#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 402

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re half way through our eighth year of weekly prompts! This is Week 402 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 402:

Crystal Brown

Hard working Children’s RN, with the love of reading to relax, and sports fan, Crystal Brown.

Facebook | Twitter

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“She’s the one who came earlier.”

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. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!

13 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 402”

  1. I shouldn’t be upset at being left behind. Still, doesn’t mean I have to like watching Valmong leave while I’m tucked away in this room like a nuisance. Small spaces have never been good for me, and it’s even worse when there’s nothing for me to do but think.

    At least I have a window.

    And so I make the most of my vantage point above the street and watch people as they pass. They give Valmong a wide berth as he crosses the street. For a while, the crowd ebbs and flows more like a large organism than various individuals.

    Directly across the street, amid the movement, a figure stands completely still. No one seems to notice her. She stares at me, and even at this distance it feels like she’s reading me.

    I blink, and she disappears. A knock at the door startles me, and I move to look through the peephole. Up close, her angular features mark her as more than human. She tilts her head, like she hears something. Whatever it is calls her away, and she disappears again.

    When Valmong returns, it’s with the paper Jaya gave him outlining the bounty. He places it on the table, but before I can tell him about the woman, the sketch on the page twists my stomach.

    “She’s the one who came earlier…” I blurt out the words without thinking. “She was here.”

    Valmong pales. “Did she see you?”

    “Maybe? From the street.”

    “We have to go. Now.”

    250 #TeamRPG words

  2. Last Dance

    By the time I arrived at The Bethany Ball Academy of Exceptional Dance, all hell had busted loose. Britt Pacer, the first detective on the scene, had done his best to sequester the dozen witnesses in a far corner of the giant warehouse dance studio. The dancer-witnesses, tutued up and none looking more than twelve, or maybe a tiny twenty, seemed squirrely, about to stampede out the nearest exit.

    Two uniforms had the alleged shooter off in a distant corner.

    “Ladies,” Britt yelled, “hold your horses. One at a time. Yeah, its terrible. Just look away.”

    While Britt was exercising his version of crowd control, the crime scene team were still swabbing and dusting their little scientific hearts out.

    The body of Bethany Ball lay in the middle of the room.

    I sauntered up to Sal Bristol, crime scene team honcho. “About finished Sal?”

    “Yeah,” he said. “What a zoo! We’ll be gone in ten. Wagon’s on its way…”

    We all took a breath. In ten, Sal and his team wrapped up and the remains of Ms. Ball had been removed. We got some chairs and moved over to one corner of the warehouse to take individual statements.

    Three numb witnesses in, Britt asked a bright-eyed blond, “She’s the one who came earlier?” pointing to the alleged assailant.

    “Yes. She came in, shouted at Beth, left, then came back. With the gun.”

    “No doubts?”

    “None. She never could dance.”

    “Me neither,” Britt said. “No reason to kill, though.”

    250 words

  3. “She’s the one who came earlier.”

    “I don’t have time.”

    “Doctor, you have to see her.”

    He jerked off his reading glasses, glowering at Gillian. “Why?”

    “She’s from the Pentagon.”

    Sighing, he pushed away from his computer, muttering under his breath. He stomped out of his office.

    Hannah wondered why the nurse hadn’t shut the door. She wondered about a lot of things. Always. That’s why she was so good at her job. Had the nurse wanted her to overhear the doctor’s reaction? Or had she just been negligent, not caring if the “Pentagon puke” heard or not.

    “What is it you want?” the man barked.

    This would be fun. “Your report is overdue.”


    “The Joint Chiefs get a little nervous when their R&D budget is bleeding millions into a program that has shown no progress and where all requests for updates are met with silence. They don’t like being ignored.”

    “I’m too busy—”

    Hannah pushed off the wall and stalked toward him. She wasn’t that tall but as a woman, she’d honed her command presence to a sharp blade. The dude shrank back so she could loom over him. “Let me introduce myself. I’m Major Hannah Jackson. I’m the officer the Joint Chiefs sends when there’s trouble. Sometimes, I fix it. Sometimes, I simply shoot it.”

    Both medicos blanched. Good. Progress.

    “Show her,” the doc muttered.

    Hannah walked into a room with a massive water tank. Seven men swam inside, none of them breathing oxygen. Mermen. Ho…ly. Fuck.
    250 Moonstruck: Betrayal WIP words

  4. “Where’s Rosalie?” Pat Bowman asked as he peered over his son Mark’s shoulder toward the front door.

    “She was here this morning, Dad,” Mark said with a sigh. He sighed a lot these days, though tried not to.

    “Wasn’t that Becca?” Pat said.

    “Well, yeah. Becca was here. Rosalie came this morning.”

    “I would’ve sworn…” Pat’s attention refocused on the television.

    “She’s the one who came earlier, Dad. Trust me.” Mark decided to hold a big inhale this time. Therapists explained his father’s condition would become frustrating. Then would come the hard part.

    “Who the hell thought this stupid ostrich was a good idea to sell insurance,” the retired executive said.

