#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 448

Welcome back to the home of Paranormal & Dauntless Romance. 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 448 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 448:

Isabella Muetzel1

Artist, Horseman and High Fantasy writer, Isabella Muetzel.

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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“You may be sorry.”

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 448”

  1. “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, what better way to get to know someone than to drop a plate of food in their company?”

    Shandor rumbled a laugh and Bianca’s heart fluttered harder. “It definitely makes an impression.”

    “Oh yeah, grace and poise, I’m sure.” She shook her head as she rose and dragged the trash can closer. “Just dump all that in here.”

    “I’m sorry about your lunch. How ‘bout I make it up to you by taking you into town to the Mountainside Café? They make great sandwiches.”

    She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Are you sure you trust me around sandwiches and plates? I might throw them on the floor.”

    Shandor grinned. “I’ll take my chances.”

    “How do you know it wasn’t you who distracted me?”

    Bianca wished she could take the question back the minute it left her mouth and heat flooded her cheeks. Damn, woman, when did you get so forward? She shifted her gaze to make sure there weren’t any pieces of plate or food left on her workshop floor.

    “I don’t.” His deep voice settled into her and made her nipples harden. “But the best way to be sure is to have all your undivided attention on me during a meal.”

    She tried to smirk through her blush. “You may be sorry to have my undivided attention. I tend to get very focused.”

    His eyes hooded as he tossed his collected trash. “Again, I’ll take my chances.”

    247 ineligible #ElementalHearts words

  2. Double Down Death

    I was stuck on the horns of a Sam Spade dilemma. On one horn, Wick Waters was no Miles Archer. And would never have been my partner. On the other horn, though he was a louse much like Archer, he was also someone’s partner.

    Once upon a time, at least.

    Mona was still cuddling her gun like an awkward lover.

    “You’re making me nervous, Mona,” I mentioned.

    I had abandoned any notion of calling her Brigid O’Shaughnessy. She didn’t look like an old film fan.

    “Huh?” she grunted.

    “The gun.”

    She glanced down at her hand holding the weapon.

    I pounced quickly and wrestled it away. She made a move to grab it back, but I held her at arms length.

    “That’s mine,” she whimpered like a spoiled princess. “Give it to me.”

    I didn’t need a little voice in my head saying, “You may be sorry if you do,” to know that Mona had crossed some emotional threshold. Killing someone will do that to you. Even a bullish cop. Or so I’d heard.

    “Park it, Mona,” I said politely in my best shrink-wrapped tone. “We need to figure our next move.”

    Even as I said it, I had decided the only way to go was to call the cops and give them Mona.

    I picked up her landline and started to dial.

    “Put the phone down, Buddy,” a voice ordered.

    He was standing in the bathroom.

    A young guy.

    Handsome tyke.

    Holding a really big gun.

    250 WIP

  3. “You may be sorry; after we leave here,” my sister, Jewel cautioned kicking Paul’s leg as he lay unconscious on the floor.
    “I’m always sorry and I’m tired of that.”
    “You always pick the wrong guys; but this one is the worst.” Jewel cried.
    “I should have left him when he said you didn’t have my best interests at heart.”
    “But you didn’t listen to that instinct. He almost killed you , claiming he had no idea who did this to you.”
    “He whispered to me, that he’d cover his own butt and that they’d cover him, and they did.”
    “Don’t you chicken out now. I heard him say that he’d kill if you leave Use this,” she said.
    Red rage took over and I struck him over and over. Turning up the heat we left through the backdoor. I put in the code on Penny’s gate entered the yard. Removing our protective suits and oversized shoes we placed them in the waiting plastic bag. Penny took us to the garage getting in her car. She drove to a dumpster that was picked up next morning and then the airport, where we flew out coming back in a week.
    Paul’s fellow cops arrested the man who donated those missing oversized shoes. He had an alibi so they’re stumped. Jewel and have been questioned; but we have an alibi we were in Vancouver( the heat obscured the death timeline).
    I’m living my best life; now he can’t hurt me anymore.
    249 words

  4. Ariel dusted off his hands in an exaggerated manner. “Right then. I’ve dealt with the trash.”

    Caleb rolled his eyes up while maintaining an expression otherwise devoid of emotion. Roman let out a small snort.

    Glancing around the barge, Ari smiled. “This could almost be the lead-in to a joke. A fae, a werewolf, and a gargoyle meet on a barge in the middle of the Seine.”

