#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 439

Welcome back to the home of Weird, Wild, & Wicked Tales. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our ninth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 439 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 439:

Renaissance Woman, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“What did she say to you?”

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 439”

  1. Turn of the Screwy Death

    For some reason I expected chiffon.

    Classic male boudoir thinking, eh.

    My predictability was shameless.

    Mona Monterey fooled me. She was squeezed into a stylish business suit, white, or light cream.

    She would look terrific in my coffee.

    Her hair, red as my first ever kindergarten crayon, glistened.

    “Come in,” she bid.

    I was pure putty.

    There are penthouses and then there are…penthouses.

    The windows were floor to ceiling, the furniture so modern, it seemed retro.

    I took an offered seat. And an offered brandy.

    If she was in mourning, you’d need a microscope to notice.

    I decided to be transparent. “The police resent people like me stepping on their toes.”

    “Is that what you do? Step on toes?”

    “Only when I’m dancing.”

    She almost smiled at that but simply sipped her brandy.

    I followed suit.

    Then she said, “I’m surprised you’re willing to work for me. Irv’s…wife…can’t have painted a pretty picture of me.”

    I opted for mute. The last thing I wanted was to be caught in the middle of a one-feline cat fight.

    “Oh, please, be a big boy. Tell me. What did she say to you about me?”

    “Here’s a big boy pronouncement,” I answered. “If you want me to find out who killed your mother, then, good. Anything else…spell it out.”

    “Okay,” she breathed deeply, “Keep your little secrets. I loved Helen. So, find the worm who snuffed my mom.”

    Halleluiah, I thought. A tough talking woman who gets me.

    250 WIP

    @billmelaterplea

  2. “Roger that. Siren One out.”

    Hermione stuffed her phone into her pocket and headed out into the hallway. Clicking on her flashlight, she swung it around the solid walls.

    There it is. She examined the poster box containing a campus map, noting the cover was plexiglass. Alrighty then.

    Hermione shoved the screwdriver she’d grabbed from the tool kit into the lock on the poster frame and twisted. The frame popped open and she was able to take down the map of the campus inside. She brought it into the lab with the most light and laid it on the central table.

    “Here, this should help.”

    “Who were you on the phone with?” Dr. Martell looked tired and wary.

    “My team. Most of them are outside the campus working on an extraction plan.”

    “What did she say to you about getting us out?” Durbin’s whine cut across her explanation.

    Hermione took a deep breath to keep from barking at him to shut up. “According to the team, the Eagle Militia has camped out in the main building, here, but so far hasn’t figured out the tunnel system. There are renewed patrols in buildings two and six, but they haven’t bothered with this building or four and five. My team is closest to building four, directly north of the main building and they’re planning to get us out that way.”

    The “us” really only included Martell and her. The others were technically on their own, but she wouldn’t leave people behind.

    249 ineligible #WIP365 words
    @SiobhanMuir

  3. “What did she say to you, Dani?” Jake asked me when I walked into his office at party headquarters.

    Susan Alvarez, wife of Congressman Tom Alvarez, had paid me a visit that morning, offering a somewhat vague explanation for why her husband decided to continue his run for President in spite of the breaking news story which went viral on social media today.

    “She’s an interesting woman, Jake. I found her story rather compelling.”

    Jake shuffled some papers around and got up from behind his desk. He was clearly worried about something. He waited for me to continue.

    “Well, she was short on details,” I told him. “They both realize the party is hoping Armstrong wins the nomination, but Alvarez isn’t quitting.”

    “He won’t get backing from the party establishment, Dani. He’d be a fool to stay in the race.”

    “I’m not sure he should drop out, Jake. He’s got a real shot at the nomination.”

    “You’re the best political operative there is, Dani. That’s why the party hires you for all the important races. You dug up dirt on Alvarez. Use it.”

    “And if I refuse?”

    “They’ll make sure you never work in D.C. again.”

