100 Word Stories: July 11, 2005 Archives

July 11, 2005

Volume 3, Issue 11

So, there you are, soaked to the bone, hot, and at least partially nude.

How did you get that way?

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Michele: I Called Her Baby When I Smacked Her Ass

I wake up. Sun’s stabbing my eyes, roasting my shoulders. My boxers are wet and clinging to me. My hands are tied and, no...wait, I’m hog-tied. A red Sharpie-d “A” decorates my bare chest.

There’s a sprinkler head jamming into my back and the grass itches and...a golf course! Why am I tied up on a golf course?

My watch alarm beeps. 6am. Last night comes back in flashes.

Oh Jesushchristonapogostick. Today’s the 12th. Company golf tournament. I hear golf carts, our cackling receptionist, headed for the hole I’m currently occupying.

Never fuck your boss’s wife, kids. Trust me.

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Tanya: Am I acting as if there's something wrong?

Much better. Now all I need is a good night's sleep and I'll get out of this one horse town. Forty thousand dollars will buy a lot of horses. Or a new life. With Sam. Well, thirty-nine thousand three hundred now. Hmm, now what did I do with the shampoo? I must have left it in my bag.

Was that the door? What wonderful timing. It must be the old innkeeper woman; surely she wouldn't send that odd son of hers. I can ask her to bring me my shampoo. Oh, but she mustn't look on the dresser. She mustn't...

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Ted: Perspective

The gates flung open. The morning rain made the cobblestones slippery so the first eight crashed down immediately. Six got back up and left their brothers to die in agony.

The mass of runners began to thin out, some only staying ahead for a few blocks, some gored and left behind the crowd.

I lined up and prepared for the collision. The heat of the chase had my blood on fire. The picadors along the way flayed at my hide, peeling off strips, but my goal was in sight. I skewered the matador right in the spine, killing him instantly.

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Stacy: That's What You Get

The knife blade inched towards her eye, and she gripped his arm harder, struggling to maintain the lock. Suddenly she let go of his arm, and in one swift motion, jammed her thumb deep into his eye.

He rolled off her, screaming, the knife lost. She scrambled to her feet, walked over to the writhing man, and precisely kicked in his left temple with her heel.

Thanks to Señor Violador, her dress was beyond salvage. She stripped off his shirt, disdained the now-stained trousers, and collected his weapons and valuables. They might fetch a decent price in the next village.

From the Comments: Captain Wrath

“I got a degree in Meteorology for THIS!?”
“You’re doing great,” says Barry in my earpiece.
“I am standing out in the open in gale force winds, in driving rain, holding a microphone…”
“Looking good. 10 seconds to your hit.”
“I look like a freaking metal patient.”
“Where’s your raincoat?”
“IT BLEW OFF, BARRY! OWW! Sunnuva-”
“What?”
“My pants. Flying branch snagged my pants and ripped them off.”
“No problem. We’ll take a medium shot. 5 seconds!”
“I’m not wearing underwear, Barry.”
“Ewww. Okay, tight shot. You’re live!”
“I’m Chase Wethers, reporting idiot for the Moron Channel!”
“KILL HIS FEED!”

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