Did you miss your story challenge last week? Well, you seemed to have a lot of fun with the 100-word story. Here’s your new challenge. Can you tell a story in 40 words using the following words in it somewhere:
- DUEL
- IGUANA
- CROISSANT
- TRAMPOLINE
The previous challenge was to write a story in 100 words using the following ten words in it somewhere:
- EXPIRE
- SQUINT
- CULT
- LEMON
- GRANDPA
- STAMPEDE
- HELICOPTER
- MARKET
- POMPOM
- WOOF
Here are your amazing stories:
I was about to Expire on my hike when I squinted because of the bright sunshine and that’s when I saw cult group peeling a lemon and teasing bulls and that when the stampede started so Grandpa flew the helicopter in to get me out of danger then afterward we went to the pompom market with my dog Woof.
Lou by the Sea:
An unexpected arrival
Grandpa took shelter from the heat in the covered market. About to expire, he refreshed himself with a lemon tea. Just then a stampede of people rushed to the exit. Little PomPom, his Pomeranian, gave a woof. Ineffective.Grandpa had to squint through the sun to see what the commotion was about. The whirring sound from the sky increased and a whirl of dusty wind blew into his face. The helicopter landed. A man in a sequined, high collared white suit exited the helicopter – possibly from a religious cult? No. “Your time has come Grandpa. Come, join me,“ beckoned Elvis.
Just Say Woof
Homer was named after Grandpa, so he copied him.
Grandpa would squint and let out a “woof” whenever he ‘acted the fool’.
The old man- once a helicopter pilot in Viet Nam- returned to “hippie protests”. Since then, his opinion of all chaotic groups as ‘crazy cults’ had never expired.
At the farmer’s market, a bus dropped a group who stampeded the grounds. Grandpa escaped to shade regarding the “mayhem” until Homer returned with their usual lemonades.
It felt secretly exciting until Grandpa sat forward angrily squinting at a wigged man waving pink pompoms.
Also stunned, Homer automatically added, “WOOF!”
“Look, here it comes,” I yelled shaking my pompoms skyward. Grandpa had to squint at the label on the lemon pie he’d bought at the market. The printing on it was very small, but he wanted to know if it had expired or not. He’d had it delivered the newfangled way, by a drone helicopter. It was so strange to see his pie dangling from a rope, then set down in his front yard. The neighbors stampeded out of their houses to see the ruckus, and the dogs formed a poochie parade cult to woof woof woof the intruder away.
“Can you tell me a story, please, Grandpa?”
“Woof!”
“Come on, Grandpa, you’re not still being a dog, are you?”
“I am a Pom-Pom-Pomeranian. Woof!”
“Tell me the one where six squintillion lemons stampeded through the market. Please, Grandpa.”
“Woof!”
“Or the one with Harry the Helicopter Pilot who was involved in the Megan Cult Plot.”
“Please, Grandpa, I’m trying to write them all down before you expire.”
“Woof!”
“Okay, Grandpa, if you won’t, or can’t, tell me any of your stories, I shall have to make them all up. What do you think of that, Grandpa?”
“Woof! Baa! Quack!”
A squint at the small date on the lemon sticker that I brought home from the market yesterday determines it will expire today. I promised grandpa some tea, and as if he were in a cult, he won’t drink it without lemon. Since it is Friday, shoppers will be in a stampede, getting ready for the weekend. The traffic is horrible, according to station WOOF’s Traffic helicopter. My only choice is to bake a coconut pompom and hope the old guy won’t miss the lemon. If he does and complains, then he gets the expired juice. Sounds like a plan.
A Short Career
Lars had always wanted to be a helicopter pilot, his squint wouldn’t stop him! But in the prevailing job market it was hard to find a job even doing his own cheerleading with pompoms, so to speak. In the end, he found a position with a weird animal cult and his job consisted mainly of monitoring bison herds from the air. One day, he was bored so he flew low and barked “woof” at grandpa bison which resulted in a stampede completely destroying a lemon garden in its way. They didn’t fire Lars but let his contract silently expire.
Grandpa watched the cheerleaders on TV, thinking back to the time he met his late wife, a slim little thing who spun her pompoms like helicopter blades encouraging whistles from the eager beaver jocks.
He didn’t fit into their cult, he had a serious squint as a teen and a mouth that looked like it was forever sucking on a lemon, so there was hardly a stampede of lovelies wanting to remove him from the dating market.
Molly’s gentle woof to go out brought him back to the present, reminiscence now expired in favour of bedtime.
How he missed her.
Murray Clarke:
Every Sunday morning, my grandpa – who was known to have a cult following in the town – travelled by helicopter to his local supermarket, arriving there early at about 6am to avoid the morning stampede of shoppers. Woof, his faithful Cockapoo, was always by his side.
Shortsightedly, he’d squint at the array of fruit, checking the colourful produce was fresh and the dates had not expired. Finally, he’d select a plump sunset-yellow lemon and make his way to the checkout where a pretty girl, wearing a pompom in her long blonde hair, was scanning the items from the conveyor belt.
A Grave Error
Grandpa was always up for discovering new ways of life. Although he could be a bit naive. He left his dog Pompom with me and she woofed, knowing she would never see him again. He took a Helicopter to Port Kaituma in Guyana. The sun made him squint so he drank some lemonade bought at a market while a stampede of Capybaras passed right in front of him. Sadly, that would be the last thing he saw before he expired. Grandpa was one of 907 people in the Jonestown cult.
At the market, Grandpa sold faded postcards beside a basket of lemon sweets and knitted pompom hats. Tourists would squint at the sky whenever the old helicopter circled overhead, warning of another cult gathering beyond the hills.
