Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 680. 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 680:
Writer at Arms, Writer with Arms, and Pre-Published Romantasy Author, Jacob Summers.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Have you something to add?”
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!
I turned the apartment key deliberately, and opened the door slowly, a bouquet of wildflowers cradled lightly in my free hand. It would be a surprise, a rare early night. I closed the door as quietly as I could and turned, gazing out across the living room with its view to the brownstone across the way.
She wasn’t there, and I thought she might still be out. Until I heard her. The unmistakable sound of passion flowing down the hallway. It froze me, and I was suddenly gripping the stems of the flowers tightly.
Finally, I took a step towards what I heard. Then another. And another. Until I could make out the words. “Yes. Yes.” Being stretched out by deeper and deeper breaths. “Yes. Yes.” This stopped me.
The door to the bedroom, our bedroom, was open but only slightly, the sounds echoing through the empty hallway.
“Yes. Yes.”
Still holding onto the bouquet, I resumed my steps, then slowly and carefully pushed open the door, fearing what, and who, I would see.
There on the bed was my wife. She was alone, beneath the sheets, her hand moving rapidly. Her eyes closed and her breaths short.
“Yes. Yes.” Becoming deeper, building to a crescendo.
Suddenly, her eyes shot open. Her hand stopped. Her face a cloak of embarrassment as she realized she was no longer alone. Then, a smile spread across her panting face.
“Have you something to add?” she asked. Turns out that I did.
Something to Add. Joseph P. Garland, @jpgarlandauthor (Bluesky). 248 Words
Better Bed Than Dead
Lance Lassiter squirmed in bed. The thought wouldn’t go away. Finally he yelled out. “That’s it.”
This disturbed his wife Marge who was unused to Clip saying much of anything to her before he had breakfast.
“What’s IT, Lance?” she asked, sleepily just in case she was hearing voices. She’d been worried about that lately.
“Hmmm!” Lance added to the emaciated conversation.
Marge tapped Lance lightly on the shoulder and yelled “LANCE, YOU SAID THAT’S IT. WHAT THE HECK IS IT?”
“Ah,” Lance answered ,“IT is that I’ve had IT up to here…” pointing to his eyebrows which rose hairily high on his small forehead. “Marge. I’m never getting out of bed ever again…except …you know…”
“To hit the loo?” Marge guessed.
“And the kitchen.”
”Of course. Should’ve guessed. Have you something to add, darling?”
Lance looked at her and said, “It’s the world, Marge. It’s beaten me. Wars. Violence. And Age, Marge. We’re both kinda past it.“
Marge had heard it all before. “Honey, of course we’re not spring chickens. Or roosters in your case. But, you can’t hide in bed or under it. That’s crazy talk.”
Lance expected her pushback. And he had to admit she wasn’t talking through her hat. Still, he liked his bed and felt safe in it.
“Okay,” he finally said. ” You may be right. Would you mind making me breakfast?”
“And eat it in bed.”
Lance nodded. “Yup. Then I’ll get up.”
Marge thought, ‘you big faker.’
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
“This seems straight forward. Have you something to add.” I heard the cop say to my friend, Shannon.
“No, I think you know as much as I do.” Shannon answered.
But it’s not straight forward I wanted to yell I wanted to scream but they didn’t hear me. How did I get here you wonder?
I ‘d been struggling since I opened up my Hallowe’en /Christmas shop(stupidly) in January. I was offered two free months’ rent on a new store location. It was a lifeline. The landlord then kindly offered me (temporarily) a clown Hallowe’en figure as an added bonus. I put the figure in the store and people started flocking, the sales were finally coming in.
I was elated and as Hallowe’en night came, I was planning my Christmas decorations. The store closed at nine p.m. as the trick or treaters were winding down. I went to get a trolly to move the statues back into the store room.
As I put the clown back in place something odd happened. I swear I saw him move. No, I was imagining it I thought. I turned my back. when an arm grabbed me.
I screamed but a voice said,” You’ve accepted the gift now you must pay the piper.”
That’s how I became the wax statue of the clown. Must I trick someone, as I was tricked, and take their life next year? Until then I guess I live as the wax statue. Pray there isn’t a fire.
248 words
@sweetsheil.bsky.social
Crossing over the souls of the dearly departed is usually a straight forward thing: I swoop in, disconnect their soul, walk them across the void and into the waiting arms of family. For those with no family on the other side, I take them to Limbo, to be processed for work until a family member dies or the Children’s Plane if they’re under 18. Easy peezy, lemon squeezy.
But this soul is…chatty. His wife is supposed to meet us, but she seems to be delayed. Or maybe it’s been two minutes that feel like two hours. I’ve tried several times to interrupt him and let him know I have other work to do…but he seems lonely. I suppose being a widow for almost ten years does that to a person.
His mustache flutters when he puffs out a breath, brown eyes searching the air for that only he can see. A door opens behind us and he turns, breaking into a smile. Heels click and I see a tall, heavy-set woman running our way, before colliding with him and covering his face in kisses.
“George!”
He stands, matching her height, his build slender. He returns the affection, then smiles at me.
“Have you anything to add?”
I shake my head. “I enjoyed listening to you, George. Enjoy your reunion with Sophie.”
They walk off and I let out a quiet sigh. ‘I’m glad you’re done babbling’ would’ve been rude to say. I hope the remaining souls are quiet tonight.
@Aightball
249 words
Nikos turned his icy gaze on Sinjen. “Have you something to add?”
