Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’ve reached our Seventh year of weekly prompts! This is Week 385 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 385:
Renaissance Woman, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
“We need to do something about this.”
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!
19 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 385”
A Cheating Wife, by Terry Brewer, @stories2121, 237 Words
You’d think that after three decades it wouldn’t matter. Life goes on as it has gone on. It’s a good life. Kids gone and time to savor the moment-to-moment joy of love and a good marriage. Simple as that.
Then she pulls one of her stunts. This time it was really unfair. A normal Monday night. We’d had a nice dinner and while she was checking in on our daughter and the new baby, I sat in my favorite chair in the living room reading. One of the crime novels I use to relax. My indulgence is a brandy. That and the ottoman and a few chocolates.
I was nice and comfortable, and my mind was trying to figure out whose the second body was when I heard a throat clearing. Removing my reading glasses, I turned to the entrance. She was leaning, let me say “provocatively,” against the entrance. Nothing but a black bra, black panties, and black heels. And a strand of white pearls draped around her long neck.
I couldn’t move. I mean I literally could not move as she sidled toward me, hips moving impossibly. I dropped the glasses and when she reached me she took the book from me, flinging it over her shoulder to I-did-not-care. Her eyes and her smile lowered slowly down from my face. Then they stopped. Without looking up, she announced, “We need to do something about this.”
“We need to do something about this.”
“No, we don’t.”
“So, you’re satisfied with the way things are?”
‘But not totally?”
“There you go again. Nothings ever perfect. Life could be a whole lot better. You’re like the chicken who always has to cross the street to find the egg.”
“Hold your barnyard references. The egg and the chicken are on the same side of the street.”
“Chickens like to wander. Eggs, not so much.”
“We need to work on your metaphors.”
“My metaphors are just fine. But this propensity of yours to quibble…that’s what we need to work on.”
“QUIBBLE? Ha! Who makes apologies for Trump? YOU. I just don’t get it.”
“What’s to get? He’s doing the best he can. Everyone’s tearing him down, expecting him to actually know how to be a President. It’s not easy being him. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Sent off to military school as a baby.”
“I think he was a bit older than that.”
“Well, you get what I mean. Where was the love? I bet if we showed him that he was a lovely human being, that he would start acting just a smidge more human.”
“Dream on. Say, what’s that?”
“It’s Pence. He needs to go out. It’s your turn.”
“Ah, I’m all snug.”
“So am I and it’s your turn.”
“Oh, fudge. Okay. Back in a bit.”
“Don’t wake me.”
“Okay. Nighty night.”
I waved to get Attila’s attention and signed, “We may have a problem.”
I pulled the bandana out of my pocket and unwrapped it carefully, making sure to keep the little camera’s lens facing the folds of cloth. “Someone has been watching and listening.”
Attila scowled at my hand and signed back at me, “Could you see or smell who?”
I shrugged. “Smaller person, maybe a buck fifty or a buck sixty-five, moved quick and furtive, but with confidence. You want me to take the gizmos to Neo or do you want to?”
“Och, we’re nearly done here, but I still have to get this shite loaded and packed up. We need to do something about this, but I havenae the time right now.” He eyed me narrowly. “Do ye have a wee date or somethin’?”
I definitely wanted to get back to Rochelle’s warm arms, but this was a priority and Loki would find ways of making my life miserable if I didn’t bring this to Neo. Plus, the last thing I wanted was for Loki to focus on Rochelle. He had a way of making people’s lives difficult for his own entertainment.
I shook my head. “No date, just wondered if you were headed back there directly. I promised Grub I’d pick up some eggnog on my way back.” I’d promised no such thing, but it seemed like a good distraction to keep Attila off the scent of my love life.
243 ineligible #ConcreteAngelsMC words
“I’m sorry – he’s doing what?” I really hope I just misheard her, but I know it’s too much to ask.
“Recruiting psychics, stealing them, whatever he has to do.” Elle crosses her arms, leaning back against the wall with a sigh. “There’s more of you than you realize. And more keep cropping up thanks to everything that’s happened.”
