torchlight from the highest chamber of the surviving tower.  The Prince peered into what had been the moat, now only a muddy ditch home to scavenging dormice.  Gingerly he made his way across the rotting drawbridge, trying not to slip into the fetid muck beneath.  Reaching the other side safely, Moribund slumped tiredly into a prone lump and began to snore.

Dormouse, Torchlight, Slip

Emperor Caracalla’s feast was ready.  His mother, Julia, had asked that he and his co-Emperor brother Geta resolve their feud for the good of the Empire.  This feast, thought Caracalla, will do just that.  An orgy of food, entertainment, and exotic delights, decadent even by Roman standards, were to be enjoyed this night.  Even the torchlight danced with greens and purples, not just the usual reds, oranges, and yellows.  All was ready.  Caracalla was full of joy and heartiness, even embracing his brother.  Yet never letting slip that Geta’s favoured dessert, dormouse in honey and sesame seeds, was poisoned.  

Dark, Turtle, Fleece

A cryptic message in an ancient text. A company of heroes seeking fame and fortune. Long dark roads and deadly peril. A sole survivor...

Thiormond Thunderbum spied his prize. In the top room of the tallest tower of a wizard’s castle lay the Fleece of Transformation upon the Turtle Shell of Ultimate Wisdom. And it was his for the taking. Murmuring the oft repeated message, he came to the line “Wear the Fleece”. Wrapping the fleece around his broad shoulders, he envisioned glory for his accomplishment. Dreaming turned to panicked bleating with a last thought “Was it ‘Ware the Fleece?’”

Admin - My first post...

Hello all,

Welcome to this blog. It's intended to be a fun creative writing exercise - I start with 3 words and from them (and including them), I write a story that is 100 words or less. I hope you enjoy it!