100 Words:

"Earth? Never heard of it."

My entry:

"Earth? Never heard of it."

"Queer little world in Sector 47. Dihydrox-carbon biology, main tool users have recently discovered atomic theory and how to send out crude robot probes, though they're socio-politically a mess."

"No wonder I've never heard of it."

"Your race is lucky. They've been polluting certain wave-bands something awful the last twelve rotations, and it's your job to do something about it."

"Any suggestions?"

"Well, either give them a tech boost so that they use the sub-bands, or telepathy, or advance beyond mass broadcast culture. Either that, or extinct them."

"Swell. Anything else?"

"Don't drink the water. You'll explode."

100 Words:

"I wrote you a love song ..."

My entry:

"I wrote you a love song."

She glanced up from her book in surprise. "You did?"

"Yeah, it's not very good." He stood up, cleared his throat, and croaked out a few lines. His voice wasn't strong, his pitch wavered, his sense of rhythm was occasional, and the lyrics were -- well, there weren't any poets laureate out there worrying.

He trailed off, looking at her, watching her face. "It, um, it's not very good, I guess. Maybe if I could play guitar or something --"

She smiled at him, got up, and took his hands. "Enough with the love singing. Let's start with the love dancing."

100 Words:

There's an elf at your front door.

My entry:

I opened the front door to the polite knock.  The creature there was fair of visage, softly glowing in the afternoon light, luminescent of skin and shimmering of hair. Also, frowning of face.

"Yes?" I asked of the elf.

He nodded. "I am Elenthel, son of Almithrien of Gildarion. My comrades and I --"

I looked past him. Along the sidewalk was a small party on foot and ahorse, similarly with the glowy and shimmer. I waved. They looked gravely back.

"-- well, we were wondering. We've been walking, sailing, processing into the West, for ages untold."

"Yes?"

"Well -- are we there yet?"

100 Words:

My entry:

"My 'husband.'  Rutting about all day and night. Just simply disgustiing," Hera muttered, shaking her head.

The other goddesses gathered about nodded, making little agreement noises.

"Rolling around with mortals -- as a swan, a bull, a shower of gold, other more outlandish garbs."

Tongues clucked disapproval and disdain.

"While I remain, an emblem of the home and heart, thus forced to be chaste."

Murmurs of sympathy, support, and

"Why, I hear he even lies with some of you, my sister gods, to boost the pantheon's numbers. Can you believe it?"

Silence, punctuated only by a few nervous titters. A cough. A sigh.

100 Words:

Well -- nobody expected that candidate to win ...

My entry:

The Democratic ticket had, of course, the support of Big Labor, the liberal media, the puppet-waving activists, the minorities and disenfranchised and lazy, the French, and the whining and dining Hollywood celebrities.

The Republican ticket, naturally, had the support of Big Business, the conservative media, the Bible-thumpers, the homophobes and xenophobes, the Saudis, and the gun nuts.

Polls showed both sides neck-and-neck right down to Election Day.  Nobody realized, though, the power of a casual catch phrase. Nor did anyone predict how many people actually would vote the independent ticket of Fred Early and Cecilia Often.

100 Words:

Today's entries should involve at least three mythological beings.

My entry:

Socrates was without a doubt the most philosophically profound of all the ancients of Greece, his thoughts and arguments were by his associates, Xenophon, Plato, Aristotle, Aristophanes, and Shœkes. Shœkes, known as "Sheckie" to his friends, passed down to posterity the midnight teachings of Socrates, which the philosopher passed on to his audiences, standing before them at small theaters whilst they sipped their ouzo and retsina. He appeared there many nights, sometimes all week, telling his subtle mythological parables, the most famous of which always led off his talks: A centaur, a satyr, and a sphinx walk into a bar ... 

100 Words:

Today's theme is "the 100th day."

My entry:

It had been a long time coming.  Carefully, each day, she'd crafted it -- considering, rejecting, analyzing, mulling, and finally coming up with one small addition to the overall structure, one precisely delivered gem or twisted wire to the whole that would be her masterpiece.

She knew the others had given up on her.  They rushed-rushed-rushed, churning out "product."  Her's, though, would be exquisite, fabulous, the stuff of legends.  And it was nearly complete.

After a few, prayerful moments, eye closed, breathing deeply, she typed at last, "thundrous."

She counted once more.  One hundred days.  One hundred words.

She clicked "Save."

100 Words:

My Entry:

Her mission was near complete.  She'd managed to get to the little town in time for the pirate raid, allowing herself to be captured.  Now she was queued for the auction block, their eyes hot upon her, though only one pair interested her.  She'd been well briefed on what he liked -- her make-up, her auburn-dyed locks, her dress ... she knew he'd outbid them all for her.

She fingered the knife in her sleeve.   When she brought his head back to London, they'd pay her a pretty penny.

"We wants the red head!" She smiled as they chanted.  "We wants the red head! ..."

100 Words:

The good news is, you have one day to live.

My entry:

Now, then, welcome to Penal MedPlex 47.  I'm Doctor Trine, your treatment director, pursuant to capital court decision.

We'll be starting with some live cultures.  Military pays us a good price for testing, as do certain pharma and bodymod firms.  Those are fast-acting, which frees you up ... oh, around 1 a.m. for the interrogation instruction.  It's always good for security trainees to learn how much they can push a body before it breaks.  And minds, for that matter.

Ah, now, no tears.  We're allowed just twenty-four hours before your execution.  The good news is, you only have one day to live.

100 Words:

Why did you climb a tree?

My entry:

"What are you doing up there?"

"I -- like it up here."

"In a tree?"

"Trees are nice."

"It's cold out.  What happened to your jacket?"

"I dunno."

"Where did you put your jacket?"

"It's -- I dunno."

"What are you looking at?"

"Nothing."

"When I'm talking to you, young man, I'd like you to look at me."

"Okay."

"Thank you.  I'm still waiting to hear about your jacket."

"It's -- inside, I think."

"It's freezing outside.  Why are you out without your jacket?"

"I dunno."

"Well, get down here right now.  It's time for dinner."

"I'd -- rather not."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I'm scared."

"Scared?  Scared of what?"

"Of that."