“Tomas…” Claire’s hands shake. The kid has been missing since before I met her, but he’d been showing the early stages of psychic development. Beside her, the table starts trembling on its own.
“Do not tell me to calm down.” She glares at me. “We need to do something about this. Why are we just standing around talking about it?”
“Because we need a plan. You’ll be no good to your brother if we move against Adwin without thinking it through. He’s too smart for that.” It’s one thing to tell Claire to calm down, and a whole other thing to follow my own advice. Claire might not see it, but it’s clear Elle senses my increased frustration. The fear of my own twin that I can’t quite keep at bay.
Claire leaves in a huff, refusing to sit still. I don’t follow, looking instead to Elle.
“She just needs some space.” The angel pushes off the wall before turning to follow after her. “But don’t worry, I won’t let her get far.”
“Thanks.” I watch her go, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to figure out what to do.
250 Withered Legacy words
We need to do something about this.
I know. If this goes on much longer, I doubt he’ll ever be able to – you know – again…
Don’t even think that. If he stops for good he’ll just lose the will to go on…with anything.
Then we need to do something.
He’s tried almost everything, walks, music, reading. God, look how he just sits there. A blink, blink, a sigh.
I caught him crying the other night.
No you didn’t!
Yeah, in bed, alone, staring, like he was expecting someone to come to him from out of the ceiling. Or past. You know how he likes the room totally dark and cool.
So how do you know he was crying?
Heard him. Like a stage whisper. Said her name and then…well, a sobbing sound. Like he couldn’t catch his breath.
No kidding! Maybe we should suggest he reach out to her. And yeah, we both know she’ll eventually make him more damn paralyzed with misery than he is now. Humming away in his chair one minute and then…
I know. But he can’t go on like this. I’m afraid he might just…you know, POOF, gone. And what about us?
Okay, you go to his right and I’ll go left.
Wait. Listen. The laptop. Is he writing her? Think she’ll answer? I mean kindly? What’s he say?
Let me check. Oh… Well at least he’s trying.
Okay, but what’s he written?
It says, “We need to do something about this.”
250 hopeful words.
Thanks for just making me stir my writing parts and keeping them moving Siobhan and Silver. ❤️?
For good or ill, at least they’re moving.
The horses didn’t need direction from the driver; they knew exactly where to go. As the four stallions hauled the hearse through the streets, people lining the thoroughfares threw flowers at the procession, a sea of petals strewn on the roads.
“We need to do something about this,” whispered Declan to his son.
“Not much we can do, Paps.”
A woman alongside them choked back sobs.
They followed the cortege to the cemetery. From a distance – after some minutes – they watched Father Cassidy’s coffin being lowered into the grave. Father Cassidy
-had put Declan’s daughter to work in the laundry for a year against the family’s wishes
-had forced Declan’s same daughter to give up her baby born outside of wedlock
-had officiated at her funeral when she had taken her own life two months ago
This same priest had called for Declan’s wife to stop working thirty years earlier, insisting that a woman’s place was in the home, leaving the growing family in penury. The bane of Declan’s existence since his childhood was dead now.
The crowd eventually dispersed. A mist fell over the graveyard. Declan and his son walked up to the open, now-abandoned, forlorn-looking grave.
They spat into it. The projectiles of saliva struck the mahogany lid with satisfying thumps.
“Fuck you, Father Cassidy,” Declan said. He started to cry, then bawl. His son put an arm around him.
A gravedigger came into view with a shovel, declaring:
“Ah, sure he’ll be sorely missed!”
Taye grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out to the balcony as soon as Hope left the room. He closed the sliding glass door behind us.
“We need to do something about this.” He paced the length of the balcony, teeth worrying the tip of his thumb. “You know what she thinks, don’t you? Whenever you—”
“Whenever I…?” I frowned as he trailed off. What had I done? Was Hope upset with me?
“Whenever you…” He waved his hands in a sort of controlled chaos. “…with me.”
