Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 624. Wow. Year 12. It’s been a crazy ride with y’all who’ve kept with me this long. I’m astounded, and pleased.
We have new badges, prizes, and the start of a new year for flashing. I had no idea when I started it would keep going for this long, or that I would be one of the longest running challenges. What a legacy y’all have built with me!
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? Follow Siobhan Muir on Bluesky or 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 624:
Most Consistent #TT Winner, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“I made that last one up.”
Because this is our 12th Anniversary event, there will be prizes. A $10 giftcard to the winner and $5 giftcards to the honorable mentions from the online retailer of your choice. Good luck!
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!
The Sighting
“How many?”
“Heck, I told ya already. Four, mebbe five…somewhere around there…”
“Can you count, JimBob. Know your numbers? Don’t think ya do.”
“’Course I do. Went ta skool. For a wile anyways. You ‘member. We was there together…”
“I remember…Grade One…or was it Kindygarden? After that, you was chasing goats most of the time, all them days ya shudda been schoolin’. Goats or whatever else your Pappy raised. Still doin’ that..”
“Pappy passed. You know that…Ain’t no goats in …well, up there…”
“New York?”
“Nah. Heaven. No goats for sure. Don’t know about New York.”
“I know, JB. I didn’t mean your Pappy still raised goats. You do…am I right…?”
“Yup…that’s when I saw them…over ta BingBang Holler…ya know where that old weedy path leads up and away to the high grass…next to the old cemetery?”
“That’s where you saw them?”
“Damn right. Big as light. Four, mebbe five, like I said.”
“It’s big as life, JB. And you said they came outta the ground?”
“Right scared two of my goats ta death…me too, ‘cept I ain’t afraid of the dead like some.”
“If they’re walking…I’m with the goats…If they exist, that is.”
“Oh, they exist.”
“And one was singing The Star-Spangled Banner? Is that what you’re sayin’?”
“Nah. I made that last one up. I just always hear it in my head. No singin’ …just raisin’ up from the grave.”
“Not Martians?”
“Dead ones, mebbe!”
“The Fed’s will wanna talk to you, JB. You sit tight.”
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
“Shock Loading”
In theatre, when a piece of scenery comes loose so that it falls freely until being suddenly stopped by a cable, we say that the system has been shock-loaded. Shock-loading isn’t supposed to happen, of course, but sometimes the things we want to happen the least do anyway. A good operator will replace each part of a system that’s been shock-loaded because visual inspection cannot tell whether some element has suffered microscopic fractures during the intense and rapid deformation and reformation of the shock load, so that the next time, the element might not deform, it might break.
After the affair, I tried to keep the damage I did to our relationship to the ordinary kind. The kind that can be repaired with communication and listening and atonement. Forget to change the laundry. Burn the steaks on the grill. Get drunk during our daughter’s ballet recital.
I made that last one up to her by getting sober and staying that way for six months. I did the laundry. Cooked dinner. Kept my job. Avoided the shock loads.
One of the things they learned that causes chronic traumatic encephalopathy, otherwise known as CTE, in football players, is the damage done by repeated sub-concussive hits. It’s not always the big blow that does the unfixable damage. It’s the damage from the smaller ones, hidden, waiting.
If you’d have asked me what the last straw would have been, I’d never have guessed the way I folded towels.
But I heard the system break.
250 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
There are many misconceptions about me. I’m mean. I’m evil (that one’s my favorite). I had no idea I was supposed to be all red with horns and hooves and stuff like that. Red is not my color. I do have red hair, but that’s it. The only time I turn red is when I forget the sunscreen.
My sense of humor is spot on. Zero dad jokes here! Okay, I made that last part up. If someone is going to spend eternity with me, they may as well laugh. And I think they’re funny. Even if other people groan and roll their eyes and walk away.
I’m Stan. Many religions have given me many names but I like Stan. It’s less threatening. And if a person dies and comes my way, Stan is much friendlier than the other monikers I’ve been given. Honestly, eternity with me all depends on how the decedent punched their ticket to the Underworld. Murder? I’m less nice. Stupid mistake but being unfairly judged by their deity? We can talk.
