#HumpDayChallenge is a 100 word challenge - You get five words as a prompt and have to use all of them.
Week 33
Forever cursed with the gift of gab, he’d realized his verbal blunder a second too late.
Her tiny body spun, her legs a blur as her foot arced up, and Johnathan Staunton Hill’s six-foot-two, two-hundred pound frame crumpled to the pavement. He immediately rolled over and covered his face with his hands as copious amounts of blood streamed from his now broken nose.
“Holy fuck!” he said. Looking up he could see the sun behind her shining through her coral colored sunglasses.
“Call me <i>‘bitch’</i> again,” she said.
Johnathan Staunton Hill’s heart skipped and he knew he was in love.
Week 30
“So, are you a raccoon or what?”
Randy turned to see a dark haired girl in all white with a barcode across her chest.
“A lemur,” he said. “You?”
“Girl, generic. Enjoying the costume party?”
Randy took a gulp from a plastic goblet with a Serenade Catering logo on the side.
“Yeah. A celebration for someone whose name I can’t remember,” he began.
“Kelly Wright,” she interjected.
“For Kelly Wright,” he continued, “with three hundred of my closest, drunkest friends. You?”
“Meh.”
“Randy,” he said offering his hand.
“Kelly Wright,” she replied.
Randy’s stomach churned.
“Embarrassing.”
“Yeah,” she said, smiling.
Week 29
Boots pounding sidewalk announced her approach, but that fact that she was wearing nothing else is what really got their attention.
The guards, behaving uncommonly cordial under the circumstances, scanned her – boots - for weapons.
She was shown to a back office. The interior was conservative in appearance with unremarkable décor and cracks in the ceiling.
“Here for the job,” she announced.
He looked her over , slowly, as a smile played across his lips.
“What makes you think you’re qual—“.
Her body twisted. Suddenly she held a knife blade an inch from his nose.
“Welcome aboard,” he said.
Week 28
He was tired of the booze; tired of the regrets. It was time to turn over a new leaf.
Ronald Whimpee adjusted the focus on the telescopic site a fraction using the touch screen display. On the scope display, he adjusted the image resolution.
<i>I need to be more serious about my work,</i> he thought.
His wrist watch beeped a quiet, single chirp.
<i>Show time.</i>
Down range on the screen, two figures exited the hotel. The female lit a cigarette lighter to illuminate the target, as agreed.
The robotic scope identified a firing solution. Ronald pressed “Ok” on the screen.
Ronald Whimpee adjusted the focus on the telescopic site a fraction using the touch screen display. On the scope display, he adjusted the image resolution.
<i>I need to be more serious about my work,</i> he thought.
His wrist watch beeped a quiet, single chirp.
<i>Show time.</i>
Down range on the screen, two figures exited the hotel. The female lit a cigarette lighter to illuminate the target, as agreed.
The robotic scope identified a firing solution. Ronald pressed “Ok” on the screen.
Week 26
Lionel’s attempt to eavesdrop proved unsuccessful due to the loud, morose playing of a cello in the hotel lounge. In addition he was frustrated by the crossword puzzle he was attempting to finish.
Six letters, ‘a small tool for boring holes’, he read.
Lionel threw the paper down on the bar in frustration. Out beyond the harbor entrance, the sun slipped beneath the horizon.
“Good evening, Sir,” the bartender said, startling Lionel. “What would you like to drink?”
“What? Oh! Yes,” he said as he looked around. “A gimlet. I’ll have a vodka gimlet, please.”
“Right away, Sir. Right away.”
Week 1
Timing would be everything. She continued to feign weakness, allowing herself to recover strength, as he forced himself into her. The metal collar cut into her skin, the iron smell of blood mixing with the pungent, spicy smell of dried herbs in bags underneath her. Timing, thrust, timing, thrust. She knew that when he climaxed he would clench his legs and his ass. Timing. Thrust. Timing. Thrust.
As he climaxed, releasing himself into her petite body, she whipped her knee towards her face, drawing her leg under his arm, and struck, crushing his larynx.
Frigid air caressed her thighs. Freedom.
As he climaxed, releasing himself into her petite body, she whipped her knee towards her face, drawing her leg under his arm, and struck, crushing his larynx.
Frigid air caressed her thighs. Freedom.
Week 2
The Goddess above all. Judge. Jury.
She cast the runes to determine the pages. The lavish tome lay open before her. She cast again to determine the words.
Honor.
Of course. Honor to the Goddess. Always. Again she cast.
Duty.
As Warrior and Sister, nothing less. Yet each word burned inside of her.
Would justice rule?
“Mother!” she cried.
Beneath her robe, her hands caressed her filling breasts, nipples rubbed raw by the coarse fabric. Then her swollen belly.
Again she cast.
Her lips, dyed blue shown as gray under the light of the full moon and she smiled.
Vengeance.
She cast the runes to determine the pages. The lavish tome lay open before her. She cast again to determine the words.
