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June 1, 2005

Volume 2, Issue 1

Note: Today we have a new addition to the 100 Words ranks! Tanya of Red Sugar Muse, who has posted many a reader story here, has agreed to join us as a regular contributor. Welcome, Tanya!

A new month, a new volume, and a recycled theme, at least conceptually, from your pal Andy. This time out, I grabbed one of the books on my desk, flipped open to a random page, put my finger on a random spot, and that sentence became today's theme.

I looked behind the soldiers and saw bones in a suit of clothes on the grass.

Not quite as vague as the last one, but a little extra specificity will require a little more creativity to stand out. Yup, it worries me too.

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Comments

After weeks of preparation, we're finally at Albequerque. Three months ago, the virus was released: some say accidentally, others think there was terrorist involvement. I believe we got too cocky and now we're paying the price.

We're here to decontaminate the city, prepare it for resettlement. It's a horrible job. The bodies lie scattered, as if trying to escape the inevitable. The survivors have been useless; the virus has made them both insane and violent. I mean, one of them bit me! Our orders are to shoot on sight now.

I wonder how Jimmy's brains taste. Slightly salty, I bet.

Posted by: Johnny Catbird at June 1, 2005 5:19 AM · Permalink

The clothes looked familiar, similar to my clothes that I wore when I set out on this journey to spy on Lee’s army. I could not remember why I was here, but I had a strong sense of déjà vu.

The soldiers were heaving on a rope with a noose around the neck of a struggling man. The man screamed frantically, “I’m not a spy, I’m-” This was cut short by the snapping of his neck. An apparition appeared beside me, and with reality finally hitting me I said “well friend, I guess we’re out of this war after all.”

Posted by: joe at June 1, 2005 6:22 AM · Permalink

The lights shine heat down on the soldiers crowded on an already hot day. Grateful for this break in the routine, they line up in two long packs with a gutter between. Dividing their ranks is a long carpet which, up close, looks frayed and cheap, but it's still a red carpet.

That's right. Hollywood is saluting the troops the best way they know how: A movie premiere! And not just any movie, but the new "Herbie the Love Bug" movie! And here, glimpsed briefly between the shoulders of soldiers as she walks along, comes the star of the movie...

Posted by: marc at June 1, 2005 6:36 AM · Permalink

Yay! Tanya's on board! Now I can look like crap compared to yet ANOTHER writer! ;)

Posted by: Laurence Simon at June 1, 2005 6:46 AM · Permalink

Santa Anna’s soldiers had been very thorough. My body was bruised, swollen and broken. Each step brought unbearable pain. But I had told them nothing.

The smell of death was everywhere, coming off the rotting bodies in the field ahead. I leaned over and endured convulsive waves of dry retching.

“Adelante, soldados!” the fat sergeant barked. How I loathed his pig face. “The farmer goes to join his amigos!” Laughing soldiers grabbed my arms and dragged me toward the field. I fought back waves of blackness.

On my knees, I heard the cold click of a musket lock behind me.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 1, 2005 7:32 AM · Permalink

It was fascinating, if highly illogical. The Captain and I were about to be devoured in the mandibles of the giant, red insectoids. Their carapaces defied our phasers just as their physiognomies defied the square-cube law.

Then, from the hilltop, more insectoids, black ones, came charging down, attacking the red ones surrounding us. I heard the voice of our doctor. "It's the strangest thing. These Kortellians have a caste structure, and communicate with pheremones just like ants do on Earth. So I used my tricorder to whip up a batch of ant perfume, and now they think I'm their queen!."

Posted by: Jeff R. at June 1, 2005 8:21 AM · Permalink

I had a choice, they said. I could either try to make my way out on foot with no clothes, or I could try to fight the biggest one for my freedom.

I couldn't tell whether they were motivated more by cruelty or boredom. The leader's lips stretched tight across his teeth into something between a smile and a grimace. He had delivered the proposal in the manner of a carnival barker: Step up, young man, and win a prize!

I looked behind the soldiers and saw bones in a suit of clothes on the grass.

I decided to walk.

Posted by: Hubris at June 1, 2005 8:51 AM · Permalink

The Price

Upon a dark and grassy knoll,
the soldiers marched as if one soul,
was shared by all and filled with pain,
upon the battlefield now stained,
with comrades blood and their enemies,
mixing together into a crimson sea .
That stained the grass a darker brown,
and one and all they searched the ground,
for a sign that what was fought that day,
would somehow matter and repay,
the debt that all had fought and lost,
would somehow balance the terrible cost,
of the bodies laying scattered there,
of families that would silently stare ,
at the bearer of the terrible news,
that their loved one was among the few,
to die that day in a battle bold.
To fight for rights and to uphold,
the beliefs that all for freedoms land,
should be upheld by every man.
But it falls short this fallacy,
when dead soldiers eyes no longer see.

Posted by: raine at June 1, 2005 9:17 AM · Permalink

"First right," Jan waved the brochure, "This way, Stan!"

He reluctantly trailed behind her. They'd scrimped and saved for this vacation. Bragging rights would last for years, yet on the shuttle Jan talked of little else but this exhibit.

The room opened out, the ceiling soaring overhead, an honor guard at the far side window. As they approached Stan looked through the soldiers.

The suit with bones, the skull exposed in the helmet, then a hologram of a smiling face, cycling over and over.

"The Armstrongs got fucked," Stan thought, "when they agreed to the interment of Neil at DisneyLuna."

Posted by: Darleen at June 1, 2005 12:09 PM · Permalink

What happened here? I knew these people. We had decided to have a picture taken on the last day of our tour. I had spent the last 2 years with them. We had been a team, family, inseparable. Now this.
Disorientation and vertigo threaten to swell up again. I thought I had this under control. No one should have to go through that twice but here it came. Cold sweat in the beating sun and the crisp silence was just the beginning.
It was a backward glance at all the grunts and medics in civvies layed out on the turf.

Posted by: blaine at June 1, 2005 1:59 PM · Permalink

Okay, you’re new here so let me tell you about the lieutenant. He’s the craziest, meanest motherfucker in the whole army. But if the lieutenant likes you, he’ll keep you from getting killed out here.

He used to be an actor or something. He’s always saying shit nobody understands. Like yesterday. He picks up this Cong’s skull – kind of rips it off the spine. Then he strikes this goofy pose and says, “Alas, poor Yorick”. Then he starts laughing his ass off.

What did we do? We laughed, too. The lieutenant is the craziest, meanest motherfucker in the whole army.

Posted by: Jim Parkinson at June 1, 2005 5:25 PM · Permalink

Walking to work, I saw a war protester on the edge of the park.

She was standing in front of a line of two-foot-high plastic soldiers. Art, I guess.

I looked behind the soldiers and saw bones in a suit of clothes on the grass.

"We have to stop this war," she said.

Sure, kid. Like you're gonna get drafted.

Posted by: Kiril at June 1, 2005 11:14 PM · Permalink