#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 393

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Boxing Day and a Thursday so that means it’s time to start flashing (and eating leftovers). We’re half way through our eighth year of weekly prompts! This is Week 393 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 393:

Cat afficionado, Editor, and Mid Week Flash host, Miranda Kate.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Trust me, Boss.”

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!

13 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 393”

  1. Lester needed a break. And the Kid needed a stakehorse. A match made in heaven.

    Lester got in too deep with some guys from Jersey, the kind who don’t like to hear that you don’t have what you’re supposed to, even though it’s Friday and that’s the day they stop by to collect. They can’t collect a light envelope anymore. He’s already in a cast. Next one puts him in a pine box or his wife in traction.

    The Kid had a seat in a high-stakes Hold ‘Em game and Lester borrowed heavy for the buy-in. He was one hand away from having it all: the vig, the principal, and no more Friday visits.

    The Kid looked confident. He didn’t sweat. Lester sweats constantly, which is why the Kid was playing and not Lester. Les knew his limitations.

    “All in.” A large and serious man pushed his stack to the center.

    The Kid nodded, “Call.”

    Lester grabbed him by the collar, nearly pulling him over in his chair.

    “Are you sure?” Lester hissed.

    “Trust me, Boss.” The Kid winked. He turned back as the player threw down his cards. Flush to the Ace.

    The Kid grinned and threw down his cards. “Flush to the King, take it.”

    The color drained from Lester’s face. He was a dead man.

    “Kid, you said…you said you had him.”

    He cocked his head. “Sorry, Les. What can I say? I gotta jet.” He snatched his coat and bounded out the door.

    247 Words

  2. The unmistakable rumble of an explosion rocked the building. Bear swore repeatedly as he sat up. He tugged the IV needle from his arm, swinging his legs over the side of the bed as Jamie and Danny barreled into his room. Dust covered the wild-eyed pair, almost obscuring the streaks of blood from half a dozen scrapes.

    “You guys okay?” Bear did his best to check them over from his current position. “The fuck just happened?”

    “The clan found out we’re here.” Jamie dragged a hand through his hair, not necessarily improving his appearance.

    “So they bombed a hospital?” Bear slid off the bed, barely able to put any weight on his left ankle.

    “No one’s ever accused my father’s moral compass of working.” Jamie gave Bear his back, tapping his shoulder. “I’m gonna get us out of this.”

    He hunched down so Bear could more or less lean onto his back. He hooked his hands behind Bear’s knees and lifted, Danny’s bracing hand holding Bear steady. Bear slung his arms around Jamie’s broad shoulders and grabbed on tight, the now blaring fire alarm making his head swim.

    “Just hang on and trust me.”

    “Boss, I trust you with my life on the regular. That ain’t changing just because one op goes sideway.”

    “This is pretty fucking sideways, man.”

    Shouts and screams drifted down the dust-clouded hallways.

    “More sideways by the minute,” Bear agreed.

    “Less talking,” Danny urged them away from the commotion. “More getting the hell out of here.”

    250 WIP words

  3. Re-tale Requiem

    Some will have amassed at midnight. Even earlier. One after another. Separate but the same. They are like that. Shadows of one another. All mad eyed, compelled to burn the midnight oil, pacing in their respective hovels, scrimping their coins, each howling at the moon in the desolate darkness of his or her tattered soul.

    There are millions of them.

    More produced everyday.

    All lost in the labyrinth of their threadbare imagination.

    On this Boxing Day, they come as they always do, seeking a dram of inspiration, a spark of creativity.

    I pass them by, slip down the dark alley, unlock the side door and enter, pull the cord.

    The bare bulb flickers. The room is cold. The night air seeps in from the alley.

    I place my sandwich and apple in the icebox, run the tap, fill the kettle, set it on the hotplate.

    “Good morning, Hobbes,” he says as he enters.

    “Good morning, Boss.”

    “Ah, good. Tea will hit the spot. It was a chilly night. Are we ready, Hobbes?”

    “Yes sir, we are. Trust me, Boss, today will be a busy day. I can feel it in my bones.”

    He nods. He can feel the warming glow of profit. I feel it as well. We both feed off their emptiness.

    Steaming teacups in hand, we enter the store.

    He flicks the light switch.

    Before us, rows of our precious merchandise.

    Plots. Themes.

    A distillation of all the great books.

    Everything a barren writer could desire.