The vampire smiled, showing a hint of fang. “Rumor has it that there’s not a lock made that can defeat a dragon.”
“Fine.” Nikos inhaled. He exhaled a torrent of fire, melting the lock.
“Never seen it done that way before,” Ariel said.
Caleb had one word. “Cool.” Then he kicked the doors. They bounced open on groaning hinges. The four men leaned forward to peer through the opening. A tunnel filled with darkness stretched before them.
“I vote the werewolf goes first,” Ariel suggested. “Caleb has the best nose for trouble.”
Sniffing the air, Caleb shrugged. “Nothing but stale air and—” He sneezed. “Mildew. I don’t think Sade and Aisling were brought this way.
Ariel produced a globe of fae light in his hand and peered at the floor. “Whose footprints then?”
Sinjen’s head jerked and he took three steps beyond the doors. “She’s in there.” He glanced at Ariel. “And she won’t be alone.”
The Fae nodded. “I know. She’ll take care of Aisling.”
“Anybody got a clue about where this goes?” Caleb, ever practical, pointed down the passage. “Is this a portal or just another one of those weird tunnels that apparently bisect most of Rochester. The magic in this place is so wild, I can’t tell widdershins from a mudra.”
Sinjen strode into the darkness. “Does it matter? Sade is this way. I will find her, with or without the rest of you.”
****
249 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
– Brown, the Shadow –
Every night, while Harold snored, his shadow slipped off for a life of its own. This shadow’s name was Brown, not because he *was* brown (he wasn’t, he was shadow-colored, of course), but because he liked the sound.
Brown.
Downtown Shadow Brown.
While he was out and about, Brown bartended in moonlit cafés. He danced with lamplight girls and practiced forgiveness under park benches.
Then one dawn, when Brown crept home, Harold didn’t stir. His chest didn’t rise. His snores had gone somewhere else. Somewhere unreachable.
For the first time, Brown felt the terrible weight of being cast by no one.
So he drifted, half-formed, half-forgotten, until he stumbled into The Umbra Circle: a 12-Step Refuge for Shadows in Existential Recovery. Step One: Admit your light source is gone. Step Two: Believe in a new illumination. Step Three: Share your story.
There were shadows of all sorts. Silhouettes of long-lost lovers. The outline of a dog who’d forgotten fetch. They all listened. Nodded. Hummed sympathetic chiaroscuro.
Someone asked, “Have you something to add?”
“Only everything,” Brown said as he cried dusky tears.
Weeks passed. Brown learned to cast grayscale hand puppets against candlelight.
One night, during group reflection, he whispered, “Maybe I don’t need to belong to someone. Maybe I just catch the light wherever it falls.”
And for the first time since Harold’s last breath, Brown felt a warm glow on his back.
He didn’t look to see where it came from. He just basked.
249 words
@krvanhorn (Bluesky & X)
Everyone being transformed into anthropomorphic animals wasn’t getting any less weird any time soon. Of course the self-duplicating hero, Gemini, had been turned into a bunny woman. Kinetica wondered if all of Gemini’s duplicates were changed the same. Probably.
Anyway, the receptionist for so many PRUDENT locations directed the now cat-like Kinetica and the still wolf-like Dela Luna to the top floor. The higher ups were discussing the situation. The monkey-like Three Ring looked even sillier than the older man in his motely costume typically did. And Daring Duke wasn’t nearly as cute a rabbit as Gemini. Kinetica figured the huge, red wolfman must be the Martian. Though a lot of that was context.
“I have traced the magical signature to Europe. We ought to connect with local agents and try to narrow it down further.”
The child size white mouse girl in the blue dress and witch hat was the one Kinetica and Dela Luna had come to find. Kinetica’s tail twitched involuntarily. The mousified Azure Witch turned to the newcomers.
“Have you something to add?”
“We want to help!”
Kinetica stepped forward emphatically.
“That would be most appreciated. I am unsure what we will find.”
Azure Witch answered before turning to Red Martian.
“I can manage the situation here,” he nodded.
“And we’ll keep coordinating with Tink and trying to get ahold of Jian,” Three Ring gestured to Daring Duke and himself.
234 The Adventures of Kinetica words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“Have you something to add, Corporal Ayeshe?”
“No, Your Honor.”
“Very well. You may step down.”
Ann nodded and stepped smartly away from the witness stand to return to the tables in front of the bench with her lawyer. She wore her Army dress uniform, but it didn’t fit right as if she’d outgrown it in some way. Which was strange because she was already an adult. She couldn’t grow anymore.
Some internal voice barked a laugh and said, “Yeah, that’s not the kind of growth we’re talkin’ about.”
She grimaced and looked around the courtroom as her ass hit the seat of the uncomfortable wooden chair. She saw her parents, her father in his typical plaid flannel shirt, jeans, cowboy boots, and matching hat that he held in his lap. And her mother in a soft henley over a cream-colored tank top, jeans, with her hair in two silvering braids on either side of her head. Their faces creased with disappointment and worry as they watched the proceedings.
Behind them sat the few men Ann had ever shown an interest in for more-than-friends, though according to this court martial, that couldn’t be the case. More men sat in the gallery watching, all of them disappointed yet unsurprised at the evidence piled against her. The words “Ice Queen” and “Cock Tease” had floated through the courtroom, whispered by those who’d always been disappointed in her lack of interest for the physical intimacy they all said was necessary for a relationship.
250 ineligible #SirensInc words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 680 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.