Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 676. 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 676:
Slightly past-it Canuck and word chucker, Bill Engleson.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together
The Prompt:
“You forget, I’m no hero.”
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.
Since this is an anniversary, there will be prizes. The Winner will get a $10 gift card and the HMs will get a $5 gift card to the book retailer of their choice.
Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads in the Moon Year. Good luck!
Martin slammed the door just in time and cringed at the sound of bodies piling up on the other side. Sandra clung to his arm, as she had during the entire frantic escape, not wanting to chance getting separated in the chaos.
Martin didn’t mind.
“That won’t hold them for long,” he said. “There sure are a lot of the fuckers.”
“As long as we’re on this side of that door and they’re on the other for a few minutes, I’m good.” Sandra paused, and when she spoke again her voice was rough. “Thanks for not stopping to help anyone else. I don’t think we would have made it.”
“Don’t you forget. I’m no hero.”
“All the heroes are dead. They tried to help, but there’s no help for this.”
Martin scowled. He knew she was right, that it really was every person for themselves, although that was poor justification for being a selfish bastard. On the other hand, if anyone survived, those left could see if there was a human race left to give a shit about. For now, it was run, hide, survive. And the fewer people he was protecting, the better.
The pounding at the door grew louder. The temporary sanctuary of the room was about to give out.
“We’re going to have to leave soon. Don’t let go – I won’t wait.”
Sandra drew her gun. “I’m no hero either.”
233 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
It took Sunshine a week to find the nearest village. Fairies and humans were living together in the village. She stayed hidden and observed. She had to make certain this was the right village.
The machines spoke to her that night. “What are you planning to do?”
“Make it rain. Make it storm. Like it never has.”
“Why?” It was an honest question. “You know they won’t learn anything. What will you accomplish?”
“Justice. For one who could not defend themself.”
“You would play the hero?”
“No. You forget. I’m not a hero.”
She remembered the stories of her past. When she was called Rain. When the other fairies didn’t understand her or her gift. When they’d isolated her and Musica. When Mystica had saved both of them from the fairies. When she’d taken them to the northern forest, to the lake, and welcomed them as if they were her own daughters.
“You would become another Mystica?”
“They should not have killed the child.” She wanted to scream in rage. She wanted to cry with pain. She wanted to not feel at all, and to feel everything. She wished she had the wisdom of Mystica and Merlin.
She knew the machines were right. They would learn nothing. But she was not willing to let the memory of the fairy child silently fade away into nothing. She would show them why the fairies once called her rain. And she would tell them why.
243 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
The shadow-drenched path stretched into the distance. The two of them stood beneath arching branches dripping with lilac blooms. A spring breeze teased invisible fingers through the flowers, leaving rustling whispers in its wake. The purple blossoms’ gentle scent perfumed the air.
Ariel watched Aisling. Deep inside, he recognized the trembling nerves of a shallow youth. He almost laughed. He was over two hundred years old and held the title of the King’s Seducer.
“What are you going to do?” Her voice quavered, almost as if the breeze teased her words as they left her mouth.
“Nothing.”
“But—”
He cut her off before she could protest. “There’s nothing I can do.” At least not at the moment, he thought but didn’t say out loud.
“I need help, Ariel.”
He held his tongue and his body, both frozen at her plea. When his muscles thawed, he breathed, filling his lungs with air and blowing it out until they were empty again. He had orders. He knew what he had to do. Reminding himself of his duty over and over, he dredged up words he didn’t want to utter.
“You forget, I’m no hero.”
Aisling’s gaze settled on him, her eyes all but glowing in the sudden moonlight. The look in them almost brought him to his knees.
“I don’t need a hero,” she whispered. “I just need you.”
Her words slammed into him and it was all he could do to remain standing.
“Help me.”
“I will.” And that was that.
****
250 Penumbra Paper #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
“You forget, I’m no hero., I heard Damien claim to a gaggle of women.
“What a jerk. You saved the day, not him,” Damien’s brother Karl said in my ear.
“He’s obviously embarrassed a woman saved him.”
“He’s lucky to be alive, Joan.”
“Anyone could have…”
“Kicked a gun out of gunman’s hand, and then trussed him up with your belt so, fast his head span.”
“He threatened a child and he told us to sit on a dirty floor.”
“Joan, I know that you’ve liked my brother for years, but Damien is a playboy and will never see the real you.”
“I know I’ve moved on.”
“Would you consider going out with me and if not, could we still stay friends?”
I looked at Karl then. Karl was everything Damien was not and once more he had been a friend to me never pushing unwanted advances on me. I nodded and received the warmest charming smile I’d ever seen.
Karl and I went to dinner and a movie and soon we were seeing each other everyday. Karl asked me to marry him and I said yes. When Karl told Damien we were getting married he seemed shocked and they said, ”But I thought you loved me?”
Karl and I looked at each other and laughed. Damien just shrugged.
We’ve been married for forty years now. and have three grown children. Damien claims he’s still looking if only he’d grow up, maybe he’d be happy, Anyone know the cure?
249 Words
@SweetSheil
The smoke from Jude’s cigar curled around his head like a misbegotten halo as it rose to the ceiling. With an annoyed huff, he swatted the smoke until it dissipated into the air.
“Must you?” he growled, glaring at his companion.
The woman sitting across from him snickered, the sides of her mouth fighting against a grin. “You must admit, Jude, it’s rather fitting.”