    250 words

  4. Elroy lifted his eyes to the ceiling and summoned his Inner Resolve.
    Trust me Boss, no more drinking for me. I have been sober since 1990. So what if I went to the liquor store tonight? It’s not like I haven’t slipped in the past, but it’s been how many years now? And my slips have been minor. It’s only happened five times, and I was very careful each time. I didn’t go out, just stayed home alone. And I’m good with that. AA thinks I’m rationalizing when I tell them I’m okay with my imperfections, but I don’t agree. None of my grandkids have ever seen me drunk, or even drinking. I say that in all honesty. Trust me Boss, I’ll never miss work again. I won’t even be late.
    That other booze I bought last night, and the stuff from the night before? I’m gonna march right into the kitchen and pour it down the drain. Along with all the other bottles I have stashed around the house. Every. Single. One.
    You have no idea how much my sponsor has helped me in the last twenty years. Her and the Big Book. Trust me, Boss.
    I’m calling her right now. I am. Just gonna take one last sip.
    Trust me, Boss.
    Word count: 213

  5. Arkwright looked up at me, the stogie in his mouth emitting a pungent aroma. “You know you can trust me, Boss,” he said, “We’ve got history. We go way back. Remember Uncle Joe? How he used to act the big ‘I am’? If it wasn’t for me, you’d still be running drugs for him. Taking on all the risks while he sat comfortable with fancy maids, drinking tea and smoking French cigarettes.” He spat then, a fragment of the cigar’s unburned wrapper plastering itself against the toe of my boot. There was a runnel of drool rolling down from his lip. If he hadn’t been smoking, he would have found another way to express his opinion. It could have been a punch to the kidney or a kick in the shins. There was always an accident he could pass off as horseplay if I questioned it.

    “What about Lewis? He was always there too.” I nodded toward my other lieutenant, the one with the trick eye that never looked forward. He was taller than Arkwright, with a face no-one would love. He hadn’t the smarts of his colleague, but he was tough; virtually indestructible and easily guided. They made a classic pair together; one doing the work while the other one watched, with me giving the orders from above. It would be better for me if they distrusted one another, preventing each one of them from raising their ambitions too high. “Didn’t he use to be Joe’s favourite back then?”

    250 pieces of silver ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  6. The sun beat down on our heads as we trekked, sand sifting into our nostrils and into our very pores.
    “If I never see a grain of sand again I would be happy,” I commented.
    “I’m only following your advice,” Harold complained.
    Harold handed me the body wrapped in the tarp and then took the compass.
    “The cave is this way.”
    I followed behind as he easily hefted the dead body over his shoulder. Spotting the cave ahead I said, “Go on ahead I have to tie my shoes.”

    No sooner than Harold stepped in there was an explosion and a cave-in.

    I must have looked devastated because George stepping out of the shadows said, “Trust me, Boss you did have to do that.”
    “I’m glad you handled that Hamid.”
    “I’m your right hand man, Boss.”
    “Are you?” I asked as I shot him between the eyes.
    Brian stepped out of the boulders and said, “No one will turn on you now. They know they can’t or their life isn’t worth a plugged nickel. “
    I just smiled and shot him too. The helicopter landed a few minutes later and my two right-handed men made sure all the bodies couldn’t be identified or tied to me. I’m a spy searching for traitors to our country they think I’m a thug who somehow became a Boss but not thee Boss! I’m still searching for him and when I find him he’ll be added to the body count. God forgive me.
    249 words

  7. The guy danced from foot to foot in front of my desk. He reminded me of a big, goofy puppy. Eager to please, excited whenever someone paid attention, and brains made of goat cheese. At least puppies eventually got house trained. Luigi? I had my doubts. I dropped my chin in resignation, eyes closed, refusing to rub the spot on my forehead where the ache bloomed. “Not happening.”

    “Aww, Boss. That’s not fair. I didn’t mean to screw up last time.”

    “We’re still fixing that fuck up, Luigi.”

    “This is different, Vince. Promise.”

    How was this guy my cousin? My headache expanded to stab at both temples.

    “In and out, Boss. Nobody the wiser.”


    “She’ll never see me comin’. I’ll be like a…a…a little mouse. Or a fly on the wall.”

    I’m sure my expression mirrored my skepticism because he looked hurt. For a man who was all brawn, he was particularly thin-skinned. Luigi stood six-six and tipped the scales at over 300 pounds. Stealth was not his middle name. Holding up walls while looking intimidating? Hell, yeah. He opened his mouth about to beg. I cut him off.


    “Trust me, Boss. I got this.”

    I hoped on my mother’s sainted memory that those were not famous last words. All I wanted was to send my new woman her favorite flowers. With Luigi on the job, it might turn into the St. Valentine’s Day Massacre all over again. All I could do now was wait.
    250 Moonstruck Mafia words for a future #WIP

  8. Ambrose didn’t appreciate Bailey’s sarcasm, especially after he’d saved them both from the manticore. And why in Epona’s name was she even out here? She’d said something about convincing him to come in, but as far as he knew, he wasn’t AWOL. Just on leave.

    Or he had been before he had to bolt for safety. Logically he couldn’t blame Bailey for the manticore’s appearance, but he didn’t need her disdain. He ignored her comments as he took a look around. The hills rose around them in hunter green lushness with the scents and sounds of a forest to back up their color. He hadn’t been this far afield in a long time, but he remembered there being an old fortress up there somewhere.

