Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is our 8TH ANNIVERSARY! That’s right, we’ve been doing this for 8 solid years and we’re still going strong. It’s Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our ninth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 416 of #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 Twitter handle or email in the post (so we don’t have to look for you)
- The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
- 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, Twitter, MeWe, and Google Plus, etc.
Our Judge for Week 416:
Typo Sniper, #MenageMonday host, and the woman who started it all, Cara Michaels.
Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“What’s in it for me?”
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.
Because this is an Anniversary Event, I’m offering the Winner an Aromatherapy Diffuser that changes colors. For the HMs, I’m offering a ceramic travel mug with silicon lid and heat shield. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!
Nevari is more stubborn than I’d like, but she reminds me of myself. Even if I wasn’t under orders from a goddess or under threat of never making it back home, I think I’d still find myself trying to help her.
Regardless of that, though, the brat is getting under my skin. She refuses to budge, feet firmly rooted, tail twitching in a way that tells me she’ll whip me with it if I get too close. Wouldn’t put it past her to ram me with her horns, either.
“I know you have no reason to trust us.” Valmong’s words are careful, and they clearly come from a place of familiarity. “But we’re not out to steal your father’s secrets.”
“The only reason you even helped me was the bounty on my head.” Her eyes narrow. “You know, the one put out by my father’s killer?”
She’s not wrong. Valmong’s eyes dart to mine, tired and pleading, as if I could be any more convincing than one of her own.
“You’re right. This started because of your bounty, but we don’t have any intention of actually giving you up.” I gesture around us. “We got you out of town, didn’t we?”
Her tail stops twitching, and her periwinkle eyes turn thoughtful. “If I help you, what’s in it for me?”
“Revenge against your dad’s killer, for starters.” I’ve never casually discussed murder before, but I guess there’s a first time for everything.
Nevari’s eyes light up.
246 #TeamRPG words
@katheryn_avila
The Fiftieth Anniversary of Thursdays Thread.
“So, here it is, June 2062. We are here today with Bill Engleson. Sir. Tell us how old you are?”
“It sure is cold…are you cold?”
“No, sir. I’m warm. It’s June.”
“I…beg to differ, young woman. It’s the sun, not the…”
“JUNE, Sir. Not MOON.”
“Hi June. My name’s Bill…guess you know that?”
“BILL, okay. I’m June. Before we start, Haroldina here, my happy Teckbot, will plug you into to your Five G Sensorium…there…how’s that?
“It’s a beautiful moment, June. Alive and ticking…Revved and raring to go. So, fire away.”
“Flash Fiction…what’s that about, Bill? How long have you been writing it?”
“Heck, how long’s it been? Firecracker of a question, June. Definitely Pre COVID. Musta been back in 2016…at least. Came to it late, though.”
“What drew you to writing Flash? I mean, what’s in it for you?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“What I mean is, why do you do it? And back to my first question, do you mind me asking your age?”
“One hundred and fifteen, June. Don’t feel more than, I don’t know, ninety-nine. Felt pretty good that year.”
“And why you write Flash, particularly today as we celebrate fifty years of Thursdays Thread?”
“That Siobhan. Keeps on pumping out prompts. That’s why I do it. Use to joke I was on a Thursdays Threadmill. Couldn’t get off. Brain just wanted to get an idea and jot ‘er down.”
“Well, thank you Bill.”
“Pleasures been mine, June.”
250 words
@billmelaterplea
.
She stood next to his booth, the neon beer sign over the bar highlighting half of her face. The other half remained in shadow, not that it mattered. She’d never hidden the story etched on her face. He leaned his elbows on the table and studied her for several minutes before asking, “What’s in it for me?”
“What do you want?”
His gaze shifted from her face, landed on her chest, sank lower. Once it hit her feet, he reversed, taking her in with slow, deliberate disdain. Eventually, his eyes met hers again.
“I’m not part of the bargain.” Not that he would want her. Two kids, Eight weeks of hospitalization and rehab centers. And the stretch marks and scars to prove both. His arrogant face gave nothing away.
“Your husband was a cop. I doubt his life insurance paid much.”
“So you can be bought if the price is high enough?”