Which brings me to today. Some poor soul is arriving now, unfairly judged by their religion. I’m going to make them wish their deity would arrive faster.
“Two muffins are in an oven. One muffin turns to the other and says, “Sure is hot in here, huh?” The other muffin screams “Aaaah! A talking muffin!””
Oh look, the Deity has arrived. Too bad, I have a few more of those.
@Aightball
245 Words
Stepping into the street on the way to class, I saw a car speed up, I was a goner and yet I wasn’t! Had I entered another dimension? I made that last one up( in my own min); obviously a product of a dream state, as I found myself sitting in my lecture, a visiting professor now claimed they were the professor. At home, my mother didn’t speak to me for leaving her homemade breakfast behind this morning. I went up to bed, got up the next morning finding myself back in class. I had to get more sleep , all that late night studying was giving me narcolepsy. The lecture continued and I fell asleep again, only this time my mother was at the kitchen table crying when I asked her “What was wrong?” She didn’t answer and continued crying. I followed her and she went quickly to a hospital not noticing me , in fact no one did.
Entering a hospital room, I saw her go to a body in the bed. Looking down at it I realize with shock I was looking at myself.
“Damn you Professor Acorn why didn’t you stop?” my mother shouted.
“I wasn’t dead!” I shouted as I felt myself sucked back in my body and my eyes open in pain.
A wheelchair was temporarily my new accessory, but I was alive and Professor Acorn would spend the next three years atoning for his drunk driving. Please tell me, I’m awake now, right?
250 words
@SweetSheil
“I hear she collects rocks!” Molly shook her head, acknowledging her big admission.
“No! I heard she used to dig through the poo of animals.” A burst of giggles travels around the circle as the contributors secretly sneak peeks of their fearless leader.
“Well I heard … she sends out magical packages of prezzies to people, and it’s always just the right thing the person needs.” Molly grows quiet and meets the gaze of every single person. Are they hoping to one day get a mystery package or are they feeling the fear of the delivery man. “Just like a witch!”
*Gasp* The slim blond girl across from the speaker exhaled. Cheeks turning a bright shade of pink, she clasped both palms over her offending mouth. Her eyes widened and she shivered like a cool breeze dived up her huha.
All right, I made that last one up.
Week after week, month after month, year after year, the community grew. How did the Creator behind the process keep it up? Did she feed from the creative energy of those who contributed?
Flash fiction: A quick story takes more than a mastery of words. The spirit of support has flowed steadily through the group, all headed by the fearless and relentless Siobhan Muir. Not only does she champion many others, but she also continues to create and contribute for the last twelve years.
Happy anniversary to #ThursThreads and happy almost birthday to Siobhan.
Grazie, and many more!
@LouisaBacio
245 words
Aww, Thanks so much, Louisa! <3
Zakaria’s eyes scan the paper in his hand, his eyebrows raising the farther he went. “This is quite the list.”
Adain rubs the back of his neck and stares at the floor. “Well, you asked for what we needed.”
“That I did.” Zakaria looks it over one more time before folding it up and tucking it in the inside pocket of his jacket.
“No questions?” the younger man asks, still refusing to look Zakaria in the eye. He shifts his weight nervously from one foot to another.
“Should I have any?”
“Uh, um, that is-uh.”
“Out with it, Adain.”
“Imadethatlastoneup,” Adian rushes, looking everywhere except at Zakaria.
Zakaria chuckled and debated whether he should put the younger man out of his misery or not. Watching him squirm certainly was entertaining.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch.”
Adian sighed and stared at the floor again, his face flushed. A beat later, he took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and finally looked at Zakaria. “I made that last one up.”
Zakaria laughed and clapped Adian on the shoulder. “I know.”
The younger man’s eyes bugged out with a look of incredulousness. “H-h-how?”
“I was your age once, a long time ago. I know how it goes.” Zakaria wrapped an arm around the other man’s shoulder in camaraderie. “Now, let’s go see about fulfilling this list. You only take over the world for the first time once.”