Then came the stampede.
Not from danger—just goats escaping a broken fence, bells clanging wildly through the square. A tiny woof followed as Grandpa’s dog chased them proudly, convinced he was saving the world.
“Nothing lasts forever,” Grandpa laughed, gathering scattered postcards before they could expire beneath muddy hooves.
By sunset, the market breathed again, sweet with dust, laughter, and lemon sugar melting slowly on curious tongues.
When You have Lemons
Blue Oyster Cult opened at Market Square Arena. They arrived in a helicopter to avoid the stampede of fans at the stage entrance. This was the first concert I took my grandpa to and he had to squint to see a poodle waving pompoms and hear her woof on stage before the music began.
I should have checked on when the 714 lemon expired before eating it. As I sat there watching the stage slowly spin in circles with a mind bending light show I came back to reality watching the best concert of my life. YES in the round.
Your 48 hours expire on Wednesday morning said Mr Squint.
I need to find out if this is really a cult. He sipped his lemon tea and smiled.
Grandpa chuckled, why should I care, cult or not, it won’t last long whan they find out about the stampede the helicopter started. Mr Squint was taken aback. How did you get your information? At the market at the pompom stall. And the death of Mrs Woof won’t help their case…
The people will see it was a deliberate attempt to mislead his followers. You just need the gumption to understand. You see?
Farmer’s Market
It was a beautiful day to visit the farmer’s market, which was just up ahead. I squinted my eyes to make sure. Oh, yeah, I see a stampede of people heading from their vehicles to the booths. Grandpa warned me about stampedes, so I said, “Let’s park our car way over there!” Our dog barked, “woof!” in response. I grabbed my lemon water and looked out the window, and turned off The Cult; an expired time. The days when I used to wear pompom socks. A news helicopter flew overhead, and it was annoying, but they are everywhere these days.
Never Waste Food?
When grandpa started watching one of his cult series, a drop of the fresh lemon from the market made him squint. It had hit his eye. Blindly reaching for a handkerchief, he stomped on the dog’s tail. The poor creature’s loud woof scared the cat, who had been dozing on the stationery. Grandpa fell over the fleeing animals and broke a leg.
His granddaughter dashed into the room, having heard what sounded like a stampede. She still held a pompom in one hand when the rescue helicopter arrived.
At least the accident stopped him from eating pies that had expired.
The Lemon Cult
Grandpa joined a cult after misreading a lemon sale flyer at the market. “Squint less, transcend more,” the banner promised. By noon, Grandpa wore a pompom hat, shouted “Woof” at strangers, and blessed pigeons with expired yogurt.
Suddenly, a helicopter landed beside the pickle stall, causing a stampede through the zucchini aisle. Grandpa climbed aboard, convinced he’d been chosen “Supreme Citrus Prophet.”
The pilot was delivering cabbages. When security dragged him away, Grandpa pointed at the crowd and yelled, “You fools! One day your coupons will expire, but my lemons shall live forever!” Everyone applauded politely, mostly for the fruit.
Hi-jinks at the Market
To the market Grandpa flew a helicopter high,
While ducks in pompom waistcoats waved their crumpets in the sky.
He taught a walrus how to dance balancing on one hand,
While Woof, his dog, escaped a pickle-loving cult by the bandstand.
Parrots knitted lemon clouds, while submarines cried, ‘Boo!’
Daisy the cow squinted – joining in with a little ‘moo’.
By teatime all the cats wore kippers on their knees,
And Grandpa’s beard played hopscotch with some philosophical fleas,
‘Hurry, your trousers may expire,’ cried the ducks beside the sea,
Creating an enormous stampede – chasing old Woof right up a tree!
The setting sun’s lemon colour made him squint. Closing his eyes, the rocking chair lulled him back to before he was called Grandpa.
She was captain of the cheer squad. A pompom in each hand, leading the other girls onto the field in a stampede of rousing cheers. Marrying her had been a no-brainer.
They had experienced a lot together. The Beatles and their cult of followers invading the music market. His helicopter training. Children. Grandchildren.
The dog’s woof and youngsters voices coming from the barn opened his eyes. The love for family and where they lived would never expire.
Rall:
i could expire in this heat
develop a squint from the burning sun
should have joined that cult
they make great lemon drinks
laced with vodka
Grandpa of course said no
there was a stampede to join up
you get to ride in a helicopter as well
and get free food at the market
the followers all wear pompom outfits
and instead of saying hi they say woof to each other
Shopping Day
Grandpa had to squint to read the fine print; the coupon was going to expire today!
“Lemon yogurt, 75¢ off!” he declared, clutching his shopping cart like a trophy.
Suddenly… WOOF!! A French Poodle that looked like a giant pompom bolted through the market entrance, triggering a stampede of startled shoppers. Carts scattered everywhere.
Above the chaos, a helicopter circled, its loudspeaker booming: “Please remain calm!”
Nobody remained calm.
Gramps, however, casually strolled to the dairy aisle. He’d survived worse: back in ‘69 at Woodstock he inadvertently joined a cult!
He grabbed his yogurt and headed for the checkout. Priorities.
Susan Batten:
In the stampede to get out of the fire at the market today, grandpa’s pompoms were singed right off his slippers and he had to be airlifted to hospital by helicopter from the park. When I saw the ambulances, I remembered that my driving license had expired and I would need transport to the Lemon Cult gig this evening, supposing I still wanted to go after such a stressful day. Reluctantly I phoned for a taxi, hoping it wouldn’t be that guy with a squint and a hundred hands. Woof! What a day!
***
Esther Chilton 
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