Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. Wow. Year 11. Holy smokes! Y’all kept with me past a decade. I’m astounded.
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, like we have for the past 11 years. I had no idea when I started it would keep going! This is Week 587 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 social media handle or email in the post (so we easily notify 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, Bluesky, MeWe, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 587:
Scottish Word Slinger, Dauntless romance author, and #ThursThreads host, Siobhan Muir.
Facebook | Bluesky | Patreon | Eden Books |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“You’ll be fine.”
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!
Night Sweats
Sunday morning after his book launch, the launch and the afternoon phone call that extended the invitation to the F.O.I.L., the winter writers festival that he had never heard of before, not that he’d heard of any writers’ festivals before becoming a first-time author, Gronsky woke up with a sense of creative urgency that had, for the previous few months, been quite sporadic.
Writing a sequel had never occurred to him, so consumed he had been with the cluttered and complex process of writing his first.
He was perspiring. In bed. But he wasn’t sick. At least he didn’t think so.
He tried not to disturb Miriam, but she stirred and rose on her elbows. “Are you okay?” she asked, rather sleepily he thought, no real urgency in her voice.
He brushed bubbles of sweat from his brow. As he did, she reached over and touched his forehead.
“Gilbert, you’ve sprung a leak,” she laughed. “No temperature, though. What’s wrong, darling?”
He tried to find the words. He was a writer, for God’s sake. Words should flow…flow like sweat. A handy metaphor, perhaps. Perhaps too obvious.
“The damn sequel. It’s a lot of pressure,” he blurted. “The world is blowing up…the Middle East, Ukraine, Migrants up the yin yang, Trump, and I’m having a heart attack about my sequel.”
Miriam burst out laughing. She’d been doing that a lot lately.
“Sweetie, you’ll be fine. Remember, writing is a pleasure, not a torture.”
Gronsky still had doubts about that.
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
The central heating boiler struck up again. It shot a plume of hot air from its exhaust vent, disturbing the bird perching there. But Mister Robin Redbreast soon returned to his resting place, taking advantage of its meagre warmth, the rest of Mom’s yard sealed away beneath a thick rime of snow and frost.
One or two scorched feathers were a small price to pay so it could enjoy a little comfort.
“You ought to turn it down again,” Marian said. “We only need to keep the pipes and radiators a degree or two above freezing. Anything more than that’s a waste of your money.”
It was the perennial argument they had every winter, even though Adam already paid the heating bills for his mom. She couldn’t understand that it cost more to bring her home’s temperature up from just above zero than it took to keep it a little below the level she needed during the day. Her house was like a sieve, leaking heat in all directions whenever winter’s weather took hold.
He didn’t want her to be taken away to hospital this year after what’d happened to her this February. The bout of pneumonia she’d had had almost made it her last.
“It’s always the same with you,” Adam said. “You always say you’ll be fine, then adjust it yourself. It’s not enough to just put on another sweater. You’re breathing in chilly air while you’re asleep. And the doctor said that’s not good for your chest.”
250 words – thwothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
Correction… it’s twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com. 🙂
There has to be someone—almost anyone in the palace, he should think—more qualified to address a nation. A nation angry and grieving. A nation demanding answers and leadership.
Yet somehow it’s John walking up to the podium with his head high. His hands are shaking and he might conceivably black out at any moment, but he reaches the center of the room mostly upright and breathing.
You’ll be fine. August’s “pep talk” game needs to level up if they’re seriously going to get through this together.
A handwritten speech waits patiently on the podium, and John stares at someone else’s words.
Thank you all for coming here today, and for watching wherever you are right now. Together we mourn the passing of our king in an act of senseless violence…
It isn’t a terrible speech, per se. It’s bland. Safe. Guaranteed to inspire no one to rally behind John.
John, the new crown prince, by virtue of there being literally no one in the succession left alive before him.
John, the next king of a nation left trembling in the wake of a mass assassination.
