#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 357

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’ve reached our Sixth year of weekly prompts! This is Week 357 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 357:

Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.

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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“They are so sweet.”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!

14 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 357”

  1. We walked the market square, trailing Kai like the alien tourists we were. Vendors hawked their wares, a barrage of foreign sights, scents, and words. Tae-woon’s clawed fingers scored my leather sleeve. He held on too tight, but I didn’t complain. Being strangers in a strange land made me nervous, too, but Kai’s ready smile and charming laugh eased my tension.

    “Oh, yes.” Kai passed a coin to a produce vendor and snatched up a small basket like a trophy. He popped something vaguely berry-like in his mouth and gave an appreciative foodie moan. He made a slight bow to the young woman tending the cart. “Perfect. They are so sweet this time of year.”

    “What are they?”

    “Geluberries.” He frowned. “Imported from Aelville. You’ve never had one?”

    “Can’t say I have.”

    “A sinful oversight.” He held a berry to my lips. “Open.”

    “Do I have to?” I asked through pinched lips.

    “Of course.”

    “What do they taste like?”


    I grudgingly accepted the fruit offering, jolting as icy sweetness exploded along my taste buds.


    “Geluberries taste like geluberries,” Tae muttered, spearing a berry on his index claw. “Bet his snozzberries taste like snozzberries, too.”

    “Tae-woon.” My thoughts dove straight into the gutter. I whipped around to thump him in the chest, succeeding only in making him laugh.

    “Snozzberries?” Kai perked up. “I’ve never heard of those. What are they like?”

    “A bit salty actually.” I snagged another geluberry.

    “Noona.” Tae choked. “You pervert.”

    “What? You started it.”

    250 #TeamRPG #WIP365 words

  2. The Eulogy for Chef Skiffington Sliggs

    Friends, as the last person to attend at the bedside of Chef Skiffington Sliggs, to be with him as he embarked on his final eternally endless banquet, I’ve been asked to say a few words.

    Skiff left this mortal kitchen as comfortably as one would want. He’d achieved so much in his long life. His half a dozen books, his award-winning television show, more notoriety than he sometimes wanted.

    Still, he was, like so many, perplexed, vexed, not only by the big questions…is there life after death? If so, will it include a fully-stocked kitchen? He was also tormented by those niggly little mysteries of existence that we never quite grasp, that forever slip through our hygienic hands. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, he was, in so many ways, content with his accomplishments. But even with that understanding, I have heard the scuttlebutt…that his last words to me, to the world, were… “damn, but they are so sweet.”

    I’m here to squelch the rumours, some less than flattering, some suggesting that he had a secret life full of inappropriate desires.

    He may well have had darker thoughts, but I am here to tell you that, “Damn, but they are so sweet,” were not, NOT, his final words. In those concluding moments, he confessed his greatest doubt to me. He whispered, “Yams. But they are so sweet.” And I answered, “Skiff. Sweet Potatoes are sweet. Not Yams.”

    And then he left. I pray he heard me.

    250 words

  3. I almost dropped my bike. The operative word being “almost.” Hollywood had dragged me to this farmer’s market to buy some peaches for his pregnant mate. Seeing as he was a moonstruck Wolf, he couldn’t do anything else. Why he forced me to come with him? No clue. Until I saw the most amazing ass cupped by a pair of cut-off jean shorts that was currently swaying in the air as the female it belonged to bent over a picket fence.

    “They are so sweet.”

    And they were. Round. Firm. Perfect fit for my hands. And I wasn’t talking about the peaches Wood was stuffing into his saddlebags.

    “You need one.”

    I damn sure did. I needed a piece of her. Like…now. The woman, still bent over, laughed. And damned if my whole body didn’t go hard as a rock. She stood up and I realized two things simultaneously: I really wanted to be the puppy crawling into her shirt and if the man talking to her touched her again, I’d chew his arm off.

    She giggled as the pup squirmed deeper into her bra. “I wish, but I live in a third-floor walk-up apartment, work three jobs, and potty training is not in my vocabulary.”

    I got caught staring and I didn’t give a fuck. “He’s right,” I growled. “You do need one.” I wasn’t talking about the puppy. Me. She needed me.

    She beamed at me. “You’re right. I do.”

