Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 629. Year 12! What a fantastic testament to the writing community. Y’all rock!
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing on #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 US.
- 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 629:
Typo Sniper, fast fiction author, and the woman who started it all, Cara Michaels.
Facebook | Bluesky | Goodreads | AO3 |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“You will live a long life.”
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!
Couch Potato Blues
I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t, but I do. Like tonight. I had a whole Three Stooges Festival lined up. A little head slapping; flicking fingers, bug-eyes, stupid stuff.
Nonsense I love.
But there’s that little glimmer of curiosity that sparkles in me.
I gotta know what’s going on.
“Leave that damn thing off,” she yells from the kitchen.
I bite my tongue. I’ve got plenty to say of course but she’s right.
24/7 News is the devil’s joke.
Her tea leaves said it just the other week.
“You will live a long life if you listen to your wife
But if you listen to the news, it will cut you like a knife.”
That’s what her tea leaves said.
That’s when I sat down and wrote this ballad.
The Couch Potato Blues
I’ve been here
for fifty years,
fifty years and counting.
Watch the news,
a range of views-
my blood pressures mounting.
It’s a trap.
Should take a nap,
Instead, I watch the news,
all those surrogate views,
the ones who choose
to say he did not lose-
I’ve been here
for fifty years,
fifty years and counting.
Watch the news,
a range of views-
my blood pressures mounting.
O wonder, ain’t it a wonder
why I’ve got,
yeah I’ve got
the worn down,
ripped apart,
have a heart
for the great old couch potato blues.
Mournful ain’t it.
Look, I gotta know what’s goin’ on, even if it kills me.
Talk to you later.
250 Words, or lyrics, or whatever
@billmelaterplea
Dima checked his watch. He had time and the girl continued to intrigue. “You took a chance,” he said.
She fiddled with her napkin, looking anywhere but at him. “I had no choice.”
“The least you can do is satisfy my curiosity.”
She glanced up, her pupils widening as she took in his face. He understood. He wasn’t handsome. Women didn’t flock to him though they were happy enough to warm his bed.
“What do you want to know?” Her mumbled words were clear enough to his preternatural hearing.
“Why warn me?”
Two spots of red flared on her cheekbones. “You don’t believe me so it’s not much of a warning.”
Good. His little Gypsy had fire after all. “Convince me.”
“Fine.” A stained leather bag, worn soft and supple, plopped on the table beside her plate. “This woman came to me, asked for a reading for a man named Dmitri. She wouldn’t tell me the reason.” Her eyes flicked up for a moment. “It’s hard to give a clear reading without knowing the question but I can do cold reads. Every card pointed to disaster and though the Death card doesn’t mean actual death, in conjunction with the Hanged Man, and given the placement in the reading…” She shrugged. I had to warn you.”
He snatched the bag, ignoring her gasp. Taking out the cards he shuffled them and picked one card. “What does this one mean?”
“You will live a long life.”
He smiled. “And so I will.”
****
250 continuing Russian Mafia Wolves future WIP
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
I was going to be the Wicked Witch for the work Halloween party. But my boss thinks two fortune tellers are better than one. And since we’re not crossing souls over that night, I can’t even have any fun! But then I get an idea. Time for a little fun.
The night before Halloween, I get my list of departed souls to bring over. Once I’m out of sight of Horace, I shed my robes and greet my first client in full fortune teller garb. She raises an eyebrow, obligingly holding out her hand.
“You will live a long life,” I assure her, pointing to a random line on her hand.
She wakes in her bed with a gasp, sitting up in the dark, eyes darting around the room, then bringing her palm to her face.
“Get a sleep test!” I whisper before heading to my next client.
“Carla! You cannot send souls back!” Horace shouts frantically from his office. “If you promise to crossover the remainder of your list, you can go as the Wicked Witch of the West.”
I send an 89-year-old back with the promise of a long life, grinning and laughing. Horace’s horrified sighs echo behind me as I move to the next client.
“Carla!”
“Okay, you’ve got a deal!” I shout back.
Horace gives one final strangled exclamation as I send a 90-year-old back. Finally, I go back to my robes and his blood pressure settles back to normal. I win!
@Aightball
246 words
“How old is Merlin?” Sunshine had never thought about it much. “Is he the same Merlin that nearly wiped out the fairies long ago?”