“Didn’t say that, sweetheart.” She shuddered at his use of that endearment but her expression revealed nothing. He damn sure wouldn’t be playing poker with her. If he was smart, he’d walk away without saying another word. He could all but feel her pain and anger. Angry women were bad news. They did and said stupid things that could force a man to make mistakes. He didn’t make mistakes. That’s why he wasn’t rotting in a prison cell somewhere.
“I don’t have time for this.”
He watched her walk away. “You’ll have time, sweetheart. We’ll meet again.”
****
249 The Widow WIP words
@SilverJames_
“I don’t even know why I’m here or how I got here.”
Arach laughed. “Not what I expected you to say, but I like the way you think. And I think I know someone who could help you figure out why you’re here.”
I sat up straighter and chewed on the food. “Who can do that?”
He extended his arm and pointed toward an unusual building higher up on the hills above us. “Do you see that place up there?”
It looked a little like a bunch of hoodoos, the rock formations left by mechanical weathering processes from rain and wind.
I nodded. “What’s in it?”
“For me, knowledge, understanding, and occasionally, peace.” He shrugged. “For others, who knows? But for you? I would hazard a guess that it’ll provide answers. It’s the temple for the goddess Tekhne, goddess of arts, crafts, and music.”
My first thought was to deny the existence of a goddess, but after seeing Arach shift from being a dragon, I’d had to revise my assessment of the world.
“Why do you think she’d have answers for me?” I drank more water.
He shrugged. “You hum when you’re nervous and your magic seems to respond to music. Perhaps she’ll have some answers for you, and if not, she’ll know who you can ask.”
I capped the water flagon and stared at the temple. “Do gods really talk to you here?”
“Only when you ask nicely.”
239 ineligible #TeamRPG words
@SiobhanMuir
The bottle hung motionless in mid-air.
“There used to be a time we couldn’t get any volunteers,” Brad said. “People felt safe. Now, we’re turning them away. It’s funny how things can change in a year.” He ignored the bottle and leaned back. His chair balanced on its back two legs, as firmly placed as though it had all four on the ground. The room was quiet, uncannily so, with only the sound of our breathing breaking the silence.
“But then the scientists broke time,” he continued. “That made everything possible. Everything and nothing, depending on your point of view.”
Brad levered himself away from his seat. He took hold of the bottle, using it as a handhold to pull his body upright.
It didn’t move. It just remained where it was, hovering a foot above the table. The second hand on the clock fixed to the wall stayed still too, not even trembling, although I had to keep watching it to be sure.
“So, why did we come here,” I asked. “There had to be a risk. In the early days, everyone would have been saying ‘what’s in it for me?’ There would have to be a reason for us all to migrate here. People don’t change without there being something big.”
“You’re damn right there was,” Brad said. “It was the ‘Rona. Only, it wasn’t everyone. There used to be another 90 percent alive then. We don’t know what happened to them. They carried on without us.”
249 ‘No prize for me because I’m British’ words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com
“I have something to tell you before I meet you.” April’s phone was on speaker. She held the steering wheel with her left hand and twisted the ring she’d never taken off.
“You’re married?”
“No, of course not!”
“Okay, then, what’s the problem?”
“Vincent.”
“Then there is someone else.” He sounded disappointed.
“He’s our son.”
“What? What did you say?”
“Vincent is our almost seven-year-old son.”
She heard Neal’s heavy breathing.
“You had a baby. I don’t believe this.” He hung up.
After squinting, she pulled into the elementary school’s pickup line. Vincent stood at the door, waiting. He saw her and waved. She could make out his happy smile and waved back. Only three cars separated them.
Her phone rang again.
“Hello.”
“I’m standing in Mom and Dad’s living room. There’s an album. Mom’s holding a baby.”
“I know.” She pulled forward one car length. She heard pages of the album turning. “His pictures are next to mine.”
“Your mom did that deliberately.”
“We look like twins! There’s a note from Mom and Dad… They say he’s mine… I can’t believe you all kept this from me… I need to process this.”
“Okay.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Didn’t you tell us you were never coming back?”
Silence.
“Neal, how long is your leave?” She pulled forward.
“Two weeks. Why?”
“Will you spend some time with us?”
“What’s in it for me?”
Vincent pulled the door open and got in. “Mommy, look what I made for my daddy!”