    I thought about that. I needed the work, but I wasn’t the type to be intimidated. “We both know there’s no truth to that story, Jake. I’m not going to destroy Alvarez’s reputation with a fake dossier.”

    Jake turned around, not willing to face me. “You have till six this evening to decide.”

    Catherine Ducourau
    @cathducourau
    247 Words

  4. “What did she say to you? Surely, she was surprised. It’s been eighty years, maybe more; she’d have to be heartless to not be touched when she saw you again.”

    Toby grinned, his tongue spilling from his mouth. His tail made a blur of the air behind him. He gave a high-pitched yawn, his voice an easy yelp. His happiness was unmistakeable. It had been a good thing they’d done.

    “I knew it,” Magician said. He held his hand out and let the Dog nuzzle it. It had been a calculated risk, reuniting them for a while, awakening the toy’s owner’s memories of a simpler time. He wished he could have been there, but it had been better this way.

    The toy hound had been her favourite. He’d gleaned that from its brain. It had been a relatively simple mechanism at first, its positronic controller sophisticated enough to govern the basics, wagging its tail, chewing her shoes, covering her face with messy kisses. But then she’d grown older and her interests had changed.

    Toby Good-Boy had been forgotten then, his attention no longer the prize it had once been. A RoboToy was not just for Christmas; they had a shelf-life much longer than that.

    And they never forgot their first owner. They were designed to be loyal.

    Magician laid his hand on the Dog’s head, sifting through his thoughts. His Mistress had grown old, the shine in her eyes dimmed. But Toby remembered everything and still burned from her loss.

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  5. “What did she say to you?” I could have sworn I heard the skank wrong because she didn’t just call my best friend a derogatory slur I’d never repeat.

    “Don’t,” Henry said. “She isn’t worth it.”

    I placed myself between Henry and the woman who thought she could open her mouth and spew whatever bullshit flowed through her mind. “Apologize.”

    She looked me up and down then snorted. “Not going to happen. You and the fairy, be gone.”

    I laughed. The sound held no humor. “Say it again, bitch. I dare you.”

    “Fai—”

    I slapped her. “That’s for being a bigot.” I slapped her again. “That’s for being rude to my best friend. You’d do well to learn we don’t take kindly to your kind around here, human.”

    She grabbed her cheek and screamed. “How dare you. Do you have any idea who I am?”

    “Besides a bigot?” I shrugged. “I don’t care.”

    “I am High Council Lavigne’s daughter,” she said, straightening her shoulders.

    “And I’m the demon that will eat your soul,” I snarled. “What’s your point?”

    A man inserted himself between us. Blond and charismatic, he made me sick to my stomach while also made my heart pound. I curled my lip at him. “What has my sister done?”

    “What hasn’t she done?”

    “Touché.” He held out his hand, let’s have a drink and perhaps we’ll come to a truce. “Louis.”

    “Mors,” I said.

    “Death. Oh my.” He grinned. “What a treat.”

    “Your funeral.”

    “Indeed.” He grinned.

    250 words – @tl_reeve

  6. Why is that people like to be scared? I hate fear and couldn’t understand why anyone would want to be afraid. Maybe the real reason is they’ve never felt real fear, only the theatrical kind. I know that sounds odd and perhaps I should explain.
    I was found when I was three years old in the middle of a field, covered in blood (not my own) from head to foot. My eyes were open and my mouth; but not a single sound passed my lips for over a year.
    When I go to sleep sometimes at night I awake screaming in fear; but I never remember why.
    My adopted mother asked me, “What did she say to you?” like my friends, or the next door neighbour caused the dreams.
    When I close my eyes every night I dream, dreams that although I don’t remember them fill me with fear and dread like something or someone is coming for me.
    This morning I awoke in a field covered with blood, a body at my feet. I wish I didn’t remember everything; ignorance is bliss. I look down at my body watching myself change back into my human form and my first thought is to wash myself in the river, hide my crime and return home unseen. I only hope I can achieve that before I’m found out, because if they see my true form they’ll know true fear once and forever and I’ll be gone.