Together we mourn isn’t going to cut it.
With a glance to the stage wing where August waits, John slides a handful of notecards from his inner coat pocket. August doesn’t panic or urge him to stick to the script. No, he simply raises one eyebrow. A question? Or a challenge?
You’ll be fine, he’d said. And now, he smirks at John, mouthing, Told you.
Cara Michaels
250 more royal WIP words
Maura’s rescuer led her up her apartment’s back stairs. He paused, listening, before opening the door. The dark service hall was empty. Unerringly, he led her to the rear entrance. It was recessed and not many people knew it existed. She could only hope those after her were far less informed than Ronan’s man.
They stepped outside but her escort froze. Leaning back, he boxed her in as a car slowly cruised past.
“Once we hit Back Street, we’re just a couple on a stroll over to the Charles River Esplanade, yeah?” At her nod, he continued. “Keep yer head down an’ walk close t’me. I’m Dev, by the way.”
She nodded again, not sure what to do at this point.
“Ronan’s in a car waitin’ for ya. Once yer with him, you’ll be fine.”
As if his name was magic, Maura realized that with Ronan, she would be fine. And wasn’t that the craziest thought of all. He was the heir apparent to Boston’s Irish mob and she was an assistant district attorney. Yet Ronan and his men were protecting her while her boss’s croonies were out to…what? Kidnap her? Kill her? Shudders coursed through her as she pictured all the dire things that could happen.
Suddenly, a strong arm was around her, she was tucked in close and they were walking the building’s parking area toward Back Street. In moments, she’d be with a man she trusted implicitly. And wasn’t that a kick in the pants.
****
249 Boston Wolves WIP words
@SilverJames_
Triss woke up warm for the first time in weeks and she reveled in the feeling for a few moments. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like it had been so long. But then reality reasserted itself and she realized someone was in bed with her. Panic rose. Had Danny found her? Was she still in California? Would he finalize the plans to put her in the mental ward?
She stiffened and held her breath, listening to the other person’s breathing.
It took her a few moments to realize it wasn’t Danny’s rough snores and the arm draped around her waist wasn’t as heavy. So, who was it? And where was she?
Her eyes popped open and she scanned the room around her without moving. The familiar sights of her room above Caffeine Ivy’s came into focus with the few embellishments she’d added. She noted the small ceramic cat she’d found at the local art gallery on the bedside table and the silk scarf she’d draped over the lampshade. Her tablet and phone sat on the bureau across the room, both plugged in to charge.
Okay, everything looks normal. Deep breaths. You’ll be fine if you just breathe.
She forced herself to take slow, deep breaths as she catalogued the sounds and smells in her room. The other person breathed with a little pause between the inhale and exhale, and they were softer than Danny’s large, unyielding body. The scents in her room were mixture of her and something flowery.
250 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir on Bluesky
“What. Was. That!?”
Arashiko enunciated the question on all their minds. It was gone now, but there had been something sinister about the sword Mana used to slay the Wood Witch’s oni.
Tenko’s childhood friend faced the others and braced to explain himself. But before he could speak, a silvery smoke, brighter than the night around it, undulated in about their ankles and began to rise.
“Hurry, this way!” an unknown woman’s voice growled from the bushes. “Unless you want the Wood Witch to catch you!”
Now waist deep in smoke, the other three turned to Tenko. This was too much to think about all at once. Even for her. After a rushed analysis, Tenko nodded to her companions and was the first to step toward the new voice.
“The shirogane smoke hides us from the Witch’s magic, but we must be away before it clears.”
The voice continued guiding them as the spicy floral smoke rose over the party’s heads. It wasn’t the Wood Witch. It didn’t sound like an elf either. A tigerling? That could be bad. But right now, anything was better than the Witch.
Then there was Mana’s sword. It had to be a demon sword. But Tenko thought all the demon swords were either sealed or left behind when the elves fled the Old Gods.
