#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 404

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, and despite the week’s name, it’s NOT A PAGE ERROR, LOL. We’re half way through our eighth year of weekly prompts, and the page should work. This is Week 404 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 404:

Ever After or Ever More, either way you get great stories from author, Ever Addams.

Facebook | Twitter |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’d been home two weeks.”

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!

11 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 404”

  1. Running through the dark with Valmong, my thoughts whirl in a frenzied panic.

    Why did this happen to me? How did it happen?

    My mind keeps going back home, to the little apartment in Philly I’d only just rented. I’d been home two weeks. Not even fully unpacked yet, still adjusting to my new job. And now this.

    A fireball barely misses me, scorching the tree to my right before fizzing out of existence.

    “Keep moving!” Valmong tugs my hand, and it’s only then I realize I’d stopped, startled by the attack. “Camilla-”

    “I can’t.” My feet are frozen to the ground, my eyes stuck on the blackened bark of the tree. “I won’t make it. I’m never going home – I’m going to die here-”

    Valmong picks me up like I weigh nothing, tucks me into his chest, and continues running. A few more attacks hit the trees around us – arrows, iceballs, more fireballs. When Valmong stops, it’s to hide inside a large, hollow tree. He crouches low as far back into the tree as we can go, his body and cloak blocking me from the entrance, arms and tail around me. The commotion passes us by, but still he doesn’t move.

    It isn’t until the silence settles and we can hear the forest come to life again that he finally releases me and stands.

    “You can’t just stop like that, Camilla. You’re going to get us both killed.”

    “I’m sorry.”

    “Don’t apologize. Just don’t do it again.”

    I nod.

    250 #TeamRPG words

  2. Coming back from overseas was never a hoot. Trying to get back into a family routine was tricky. I felt like an intruder in my own home.

    I spent the last year in one of those countries that is a dot on the map. I was in charge of managing base operations, which meant I directed the burn pits. We would torch everything: fuel, spent shells, chemicals, uniforms, you name it. Then we’d hack through our scarves trying not to inhale whatever it was we just incinerated.

    I’d been home two weeks when I noticed it. It was obvious, I’m surprised it took me that long. The family wasn’t my family. The agency did a good job, they looked like my family. Identical, actually. But they were imposters, probably sent to spy on me.

    They denied it, of course. Called me crazy, offered to drive me to a psychiatrist. Like I’m falling for that, the shrink would be an agency plant. Guar-an-teed.

    I managed to get to my rifle, but they tackled me as I loaded it. Damn it. I told you they were good. I’ve been locked up in this rubber room for a week, it seems. Hard to track the days in here. They throw around phrases like, “visual cortex disruption,” chemical exposure,” and “permanent condition.” They think I don’t hear them, but I do.

    The imposters say they won’t visit anymore, too difficult. Like I care, I just want to get back overseas. Things make sense there.

    250 words @J_Thomas_Ganzer

  3. Quarantine

    I’d been home two weeks, eh! With a couple of extra days tagged on for good measure. Like you add a pinch of additional spice to a stew. Extra spice always kicks a meal up a notch.

    Same with self-isolation, I figure.

    Speaking of stewing, the wife, was she ever a little ticked at me.

    There I am, saving mankind one solitary social distancing second at a time, embracing my immense boredom, saying to my darling, ‘sweetie pie, its for the good of the world,’ and she bounces back with, ‘We’ve been at home for weeks. I wanna go somewhere. This is nuts.’

    I’m just too much of a big thinker for her.

    I mean, I’ve always been able to see the big picture and she takes care of the day to day stuff.




    Me, I’m the planner. The analyst.

    ‘Heavy on the anal,’ she says when I point out my contribution.

    Now take this Jerry Colonna Virus, right away you know you want to avoid comedians. Particularly the loud obnoxious ones. Not saying old Jerry was insufferable, and I don’t want to be dissing the dead but still…
    And here the wife jumps in to charmingly correct me, a habit I’ve had to get used to…
    ‘Its Caronavirus, numbnuts, not Colonna. Nothing to do with deceased comedians.’

