#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 389

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is the third Thursday of #NaNoWriMo. How’s your word count going? We’ve reached our Seventh year of weekly prompts! This is Week 389 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 389:

Eric Martell

Scientist, Dad, and flash fiction author, Eric Martell.

Facebook | Twitter |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“That would be a sight worth seeing.”

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 389”

  1. Shorts Stuff

    So, we gathered at Jock’s favourite watering hole, The Potted Owl, to plan his wake. Truth be told, he had a parliament of favourite saloons. But there we were, at the old P.O. a half dozen of his friends, ostensibly fashioning a respectful albeit semi-riotous event, but the golden juice was getting the better of us.

    “Don’t know if I can handle two or three hours of Long Tall Sally,” Gil Bleecker mentioned more than once.

    Finally defending Jock last request, I piped in, “Whaddaya gonna do, Gil Man. He loved Little Richard and he ‘specially loved that song.”

    “He loved Sally,” someone tossed in.

    “Old loves, man. They stick with you.”

    Sally had been Jock’s high school sweetheart. Dumped him like a sack of rocks in their final year.

    “Wondering if she’d come?” Bleecker brightened up. “That would be a sight worth seeing. Her! That song! Jock’d would get a laugh outta that.”

    “I don’t think that’ll fly, fellas. Still, I’ll google her. Ya never know.”

    Then Hooper mentioned the pants. “We all gonna wear shorts? I don’t even own a pair.”

    The wake was set for the last Saturday in January. Deep winter. Jock had been one of those weirdos, seems like every town has one or two, who wear shorts year-round. It had been his signature fashion statement.

    His only fashion statement!

    “I’ll loan you a pair, Hoop. In fact, I’ve got Jock’s entire collection. We’ll ALL wear his tiny pants. That’s what friends do.”

    250 words
    @billmelaterplea

    1. second version with a grievous mistake adjusted…

      Shorts Stuff

      So, we gathered at Jock’s favourite watering hole, The Potted Owl, to plan his wake. Truth be told, he had a parliament of favourite saloons. But there we were, at the old P.O. a half dozen of his friends, ostensibly fashioning a respectful albeit semi-riotous event, but the golden juice was getting the better of us.

      “Don’t know if I can handle two or three hours of Long Tall Sally,” Gil Bleecker mentioned more than once.

      Finally defending Jock’s last request, I piped in, “Whaddaya gonna do, Gil Man. He loved Little Richard and he ‘specially loved that song.”

      “He loved Sally,” someone tossed in.

      “Old loves, man. They stick with you.”

      Sally had been Jock’s high school sweetheart. Dumped him like a sack of rocks in their final year.

      “Wondering if she’d come?” Bleecker brightened up. “That would be a sight worth seeing. Her! That song! Jock’d would get a laugh outta that.”

      “I don’t think that’ll fly, fellas. Still, I’ll google her. Ya never know.”

      Then Hooper mentioned the pants. “We all gonna wear shorts? I don’t even own a pair.”

      The wake was set for the last Saturday in January. Deep winter. Jock had been one of those weirdos, seems like every town has one or two, who wear shorts year-round. It had been his signature fashion statement.

      His only fashion statement!

      “I’ll loan you a pair, Hoop. In fact, I’ve got Jock’s entire collection. We’ll ALL wear his tiny pants. That’s what friends do.”

      250 words
      @billmelaterplea

  2. Taye handed Cook a beer and flopped down on the lounge chair next to him, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose.

    “You okay?”

    The psychic lifted his hand, made a weak seesaw motion.

    “Jay’s restless tonight.” Jay. The man hell bent on wrecking their lives. “Where’s your better half?”

    “She’s working on her showcase dance tonight.” Cook popped the top on the beer, not quite chugging the first half.

    Taye hummed softly. “That would be a sight.”

    “Worth seeing if we can grab Nate, John, and Hope and make it over there, then?” Cook never tired of watching Mina dance, and maybe this would settle Taye’s nerves. He felt safest when they were together.

    “Over where?”

    “Campus.”

    “What?” Taye sat up straight. “Mina’s dancing in public?”

    “Just a dress rehearsal.” Cook set the beer down. “Why?”

    “For an audience?” Taye’s frantic gaze seemed to turn inward.

    The balcony suddenly felt far too exposed. Cook rubbed at the back of his neck, ready to dive for the safety of the suite.

    “Taye, ease down, man. You’re projecting.” Turbulent emotions swamped Cook, made it difficult to focus. To reason. “It’s just Mina, Yuri, their grad advisors, and a handful of invitees. Us, for example, if we head out now.”

    “We have to go.”

    The psychic muttered as he headed inside.

    “John’s here—somewhere. Mina and Yuri are on campus. Hope at the hospital. Nate at the station. Too spread out. Too exposed. Hurry, Cook.” Too exposed. “Jay’s hunting tonight.”

    @caramichaels
    250 superhero WIP words

  3. “Well. What did they say?”

    Death shook his head as he paced down the corridor. “They spoke more in riddles.”

    “That’s the Fates for you.” Hades snorted.

    “Perhaps so, but I have to understand those riddles somehow if I am ever going to see Morticia again.”

