Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. Wow. Year 11. Holy smokes! Y’all kept with me past a decade. I’m astounded.
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, like we have for the past 11 years. I had no idea when I started it would keep going! This is Week 594 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook and the Group on MeWe.
Need the rules? Read on.
Here’s how it works:
- The prompt is a line from the previous week’s winning tale.
- The prompt can appear ANYWHERE in your story and is included in your word count.
- The prompt must be used as is. It can be split, but no intervening words can be inserted or tenses changed.
Rules to the Game:
- This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
- The story must be new writing, not a snippet from something published elsewhere with the prompt added.
- Incorporate the prompt anywhere into your story (included in your word count).
- Post your story in the comments section of this post
- Include your word count in the post (or be excluded from judging)
- Include your social media handle or email in the post (so we easily notify you)
- The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
- The winner will be announced on Friday, depending on how early the judge gets up.
How it benefits you:
- You get a nifty cool badge to display on your blog or site (because we’re all about promotion – you know you are!)
- You get instant recognition of your writing prowess on this blog!
- Your writing colleagues shall announce and proclaim your greatness on Facebook, Bluesky, MeWe, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 594:
Scottish Word Slinger, Dauntless romance author, and #ThursThreads host, Siobhan Muir.
Facebook | Bluesky | Patreon | Eden Books |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“You’ve got it all worked out.”
All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Comments do not represent the views of the host and the host reserves the right to remove any content. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!
Confidences
After his waterfront dock stopover, Danny headed home. It’d been a long day and though he had made little progress on his two cases, the new one that smacked of politics and diametrically opposed views, not to mention pretty red cars that might have nothing to do with anything and the accountant, the well-positioned fellow who had no enemies and yet seemed odd, or if not odd, then almost too perfect, he was pleased enough.
Nobody was that perfect.
He certainly wasn’t.
As was his habit, he came in the house through the back door that led directly to kitchen.
Anne was stirring a pot. It was likely her specialty, fish chowder. Normally a winter meal, she particularly enjoyed making it in early fall.
“Smells good,” he offered.
“Course, it does. You’re so transparent. It’s got fish, my love. That’s the secret to you. Your stomach.”
It was banter that they had often. Danny was an easy read as far as food went. He liked to talk about food rather then the cases he was on. Not that he was averse to sharing details with Anne. Early on he’d asked her what she wanted to hear. He was the new guy in her town. She’d grown up in Nanaimo and knew pretty much everyone or knew someone who knew the ones she hadn’t yet met.
“You’ve got it all worked out,” she’d said. “You think it’s that easy?”
He had thought it was.
Turned out, it wasn’t by half.
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
Happy Hollandaise
Cal watched as the woman paced along the storefront, carefully placing mannequins and paraphernalia in the front window. Fat Tuesday was quickly approaching and it was obvious she wanted to get it just right.
The only real problem, as he saw it, was that she was trying to do too much. Fat Tuesday had fallen just before Valentine’s Day this year, which meant it would be an austere day for romantics. It’s hard being a baker in New Orleans, and he felt for her, but there wasn’t much he could do about the timing.
That was not his purview. His realm involved the balance between the powers of good and evil, they were rather hazy when it came to the delicate line between Religious celebrations and observations. He tried to be patient and helpful, but there was only so much he could do.
He could make suggestions on substitutions, compromises, and even flagrant disregard for rules, but keeping both celebrations ‘pure’ was out of the question. The best he could suggest was to celebrate Valentine’s Day a day early and have the best of both worlds, But Penny was having none of it.
“What about you? ” She asked, trying to change the subject.
“What about me?” he asked, his eyes twinkling.
“You’ve got it all worked out then?”
“Ah, hell nah,” he answered laughing. “Just one side or de other usually gives me da chance to chow down. ‘Sides, in dese parts, seafood gumbo just as good as chocolate.”
@mishmhem
249 Words (not including the tietle (sorry, I couldn’t resist the pun-title)
“Sorry, I’m not normally so spiteful, but you hurt me, and my friend Avery pointed out that I’ve been taking them for granted, using them to heal from the hurt. I’m sorry. I will try to be more honest and direct, and say what I want without being a whiny, spiteful bitch.”
Martin blinked. “Wow. That’s really a mature way of looking at it.”
Corbin’s eyes narrowed. “So, here’s the deal. You hurt the fuck outta me in California and I’m done waiting for you to see me as valuable. I am valuable and people love me here. You’re welcome to stay here and be a guy I used to know, but if you want friendship or more, you’re gonna have to put in a lot of work because I’m worth it. I’m not accepting sloppy seconds or cast-off attention. Either you’re in this all the way—and that means doing the emotional work—or you can pack your shit and go wheels up any time tomorrow.”
Anger flared in Martin’s chest and he wanted to demand why he had to do all the work. But he ruthlessly quashed it with the reminder that he’d fucked up and deserved all Corbin’s anger. And he’d come here to make amends. That meant working through the fear and being honest with Corbin about everything.
Martin nodded, softening his voice. “Roger that.”