    She’s got a good point, but you won’t find me telling her that.

    Don’t need to.

    She knows she’s got more going on in her noggin than I have.

    250 words

  4. The air stank of stale beer, weed, and cigarettes. Lights flashed and music thrummed. Sweaty bodies crowded the dance floor, gyrating, grinding, getting lost. Frustration drove me here. Bad choice. I should have found a mountaintop and a tree to lean against. Hell, I should have just stripped, shifted into my wolf and run the hell away.

    I could still do that. Fuck all why I didn’t. I’d been home two weeks. My old lady was long gone, taking her kids with her. She wasn’t even a whisper on the wind. Not surprising. I’d been a meal ticket and when I went down, the free ride stopped. My club brothers wouldn’t have anything to do with her so she took up with some poor bastard who worked the oil patch.

    A drop of condensation rolled down the long-neck bottle sitting on the table in front of me. Was that some sort of commentary on my life? Probably.

    “You could be doin’ this at the clubhouse.” A big body dropped into the chair next to me. I’d confiscated the table in the farthest corner and sat against the wall. None us turned our backs to a room.

    “Why aren’t you with your mate?”

    “Girls’ night out or some shit like that.”

    “She’s got your number, Lucky.”

    “Damn straight she does.” He grinned, unrepentant, then sobered. “We’ve missed you, man, but it’s time to face shit. Karma’s a bitch and Life is a bastard. Get over it.”

    He had a point.
    250 random Nightrider MC Wolves words

  5. It was like I’d recently moved and all my stuff was still in transit. The house and shop seemed so empty, but the Goddess Message had been emphatic. Save the important things, irreplaceable things. Something was coming and I needed to be prepared.

    Joslyn had helped me move everything and now we sat down to get our holiday promo drive going. If anyone clicked on the page on our website, it’d show the 404 error, which considering I’d been home two weeks and the winter holidays were fast approaching, was not a good thing for my business.

    So I was trying to focus on work when all I really wanted to do was think about how delicious the sex with Flint was. The way he’d played with my nipples while I road him brought happy flutters to my belly. He could do that to me anytime.

    Of course, he won’t if you don’t text him.

    Shit, I’d totally forgotten to answer his text. While Joslyn fiddled with the website, I rose and made some tea, giving me an excuse to type out a discrete text to Flint.

    Sorry it took me so long to text. Had something come up this morning. Thank you for last night. Any time you’d like to do it again, I’m game. Tonight is fine, too.

    I added a little wide-grin and heart emojis and hit send. I didn’t have to wait long.

    Tonight, 7 PM outside the Dodgy Leprechaun Bar. Please dress warmly.

    249 ineligible #ConcreteAngelsMC words

  6. There’s no ‘axio vaccum’ in this house. I’d been home two weeks and the house went to shit. Wait til I post the updated chore list; guaranteed I’ll be told they cleaned while I was gone why do they have to keep doing it?

    I did try using my powers to clean the house. Instead of folding the clothes, waving my hand nearly set them on fire. I guess I’m better at making lightning bolts than being a singing princess cleaning house.

    I’m a Deather that helps you crossover when you die. Depressing job that comes with cool powers to ward off whatever bad guys try and get in the way. And it’s fun being able to control the weather.

    “Guys! Get down here!”

    A small heard of elephants thumps down from the second floor and soon my girls stand before me. Gesturing to the chart now gracing the door to the basement, the predicted groans begin.

    “This house is a pig sty,” I say, looking around. “And I’m not cleaning it by myself. Thus, we all have jobs now. My powers don’t clean the house, they try to burn it down. Hop to.”

    “You’re mean!”

    Ah, there we go! I got called mean. I’d say my feelings were hurt but instead, I pull out a broom for my oldest and the vacuum for the youngest and watch them get to work. Although I made the mistake of giving myself dish duty. Damn it.