Honor.
Of course. Honor to the Goddess. Always. Again she cast.
Duty.
As Warrior and Sister, nothing less. Yet each word burned inside of her.
Would justice rule?
“Mother!” she cried.
Beneath her robe, her hands caressed her filling breasts, nipples rubbed raw by the coarse fabric. Then her swollen belly.
Again she cast.
Her lips, dyed blue shown as gray under the light of the full moon and she smiled.
Vengeance.
Week 3
“You must be patient and observant,” he lectured. His florid jowls shook like jelly with each word. Ignoring the stench of human waste, he paced to and fro in the alley.
“The real skill in our profession is not so much in the act of doing but in the act of observing. Select your mark with care and the majority of your work will be done for you.”
In my memory, his eyes shown brilliant with greed.
“Requiring” he added, “only the lightest touch to finish the job. A legerdemain, if you will.”
We always applauded after one of his lectures.
“The real skill in our profession is not so much in the act of doing but in the act of observing. Select your mark with care and the majority of your work will be done for you.”
In my memory, his eyes shown brilliant with greed.
“Requiring” he added, “only the lightest touch to finish the job. A legerdemain, if you will.”
We always applauded after one of his lectures.
Week 5
California, 2083 –
Shining fucking city on a fucking hill my ass, it’s not shiny any more. That was before the city fell, though. The day they discovered the bodies of those children stuffed away in some fucking badgerhole or some shit was the day it all came crashing down. Wish I’d been there to see the crystal cathedral as it fell. They said it looked like diamond falling from the sky. Sick fucks calling themselves christian warriors but that’s just cataclysmic fuck. Anyone can’t control their desire any more than that doesn’t deserve the name warrior.
My name is Unity.
Shining fucking city on a fucking hill my ass, it’s not shiny any more. That was before the city fell, though. The day they discovered the bodies of those children stuffed away in some fucking badgerhole or some shit was the day it all came crashing down. Wish I’d been there to see the crystal cathedral as it fell. They said it looked like diamond falling from the sky. Sick fucks calling themselves christian warriors but that’s just cataclysmic fuck. Anyone can’t control their desire any more than that doesn’t deserve the name warrior.
My name is Unity.
Week 6
In 2032 her namesake, Allysia Chen, was killed by a zombified corpse. One of the very first ones encountered. She’d stumbled out of her local pub one evening, drunk as usual, with the intention of forcing the next young man she saw to do her bidding. Unfortunately, when she told the “young man” to “eat me”, he took her literally. For that very reason it was a felony to travel anywhere in the continental U.S. without a lethal weapon. That’s why this Allysia, in addition to several guns, carried a sword strapped to her motorcycle.
Zombies can hear gunfire.
Zombies can hear gunfire.
Week 9
They called us freaks, animal lovers, species betrayer, and worse, but it was something I had decided to live with. I’m a creature of the city, a lurker in the night, so what did I care? "She" was beautiful, fur like velvet and even though she wasn't human, her shape was all human female with monster curves. Her broad face, overly large eyes, and full lips were ripe with sensual feel. But don't think she's some kind of pet. That erroneous assumption could cost you your life. Behind those dreamy smiles were fangs that could shred a human throat.
Week 10
Johnathan kept plucking at his forearms and hands while peeling shrimp. Pluck pluck, peel.
“So we’ll have pan seared shrimp with a lemon-lime beurre blanc for dinner tonight Honey,” he said. “It’s the least I can do to make up for having to bury you.” He gave a wry smile.
Under a fold of silk, sealed in a glass container, the bodiless head of Annie was suspended in oxygenated, electricity conducting fluids.
Pluck pluck.
His fist slammed into the counter.
“Listen to me when I’m talking!”
Her eyes opened, her mouth formed a silent scream.
“Better,” he said.
Pluck pluck.
“So we’ll have pan seared shrimp with a lemon-lime beurre blanc for dinner tonight Honey,” he said. “It’s the least I can do to make up for having to bury you.” He gave a wry smile.
Under a fold of silk, sealed in a glass container, the bodiless head of Annie was suspended in oxygenated, electricity conducting fluids.
Pluck pluck.
His fist slammed into the counter.
“Listen to me when I’m talking!”
Her eyes opened, her mouth formed a silent scream.
“Better,” he said.
Pluck pluck.
Week 11
As the low orbit elevator came to a stop and doors opened, Conrad Storm stepped out onto the landing deck.
“Welcome to Farpoint Station,” a voice softly blared throughout the cavernous terminal. “Farpoint,” it continued, “is the farthest outpost humanity has settled on its journey out into the universe.”
“And,” Storm said quietly, “an outpost that has no extradition treaty with Earth.” Too bad, he thought, you could make some serious credits threatening to return people back to that broken planet.
Looking up, Storm could see the thin fullerene cables as they disappeared, rising into the alien, midnight blue sky.