    “What did they riddle then? Maybe I can help you decipher their twisted tongues.”

    Death paused in the hallway and Hades turned to face him. He looked down at his hands, one still mostly bone with patches of zombie-like flesh. His attempt to acquire a more physical body as the Fates’ first task presented hadn’t gone so as planned. “Have you ever heard of a Land of Sensations?”

    “Land of Sensations?” Hades’ brow furrowed, rubbing his chin. “Can’t say I have. Sounds…crazed though. Like something a madman would make up. Full of delusions and euphoria trips. Maybe even ecstasy. Perhaps I should find this place to take Persephone on a little, cozy, outing.” A deviously charming smile tugged at his lips. “That would be a sight.”

    “Worth seeing?”

    The God of the Underworld shrugged and waved it away. “I don’t get out much anyways. Persephone enjoys her fields of flowers and forests best. For you though it would be worth seeing this land.”

    Death sighed heavily. “If only I knew what it was and where it was and how to get there and-”

    “Whoa, Mortaem, slow down there. One at a time.” He laid a hand on his shoulder. “We will figure it out.”

    ~*~*~*~*~*~

    250 #WiP #Embermyst #NaNoWriMo words
    @DaelynMorgana

  4. Pinky Swear
    Aston promised Melissa that he would marry her if he won the Ultra-marathon. She smirked. It wasn’t like he hadn’t made that promise before. He had—many times.
    She began to count: when he went for Teacher of the Year, then lost Top Basketball Coach, when he got fired from Google.
    “You know that’s 3100 miles.”
    “I know. I’m the one who’s entering it. Training starts next week.”
    “Training? Riiiight. How long’s that gonna take? What about your job? What about work? The world’s not gonna stop turning just because you’ve gone crazy. We’ve still got rent that’s due, mouths to feed, bills to pay. And Cassie needs all the dental work, need I remind you.”
    “No, you don’t need to remind me. You want to get married, don’t you? I mean, it’s been what—like ten years? And here we are, still in this ratty motel room you were working out of when we met. You deserve something better. We both do.”
    “How long do you think it’s gonna take you?”
    “Fifty-two days. If I finish.”
    “Whaddya mean “IF.” What “if”? There is no “if.” If is not an option—no way Jose. You will be finishing. Right? Isn’t that what this is all about? Getting married? Keeping your promise?”
    “Of course it is. I said I’d do it and I will. Pinky swear.”
    He stuck out his little finger. “Let’s do this!”
    A wedding. Her white gown, Aston wearing a tux—that would be a sight worth seeing.
    250 words @rrats1231

  5. Fleur choked back another mouthful. The glass emptied again. I refilled it from the flask and offered it up to her lips.

    “No. Please.” She turned her face away. Her mouth was stained with the residue and there were pools where it had collected at the base of her throat and between her breasts. She must have wasted at least half of the contents of the glass. It was an inefficient way of getting the essence inside her, but I’d had to improvise. There was no other way I could do this without the proper equipment.

    “Now, come on. You know you need to do this. Another three glasses and you can rest for a while.” There was less than a third of the distillate remaining, and I was hoping the effects would begin to manifest soon. Once the concentration levels within her bloodstream passed a critical value the nanobots would surge through her unimpeded, eradicating every trace of the original twin. She would appear to lose consciousness for a while, while her memory RNA was being rewritten. Then she would wake up again in a day or two, unaware that three years had passed since her death. The other twin would be forfeit, of course, but when Phyllida recovered, she’d be exactly as she’d been before. I could recover her clothes from storage and dress her in exactly the way I used to prefer her when we took our pleasure.

    Now, that would be a sight worth seeing.

    249 drops of personality ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  6. Machines whooshed and the odor of disinfectants overlay that of old illness and death. He hated hospitals. Hated the sounds and the scents, the air of misery and mourning that clogged the hallways. Settled in the chair, he waited. He had questions needing answers, the main being whether or not his best friend was gonna survive. Pops’s chest rose and fell in measured syncopation with the beep of the heart monitor.

    “Jack.”

    He sucked in his first real breath since entering this room. “Pops.”

    “You’re a sight for sore eyes but a damn sight uglier than my last visitor.”

    Jack pushed the brim of his Stetson up, lips twitching enough that his mustache danced. “I’ll admit I been rode hard and put up wet cuz I ain’t slept since you got yourself shot, but I’ve been told I’m a right handsome cuss. What’s prettier than me?”

    Pops rolled his eyes. “A pretty woman with black hair and brown eyes the color of burnt sugar. A pretty woman with skin so smooth it feels like satin beneath a man’s fingertips. A pretty woman with relief on her face and tears in those sweet eyes. A pretty woman who loves an ol’ coot like me.”

    Jack chuckled and lightly squeezed his old friend’s hand. “Damn. Now that would be a sight worth seeing.”

    “Been in the other side of this rail, Jack, watching Rosie slip away. Havin’ Elena here? Gives a man something to live for.”

    “Amen, brother. Amen.”
    ****
    247 #NaNoWriMo #WIP words
    @SilverJames_

  7. Stories

    I can’t help thinking about the stories I’d heard about him when he was a young man. Some of them are easy to believe: the one where he managed to sweet-talk a no-nonsense, by the book operator to work around the rules, I can completely believe.

