Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 634. 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 634:
Dark fantasy author, archer, and horsewoman, Daelyn Morgana.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“That didn’t help him sleep.”
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!
Another edit:
Horror Town
Another night with the visitor. Somewhere in the wall, he figured. A mouse? A rat? A raccoon? No, not a raccoon, though a pack of them had been circling the cabin for days. Nasty critters with snarls. He thought they were snarls, baring their teeth like the old men used to do at The Pegasus Barber Shop when he was a stripling, grinning, mostly toothless, through the glass, beckoning little boys to come in and get sheared. He had long flowing red locks then, longer than even girls. His mother would drag him out into the town, show him off, take him past the Barber Shop especially to get a rise from those nasty old men who gathered there, both inside and outside, flaunt him as some sort of prize, proof of her vitality, proof that they were long past their prime.
“Get away, harlot,” some would yell, “that whelp ain’t no thing to be proud of.”
That memory always came back, exploding like the bomb that killed the man his mother always called his father.
The war had taken him before they could get married.
“The government did this to you and me,” she said often, “but these people…they rubbed it in like glass on a wound.”
He savoured that memory, savoured it, and was repelled by it. It was always there and that didn’t help him sleep most times.
And now the creatures in the wall and the ravenous raccoons outside.
When would it ever end?
250 words
@billmelaterplea
An auburn haze consumed the sky. He walked through the barren land. Ruins of a once thriving city, left behind.
He wished it wasn’t true. The amount of people that could have been saved; that could have been prepared.
Predicting the future was labelled a gift. He could predict every detail right down to the second, but this time was different and that didn’t help him sleep.
The nuke went off in the middle of the city, evaporating everything within a nine-mile radius. No sirens. No warnings.
This was the first of many cities. Within a few hours, most cities around the world were eradicated. The weird part? No buttons were ever pushed.
AI was supposed to be the future, but never our future.
(124 words)
joshlcompany0@ gmail.com
It is not that I am stupid. It is that I am stubborn. My father always said it was tricky to be stubborn, because I have often been a bad judge of when to be stubborn. In this case, I suspect my father would say I should let the process proceed. But the process is outdated and unnecessary. I am not ready to retire from my job as The One True Death.
“You’re being far too stubborn, Horace.”
My secretary, Petunia, leans against the door frame to my office. She passed in 1959, ended up in Limbo in need of a job, and has remained with me since. Her olive green, pleated slacks rustle as she crosses her ankles, the hem of her black blouse riding up a bit as she stares at me.
“Father was stubborn around his retirement.”
“Yes, but that didn’t help him sleep. Your mother had quite a job on her hands getting him to let things go, according to the last secretary. You know full well the Council has everything well in hand.”
I assume my human look so she can see my eyes roll. “The Council needs to mind their business.”
She sighs. “Well, I’m not going to fight; you have to decide if you’re going to be a stubborn ass or a grown up.”
Her office door marks her point and I jump. She has never been one to mince words. Then again, I have never been one to back down.
@Aightball
248 words
Rain splattered against the window, a drumbeat in counter rhythm to his heartbeat. The temperature was falling, turning rain to sleet. Maksim sat up, punched his pillow and lay back down. The numbers on the digital clock glowed blue when he turned his head. Not even midnight yet.
She’d get off work soon, walking home in the miserable weather. He chased thoughts of her away. He found the TV remote, punched the power button. Idly, he flipped through the channels. Nothing caught his attention. He tried a hot shower. That didn’t help him sleep either. Thoughts of her kept crowding in, setting his nerves on edge.
At midnight, he gave up, got up, got dressed. He strode into the living area. Two of his men watched some football game playing on the West Coast. They turned apprehensive eyes his direction.
“Get the car,” he ordered.
One man dashed out. The other watched him. “Where we going?”
“Out, Yuri. I have an errand.”
A few minutes later, they were in his black SUV and not long after, they drove past Cacciatore’s. The restaurant was dark.
“Where now, boss?”
“Just keep driving. Slowly.”
“Who are we looking for, Maks?”
And then he saw her. So did Yuri, who quietly gave directions to their driver. They stopped beside her and Yuri got out. She looked drenched. And miserable, but she wouldn’t get in. He opened the door.
