The Other McCain

"One should either write ruthlessly what one believes to be the truth, or else shut up." — Arthur Koestler

Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge

Posted on | September 25, 2015 | 11 Comments

by Smitty

Cord. Dirty, slack. Perfectly strong-looking as it went from the small wall cleat, through the floor debris, under the locked door.
That rusty door was going to drink all the convenient oil before the key would be useful.
“Treasure,” said Thorgun, hefting his axe.
“Trap,” countered Greybane, adjusting a ring.
“Tempted!” admitted Rhialto, applying oil and key to the door’s works.
The door popped open with a token creak, offering a view a large room, where a figure in white spoke gibberish to at least 500 nicely dressed people.
A couple of minutes on, Greybane inquired “What fresh hell is this?”

via Darleen


11 Responses to “Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge”

  1. Mike G.
    September 25th, 2015 @ 5:40 am

    Nicely done, working the Pontiff into your story.

    And no offence to our Catholic friends, but what this Pope spews out is mostly gibberish.

  2. Quartermaster
    September 25th, 2015 @ 9:25 am

    Wadda ya expect from a Jesuit?
    In other news, Weepy John Boehner is leaving Congress at the end of next month.

  3. Eric Ashley
    September 25th, 2015 @ 9:32 am

    Its hard to be a mastermind when your minions are morons. I was in the tenth floor cell of the Usurper’s Prison and Neckchopping Tower instead of the (1) floor cell, which Mostly Illiterate Minion #1 had read as ten as he handed over the bribe.

    The first floor cell was right over the treasure vault.

    So I had asked Minion #2 to kill #1, and retrieve the golden key from the silver box in my secret headquarters.
    “Err. your apartment?”
    He had run off, my curses chasing him.
    And he’d brought back the silver key from the golden box. See, the golden key was a master key, enchanted by the Nixie Queen for some past services. This was just a random key I’d stolen for amusement. This could not open any door in the realm at will for a night.
    Over a year of planning was being lost!
    I told Minion #3 to kill 2, and ordered him to get twine. Using the bed posts, I could construct a pulley to yank off the door. He came back with what he claimed was wine, but was actually near 200 proof rotgut, and when I gently questioned his growing bluish face, why was there not twine, he said ‘there is wine’.
    Happily, he had twine as a belt, although he did begin to stink so perfoce I must set my plan in motion faster.

    The key went out the prison window, the twine dribbled with the horrific rotgut, and the other end leading to the prison door, and the rest of the wine, aerating in the midst of my fine silk shirt which was attached to the door and wlthall shaped like a balloon.

    Now, for a desperate prayer. I cast5 loose a message, rain and thunder would be nice. The gods heard so many requests for differing kinds of weather that it was a lucky fellow who got his request. I was lucky.
    A t hunderstorm blew up. Soon spikes of lightning fell near. And then one struck the silver key. An arc, and fire ran up the rotgut and twine. And fire hit the bag of mist, and just like a Fuel Air Bomb, which it was; BLAAWHAMM!!

    My door to freedom hung open.

  4. Mike G.
    September 25th, 2015 @ 10:11 am

    Huh…will miracles never cease.

  5. Quartermaster
    September 25th, 2015 @ 10:44 am

    Indeed! It was at the top of Drudge. The next month, however, is a period of high danger as a result. Weepy John won’t have to account to anyone but God after this. So far, it seems, he has no fear of God.

  6. Mike G.
    September 25th, 2015 @ 11:12 am

    Wouldn’t you have liked to be a fly on the wall when Boehner had his little tete te tête with the Pontiff.

  7. Pope Francis: ‘Grow, You Guys…’ | Regular Right Guy
    September 25th, 2015 @ 12:21 pm

    […] Friday Fiction: 100 Word Challenge […]

  8. darleenclick
    September 25th, 2015 @ 3:55 pm

    Ha!! ?

  9. Southern Air Pirate
    September 25th, 2015 @ 7:07 pm

    The key and the jar with the note was sitting at the same tree his grandmother talked about in her feverish dreams the last few nights.
    As he picked up them and followed the rope, there was a door. Almost shaking as he took the key and put it into the lock. Yet, it wouldn’t turn nor would it even fit the lock. It was then that he put them down and started to walk away wondering. At that moment though, his 7 yr old daughter picked up the key and the jar and walked into a mixed up world.

  10. Quartermaster
    September 25th, 2015 @ 9:48 pm

    Hopefully Frank told him not to allow the funding of Planned Murderhood and he’s decided to make that refusal his last act, but I won’t hold my breath.

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