249 words
@pattydump1
Denise tried not to draw unwanted attention as she shifted her weight. The creak of the uncomfortable yellow leather couch betrayed her. Robert glared at her as she ignored him by examining her impeccable teal manicure, a perfect match to her turquoise and silver jewelry. She didn’t need to see him. She felt his annoyance. Robert’s voice continued, a dull buzz in the therapist’s office that reminded her of the irritating hum of a fluorescent light fixture.
The therapist must have hired a designer to furnish the spacious suite. Soothing grays, calming blues, and fashionable mid-century modern furniture made the space look homey and relaxing. The trouble, or maybe the desired effect, was looks were deceiving. The doctor occupied the Eames lounge chair with its matching ottoman. It was undoubtedly, an original, and probably the most comfortable piece in the room.
The droning ended, and Denise realized someone had addressed her. Kind brown eyes regarded her, waiting.
“Do you have a response?”
She shrugged before looking at her hands.
“Surely, you have something to say.”
It was difficult to ignore eyes that seemed to care.
“He never asked the one question that would have guaranteed success.”
Denise waited, ready for Robert’s normal tirade, but the therapist’s raised hand stopped him.
“What question?”
“What’s in it for me?”
Robert attacked, throwing facts, statistics, logic, and rhetoric at her. His repetition offered nothing new, nothing she hadn’t heard a thousand times before.
“You’re not listening. Those things don’t matter. They never have.”
250 Words
@JoHawktheWriter
“So, what’s in it for me?”
Seranah stared at the man behind the desk, her brow furrowing down. “Excuse me?”
“I’m sending one of my valued hunters with you-”
“You said yourself that he was a pain in your ass and not worth your time last week.”
The Pan held up a hand before continuing on. “And considering the amount of money I put into their training, I need to ensure that should something happen, I want to be assured that I earn my money back.”
“So, a trollkin is basically a thing for you to sell out until they earn enough on their own. You are such a classy guy, Theron.”
He shrugged. “It’s a business. They know what they are getting into as part of their contract. Death is just another adventure, no.” Yellow eyes flicked up to her before his lips curled into a smile. “So. You can take my offer. Or you know where the door is. It’s your decision.”
Seranah ground her teeth, narrowing her eyes while she watched the Pan lean back in his chair. “There is nowhere else that hires out their mercs. But you know that already.”
His grin widened. “Too true. The closest guild is by the Welk port. And they aren’t known for being men of honor.”
“Neither are you.”
“Tsk.” He pouted. “You wound me. I am a humble businessman.”
Humble, her ass.
240 words
@solimond
Sera stared, transfixed by the glowing orb she held in her hands. The luminous colors swirled like oil in water. She tried to close her eyes against their magnetic pull, but instead found herself drowning in the swirling colors. They wrapped around her mind until they found what they were looking for. They inserted themselves until Sera could see only them. Think about only them.
“Sera.”
The voice came from far away.
“Sera?”
Sera realized her arm was in a clamp so tight it hurt. With every ounce of will power she could muster, she ripped her eyes from the orb and looked at the hand clutching her upper arm.
She turned to Japheth, who looked at her with expectant eyes.
“What do you think it is, Sera?”
“It’s a seeker. It shows you the way to the thing your heart seeks the most.”
Japheth’s clumsy hands reached for the orb, but Sera jerked away from him before he could grab it.
“Hands off. It’s too dangerous.”
Sera gave an exasperated sigh at Japheth’s confused face.
“It’s dangerous because if you don’t know what your heart seeks the most, it will mislead you. Even when you do know, you have to read it with caution. Things aren’t always what they seem.”
Sera felt Japheth’s eyes drilling into her back and she waited for him to formulate his question.
“Sera? What do you see? What’s in it?”
“For me?” Sera’s voice trailed off and she shook her head. “Nothing good.”
@TeresaMEccles
249 words
It’s just a job, she kept telling herself. A job like any other. Well, not quite like any other, if she were being honest. Alaina’s life as a freelance art procurement agent kept her on the move. Find the mark, make the move, swap out the painting, collect the cash, and move on to the next job.
Some days she couldn’t remember who she was supposed to be until she pulled out one of many counterfeit IDs to rent a nondescript apartment close to the nondescript airport in one of several base cities she considered home.
Sometimes she longed for the life she lived before the accident. But the thrill of her work kept her mind off the pain and focused on the ultimate goal – to retire and create. Six more jobs, she kept telling herself. Just six more and she’d have enough to retire and live off the grid entirely.