“I… with you.” I was pretty sure I caught his meaning, but… No way. “Comfort you? Display affection towards you? Imagine bending you over the couch and—”
“Nathan!” Taye turned beet red.
“She knows I’m attracted to you, Taye.” I rolled my eyes at the obvious statement. “Pretty sure Mars knows I’m attracted to you.”
And unless I was totally misreading Hope, she found Taye equally attractive. Hope and I got along like a house on fire. Taye and I shared an unnerving chemistry. So that left… Taye and Hope?
“Oh, shit. You don’t like Hope?”
“What?” Taye blinked at me. “I—no, I do. I mean, you’ve met her right? She’s amazing.”
“Exactly.” I grinned. “So what’s the problem?”
“You still want Hope?”
“As much as I want to keep breathing.”
“Ah, shit.” Taye’s shoulders slumped. “She thinks you’ve moved on, Nate.”
My heart jumped a beat.
“Moved on… with you?”
“More importantly,” Taye said, “without her.”
249 superhero WIP words
‘Delores’ stepped away then looked at me appraisingly. “Tell me who it was showed you how to do your face,” she said, scrunching her own up into a knot. “Whoever it was didn’t do you no favours.”
Her male friend nodded and produced a metal case. It was the size of a shoe box. “It’s like they knew nothing about making up a person to look their best. Unless it was someone who worked with dead bodies. ‘Last time I saw someone like this, they were lying at rest in an open casket. We need to do something about this. It’s a crime not to.”
I choked on my grief and said nothing. I couldn’t explain. How could I? It wasn’t as though I had any friends I could have asked. There was no-one at work who even suspected how I felt about the person I presented to them while I was there. I’d always gravitated into friendships with the women in the office, secretly admiring how they dressed and making note of the colours they wore. I’d bought the clothes I wanted to wear online, of course, knowing there was no way I could shop locally and try on what I wanted to wear in the town, there being too many people who might see me and report back to my family. It was still my secret and it was well worth my travelling into the next county so I could become the woman I felt I truly was.
250 true self words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com
The black iron caldron exploded when Jared tossed saltpeter onto the roiling ingredients. The piercing light gouged my eye sockets, the concussion split my eardrums, and my heart stopped beating. I felt myself falling.
I don’t know if I lost consciousness, but when I opened my eyes everything was dark. Every bone in my body ached, and they creaked and clattered as I struggled to sit. My head spun, thoughts swirled, the wind whistled in my ears, evoking the weird sensation of being in a deep murky carven. It overwhelmed me.
“Jared?” My voice croaked. It barely sounded like me.
“Dude.” Jared sang the word, which calmed me, and creeped me out at the same time.
“What was that?”
“I didn’t think it would work,” his laughter teetered on the verge of hysteria, and I began to tremble.
“I’m just happy we’re still alive.”
“Technically, I am not sure we are. We are skeletons, man.”
I turned my hands in front of my face and wiggled my fingers. The disembodied bones waved at me.
“Jared, what the hell did you do to us?”
“We need to do something about this.”
“We Kemosabe? What’s this ‘we’ shit? You’re the one who created this insane mess, and you’ve got to fix it. Now. I have no intention of spending the rest of my life as a skeleton.”
“Aw, come on. These are killer costumes. I bet we get tons of candy.”
“If we don’t scare everyone.”
“It’s Halloween. Isn’t that the point?”
250 October Words
“That house is decrepit and is bringing down our property values; we need to do something about this, Caroline.”
“I’ve complained to the city, but nothing has happened,” I explained to my neighbour Jack.
“Now we’ll have to put up with those teenagers daring each other to enter the house over the next week until Hallowe’en.”
“What do you suggest we do?”
“No one would miss it and then the eyesore would be gone,” Jack exclaimed.
“I want no part of this.”
Jack insisted he was only kidding; but less than a week later I heard the fire trucks and saw the house had burnt to the ground. The Fire Marshall was there and insisted that there were dead bodies in the rubble.