    So I claimed her.
    250 unplanned but fun-for-me #Nightrider words

  4. Oshi brushed out their hair and wished they could brush the sadness away. Hiro wasn’t coming back and couldn’t give them the love they wanted. It’s better to let him go. Easier thought than done. Which was why they were doing their hair and wearing their favorite dress and kitten heels. They felt feminine today and wanted to find the joy in those simple pleasures.

    Besides, the dress and the shoes are gorgeous. They always felt better wearing them.

    Oshi had finished with the final tweak to their makeup when someone knocked on their door. They frowned and peeked through the peephole, gasping in surprise. Hiro. What is he doing here?

    Taking a deep breath, Oshi opened the door. “Hiro.”

    “Hello, Oshi. May I come in?” It was hard to read Hiro’s expression, but he appeared hopeful.

    “Please.” Oshi stepped back and gestured for him to enter.

    “Thanks. You look amazing, by the way.” Hiro strode past them, carrying a basket. “These are for you.” He held it up. The basket contained Frangos from the Bon, Oshi’s favorite coffee and biscuits, and some Pike’s Place Market smoked salmon.

    “They are so sweet, thank you.” Oshi nodded. “What are you doing here?”

    “I came to apologize and tell you I’m ready to be yours forever.”

    213 ineligible #WIP365 words

  5. The brisk wind whipped black hair into her face. Joyous laughter floated along it, scraping across her senses. Ciara balled her fists, curling dark lips into a sneer. “They are so…”


    Above her a raven cawed angrily. She tilted her head to glare sideways at the unwelcome intruder who appeared out of white smoke. “Disgusting,” she spat in correction.

    A frown crossed his age face. “This isn’t right and you know it. Leave this poor child alone.”
    Ciara laughed lowly. The air around them chilled further. “Leave her alone? Why would I even dream of doing that?”

    “She is a /child/! Look at her. She cannot be any older than two. Your search for an Heir is futile. It is unjust and wrong what you put them through.”

    She growled in response, fingers twitching with sparks of blackened magic. Another laugh drifted across to them and she turned her gaze to the girl being pushed on the swings. Her stomach clenched. /Pathetic mortals. Sickening happiness./ She’d have to snuff that out quickly. It wouldn’t be hard. Children were impressionable. The younger the better. That was the key she had been missing with all the others, the reasons they failed. This one wouldn’t be a failure.

    “My search is finally over,” she drawled, lips curling in a devious grin. “She’s…innocent. Innocence can be broken, twisted. She’s perfect.”


    “It’s Dark One!” she snapped, shooting him a look that could have killed had she added magic. “And you can’t stop me.”


    250 thoughts of darkness and pain #WiP #FtD

  6. “Is this passion?” Julia said.

    I glanced back, my instruments alerting me to something with a persistent beep.

    Julia held a purplish flower. I ran to her but it was too late. She fell in the damp soil and didn’t move.

    “What in seven hells was that? she said some moments later.

    Thank the goddess for my med kit. The antidote I injected brought her back.

    “That’s the third time I’ve had to use this, Jules. Stop picking things that kill you. I don’t think this will work again.

    “But they are so sweet smelling.”

    I examined the specimen. It was somewhat familiar but I couldn’t remember why. When Julia regained her footing we trudged deeper into the forest.

    “Why did the Council exile us to an alien world of deadly flora anyway?” Julia said. I had no answer. It wasn’t punishment, despite Julia’s characterization, but I had to wonder myself.

    Just then a rush of wind caused us to draw our weapons. It was the aliens again. Well, actually we were the aliens and they were the native inhabitants of this planet.

    We woke up in an alien prison. “Why do aliens always react to us with suspicion,” Julia said. She had a point. Our weapons had no effect on them, but I could understand the fear of strangers, and I didn’t like the feeling.

    “But we’re the aliens, Jules. Remember?”

