Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 678. Year Lucky 13! The last year of the cycle, the Moon Year. To those who keep coming back, I’m delighted to see you again!
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 678:
Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“It was magical.”
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 in the Moon Year. Good luck!
Clary
“Go on, tell us…how did you guys get together?”
“Yeah, tell us Harry.”
“Hey, you know Clarice…more private than a no trespassing sign…its her story…if she want’s to tell it, I’m good with that.”
I’m thinking, it’s a great story but kind of embarrassing for me. I have little doubt that Clary will regale them with that fateful day. Embarrassing maybe but it was memorable.
“Ah, come on Harry, its your twentieth anniversary…that’s why we’re here…give us your love story. Bet it was magical…”
So I’m now thinking, more maniacal than magical. Come on Clary my love, I’m also thinking, come back inside the tavern. My hearty beloved has stepped outside for a smoke. Can’t give up the weed. Gotta smoke, smoke, smoke that cigarette…like the old song said. So here we are, twenty years of marital blast, blessed bliss, brassy love, my buttercup, It has had its rough spots. She’s a terror but I’ve adjusted.
And here she is, stepping back in the Gilded Goose Tavern, smoke swirling about her fine-featured head like a London fog.
“The lady of the hour,” someone yells. “Clary, this bozo of yours won’t spill his marital guts. HOW DID YOUSE MEET?”
I see Clary grin wider than the Missouri river. Here it comes. Me, the South Fork arm wrestling champ. Taking on all comers. Never expected a woman to challenge me. Never seen it done before.
That horse got out of the barn.
A real Billie Jean King moment.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
The New Elizabeth, by Joseph P. Garland
I hadn’t been in a hospital for two-and-a-half years. When I’d gripped my wife Elizabeth’s index finger at the moment the heart monitor flatlined and the 53 years we had together were gone with her.
I was 82, determined to stay out of hospitals. It was a silly thing, but I’d convinced myself that it was appropriate and a reflection of what I’d lost with Elizabeth’s passing. I hadn’t been in one since.
That was until Emily got pregnant. My granddaughter and Michael’s first. Eight months in, they asked if I’d visit. They knew about my hospital wariness. “When you take her home,” I told them. I don’t know if they’d understood, but Emily made me promise I’d be there the day she and the baby were discharged. The very day.
Then I got the call two weeks later. “Granddad?” It was Emily. “She’s beautiful.” She paused. “I know you don’t want to come since…Grandma. But it’d mean the world to all of us.”
I realized the absurdity of my boycott. “I’ll be there,” I said.
* * * *
My son Eric waited in the hospital lobby. We went to Maternity together.
“Meet Elizabeth,” Emily said of the bundle in her arms. “After Grandma.” I hadn’t been told the name.
“Elizabeth,” I thought. I reached my hand towards this new girl. I was too old to have the chance to watch her grow much. It didn’t matter. This new Elizabeth grabbed my index finger. Tight. It was magical.
@JPGarlandAuthor (Bluesky). 249 words