    245 words

  7. “Three days and we’re already going crazy!”

    Logan Lunkenheimer flopped dramatically over the split rail fence around the south pasture. His twin, Ramsey, draped himself backwards over the same rail.

    “You were right to get out when you did!”

    I sighed at the warped wood I had to work with. It was barely better than the rotted rails I was replacing. Obviously, Mama Selene had meant to heal it before it was used, but she was still gathering medicine for Mama Emily. I hadn’t inherited enough of Mama Selene’s nature magic to heal cut wood; I’d have to get the rails in Papa’s way. Stubbornness.

    Logan groaned “It’s not like they really need us here! Phoebe and Susan can take care of the kids and animals just fine.”

    “Yeah,” Ramsey waved vaguely at my fencing materials. “And Junior can handle the physical stuff.”

    I grunted as I managed to twist a new rail into place. This was going to take all afternoon.

    “There’s more damage from the winter storms than Junior can get to on his own. Until Mama Emily recovers, we’re needed here.”

    The twins turned to watch me but made no move to help. Combat magic wouldn’t be terribly helpful right now, but a few extra hands would be nice.

    “Seriously,” Logan again. “Let us know before you bail this time.”

    “Family’s great, but you know better than we do a little of ours goes a long way!”

    Ramsey was right about that. I’d been home two weeks.

    250 words

  8. I’d been home two weeks now, and the country had gone to ruin. The only man we’d seen had been the delivery guy, and that couldn’t have been briefer – leave the stuff on the porch – with neither of us any closer than ten feet from him.

    “So, what’s up? Another 404?” Holly had caught the virus first, infecting me before she knew she’d got it. We’d stayed together in bed that first week, neither of us caring what happened, knowing either of us could be dead before the rash cleared.

    I shrugged. “Seems like everything’s gone. Least everything online. Who’d have thought the phage would have gone virtual? I blame the cyborgs. And the AIs. Fucking half-breeds. Blade Runner has a lot to answer for.”
    “Yeah, I know. How about you giving the ‘net a rest.” Holly leaned across me, switching off the monitor. “It’s only distressing you. You could be doing something productive; planting seeds, chopping wood, whatever it takes. Anything to take your mind off it until after your fourteen days are done. Then we can both go out together; have a look-see, see what’s left, start making plans for the future. With a bit of luck, it’s just a blip. We could be isolated and the rest of the world be unaffected. We’re gonna need more food; a yeast-stock diet’s fine if you’ve no option but it ain’t no way to live.”

    “Amen to that. Two more days. Then we’ll know what’s going on.”

    249 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  9. “Where have you been Louis?”
    “I’d been home two weeks.”
    “Why are you lying to me? I’ve been taking care of the kids all alone for three weeks.”
    I loved this man and one look from him and I melted like ice cream on a hot day; forgiving him anything. Days went by and he seemed contrite he brought me flowers and jewellery. He took the kids to his mother and we had a honeymoon period and then it began again he disappeared for days at a time. I confronted and instead of defending himself he brought in a marriage counsellor
    The man introduced himself as Doctor Smyth. He began talking and I admit I zoned out something about his voice was so monotone and boring.
    “Are you listening Alaina?” Louis asked.
    “No, sorry,” I admitted.
    “See it’s getting worse,” Louis whined.
    “You may have to take the next step,” Doctor Smyth answered.
    To say I was alarmed was an understatement. I struggled and the doctor injected me with something and I awoke in a locked room terrified. Doctor Smyth explained that I was suffering from Alzheimer’s. I argued but for a brief moment I realized maybe he was right. Had Louis really been gone or was I reliving the past as the doctor insisted?
    I fell asleep and woke refreshed but where was Louis and the kids? I’d give him a piece of my mind when I saw him again I thought. Just Louis wait!!!
    246 words

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

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