    232 Words of fun sci-fi. My first flash in a long time @cate_derham
    Catherine Derham

  7. I popped the raspberries in my mouth and exclaimed to Brad,” “They are so sweet and taste like the real thing.”
    “I’m also growing artificial strawberries and some vegetables. I only need an initial investment from the banks end of about half-a-million,” Geraldo Bestos stated.
    “This does sound like a big innovation,” I stated, “But without collateral the bank cannot go forward with this.”
    “Do you want to get in the ground floor of revolutionary new product to change the world? People around the world will be able to get their fruits and vegetables and with climate change we won’t have to worry we can still grow these crops.”
    “You’re looking for a half- a million? And this product is safe?”
    “What do I get for this?”
    “A twenty percent share.”
    “Forty eight,” I countered.
    “Okay but we get a partners agreement if one of us dies the other one gets the business.”
    I nod and produced the cash and signed the agreement Gerald produced barely reading it.
    I went happy home, satisfied and gleefully celebrating the fact that I had left the bank out of this. The doorbell rang
    “Artificial fruit and berries! There’s a sucker born every minute,” Gerald laughed and then he shot me.
    As I felt the life draining out of me Gerald picked up my bank book and said,” Sweet your bank account and belongings will keep me for years to come.”
    I had been a money grubbing sucker I thought as I died
    250 words

  8. Gah! This woman is going to drive me to drink. More than I already do. Stepping behind the once frail one-hundred-five-year-old woman with newly dark hair and a wrinkle-free face, I groan when she turns around. Again.

    “Martha, no, you cannot go back! You are dead! It’s time to cross over!”

    Suddenly lithe again, she darts around me, back to the hospital. On one floor, her great-granddaughter gave birth to twins this morning. Two floors up, Martha passed away from pneumonia. The moment she passed, seconds before I arrived to cross her over, she hurried to meet the identical girls, trying to imbue her spirit in one of them. Living forever is highly frowned upon and I managed to stop her before she got too far.

    “They are so sweet!” she coos, one hand reaching for Baby A.

    I am so done. My purple, sparkly scythe sweeps downward and her spirit whips into the waiting arms of her husband. Her brief cry of surprise turns to an angry glare and then joy when he takes her into his arms. I close the door on their reunion and return to the nursery. Yes, the girls are quite adorable and I make sure their hour glasses are strong.

    “Have a good life, little ones. I’m sure your great-great-grandmother will check in from time to time.”

    Walking away, grateful there are no traces of the transfer, I look down at my list. Crossing Martha off, I head out to get my next spirit.

    250 words

  9. Gregory used the glass of water to wash down another Oxycodone, then patiently waited for it to kick in. “Going to be a long night.” He patted his 357, in the shoulder holster under his left arm. “Hope you’re ready, darling.” To be certain, he pulled the thin, flat ammunition case from his coat pocket, and verified it contained two full reloads of ammunition for the 357. Jacketed hollow points, every round.

    “Karma is a bitch, isn’t it?” It was Friday night. The chief of police and his wife were going to watch a movie at the local theater, and then have a seafood dinner at the pier. Just like they did every Friday night. “Arrest my friends because they take this stuff to survive? Yeah. That’s wrong.”

    His friend Evan had committed suicide to stop his pain while he was inside the city jail. Pain that couldn’t be escaped. That was always there. Every breath. Every heartbeat. Pain the Oxycodone helped control. Evan’s doctor refused to refill his prescriptions. “I could get arrested if I give you any more.”

    Evan had found a street vendor of Fentanyl. It was the only option he’d had. The police busted him.

    Then, Gregory’s doctor denied his refill. For two weeks, Gregory wondered what to do. “The chief, and his wife. Aw. They are so sweet. If it wasn’t for him, none of this would have happened.”

    After he shot them, Gregory would blow his head off and escape his pain forever.

    247 Words

  10. Jacob rolled the man’s head between his palms. It was still bleeding from the stump of its neck, the skin hanging loose where it had stretched when his student had pulled it away from the shoulders. She’d done a poor job of separating the vertebrae too; it looked like she’d gnawed it off instead of using the filleting knives provided.

    It was a poor showing and he’d have to penalise her for a lack of professionalism.

    “You’ve already taken the eyes out.” He was disappointed. “They’re one of the delicacies you can score extra marks for. I suppose you’ve made a jus from the reduction. They are so sweet I usually prefer to eat them whole, spooning them out from the orbits using a curette and a speculum.”

    Alice shook her head, her chin low. “I’m afraid not,” she mumbled. “Neither one of them survived extraction. They’d already ruptured before I was able to remove them. They were both tainted with blood and I decided not to use them.”

    “You decided not to use them.” Jacob sighed, deducting another hundred points. Alice’s score was unlikely to remain in credit unless he could find something exceptional, something worthy of a huge bonus.