I couldn’t believe it had Jack burnt the house and killed someone? I knocked on Jack’s door but he didn’t answer obviously he had fled knowing what he had done.
A week later I read the local paper’s headlines that declared that Jack must have died trying to save the teens who had been trapped in the old house. The coroner declared that the teens had set the fire by accident but I knew that Jack had wanted that eyesore gone.
I read this article on Hallowe’en night and as I glanced out the window the house appeared before my stunned eyes and in the window I saw Jack looking terrified and trapped forever, two teen boys standing menacingly beside him.
I stared down at the plain gold key nestled in the palm of his hand. Around us, the holiday music blared while the screams of children echoed across the ice. I never in a million years expected for a man of his position to go down on one knee in a crowded ice rink, surrounded by his employees and their families.
Especially at the annual Christmas party.
“Why are you so shocked, Yvette?” He continued to crouch in front of me.
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. I was stunned. True, I was more than just Mica’s assistant. I was his friend, his confidant, and for the past year his lover.
He chuckled at my silence. “While I’m tickled, I finally found a way to shut you up, sweetheart, have mercy on an old man…”
“You’re not old!” I protested, my cheeks flaming as several people stopped to stare. “Get up!” I tugged at his shoulder.
“Not until you give me an answer.” He refused to budge.
“Mica!” I hissed as a crowd gathered around us.
He merely arched a brow – the stubborn ass.
“Just accept it!” Jon, one of our night foremen, hollered out
“Yeah, put the boss man out of his misery!” Another yelled. Soon the rink filled with shouts of encouragement.
“We need to do something about this – before it gets out of hand…”
“Then say yes – that you’ll move in with me.” He winked at me.
My heart melted. “Yes.”
“If we’re going to win this war,” Amin sloshed his wine goblet indicating the dim crowded terrace bar around them. “We need to do something about this.”
Rashid nodded heartily while howling for the serving wench to bring yet another goblet. The two captains were easily the tallest and broadest figures in the diverse crowd, and the only ones over ten feet of height in uniform. Even reclined on floor cushions the orc serving wench didn’t reach their armored shoulders.
“We’ve been entirely too lenient with the lesser races,” Amin continued. “That’s why they think they can fight us. Orcs should never be anything more than slaves. Humans? Maybe they could make pets if something could be done about their difficult personalities.”
“Please, my lords, could you spare some food?”
It took the giants a moment to find the small source of the smaller voice; a dirty human boy no bigger than one of Rashid’s shins. Rashid lifted the boy with one hand.
“Want to see how far I can throw him?”
“I would prefer you set him down, go home and sleep off your wine. Captains.”
The human woman addressing the giants was twice the boy’s height and wore the same uniform as the giants, sans the armor and wine stains.
Amin sneered at her insignia. “Watch your tongue, human! Commanding a local supply ship does not make you our equal.”
Jasna’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “It could, if the admiral reassigns you after hearing about unbecoming conduct in uniform.”
250 Cat’s The Pajamas words
“We need to do something about this,” Aphrodite screamed. “The fires of my temples have gone dark. No one worships me anymore. They admire that golden emperor who epitomizes lawlessness. I should bring a plague down on all of them.”
Psyche and Eros, who had once endured Aphrodite’s horrendous jealousy, knew they must act.
They joined hands and flew to earth. Eventually, they found the great ruler, inspiring the plebeians. Did this old man really have the power to change the world?
Psyche sighed, “How we do to create a love of Aphrodite in this ruler who has no soul and no love for any but himself?
Eros’s heart leaped. “I have it. My love, do you remember the box you brought back from Hades?”
“Yes, it has a drop of the beauty elixir I gave to Aphrodite.”
“My mother must give it to this ruler. As he opens it, I will shoot him with my arrow. He will not be able to resist her!”
Aphrodite heard their plan and was stunned.
Finally, she spoke, “Why would I desire this old ruler love me? He is mortal.”
“He could fill your coffers again and decree that all must worship you.”