    250 words
    @SweetSheil

  7. Dirk had been insulted when the tiny cat eared pirate set aside her weapons before their duel. Not that he’d wanted to get caught with a knife in a gun fight, but he had thought he could outmaneuver her giant cutlass. Now he was on the sidelines nursing his pride and his arm, watching her thrash his twin brother at least as soundly. Her little claws were sharp.

    Then it was over. Kris was disarmed on his back with Cat N. Kinnery’s boot on his throat as Dirk had been moments ago. Two professional knifemen from the streets of Polemos itself, and neither of them even managed to scratch their feline foe. Another moment and Kris retrieved his namesake blade to shuffle back to Dirk with his head hung.

    “Ugh!” Kris groaned. “It was funny when she beat you!”

    “You thought you’d do better? Idiot!” Dirk spat.

    Kris’s blade appeared in a flash.

    “You wanna go right now?”

    Both brothers glanced at the cat girl watching them from where she had retrieved her arms. They shook their heads in unison. Kris sheathed his blade, and Dirk changed the topic.

    “What did she say to you?”

    “Uh,” Kris scratched the back of his head. “I know we were going to stick together a while longer, but she wants me in her crew.”

    “We are sticking together, stupid! She asked me the same thing!”

    Their new captain enthusiastically slapped the brothers’ butts.

    “Welcome aboard, boys!”

    243 Cat’s The Pajamas words
    @DavidALudwig

  8. The waxing moon poked out from behind the clouds and then disappeared, the small window in the clouds being pushed rapidly by gale-force winds. I wasn’t able to see much, but it was enough.
    Maron’s forces had mostly crossed the river and were making their way up the hill to my cottage. He wasn’t taking any chances this time, and thought he’d probably brought enough soldiers with him this time to take me out.

    Probably.

    Of course, what he didn’t know was that he’d already won.

    Hours later, he stood over what was left of me and pissed on the half of my skull that was still recognizable. Maron’s men – and more than a few women – had more than every reason to be angry with me, and they took out all of their feelings, at least as much as they could on someone who won’t put up a fight.

    This had really just made them all that much angrier, and now they were fighting each other, because that’s what people like this did when their blood was up and the enemy a disappointment.

    Well, some of them were fucking each other, but given how they were doing it, fighting probably would have been nicer.

    “What did she say to you, sister? When mother came to you that night, what did she say? Why did you do all of what you did?”

    She’d only told me the truth, but he never would have understood that. And now he never would.

    249 words
    @drmag00

  9. A stubborn nun stands again near the votives, arms crossed, a very un-nun-like glare on her face.

    {Jesus.}

    {What’s up?}

    {Can you help me?}

    Seconds later, the Savior is reviewing the information I was given. Closing the book, he waves it away then crosses his arms.

    “You owe me.”

    He morphs into the Christian depiction of himself: neatly trimmed beard, white robe, shoulder length brown hair, pale skin, fire heart visible in his chest. I give him an encouraging smile when he glares at me. His biggest fan is waiting.

    “Sister Margret?”

    She looks up, her glare turning into a smile. Poor Jesus. She falls to her knees, prostrate at his feet. I’ve never seen him look so awkward, as he summons a bible from a nearby podium. Hopefully, there are instructions in there.

    “My Lord, it is my great pleasure to do your work on Earth. I pray that you permit me entrance into Heaven.”

    He helps her up. “Sister Margret, you have done my work on Earth. Heaven awaits my devoted servants. Please, take your rest.”

    Beaming, she walks into a shaft of light provided for effect by God. Once she’s gone, Jesus turns around and waves me forward.

    “Thanks Dad!” he says, giving the roof of the church a thumbs up.

    “You’re going to have to do extra chores for this, son!”

    His eyes widen. “What did she say to you?”

    “How long have you got?”

    Sister Margret is already giving God a run for his money.

    @Aightball
    250 words (WIP)

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