Week 676 of #ThursThreads was a success, a remarkable feat for 13 solid years. Thank you to everyone who writes each week. You are why we’re still doing this. I’m truly grateful for all y’all!
If you’ve just found us, welcome to the crew! May you come back again and write more great flash. A thousand thanks to Bill Engleson for judging this week. Follow Siobhan Muir on Bluesky or check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook or the #ThursThreads Group on MeWe to keep up with news, etc.
Entries:
- Eric Martell
- Mark Ethridge
- Silver James
- Sheilagh Lee
- Miranda Gammella
- David A. Ludwig
- Siobhan Muir
- Bill Engleson
- K.R. Van Horn
Bill says: I have the honor this week (note that honour is spelled in Americanese for this occasion) to be the TT Judge for the 13th anniversary Thursday Threads.
And the prompt: “You forget, I’m no hero” is definitely not a turn of phrase that Trump would say about himself. No self-effacing modesty with that fellow.
I began the day wondering if I might use the prompt for a tale of my own much like some TT Judges do and Siobhan always wonderfully does. I got lazy however and opted for an ineligible not all that great poem (poetry is a close relative of flash, I believe) that for me captured much of the day…the day and the future as well:
As expected for the 13th anniversary, a lovely range of gems (like, gemstones, eh!) were posted and all were well told, each one laced with the pulchritudinous prompt.
Lines I Especially Liked
“She wanted to scream in rage. She wanted to cry with pain. She wanted to not feel at all, and to feel everything.” Mark Ethridge
“A spring breeze teased invisible fingers through the flowers, leaving rustling whispers in its wake. The purple blossoms’ gentle scent perfumed the air.” Silver James
“Damien claims he’s still looking if only he’d grow up, maybe he’d be happy, Anyone know the cure?” Sheilagh Lee
“Helen Harper had never tried to heal herself by absorbing her duplicates.” David A. Ludwig
“You can’t shoot me, I’m a citizen of the United States. I have rights.” Siobhan Muir
Honorable Mentions
Eric Martell | Website
Bill says: I admit that Eric’s scenario had a January 6th flavour from the get-go. Of course it could also be a Night of the Living Dead leitmotif as well which, on reflection, is not dissimilar to that iconic 2021 Insurrection event: Hordes at the door, a door just slammed shut, Martin and Sandra up against it.
The prompt worked quite well and added to the character development. And I can’t disagree with Martin’s philosophical summarizing: He knew she was right, that it really was every person for themselves, although that was poor justification for being a selfish bastard. On the other hand, if anyone survived, those left could see if there was a human race left to give a shit about.
Or maybe the tale could be considered a political statement about the times in which we find ourselves.
Miranda Gammella | Website
Bill says: As I read Miranda’s tightly constructed scene, I almost ran out and bought a cigar. While I haven’t smoked in decades, I do drink and so enjoyed the banter between Jude and the woman. It was almost like the pleasure I once got from smoking when I read this; The whiskey was smoother than any human-made whiskey, with a burn that tantalized the senses and a smokiness that was the perfect complement to his cigar.
I suppose Miranda’s scenario proves a point I’ve never quite articulated before; Reading can replace abandoned vicarious pleasures.
winner announcement
Week 676 Winner
Bill says: Fictionally speaking, I almost had an acid flashback reading about this fridge bridge to wherever. Time was warped out of the gate, it being 3:71 AM (a moment perhaps only DJT would function well in). Brief though it be, it’s possible we have all been there, rattling around in our kitchen (or wherever we keep out refrigerators).
In the wee hours of the morning, most of us don’t have such nourishingly brilliant words the likes of: The fridge door swings open. A lone pickle jar rattles. “Yes, I utter word clusters that have never been uttered before,” the jar says, fogging the air with dill. “Cucumber destiny. Brine eternity. Crunchy apocalypse.”
I am going to be very careful from now on each and every time I open my fridge, or, for that matter, any fridge. And I won’t forget to wear earmuffs.
– 3:71 AM –
“You forget, I’m no hero,” I whisper to the ancient refrigerator.
“No hero?” it replies, the sound of a million bees trapped inside a snowstorm. “Then who defends the carrots from eternal frostbite?”
This is what it feels like eating water at 3:71 AM. Everything is slippery, nothing is filling. And the moon knocks on the window like an impatient landlord.
The fridge door swings open. A lone pickle jar rattles. “Yes, I utter word clusters that have never been uttered before,” the jar says, fogging the air with dill. “Cucumber destiny. Brine eternity. Crunchy apocalypse.”
I rub my eyes. “I just wanted milk.”
The refrigerator clicks a metallic sigh. “Milk is a metaphor. What you truly seek is reassurance that you exist outside condiments.”
Behind the butter compartment, a tiny hallway appears, glowing faintly, lined with magnets shaped like extinct animals. My hand trembles on the handle.
“Step inside,” the fridge murmurs. “Every hero begins with hunger.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I told you I’m no hero.”
“Then you are perfect,” it says, and the lightbulb winks out, and I begin my journey.
~~~~~~~
Congratulations Twelve Time Winner K.R., and Honorable Mentions Eric and Miranda! Don’t forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
Please contact Siobhan Muir to get your preferred retailer gift cards!
Pass on the great news on Facebook, MeWe, Bluesky, Mastodon, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! 🙂