Corbin nodded sharply. “Good. Since you’ve got it all worked out, I’ll show you where you can put your stuff.”
250 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir at Bluesky
I was standing in the middle of the room, my hands dripping with blood, when Helen came.
“Mark what’s going on?
“I tried to save her, but she’s dead,” I sputtered.
“You killed Elizabeth?”
“Someone else stabbed her. I tried to stop the bleeding.”
“Did you call someone?”
“911 is still on the line; they told me to try and stop the bleeding.”
Helen picked the phone up and talked to the operator.
“Tell him she has no pulse,” I muttered.
The paramedics removed the body. The cops took me into custody letting me go about nine hours later. Helen waited for me. We spent the next six weeks together as the cops investigated finally calling Elizabeth’s murder a cold case.
I was tired of Helen, glomming on to me with every waking moment, I wanted my apartment and life back, I asked her to leave.
“You can’t just dump me, Mark after how I’ve protected you. I lied and said I was there when you found the body. Why do you think they let you go?’
“But I loved Elizabeth, I didn’t kill her.”
“You think you can just move on and love someone, other than me?”
“Oh my god you killed Elizabeth,”
“You’ve got it all worked out, now shut your open mouth come over and make me happy or I’ll make you dead, too.”
I went to the cops but they didn’t believe me. Helen stabbed me tonight and I called 911, will they believe me now?
250 words @SweetSheil
“You’ve got it all worked out, don’t you? A regular daily schedule. You scheduled time to do dishes, laundry, your workout, even to get a shower, and take a nap.” I put my wallet and keys on the computer table. “A schedule that gets you through the day.” I took off my jacket and hung it on the back of the chair in front of the table.
This was the hardest part of the workout. Getting started. It sucked. And it sucked the life right out of me. I wandered to the top of the stairs and stared down at the stationary bike. “It’s only 30 minutes.”
30 minutes of sweat, and pain, and pushing my body. 30 minutes in which I’d ride that bike, according to its computer, over 8 miles.
“Why do you do this to yourself? You know that no one cares. You could get fat and die, and no one would really care.”
I went down the stairs, found my athletic shoes and put them on. “And I’m tired of hurting. You know that. Doing this just damn hurts.” I turned on the TV set, set it to stream music videos, then got on the stationary bike. I plugged in the computer on the bike and waited for it to complete its startup sequence.
“I don’t do this for them. I do this for me.”
30 minutes later I stopped. 8.23 miles according to the computer.
“This is how I survive.”
246 Words
@mysoulstears.bksy.social
“Sora will accompany me to talk to the Wood Witch. Hagane, get Mana as close to her as you can without being detected. Arashiko, hide farther back and if I give the signal, attack. You’ll need to convince the Wood Witch that you’re our ambush. Any questions?”
“You’ve got it all worked out.” Hagane sneered. “Tell me you’re not counting on diplomacy.”
Tenko sighed.
“Our attack should work. But I sincerely hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“I’m with the halfling.” Sora scowled. “You shouldn’t be putting yourself in danger like that.”
“You’ve shown yourself plenty capable of protecting me. Besides, Mana’s the only other one who might be able to get through to her. And if she knows where he is, we don’t have any fallback.”
Arashiko rubbed her hands with a wild grin.
“So if we fight, I need to convince her I’m me and Mana?”
“And anyone else who may have joined us. If you can.”
“Yes! No offense, but I hope the diplomacy fails.”
Hagane flicked the tip of her tail.
“It will. You can’t reason with immortals.”
“I disagree. Even an immortal can’t hold back all civilization forever. If she works with us, instead of against us, we can find a compromise that best serves everyone. I believe she will understand this.”
The others didn’t seem convinced. Mana’s eyes shone with pain and sorrow. Even he didn’t believe diplomacy would work.
Which didn’t ease Tenko’s concerns about reaching the Wood Witch on weak, trembling legs.
250 Tale of Tenko words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
I’m smaller than I used to be. And significantly lighter, too. I can step into the jeans I wore two years ago without needing to unbutton the belt. All the clothes I bought pre-Covid hang like tents over me now. I’m an example of a successful weight-loss regime. And you’d think I’d be proud.
But there’s always a snag they don’t tell you about before you sign on the dotted line.
I’m the guy on the TV weight-loss adverts who sells snake oil to the world.
Of course, it’s not really snake oil. It’s a de-hydrogenated mush. And it’s loaded with amino acids and a DNA with its twist reversed. The boffins babble about chirality and enantiomer pairs, but they could be speaking in an ancient Greek dialect to me.
People all think I must be on a percentage. A royalty for each vial. Everyone I meet confidently assures me, “You’ve got it all worked out,” and “I bet you’re making millions on the side.” If only I could tell them the truth about it all.
I’m looking markedly younger than I used to do as well.
When I started receiving the treatment, it was almost like a curse. There were two dudes wearing silver hazmat suits wielding a syringe a foot long. I’ll not tell you where they injected me, but I slept standing for a week without any chance of being able to dress beneath the waist.
I never mention any of that in the adverts, of course.
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
#ThursThreads Week 594 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.