It was rare that she was referred work by competitors, especially those whose work she admired. Brayden was one of the best, but nobody could forge Romanticism-era paintings like Alaina.
When he offered her the chance to procure Ingres’ Grande Odalisque for one of his most important clients, her excitement was immediate and quite apparent. If she accepted this job, she was that much closer to retirement – and Andres.
For the first time in her professional career, she was going to take a job without wondering, “What’s in it for me?”
242 words
ExpertEyesEditing @gmail.com
Mina dropped over the rocky ridge in time to slide to abraded safety. A gout of pungent acid dissolved her previous position and left her heart and mind racing. Should she run? Stay? Was she the acid’s target? Where did it come from? Did her pursuers see where she went? Should she check? The former maid hadn’t gotten this far by playing it safe. She stuck her head out.
A copper scaled dragonkin in black leather armor stepped onto the melted stone, a scimitar in each hand as impressively curved as his back facing horns. His back was to the fugitive Mina. Her pursuers, under orders to bring her back alive, now fumbled to draw their guns too late. The dragonkin’s dervish dance gave the illusion of unbroken rings in his hands, rather than swords.
“Are you alright?”
Her apparent rescuer cleaned and sheathed his swords. Decision time again. The secret police wouldn’t hesitate to slaughter their own if it helped play their sick mind games. On the other hand, they hated dragonkin with irrational fervor. Mina flipped a coin in her mind and stood up.
“Yes,” she brushed off her clothes and adjusted her satchel. “Thank you for saving me, and this.”
The young dragonkin wasn’t much larger than Mina herself. The warrior nodded to the satchel.
“What’s in it?”
“For me? My freedom.” Mina watched his face for his true character. “For the empire? Its undoing.”
Her rescuer’s smile was handsomely fang filled.
“Welcome to the resistance.”
249 Cat’s The Pajamas words
@DavidALudwig
David backed the boat trailer into the garage next to their minivan. Cressida hurried forward and slid her hand along the sleek lines of the wood Christ-Craft. The hull needed sanding and the engine was long gone, but what a beauty she would be when they were done restoring her.
“Back away from the boat, honey.” Her husband’s amused voice sparked the ever present hum for desire whenever they were together. “Give her time to get used to her new home.”
With a mischievous smile, she sauntered toward him, trailing her fingers along the gunwales. “What’s in it for me if I do?”
Heat flared in his blue eyes, and the sexy smile that had won her heart curled up the corners of his mouth. “What would you like?”
She stopped inches from him and placed her hand on his chest. Muscles tightened under soft black T-shirt. Their gazes met. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I’d like to unhook the boat, close the garage, and christen this beauty right,” she patted the top of the bow, “here. We need to make sure she feels at home.”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her up tight against him. “I think we can arrange that, Mrs. Gunnarsson.”
She ran her fingers through his silky, sandy blond hair. “You do?”
“Uh-huh . . . Just after I do,” he smacked her bottom, “this. You’ve been naughty.”
She smiled. “Show me how naughty.”
249 words
@marcibaun
The telltale itch burst at the back of his neck. He fought his natural instinct to shift when faced with conflict. His Wolf insisted on having a very physical say in the discussion.
“What’s in it for me?” He threw out the challenge, knowing well and good what he stood to gain, and what there was to lose, everything. He wanted to hear the truth from her mouth.
“I don’t want to make demands of you,” Lorelai rubbed his shoulder. “I can’t guarantee the future, but I’d like you to come home with me. With us.”
“I can’t do that.”
She dropped her hand and looked away, but not before he saw the tears forming in her eyes.
Shilah watched her walk out the door, and his heart and Wolf howled with rage. He dug his hands into the table, willing himself to stay seated and not chase.
Screech. Screech.
A shadow from the bear-sized hulk of a bartender darkened the table.
“What the fuck man? If you feel like scratching up some wood, take it outside!”
He fumbled in his pocket, pulling out two twenties. “Sorry.”
His stomach heaved. Outside, he lurched toward a trashcan on the sidewalk, and hurled the entire meal. He’d made the worst mistake of his life. Doubled over, he breathed in the cool night. Only one thing might calm his soul, a run, and he knew the exact spot to go – the soft river bank where he’d first seen Lorelai in her Cougar form.