There was still their quest to accomplish. And where in the Tigers’ Forest were they now?
“It’s fine. You’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.” Tenko reassured herself.
248 Tale of Tenko words
@DavidALudwig
Maura reveled in all the Christmas traditions celebrating the season with her neighbours for over forty years, sharing cards and baked goods and giving anyone needed during the year. Two years ago, her only child, Paul had been killed in a car accident. Her husband, of fifty years, David, had grieved so hard he’d died this year. Maura had decided to add a little cheer, she’d climbed up to mount the lights and promptly slipped off the roof breaking her leg. Spending the last week in the hospital, Maura was depressed and wished Christmas Day would go away
Maura took a cab, as it went down her street; she noted lights on the other homes wishing she had someone to spend Christmas with. Turning into her driveway, puzzled who had put up her Christmas lights?
Opening her door, she smelled turkey and baked goods.” A memory,” she thought. “
Wishful thinking!” She chided herself.
As she took off her coat and entered the dining room there was a shout,” Surprise.”
As she looked around, she saw all her neighbours, gathered round her table which was loaded with Christmas dinner. The sideboard held all kinds of delicious bake goods. The tree was covered with her ornaments, nestled below it more presents then she ever seen,
Bob, her next-door neighbour said, “Merry Christmas Maura, you are our family. Welcome home.”
“This is too much,.” Maura exclaimed.
““You’ll be fine. We love you.”
Maura smiled, she had more family than she knew.
249 words
@SweetSheil
This time of year, the gravels are cold and frozen. But that doesn’t stop my daughter from going out to take night sky pictures. It’s always made me nervous, especially with the way the world is going these days. She’s always safe, but I still worry. It’s what mom’s do.
I figured I’d get to heaven and all, and I love my afterlife. I’ve got family and friends here. But not being able to watch over the living family is hard. Then, one night, Death visited me.
“You should do something special for your daughter.”
I cock my head in confusion. “From here?”
“Yes.” His bony hands spread, and I can see her setting up on her favorite gravel road, dressed in layers, hoping to catch the Aurora. “Tonight, there is a strong geomagnetic storm. I have noticed you feeling increasingly depressed, and I think this might help.”
“But—how?”
He nods towards the northern horizon, where the aurora is starting to glow the faintest green.
“It will flare for her.”
“But, I don’t know how—”
“You will be fine. Think of how pleased your daughter will be when her photos win awards at the county fair next summer.”
My daughter is ready. I concentrate and the aurora flares. She hops up and down when the pillars dance overhead, taking videos on her cell phone while clicking away on her ‘good camera’.
I watch my daughter dance with the lights. She’s smiling for the first time in two years.
@Aightball
250 words
Turning Point
Edward froze, transfixed. He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, but he’d been under Alan’s desk, running a diagnostic on the network he hadn’t noticed Eva and Shelly’s arrival until it was too late.
Now, if he acknowledged them, or made his presence known, they would assume he’d done it on purpose.
“Do you believe that man?” he heard one of them ask. It was a very indignant Eva.
“We’ll take care of him. No one will believe we were responsible, we’ll just alter the security feeds.”
Ed felt his temperature rise as he realized Shelly had used him in the past and he knew in that moment that she was capable of making good on her threat.
He had never felt as vulnerable as he did in that moment. He had spent so much time wondering about himself, and what others thought of him– he’d never thought that Eva and Shelly could be conspiring against Alan.
He had to do something, but what? If they realized he was listening– he’d meet an unfortunate end. It had happened to his predaccessor, Mac, it could easily happen to him.
He searched his memory and quickly dialed Alan’s number, leaving the line open and hoping Alan would get his message, and proof of their conspiracy.
“Edward,” he heard Alan command. “Turn off the alarms.”
He did as instructed. “Turn off the pilot light and turn up the gas.”
He felt relief as they hit the floor.
“Edward, erase the last 5 minutes, You’ll be fine.”
@mishmhem
250 words, not including title
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.