    “It’s an emu, Dad. But you’re right.”

    “Stupid fucking bird. Assholes must think we’re idiots. If some ad man brought me this concept I’d throw him out the window. See if he could fly like some damn ostrich.”

    “Relax, Dad. It’s only a commercial.” Mark was seeing more of these tirades all the time.

    “When the hell is Rosalie coming? Was that a car?” Pat said.

    “Sit. It IS Rosalie’s car,” Mark sighed with relief in his voice.

    “Hi. I’ll take over now. Hi, Dad,” Rosalie said as she breezed into the living room.

    “Thanks, Ro. Bye, Dad.” Mark said.

    “So, is there anything I can do? Need a drink, something to eat?” Rosalie said. She stepped between her father and the television screen.

    “Yeah, get outta the way and tell me who that kid was who just left?”

    250 Words

  5. “Was it you that came earlier? Charles said he’d had a visitor.”

    The blonde speared me with a glare, her face like stone. She’d invited herself into the apartment, breaking through the door and smashing everything within reach, paying me no attention until now. She hadn’t bothered with opening cupboards; she’d kicked in their doors, wrenching drawers out and throwing them aside. Everything she’d touched, she’d destroyed, working with a focus until there was nothing intact. It was probably a mistake speaking to her; she’d given ample evidence of her capacity for violence.

    “No. That was my sister,” she said, sneering. “She’s the one who came earlier. She was dissatisfied with the answers he gave. So, she called me, and now I’m here. I’m a corrective officer: I restore the proper balances in life.”

    “So, what did he say? It would need to be something huge to merit this. Are you sure there’s been no mistake?”

    The blonde shook her head. She was smiling now; she enjoyed this part of her job. She would love an excuse to do more, to apply a little additional correction to anyone she happened to come across through her work. She was carrying a gun; I could tell from the way her jacket chafed, resisting her movements when she lunged into her kicks.

    And that was why I drew first, double-tapping her in the forehead, taking advantage of the coolness which had caused all our problems.

    Poor Charles. He’d been such an innocent soul.

    250 rounds in the chamber ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  6. Jeff shrugged. “Haley took on one of the wealthiest sex predators in L.A. to rescue me. She’d make a good secret agent if she trained for it. We should’ve had a little more faith in her.”

    I scowled. “So what are we supposed to do now?” I wasn’t used to doing nothing. I was a Goddess-blessed archangel. I was the fighter and defender. I didn’t sit around waiting.

    “I’m going to go back to your room and start the research she asked of me. What’s the WiFi password?”

    I barked a laugh. “Let me talk to our IT man and get you access. He’s rather territorial.”

    To his credit, Jeff didn’t roll his eyes. “Yeah, given your…profession, you wouldn’t want just anyone having access.”

    That was an understatement. Before I could respond, my phone rang with a call from Neo. “Speaking of IT…” I pulled the phone to my ear. “Michael.”

    “So I did some more digging. Your girl was right. O’Donnell and his replacement are eyeballs deep in Backlog.”

    “She’s not my ‘girl’. She’s a woman.”

    Neo snorted. “She’s the one who came earlier, right?”

    “Yes, what’s your point?”

    “She stayed with you and returned with you, she’s your woman. Unless you’d like me to tell Loki that you’ve invited a random reporter onto the compound without telling him.”

    Sodding tosser. Yeah, that was the last thing I wanted.

    230 #ConcreteAngelsMC words

  7. “It all seems rather incredible,” Governor Vinfield shook his head. “Ilsad cannot be breached, even by the most elite spies and saboteurs. How could a no name pirate make off with their only Sea Shifter?”

    “I don’t know how she did it,” Ambassador Silvina sipped her tea with an expression more sour than when she arrived. “But the theft set naval research back at least a year, forcing us to sue for peace when we could have ended the Sultanate threat once and for all.”

    Vinfield leaned back in his chair with a huff.

    “The truth is, I’m certain, far less thrilling. The project was surely setback for confidential reasons. Lacking actual information, people made up this preposterous fantasy.”

    Silvina rose, leaving her unfinished tea on the end table.

    “I’m only asking you to contribute financing for a few more pirate hunting vessels!”

    “I’ll consider it…”

    Vinfield waved a servant to escort Silvina out. His little daughter came skipping to her corner drawing table. Silvina spared one last weary glance before departing. They had each said their piece. Vinfield sighed over his desk of documents as his daughter hummed some common sea tune.

    “Caitlin Nicole Kinnery… Why do I know that name?”

    “She’s the one who came earlier.”


    “The pirate in my room! You said I made her up!”

    Vinfield blanched as he compared the reports on his desk to the tales his young daughter had been bursting with just that morning.

    “It seems you weren’t the only one.”