    “What about the provenance of your ingredients?” He was hopeful. He thought he might have recognised the face. “Is there anything special about the subject you chose?”

    Alice brightened. She could still do well, she believed. “Do you remember that restaurant critic that used to trouble you,” she began…

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  11. “They are so sweet,” Mira cooed as she bent over the makeshift hydroponic tray and reached to pet the furballs.

    “Don’t touch them,” Dexter yelled, slapping her hand away.

    “Ow. What the—? Why not? They want to snuggle,” she snapped at Dexter as she rubbed the red mark on her wrist.

    “They bite.”

    “Don’t be ridiculous,” she leaned toward them again.

    “I have the scars to prove it,” Dexter said as he watched Mira lean closer.

    “Don’t say I didn’t warn you. And don’t expect me to stitch you back together.”

    Mira glanced at him and smiled.

    “They wouldn’t harm me, would you, my precious babies?” As Mira spoke her voice took on the sing-song quality mothers use when they speak to infants.

    “Did the big, bad human hurt my little darlings?”

    Dexter’s stood mouth agape as the furballs nuzzled Mira and made a noise he had never heard before.

    “Yes, tell Mama how he stole you from me,” she said stroking them.

    “Wait, a minute here. I stole nothing. They were being ejected into space with the garbage. I saved them. I’ve done nothing since I found them but try to take care of them and find their mother. They have bitten and scratched me for my trouble. Not to mention the shots and stitches. And now you accuse me of stealing?”

    “Humans are a strange species. Why would you save them when most creatures consider our babies tasty treats?”

    “I guess we’re gluttons for punishment,” Dexter sighed.

    250 Words

  12. Their powers hadn’t come with a manual. The four magical elves, plus Jinx and her cursed cat, crammed into the pink pastel room of Coco—currently Oaklie the Magic Saint—hoping for inspiration. Most were around the low table with the chichi tea set and steaming tea. Vedania, the Magic Archer, would have preferred coffee. Oaklie was attending something atop her dresser. The cat, Blackie, was under her frilly bed.

    “I think,” Bluebelle the Magic Druid sipped her tea thoughtfully, “Since Jinx’s powers are the same as her mother’s, she has the best chance of lifting the curse.”

    Jinx pouted into her own teacup, still mad at it for burning her tongue earlier.

    “I can’t do things on purpose! The powers just happen sometimes.”

    “We can help with that!” Oaklie turned around with a tray of perfectly piled pastries. “By combining our powers, we can do all sorts of things together we can’t do alone.”

    Joining the others, Oaklie encouraged each of her guests to take a treat from the tray.

    “They are so sweet.”

    Vedania waved the tray off, a hint of nausea already in her voice. Jinx took two. Emathyst, the Magic Brawler, shoved her entire sweet bread in her mouth at once. Her eyes rolled back in satisfaction.

    “Sho gud…”

    Jinx relished hers happily as well, though Blackie disdained her spare. Vedania set her teacup down seriously.

    “I think it’s time we crossed over to the other dimension and saw for ourselves where our powers came from.”

    250 Magical Girl AU words

  13. “They are so sweet.”

    Sheila sat on the floor, laughing as the puppies swarmed her. Sharp teeth nipped her hands, drawing blood.

    “Ow! What breed are they?”

    “No clue. Mom showed up here as a stray. Looked like some kind of hound mix, maybe some pit. I put food and water out for her but couldn’t get near her. One day she disappeared and I found the pups under my garden shed. Their eyes weren’t open yet, so I bottle fed them.”

    “And now you’re just giving them away?” The one that had nipped her was now tugging at her pant leg with fierce determination and ferocious growls.

    “I can’t keep all of them. I’m keeping one or two, but…” She shrugged. “Half a dozen little monsters is a bit much.”

    “I’ll think about it.” Sheila stood up and started for the door, but the puppy refused to let go of her pants.

    “I think maybe you’d better take that one with you unless you want those pants turned into a pair of capris.”

    “I think maybe you’re right.” Sheila scooped up the puppy who happily began chewing on her hand instead of her pants.

    A week later, the puppy was back, still licking blood from her teeth and lips as Tricia scratched her ears. One of the other pups was out to a new home. Like Sheila, that owner would disappear, the pup would return, and Tricia would mark another name off her list.

    Hellhounds were loyal souls.

    249 words

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