Jude resisted the urge to snub out his cigar and instead set it on the ashtray to burn itself out. “Fitting? For whom? You forget, I’m no hero.” He grabbed his glass of whiskey and kicked back the finger of liquor still left in the glass.
“That’s your interpretation,” she countered. “Others may not share your point of view.”
“Others would be wrong,” he said flatly, slamming his glass down on the table.
She cocked an eyebrow at him and his glass refilled.
“Would you stop?”
“Well, if you don’t want it.” The woman reached forward to take the glass with a twinkle in her eyes.
Before she could, he snatched it from the table and took a long, slow pull. The whiskey was smoother than any human-made whiskey, with a burn that tantalized the senses and a smokiness that was the perfect complement to his cigar. Of course, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
“I didn’t say that, now did I?”
The woman gazed at him, her expression curious. “Why are you so against what you know to be true?”
“You know why.”
249 words
@mlgammella.bsky.social
Helen Harper had never tried to heal herself by absorbing her duplicates. Mostly the state of the her doing the absorbing was favored in the combination, plus the skills and memories of the duplicate. After getting part of a parasite from a duplicate, Helen now hoped it could be removed the same way.
Complication? It wasn’t Helen herself she wanted to cure. It was Gemini, the superhero version of her. Helen hadn’t even been sure she could feed her duplicates to the hero. But it seemed to be working. And was a whole other weird from doing the absorbing.
She just had to focus on excluding her partial parasite from the duplicates she was generating.
And not pass out.
Gemini gasped awake. Eyes unfocused, she pressed a hand against her head until she noticed Helen.
“Helen? You saved me?”
Helen collapsed with a feeble nod. Gemini could handle things now. There was so much to handle.
“How many duplicates have you made in the last hour?”
“Not sure,” Helen shook her head. “Like, thirty?”
Gemini groaned sympathetically before pushing herself shakily up to her hands and knees.
“The memories you’ve given me are jumbled. You need to guide us to your extraction point before you forget.”
“I’m no hero; I can’t do what you do.”
Gemini had to be in worse shape than Helen. But she still made it to her feet and extended a hand to help Helen up.
“My new memories suggest otherwise.”
245 The Many Lives of Gemini words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Eddie sneered. “You can’t shoot me, I’m a citizen of the United States. I have rights. The cops don’t shoot rich, white men. And I’m very rich. Besides, you’ll look bad in front of Misty. You won’t be the hero to her anymore.”
Lisa met Barrett’s eyes looking out of Misty’s makeup and took a deep breath before she switched back to Eddie.
“You forget, I’m no hero. I’m a solider, not a cop, and I have an objective. I will reach that objective at all costs. If that means you don’t make it out alive, oh well. We did our level best to bring you in without bloodshed.” Lisa’s voice grew impassive, but her weapon never wavered. “Let Misty go, Farnsworth. You’re out of options.”
“No. She’s mine. My lover! My perfect wife! She doesn’t want you, you stupid blonde bitch!” Spittle shot from Farnsworth’s mouth. “She’s perfect for me and she wants me and we’re the perfect American couple. You can’t take her from me. She’s mine, aren’t you, sweetums?” He licked the side of Barrett’s face and tightened his grip around Barrett’s throat.
“I don’t belong to anyone.” Barrett’s voice sounded rough, like they’d been screaming for a while, and Lisa realized that the front of their dress was ripped, just like the other victims of the Queen Killer.
Holy shit, has Farnsworth already carved into Barrett’s belly?
231 ineligible #SirensInc words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
The Late-Night Talk Show Blues
‘After Kimmel suspension, Trump sets sights on Jimmy Fallon, Seth Meyers: ‘Do It NBC!’
They came for him at midnight
though he taped his show ‘round five.
“You’re cancelled Jimmy Kimmel
We don’t like your joking jive.”
It came as quite a shocker,
no time to appeal the halt.
Craven ABC bosses
leading an alt-right free speech assault.
Watching Trumpers act like Nero’s,
from my cozy northern clime –
You forget, I’m no hero
but I can spot a fascist crime.
America is quickly sinking
as it throttles satire and news,
and that got me to thinking
how sad the late-night talk show blues.
109 totally ineligible words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
– 3:71 AM –
“You forget, I’m no hero,” I whisper to the ancient refrigerator.
“No hero?” it replies, the sound of a million bees trapped inside a snowstorm. “Then who defends the carrots from eternal frostbite?”
This is what it feels like eating water at 3:71 AM. Everything is slippery, nothing is filling. And the moon knocks on the window like an impatient landlord.
The fridge door swings open. A lone pickle jar rattles. “Yes, I utter word clusters that have never been uttered before,” the jar says, fogging the air with dill. “Cucumber destiny. Brine eternity. Crunchy apocalypse.”
I rub my eyes. “I just wanted milk.”
The refrigerator clicks a metallic sigh. “Milk is a metaphor. What you truly seek is reassurance that you exist outside condiments.”
Behind the butter compartment, a tiny hallway appears, glowing faintly, lined with magnets shaped like extinct animals. My hand trembles on the handle.
“Step inside,” the fridge murmurs. “Every hero begins with hunger.”
I shake my head, laughing. “I told you I’m no hero.”
“Then you are perfect,” it says, and the lightbulb winks out, and I begin my journey.
186 words
@krvanhorn (X & Bluesky)
#ThursThreads Week 676, 13th Anniversary is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you in the ‘new year’.