@mlgammella
236 words
Flora adjusted her glasses. The man across from her was pale and gangly, the opposite of Flora herself. It’s a paycheck, she reminded herself.
“So, do you want to talk about comic books?” She offered.
Johnny’s eyes darted to the sides. He kept his arms in, taking up as little space in his chair as possible.
“Do you read them?”
“Well, not really. But they are what we’re here to discuss, right?”
His eyes fixed accusingly on hers.
“You think I’m crazy too, don’t you?”
Flora hoped her rose colored glasses helped her poker face.
“I don’t have an opinion. I’m just here to listen. Help, if I can.”
Johnny took a deep breath and clasped his hands on the table.
“What if some comic books aren’t real? I mean, like total fiction. Not realistic at all.”
“That’s not an uncommon belief.”
“No, I mean like comics where Three Ring is a gritty, noir detective.”
Flora snorted in an attempt to cut off her laughter.
“I’m sorry! That, that would be very strange.”
“Or! Or what about ones where Jian is the sole survivor of an alien planet, sent to Earth as an infant to be raised by a wandering kung-fu master?”
Flora suddenly sobered.
“Wait. What?”
“Okay, I made that last one up. But you get what I’m saying, right?”
Flora nodded. She didn’t know what this geek’s deal was. What she did know is that he knew too many superheroes’ secret identities. Ones that weren’t public record.
249 PRUDENT words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“You’ve even taken care of Allira. You’ve made an excellent ruler to the denizens of the Tombs, better, I suspect, than you were to the humans.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “No question about it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Allira’s quiet question dropped into the soft trickling of the water in the pools and Josten raised his gaze to meet hers. “Tell you what?”
“That you were a ghost! That you were the Dreadstone King! What the hell, Josten?”
Her voice grew louder as she reached the last question and she threw her hands out.”
“I wanted to—”
“You wanted to, but just didn’t bother to do it? That was kinda vital information, don’t you think?”
“How was I going to tell you, Allira?” He rose to his feet. “Hey, good to see you. Thanks for hanging out with me. Oh, by the way, I’m the Dreadstone King and a ghost, but you know, it’s all good now. It’s not exactly something I can just casually bring up in conversation.”
“What about when you said, and I quote, Dreadstone King, Demon of the Deeps, Killer of Heroes, and Keeper of the Secrets? You didn’t think it would’ve been a good time to mention you had a connection to him? To you? And are you keeping more secrets I need to be aware of?”
“Okay, I made that last one up, but it isn’t far from the truth. And no, that’s the only real secret I got.”
249 ineligible #DreadstoneKing words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“Goddamn Elder things in the goddamn corn,” Earl swore, and spat.
Earl and Booger sat on the hood of the F-150, shotguns at the ready, watching the corn. Things had not been quite right lately.
“Things ain’t been quite right lately,” Booger remarked, cramming his cheek and gum with Stoker’s Long Cut Mint.
“You ain’t lyin’,” Earl replied. “I swear I could go after Sissy Coolidge with a switch for reading from the Unaussprechlichen Kulten. Even my goddamn Aunt Gertrude knows, when you see some Latin you don’t recognize, you don’t go readin’ from it. Girl’s got manure for her brains.”
“I’d like to go after Sissy Coolidge with somethin–”
“Don’t be vile in front of me, Booger.”
“Sorry, Earl.”
A long, companionable silence fell between them.
“You s’pose Pastor Lawson is busy with, I dunno, exorcisms and such?” Booger asked.
“These ones don’t possess you, Booger. They bandsaw the top of your head off with an argon laser or suchlike, put your brain in a can, and send it to Neptune or Yaddith or Dylath-Leen or suchlike.”
“You don’t say. Dylath-Leen? The black basalt city of dreaming what lies on that far shore?”
“Naw,” Earl said. “I made that last one up.”
“You mean the dreaming city ain’t real?”
“Course it’s real. They just don’t send you there, is all.”
A mournful cry went up from the corn, and something terrible shambled out of the dark.
“Welp,” Booger said, cocking his shotgun. “Let’s get after it.”
248 words
@mxdshipwreck.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 624 12th Anniversary is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.