    “I wouldn’t go that far.” He scanned the trees. He suspected the fortress to be well guarded. “There are more things out here than just manticores.”

    “Oh, trust me, Boss-man, I’m pretty sure the creatures out here are far beyond my experience.” Bailey shook her head as she checked over her gear and slid her weapon away with practiced ease. “But not beyond my capability.”

    He snorted but didn’t bother to argue, even if she hadn’t met a chimera yet.

    204 ineligible #WIP365 words

  9. Trust Me, Boss!

    As the first female member of the bomb-squad, Liza was often the object of attention.
    Initially, when she seemed lost in wires, onlookers remarked, “Women are not wired for this!”
    But, Liza never gave up.

    The squad’s young leader seemed to understand her perfectly.
    He knew what drove Liza.
    Her husband was one of the innocent victims of a bomb-blast.
    His father too had been killed…

    A complex time-bomb was ticking.
    Liza took the initiative.

    “Are you sure?” her leader asked taking her hand in his.
    “Trust me, Boss.”

    “Yes, Mom”, he said as Liza cut a wire.

    100 Words story for #ThursThreads
    Twitter- @anitaexplorer
    Blog- Trust Me, Boss! – Anita

  10. The Game
    Serena lounged in the beat up executive chair, idly polishing her favorite pistol as she listed to Garret drone on about the next job. He was such a tool but the boss liked him for some reason. As he continued going over what they’ve already gone over, she aimed at an invisible target off in a corner of the room, adjusted the sights, and slide the gun back into her thigh holster.
    Garrett finished at looked at Serena expectedly.
    She rolled her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair. “Yes?”
    “Do you understand where you need to be and who your point person is?”
    “Do I look like I’m twelve?”
    Garrett’s face turned red as he pressed his lips together.
    “Serena.” The Boss’s voice rumbled through the room as he filled the doorway behind her, chiding her.
    She sighed and stood up, turning slightly. Her eyes flickered briefly in the direction of the only man in the room who held her respect.
    “Trust me, Boss, I won’t let you down,” she replied, leaving the rest unsaid, of who had let him down before.
    Garrett’s expression darkened further and his hands bunched into fists.
    Serena smiled sweetly as she walked by Garrett’s stiff body, patting him on the shoulder as she left the room.

    214 Words

  11. “Trust me Boss! I got this.”

    Lydia moved away from the light. She was crepuscular and moved stealthily towards the cloud forest, aware of, but undaunted by the onrushing darkness that would soon envelope them completely.

    Lydia and Carpenter had been following the prisoner, recently escaped from maximum security lock-up. They arrived on the bullet train in response to the riot at Sololibre and the alert that the Rooster (code name) had escaped in the chaos and confusion.

    Lydia raised her open hand to Carpenter’s chest. “There’s no point in us both going in. Better you stay here and keep him on the screen. Give me five minutes and if I haven’t collared him, send me new coordinates.”

    “Roger that.”

    With that she was running into the clouds, her heart pounding and her lungs adapting to maximum cardiac output. The ground was wet but she quickly realized she was running in mud and she slowed to regain control of her stride. The clouds cast too many shadows.

    Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in the bottom of her right foot and breaking stride, she went sliding through the mud, head first, blinded and gagged by the thick ooze.

    Lydia rolled on her back and she found herself looking into the eyes of the Rooster.

    “You are mine now! They sent a child after me and I should kill you this moment but that would justify their mistake to send someone as incompetent as you.” He rasped.

    “Nooo wait! I can …”

    @taforu word count 250

  12. #ThursThreads Week 393 Boxing Day is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week for New Year’s!

  13. Late, but since I wrote it, I wanted to share.

    Changes in Attitude.

    Tower watched as they wheeled Kat towards the infirmary. Part of him wanted to go with her, but he knew there was nothing he could do for her there, he had to make sure this ran the right way.

    He spared a glance to the cockpit and was amazed she had survived, she had risked everything to evac the team when the regular avenues had been forbidden. Then she had risked everything again to get them home. He fought the urge to smirk as the mechanics went over the flatbed and found the emergency patch she’d made, using sealant and her pressure suit to do the job.

    He let his breath out and prepared for the questioning that was to come.

    It started as soon as her reported to Command and Control. “Tower, talk to me.”

    “She knew what she was doing, and she knew you’d been ordered to stand down.”

    “So, she was disregarding orders.”

    “Trust me, Boss, she knew what she was doing and she knew she was the only one who could do it.”

    “How so?”

    “She didn’t fall under the orders – she was disregarding the orders you were given— they simply did not apply to her.”

    “And your recommendation?”

    Tower smiled. “If she was one of ours, I’d say write her up for insubordination, then Put her in for a medal.”

    “And since she isn’t?”

    Tower chuckled. “We make her one of ours— it’s the only way we’re going to get her to tow the line.”

    250 words

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