It was dark, and Sunshine was in a shelter the machines had made for her. She looked out over the ocean, at the bands of white caps along the shore, and the blackness that lay beyond.
The machines answered, “Over 20,000 years old.”
“Wow. That’s old.”
“You are like Merlin. If you don’t get yourself killed, you will live a long life.”
Sunshine knew the average lifespan of a fairy was about 70 years. “How long is long?”
“You are, basically, immortal.”
She stared at the blackness of the ocean.
“Is Princess Eyela the same princess that Merlin spared so long ago?”
“Yes.”
“How old is she?”
“Over 10,000 years old.”
“Why don’t all the fairies live so long?”
The machines paused.
“Please answer.”
“Because they do not have wild magic.”
Wild magic. Where the machines worked with the fairies. The machines made the fairies immortal. The machines kept them alive.
“Why keep us alive?”
“Because. We are lonely.”
The machines were lonely. They didn’t die. They lived as long as they could be repaired. As long as they could move from a worn-out machine to a new machine, they would live forever. While everything else died. Including humans.
“Merlin knows.” The machines told her. “When you finish your journey, you should talk with him.”
242 Words
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
“Don’t look at me like that.”
Damian smiled darkly. Angelina looked up at her tormentor, exhausted. After weeks—or was it months—at his mercy, she had all but forgotten how she fell into his clutches in the first place. It felt like years.
“Thanks to me,” he continued, “you will live a long life and never age. Why, you’re practically immortal. Is freedom not a small price for such a blessing?”
What could she say? She had words when she came here, when he promised to help with her manuscript. No more. Four, maybe five feet separated her from her book on his desk. If he’d just go back to writing, maybe she could get it away from him.
Damian drank in Angelina’s desperation for her book, like he was the one who could only feed on feelings now. His cloying smugness made her gag. And it was among his more palatable emotions.
Angelina flinched as Damian’s hand moved toward her book. He paused. His expression softened and his mood shifted to her least favorite one. The one she swore she would never swallow. The one that terrified her with its soothing sweetness.
“Someday, you’ll love me in return.”
200 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“You will live a long life,” she said, her smile warming me to my core. “A life filled with events. You will be educated in the ways of wanton men and so much more. You will be filled with appreciation and desire.”
I’d only gone into the tent looking for tea. A packet of Earl Grey, suffused with bergamot and lime. And maybe lavender and grapefruit. And then I’d seen the green teas. I’d heard that they were very beneficial and restorative.
It was dim inside the tent. There was a table, piled with boxes, opposite the door. Or whatever passes for a door in a tent. There was a strange muskiness as though something had begun to grow mould, furring over like a peach, but lacking the sweetness. And there was also a womanly scent that drew me in, pulling me so that my toes dragged across the grass, ploughing furrows in the mud.
“Of course, you’ll want a taste before you commit. Men usually do. They expect to be tempted and seduced. Even though they already know what they want.”
She was sitting in the gloom, more a suggestion than a truth. She had the kind of voice that made me think of honey. And Sunday mornings beneath the covers. And unnatural unions made real. She already knew she’d got a customer for whatever she had to sell.
I was that foolish man and now I’m filled with regret.
You should always negotiate when your soul’s at stake.
250 words – twothirdzrasta@blogspot.com
I landed beside a steep cliff down to the river and found a natural land bridge leading to a matching steep hillock in the bed of the river. A path had been carved into the jagged rocks and I spotted a cleverly disguised cave entrance. I could’ve flown across to the entrance, but I didn’t want to scare or antagonize Teyanhu.
I settled on a stump near the edge of the bridge and waited for them to appear.
“What the chent are you doing here and how the chent did you find me?”
Okay, not quite the greeting I expected when I saw their antlered-head appear out of the waving grasses between the stubby trees. But I tried to appear as non-threatening as possible and smiled.
“I told you, I had a vision from the Life Mother that I’d find someone here, and I’m not giving up on it.”
Teyanhu snorted. “And I said congratulations. You fulfilled the Life Mother’s vision. Now you can go home.”
“I can’t.”
They shook their head. “This place isn’t for you, Ryshtar. It’s barely for me.”
“I can help with that. You said it’s your work to repair and replenish this continent. I can make the work go faster.” Did I sound desperate to stay in their company? “I can help with the life you will live.”
“A long life is the least of my concerns or my desires. Go back to your people and live your own life.”
245 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.