“Nicola, please. Come get in the car and get warm.”
She did. It was a start.
****
250 Moonstruck Mafia: New York WIP (that’s supposed to be on the back burner) words
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
“Who the hell was that?” Martin’s voice held dark reservation.
“He said his name was Max Aberdeen, grandson of the guy who sold me this house and accompanying land.” Corbin felt so slimed, he hurried to the sink and washed his hands.
“What did he want?”
“I don’t really know, but there was something hinky as shit with his visit. I’m gonna call my real estate agent and see if she’s heard of Max Aberdeen.” He headed into the back office where he could talk in private.
Martin didn’t follow him, but stayed behind to watch Aberdeen out the windows. Corbin scowled as he sat in his chair and grabbed the cordless phone. He dialed High Mountain Real Estate from memory and listened to it ring.
“Hello, High Mountain Real Estate. How can I help you?”
“Hey, this is Corbin Black calling for Estelle Trimble. Is she in?”
“Yes, one moment please.”
Corbin waited, letting his gaze slid out the window in the office. Aberdeen wasn’t visible through the window, but Corbin had the idea that he was reassessing the bakery and its grounds.
“Corbin, so great to hear from you. I was just about to call you, actually.”
Yeah, that didn’t help him sleep at night, but he nodded. “Oh, yeah? What’s up?”
“Well, there was a man in here a couple days ago interested in your bakery. He was wondering if you were interested in selling. Is that why you’re calling?”
243 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
Kerrigan hefted his obsidian greatsword onto its stand behind the throne. The youngest Unseelie King in history sank into his shadowy throne with a sigh. No Triumvirate was ever easy. There was one night left in this one. He was so exhausted; he didn’t expect its light to keep him up once his head hit the pillow.
He just needed the reports from his warriors and to reassign his forces, if necessary.
“Sire.”
Commander Sharp saluted from the entrance of the grand hall. Kerrigan signaled his commander to ease. No reason to stand on ceremony when they were both weary from fighting together for the last twelve hours.
“Is the next wave ready for tonight?”
Sharp’s subtle reticence instantly multiplied Kerrigan’ fatigue.
“Mostly, Sire. Morrigan is missing.”
Kerrigan’s squire wasn’t the best warrior in his army. Yet. But Kerrigan’s rest did hinge on her taking the field tonight.
“She’s probably gone to see her sister. Coordinate relief efforts with the Seelie Court, or some such.”
Morrigan would never disappoint him.
“No, Sire. It was her sister that alerted us. Morrigan left a note saying she means to depart The Green.”
Kerrigan groaned. The one thing Morrigan was less likely to do than disappoint him, was to deceive her sister. This timing unsettled him. She knew he couldn’t spare anyone in the next twenty-four hours.
“The Seelie Court have already dispatched search parties.”
That didn’t help him. Sleep would have to wait.
“I’ll have to lead her unit.”
247 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“That didn’t help him sleep. He’s still conscious, maybe, we should conk him on the head?”
“No, no violence. I can’t believe you drugged him.”
I tied him up as my brother mumbling in his sleep and Todd looked aghast. I then put Gerard into the cage at the corner of the room.
“Explain to me again, Cecily, why did you tie up Gerard?”
“Gerard has a disease which will cause him to lose his mind.”
“They don’t tie up or drug people with mental illness; what kind of doctor do you take me for?”
“It’s not a mental illness. Gerard is a Lycan.”
“Now I’m wondering if you’d like me to take you for some help.”
“Gerard is sixteen today and at the turn of the full moon in an hour, he will become a werewolf.”
“If he’s a Lycan, wouldn’t you be one, too?
“I’m adopted.”
“I can make you an appointment tomorrow with my colleague Dr. Bell . He’s very good and very discreet. ”
Todd looked at Gerard and back at me and sighed.
The moon arose. Gerrad grimaced, and stretched fighting against the bonds. Soon he’d ripped his clothes, changing into a red-haired wolf.
Todd looked on in shock.
“Will he change back?”
“When the sun rises then I’ll free him and explain this to him.”
“You’re a good sister.”
“I hope he thinks so.”
Gerard is human again until the next moon when he wants me to chain him again.
@SweetSheil
246 words
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.