    I can also believe he held the record for the most fires during national fire prevention week. But that he was able to take a perfectly good lab and make it so that the ceiling could be blown up by exploding gasses and then land back in place as if it was designed to do exactly that?

    Now that would be a sight worth seeing.

    Too bad the lab is top secret and all that escapes are stories… and a few random gasses.

    @mishmhem
    129 words, not including title

  8. Manhattanhenge, by Terry Brewer, @stories2121, 243 words

    Have you noticed that when New Yorkers speak to one another they talk really fast but if they speak to someone from outside the Metropolitan Area it’s like they’re speaking to two-year-olds? I asked myself this as I sat in my cousin Jerry’s living room as he explained that the “1 Train”—that’s what they call it—is the Broadway Local and the 2 and 3s are the Express. Oblivious to the fact that I grew up outside Chicago and took the El all the time and spent a year riding London’s Underground.

    His apartment is on West 85th Street. I was in town before heading back to London. It was mid-June and he was suggesting things we could do. Empire State Building. Ground Zero. Brooklyn Bridge. I come from Chicago. I’ve seen big buildings. And other “city things.” So I vetoed everything. Frankly, I just wanted to go for a walk in the Park and have a couple of nice dinners with him.

    This didn’t, he insisted, “do my City justice.” Apparently I offended him with my pedestrian interest.

    Suddenly he ran to his computer and Googled something.

    “Wait. Tonight is Manhattanhenge.”

    “Manhattan what?”

    “‘Henge.’ Happens a few times a year. The sun sets so that you can be on the east side and watch it go down perfectly between the buildings on, say Forty-Second Street. What do you say?”

    “That would be a sight worth seeing.”

    And damn if it wasn’t.

  9. I should get something to eat. Or maybe go to bed? What time is it? I’ll just finish this section.

    Geez, get out of the library already! Eat, sleep, be social; anything but more study!

    Maybe I will ask Ernest out on a date.

    He already asked you, stupid.

    Then maybe I will say yes.

    That would be a sight worth seeing.

    I can’t believe I called myself stupid. I’m probably the smartest person on campus.

    “Mary Metis?” One of my peers interrupted my thoughts.

    “Yes?” I should probably know her name.

    “I’m so sorry; there’s been an accident…”

    “Ernest?”

    100 D&D character words
    @DavidALudwig

  10. The funeral began promptly at 2 p.m., people stood up and said glowing tributes which made me laugh and smile instead of cry.. My wife accepted all the condolences with grit and composure that no one would have expected of her; but she loved me and she wanted those who mourned me to have comfort before her own.
    I couldn’t stand in anymore and I stood up from the back of the funeral home room.
    “You bastard!! You’re not dead!!”Yelled a number of people.
    “You should be dead!!”yelled my sister.
    ““That would be a sight worth seeing,” my grieving wife stated.
    “I can explain,” I offered.
    “Let’s hear it,” my twenty-one year old son insisted.
    “I’m dying I have about six months but I wanted to see if anyone would care if I was gone.”
    “You jerk! We’re you just going to take yourself off somewhere for the next six months while we grieved? ”asked my son.
    “I hadn’t thought that far,” I admitted.
    “We’re going home we’ll have the wake today everyone is invited back to our house for a party that is if you can forgive my husband,” my wife stated.
    We had a rip roaring party that rocked the neighbourhood. Then the doctor called the next day it seems he got the results mixed up with another patient and he claimed I could leave for another fifty years. My wife says not if she can help it. she still hasn’t forgiven me but I’m working on it.
    250 words
    @SweetSheil

  11. Sipping my coffee, I glance at my brother. He cups his drink.

    “Let me get this straight. You get promoted to the assistant to Death and sell the funeral home, because duh, that’s the right thing to do.” He nods. “Okay. So now you’re telling me you’re in love.”

    “Yes.”

    “With Death Iceland, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. I mean, she’s White Queen from Narnia level.”

    His phone swivels on its pop socket and I see she’s his screen saver now. The time is laid out over her eyes, which match the ocean. Her white hair, the white robes set with snowflakes; she takes this Iceland thing a little too literally.

    “Yes, that’s who I’m in love with. And I want you to meet her.”

    “You. In love. That would be a sight worth seeing. So you’re together?”

    The sun ducks behind a cloud and someone comes by to collect our empty plates and cups. She brings me a refill and when she’s gone, I swivel the phone back toward him.

    “Yes, we’re together. Will you meet her?”

    “I’m pretty sure the last time I saw her, she was trying to kill me.”

    His eyes roll but he smiles. “Fair enough. But the war is over.”

    Well, she probably deserves a second chance. Finally I nod, and Brandon relaxes. Besides, how will he explain her to our folks if this goes anywhere? He’s never been to Iceland. And people from Iceland don’t randomly visit tiny towns in Iowa.

    @Aightball
    250 words

  12. #ThursThreads Week 389 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you in two weeks. Next week is Thanksgiving so there will be NO #THURSTHREADS.

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