@LouisaBacio
250 words
My therapist has been working through the layers of me for several months, trying to find who I was, buried under everything that is life. Buried under work, bills, the wife, the family, three cars, two cats, a monthly mortgage. After that I lost count.
I told him that, “I lost count, you know.” In that session, on that day, “I lost count, you know.”
You’d think it would be infuriating, and I’d have pitched a fit, when he said, “I know. That’s why you’re here.” But I didn’t.
“You’ve been coming here for months.”
“Yeah.”
“Why are you here? What’s in it for you?”
I don’t know how long I stared at my hands when he asked that. I don’t know how long I stopped breathing. Everything froze. Even time, I think.
He didn’t ask a second time. He waited. As if saying, “I have nothing but time. I can wait. When you’re ready, I’ll listen.”
“I lost something.” He knew when to talk, and when to wait. “I’m trying to find what I lost.”
He nodded. The man had a quietness, and more patience than I’d ever seen in anyone.
“What’s in it for me?” I froze up again. I swear my heart stopped beating. Until I hear myself, “I lost me. And now, I’m trying to find me.”
That’s when he told me it would all be OK. “Because, you finally know why you’re here. And you can finally admit it to yourself.”
246 Words
@mysoulstears
“Love is ultimately our downfall after all. I mean what is in it for me really or for you or ultimately for us? Are we just settling with each other daring that our friendship be the only thing to keep us together? NO! I tell you, I need more.”
“More what?” Stephano asked. I spun startled, not having realized that I had basically shouted that out into the world. I eyed him warily, hoping against hope that somehow he just wasn’t going to be angry as he circled around me like I was the deer that a wolf preyed upon.
“Stephano!” I squeaked “I’m sorry! I didn’t realize that I had said that out loud. I was just-“
“Just what, Abigaile Sirene Westchester? Am I not good enough for you? Have I not shown my care of you since we got married?”
And that, I thought was my downfall. I was so starved of love. Stephano was so enamoured of money that he truly didn’t love me and Im’just arm candy. I needed more than just ‘care’ from him. I daren’t tell him so otherwise… As that thought ended in mid-thought, I now knew I needed to get away from him somehow. Maybe find someone that would help me and it wouldn’t be anyone in town either as they were all in Stephano’s pocket. Maybe, just maybe, if I could convince him to travel outside of the state pf Rhode Island, someone could help me be free. Someone unknown…
249 heart stopping words
@ssogioka
As a teen I first refused to help the elderly. An old man asked for help across the street and I refused and swore. The second at my university and an old man asked for a drink of water. I swore again refusing. At a prestigious law firm I was a partner at 30.
A familiar old man walked into my office said to me, “Can you help me?”
“What’s in it for me?”
“Much,” he answered.
“Sorry you’ll have to see another lawyer, I’m not taking your case,” I answered.
“I’ve been charged with witchcraft!”
“Get out you crazy old man.”
“Thrice I asked you for help and thrice you refused, so now enjoy being an old man,” he replied.
In mid-laugh I felt my limbs tingle and wither. When I looked in the I now looked like the old man and he looked like me.
“You’ll be back when you learn some compassion and humility,” he said waving an arm
.
I was outside and no one recognized me. I was alone and scared some people treated me as I had the elderly; others helped me. I suffered in this body for a year old, feeble and in pain, I found my office no longer there, the business gone. I despaired and vowed to be a better person. The warlock appeared and turned me into my old self and from then on I was better person; for I had found everyone mattered more than myself.
246 words
@SweetSheil
The Heaven Plane is a fluid place that changes based on God’s mood. Today, the sun is shining and his house is painted rainbow for Pride. I ring the doorbell, which plays the Hallelujah Chorus. God wings the door open, grinning from ear to ear.
“Carla! What brings you over from the dark side?”
“Haha.” I roll my eyes. “I need your help.”
He invites me in and I tell him about Lynda, a devout Christian with one request. God bites his lip.
“What’s in it for me?”
“One happy woman, who claims to be your biggest fan.”
God groans: the last time his ‘biggest fan’ came over, she talked his ear off for four years.
“Jesus!”
His son walks in from the kitchen, licking a spoon. Seconds later I’m squeezed in a tight hug which I return in kind. We bring him up-to-date and he frowns.