“I would rather be forgotten!”
Aphrodite nudged Eros, “What if Aphrodite gives it to his enemy? She then gives it to the ruler; you shoot him. He will love his enemy, and she will praise Aphrodite.”
“No, she will be just like him. I’d rather send a plague!”
The Forest for the Trees
Rudy tensed as Sam pulled the SUV to a stop. He hadn’t thought it possible but the blizzard was getting worse.
“We should have stayed back at the station,” he said as he looked around shaking his head.
Sam gave him a knowing smile. “Rudy, this is Anna we’re talking about. A girl you’ve known and loved since high school. She hit her panic button, and didn’t respond to central. You can complain all you want, but I know you— you’d have walked here if we hadn’t driven.”
“But we could be right on top of her location and we’d never know.”
Sam nodded slowly. “Preachin’ to the choir, Deputy Ranson.”
He watched as she put the vehicle into park and started bundling up.
“What are you doing?”
“We need to do something about this,” she said gesturing towards the snow.
“Unless you can get the storm to stop…”
“I have other plans in mind,” she answered gesturing towards the door.
“Rudy, do you trust me?”
He paused, holding back his snarky response, and finally answering, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
She smiled. “Okay. I’m going to go out, get my bearings, scout around. If I don’t find anything, we can move further up and repeat.”
“I have more experience,” he objected.
Sam laughed. “Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”
He paused then gestured towards the door.
Sam nodded. Thankful he didn’t follow. Bearings were easier to get when she was in her natural form.
249 words (not including title)
In the movies, many things make noise that are quiet otherwise. And so it seems to be on the Dark Plane. The silver shimmering sliver of light is bright but silent and I turn to my friend and boss Adrianna.
“What is it?” I ask, blinking away the orange floaters in my eyes. “Besides bright.”
Adrianna shrugs, blinking as well. “No clue. Maybe it’s an anomaly?”
“This isn’t Star Trek,” I say, rolling my eyes. “We need to do something about this before someone sees it.”
Adrianna turns to me, shrugging. “Like what? Say ‘bibbity bobbity boo’ and wave it away?”
“If it helps. What if it’s a demon coming through?”
We both laugh, until the thing expands, and something starts coming through.
“All right, Cinderella, give it a go!” I say, stepping back.
Adrianna side-eyes me but waves her hands, mumbling in Latin. Darned if the portal-thing doesn’t close on a startled squeak.
“Well. Guess we’d better report that to the higher ups.”
She turns to me, eyes wide. “I *am* the higher ups! What do I do?!”
We re-enter the Dark Plane and I shrug. “Call Ghostbusters?”
I deserve that punch to the arm.
-A Deal With Karma-
Hubert Mazur had balls the size of cantaloupes. That was the rumor. Must have been mostly true because he walked into Karma’s path and held his ground. Nobody did that and lived. No human, anyway. But a dozen heartbeats later, there he was, living and breathing.
And then the fucker had the balls to talk to her. “We do this, you get everything but my soul.”
“Screw your soul. I just want what’s on the other side of that zipper.”
His fists balled up like ripe pomegranates, red and ready to bleed. “And you don’t ever lay a hand on Miko.”
She slid off the barstool. “Course I’m going to touch him. Can’t sire him from across the room. But I‘ll make you a promise he won’t like it. He won’t want more. He won’t get addicted.”
“Fucking right he won’t. I don’t give a shit about the sire bond. Nothing’s tougher than the bond between brothers. I could give a fuck about clans or species. Only reason I’m doing this is to salvage Miko.”
She traced his jaw with a crimson nail. “And here I thought you were going to give me an impassioned speech. Something like: ‘we need to do something about this inter-species clash’.”
“Fuck that. I’ll let you split me like rotten fruit and suck the juices from my bones as often as you want so long as my brother lives. And here’s my promise to you: his last breath is yours.”
@everaddams / 249 Corpse Controller words
#ThursThreads Week 385 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week for the Halloween Spectacular.