“Welcome to Farpoint Station,” a voice softly blared throughout the cavernous terminal. “Farpoint,” it continued, “is the farthest outpost humanity has settled on its journey out into the universe.”
“And,” Storm said quietly, “an outpost that has no extradition treaty with Earth.” Too bad, he thought, you could make some serious credits threatening to return people back to that broken planet.
Looking up, Storm could see the thin fullerene cables as they disappeared, rising into the alien, midnight blue sky.
Week 12
The food riot was in its third day when corporate goons got really nasty. An explosion was heard deep inside the production facility and then armored vehicles had come flooding up from the subways deploying sonic thrust cannons on the rioters. A glancing blow and the cellular disruption of your skin produced a sort of glaze that felt like you had been burned without heat. A direct hit and your skin would seem to melt, hanging in lumpy, amorphous sacs of puss.
That was summer of 2042. Atlanta was a much nicer place back then. Not like it is today.
That was summer of 2042. Atlanta was a much nicer place back then. Not like it is today.
Week 13
The sound of horse and carriage faded into the night. Keys jingled as, under the gas lamp, she searched her hand bag. The light blinded her to the night. From behind, he drew his blade. His hand over her mouth, she instantly struggled against him. His other arm around her waist pulled her close, tight. Her buttocks thrashed against his loins. His manhood, erect, thrust in response. Quickly releasing her waist, he drew the blade across her throat. The glitter of spraying blood.
Trollop! he hissed, climaxing.
The ecstasy of release left him weak. He stumbled into the London fog.
Trollop! he hissed, climaxing.
The ecstasy of release left him weak. He stumbled into the London fog.
Week 16
It was insane. Bored billionaires mixed with poverty stricken junkies, that’s how it began. You see, a person can cruise around without all their memories intact. Lose a few years without a regret. A roll of the dice between two junkies and a bunch of sadistic assholes who get their kicks watching a man’s memory get wiped, a random decade gone at a time, and you’ve got it. They enticed the players with fortunes which were then blown on junk. The gamblers paid extra to hear the brains sizzle.
When I found her, she couldn’t remember me. Or our children.
When I found her, she couldn’t remember me. Or our children.
Week 16B (can't recall why there are two for week 16)
As Earth’s populations descended into a global quagmire, the wealthiest got richer. The planet was nothing more than storm ravaged slag except for the resorts. And after living a century or two, plus or minus a few decades, in bodies whose longevity was extended by gene therapy, people get bored with the day to day. They become hungry for something with a ‘sizzle’ to it.
So a one-way cruise through a worm-whole to one of thousands of habitable worlds, take a chance, roll the dice, no regret. That was just the ticket.
But how the hell did she get here?
So a one-way cruise through a worm-whole to one of thousands of habitable worlds, take a chance, roll the dice, no regret. That was just the ticket.
But how the hell did she get here?
Week 17
We were both mercenaries working for corrupt trade unions when the labor dispute became an all out turf war. First time we met, she wore short shorts, a fifteen inch bowie knife on her hip, and a pair of aces tattooed on her thigh. I told her I loved poker. She said the aroma of horseradish on my breath made her wet.
Seeing her dead body, I could still feel the heavy weight of her pendulous breasts on my face, as she rode me, her nipples hardening in my mouth.
Hope like hell I wasn’t the one who shot her.
Seeing her dead body, I could still feel the heavy weight of her pendulous breasts on my face, as she rode me, her nipples hardening in my mouth.
Hope like hell I wasn’t the one who shot her.
Week 21
She was one of the special people, he just knew it.
He watched as the old woman, bent and humble with age, crossed the station atrium. She dropped her handbag and struggled to bend and pick it up.
Some people didn't even know that they were special, but he knew.
Looking slyly around, she pointed at the handbag and it rose from the floor to hover just under her hand.
Suddenly, she looked straight at him and winked, her grin showing a lone tooth.
Shocked, he waved hesitantly back.
She pointed at him and he understood. He was special too.
Week 22
So slender as to appear emaciated, her skin as black as tar, she moved with the grace of a panther in sleek and flowing steps, the muscles of her thighs rippling and gleaming in the candle light like some miraculous vision.
I stood transfixed.
Naked except for a veil over the lower half of her face, her green eyes hypnotized me as the sway of her hips and her undulating breasts aroused me. She purred, guttural and low.
“Tara!” the Prince yelled with a stomp of his boot. “Come.”
She turned, hissing.
“Don’t be fooled,” the Prince said. “She kills.”
Week 23
The shock of seeing her nearly killed him. She was dead. He knew she was dead because he had killed her. Followed her home from a party long ago. He was an old man now. Suspenders and all.
The headlines still made him smile. “Murder! Mayhem! Madness!” and “Trilogy of Terror!” He’d always killed in threes. Never caught.
So why was she in his living room?
She smelled like old dirt.
Suddenly he realized he couldn’t move, trapped in his recliner.
She reached out. Her touch, cold as the ground.
And then the next girl entered.
She was dead too.