    250 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  8. “Who the heck is contaminating my crime scene?” Greg barked to the patrol officer.
    “She’s the one who came earlier.”
    “Clarification, please!”
    “Come here now,” the patrolman ordered.
    The woman was knocked down gorgeous and yet she was dressed like she belonged here.
    “Who are you?”
    “Doctor Rebecca Graves, his assistant,” she answered.
    Greg didn’t argue he pretended not to hear but the cop was captivated and believed her.
    “Did you touch her or anything here?”
    “How close were you?” Greg asked.
    “I haven’t seen her since high school but she called my brother yesterday and wanted to see me.”
    “That complicates things a little but you can still be my assistant, if you really are a doctor.”
    “Susan was scared of someone and it seems she was correct because they killed her.”
    “Do you have any more messages on your phone from here while you were travelling here,” I asked.
    “My phone is dead,” Rebecca answered.
    “After I take the body back to the morgue you can charge it either there or at my home which is across the street.”
    “Wow, that’s either brave or crazy.”
    At the morgue Greg took a break and walked Rebecca to his home. As she charged her phone he excused himself gathering supplies. Moments later as Rebecca lay dead on the plastic tarp he’d prepared this morning he congratulated himself on the good luck that this victim had walked in on his crime scene. Who says you can’t get away with murder?
    250 words

  9. “Good afternoon, boys.”

    Heads turned her way as the door swung shut with a finality behind her. It might have been her sultry tone that captured their attention, or the long legs and tight mini skirt. Hell, it could’ve been the barely existent top she was wearing too. In reality it was probably a combination of all three.

    “Who’s that?”

    Ra’nok glanced from the woman to his friend. “She’s the one who came earlier.”

    “But who is she?”

    “Aye. I wish I knew…” he murmured, hungry gaze back on the smooth skin showing through belly straps that connected down to the mini skirt.

    Tharion leaned in close enough that his whisper could be heard. “What did she come ’round for earlier?”

    “I dunno. She was lookin’ for someone I reckon.”

    “Think she’s human?”

    Ra’nok snorted louder than intended, stiffening hard when piercing sea-green eyes looked their way. He swallowed hard. “With a body like that? Doubt it.”

    His friend made no return comment. How could he? The woman was suddenly walking their way and Tharion was practically drooling into his mead. Two sets of eyes traveled from her legs all the way up to her face, lingering somewhere in the middle for a moment until she spoke. Sung might have more accurately described it, quiet and dangerously alluring.

    “So,” she grinned, “which one of you boys wish to join my girls and I tonight? We need a good pirate.”


    239 I’m-not-quite-sure-where-this-is-going words

  10. Taewoon led me up the hidden staircase to a catwalk overlooking the hall below. How had he even found this perch? I opened my mouth to interrogate him, but he stopped me with a clawed finger pressed gently to my lips. He canted his head to indicate the room below.

    “This healer intrigues me,” I heard. “What’s her name?”

    “I’ve heard a couple,” a second voice said. “Most recently, she’s going by Mack.”

    I shot a questioning look to Tae, who mouthed, Hellkite.

    What the fuck? We were spying on Kai’s boogeyman? I risked a peek down, feeling Tae’s hand curl over my shoulder, steadying me. Two armored men sat alone in the room.

    “What kind of name is that, Harrell?” Lord Hellkite’s voice, then. Unless… Harrell Hellkite? Nah. That was cartoonish overkill. Doubling down when the damage was done at Hellkite. If he simply announced himself as a villain, it would be less obvious. “She’s the one who came earlier, yes? The one who rousted your men?”

    “She had help, my lord. A dragon boy and Kai.”


    “One of your branded children.”

    “Ah, indeed.” The amusement in his voice pissed me off. “He must be all grown up now. And she must be quite inspiring to convince that sniveling whelp to venture back into my territory.”

    I was tempted to jump from the walkway and land on Hellkite’s head, but his next words stopped me cold.

    “Bring her to me, Harrell. Preferably alive, but I’ll pay either way.”

    250 #TeamRPG words

  11. The standard Death attire is black robes and scythe. The higher up the command chain, the fancier the robes. And I’m one rung below Assistant Death. Sparkling, navy blue robes are my attire and I have no scythe. Instead, I help The Keepers juggle the hour glasses, making sure each selection is accurate and that it happens.

    My job is to verify that the hourglass drained and the soul crossed over. Ghosts are against the rules but there are always a few that give it a go anyway. I cross them over, willingly or otherwise. But someone is getting in my way and I have to figure out who and how to stop them.

    “Okay, Margorie is still alive?” I ask, pacing the bland conference room. Normally it’s an ornate display of wealth, but I need to think. “Esther?”

    “Still alive.”

    Brandon, the Assistant Death, frowns at his tablet. “And Marcella, Mildred, Jean, and Betty.”


    “She’s the one who came earlier, during the morning meeting. All of these were meant to crossover in the last week.”

    Biting my lip, I sit down and look at my tablet. It’s filled with names of those who haven’t crossed over yet.

    “I have a lead, though,” Brandon said.

    He swivels his tablet, showing me a Deather with standard issues robes and scythe. But in the next photo, that same Deather now sports bright pink attire and scythe. That’s not normal.

    “Is that–?”

    “Yep,” Brandon says, leaning back. “It’s her.”

    Well. Fuck.

    250 words (WIP)

  12. #ThursThreads Week 402 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

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