“The Stairway to Heaven is collecting dust in a storage locker somewhere.”
Five minutes later, Jesus pulls out a rusty staircase. It has six steps and several broken and cracked lights along the sides. My hopes fall like a rock. God waves his hand. A few sparks later, the rust and dust have gone but the staircase is otherwise unchanged.
“Give us a couple of hours,” God says, a hopeful smile on his face.
This has to be grand for this woman who has worked hard to earn that trip through the Pearly Gates. I wonder if I can scare up St. Peter…
@Aightball
250 words
Brave Cowboy Bill won the rodeo and a chance to stand tall.
Elwood and Jake got their mission after a chase through a mall.
Shaggy and Scooby got a snack (and likely some weed).
While Bruce and Dick got a call from the Commissioner in need.
Sherlock and John got a life steeped in mystery.
While Johnny Tremain found freedom and a chance to make history.
Barney and Fred had car powered by feet,
While Themla and Louis jumped theirs off a cliff to avoid the heat.
Gomez and Fester were the strangest of brothers,
While Romeo and Juliet were the saddest of lovers.
With quarantine seemingly destined to stay,
Freedom and adventure seem so far away.
But often the best journeys are in stories, you see
All you have to do is ask “what’s in it for me?”
We could be like Phineas and Ferb and have the best day ever
Or like Bond, James Bond and never say never.
Whether its ghosts, or pirates, or pandas wherever you look,
The stories surround you curled up in your nook.
Stories well told are like a siren’s song
Calling and tempting us to stay up the whole night long.
They could be Adventure, Horror or Romance.
Or Comedy, or Mystery, or even Sci-fi per chance.
Whatever your love, wherever you need – there’s a story fits you,
Just ask “what’s in it for me.”
233 Words
@jsandersen76
Pirate Radio Days
“You’re listening to WIT FM, where we’re building the past based on the future; everyday is yesterday and every tomorrow is a promise we can’t get back…”
“They’re at it again.”
I sighed looking up from my paperwork and gave my new partner a long-suffering look.
“Who’s at it again, Peters?” I asked, “is this the Alien Overlords?”
He paused, shaking his head. “No sir, the pirates— and don’t make fun of the Overlords, they might hear you.”
“You don’t think that’s strange?”
He drew in a sharp breath. “You mean, you do?”
“You’re the one who came in reporting Pirates. Are they in cahoots with the overlords?”
I knew I’d rattled the younger man and took pity on him. “Look, Peters. We’re the only officers on this chunk of ice. Most of our residents are stuck here nine months out of the year. Let them have a little fun.”
“But apirate radio stations are against regulations. It could interfere with real communications.”
I shook my head. “Peters, our last bona-fide comm was two years ago when they warned about a meteorite. If it makes you feel better, go check the teletype.”
Once he left, I pulled out the mic. And began transmitting again.
“Here at WIT FM, We’re so conservative we stay in our driveway, so progressive you can find us almost anywhere, and so mercenary even our mothers ask ‘what’s in it for me?”
Hey, you get your fun in where you can.
257 words, not including title
@mishmhem
Typo on word count – 247 words
Sasha looked up at the moon and couldn’t quite remember what happened. The last thing she remember was being at Simon’s house talking to him about a project. He always has something strange that he is interested in.
“What’s in it for me?” she asked Simon.
“I promise you this will be the best experience of your life!” Simon was like a giddy schoolboy.
It was his excitement that got her to agree to it, but now she doesn’t remember what “it” was. It was the middle of the night and she was alone, at least she thought she was. Finally, she glanced around at her surroundings. There was nothing for miles except trees. She was standing in the only clearing around and it was eerily silent.
What have I agreed to? Sasha couldn’t remember no matter how hard she tried. She was lost in her thoughts when she heard a rustling behind her.
She sensed danger by the prickly feeling of hairs standing up on the back of her neck, but she knew she had to see what it was.
Knowing that there was no escape from what was there, Sasha slowly turned coming nose to nose with a wolf.
This is the last time I agree to anything Simon is interested in! Sasha’s thoughts were more irritated than fearful but what surprised her most was the look on the wolf’s face.
It was like he understood what she thought.
But that’s not possible…is it?
246 Words
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#ThursThreads 8th Anniversary Week 416 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and made our celebration a success. I hope to catch you next week in the first start toward year 9.