    “Nothing to be laughing about,” Caleb growled.

    “Of course there is. My life has been far too boring and mundane lately. I drop by Sade’s only to find a very grumpy vampire and the note she left him stating she was—” The fae made air quotes. “—called into a case and flying off to gay Paree. Without him.”

    The werewolf and the gargoyle exchanged glances. “And I suppose you just had to rag on Sinjen about it?” Caleb ignored the headache forming behind his eyes.

    “Of course I did!” Ari all but chortled. “It’s almost as much fun to tweak his fangs as it is the damn dragon’s tail.”

    Now it was Roman’s turn to roll his eyes skyward, and say with lack of expression, “You may be sorry you got involved.”


    “Because we’re hunting the damn dragon,” Roman pronounced, his voice full or rocks and gravel.

    Ari backed up a step. “Does he know?”

    “He who?” Caleb asked.

    “Either one of them.”

    “Yes and probably,” the werewolf replied when Roman didn’t. “You’re an idiot, Ari.”

    The fae wisely remained silent.
    250 Penumbra Papers WIP words

  5. One eyebrow raises before I burst out laughing. Horace cocks his head, neck joints shifting and his jaw opens in approximation of a laugh. I think. He’s in skeletal form and it’s hard to be sure. Regardless, him trying to look modern always makes me laugh.

    “You may be sorry if you do that in public,” I tell him, pulling in a breath.


    “Because,” I gasp, between giggles. “Doing that…DAB thing or whatever is for the kids. We’re labeled not cool if we do it.”

    He does it again, one arm straight out pointing to the sky, the other bent at the elbow, mimicking the first arm, face tucked into his shoulder. I have to admit it’s pretty cool watching a skeleton do it.

    He puts his arms down. “I have visited the Children’s Plane recently and they spent many minutes teaching me this move. Then the grandmothers said I was distracting them from their schooling. But I it is a fun way to interact with the kids.”

    I smile. If the kids taught him, it can’t be all bad. I’m sure the kids appreciate a check in now and again from Horace, as he brings news of their families on earth. He DABs again and then walks into his office.

    “You should visit the kids sometime. You may learn a new dance move or two,” he says and shuts the door.

    I have two left feet; I doubt the kids are going to appreciate me trying to dance.

    250 words

  6. “You may be sorry,” the hawk typed, stabbing his beak against the keyboard. “It’s nothing you can undo once it’s done.” He strode away from the laptop; leapt onto the branch he used for a perch and dressed his beak against its bark. He eyed me uncertainly and then ruffled himself to double his earlier size.

    I’d shed my clothes an hour ago, wanting to acclimatise myself to the decision I’d made. I’d given up my car, my home, liquidating everything I owned, paying it into the account the shaman had told me about. If what he’d promised me was true, I would simply disappear. People would ask questions but find nothing.

    I picked up the hood that had been left for me, pulling it over my head. Immediately, it went dark, light passing slowly through it, the noises in the cabin becoming muffled and strange as I changed. I felt a yawning within me, a shiver that extended to my fingertips, my toes clenching as I reached for something familiar to reassure me.

    The hawk was much larger now, his eyes flashing with contempt. He walked with an overt menace, his claws and his beak sharp hooks stained with the blood of small mammals. He smelled of death and virility and violence. I felt vulnerable and small.

    “I’ll give you a head start,” the hawk said. “A field’s width or three minutes. A dove like you can dodge or hide but you’ll never outfly me in the open air.”

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  7. Sforzando Alighieri stopped at the crest of the Market Street hill, eyes shielded from the light setting over the Sword Sands south of Mina’ Alsalam by his traveling cloak hood.

    “Are we not going to your ship?”

    Admiral Jasna Saifullah turned back to her unwelcome companion, perfectly mirroring his calculated composure.

    “I never said we were.”

    Sforzando’s black gloved hand clenched on the diamond head of his cane.

    “You wouldn’t be thinking of turning me in, would you?”

    “I might.”

    Jasna pointed the pistol she’d loaded a few blocks back at Sforzando’s chest. He considered her weapon coolly, before fixing his icy blue eyes on her hard violet ones.

    “If you were not interested in my offer, you could have said as much back at the café.”

    Jasna’s sharp grin was as involuntary as it was unfriendly.

    “You miscalculated, Butcher.”

    “If you do this, you may be sorry.”

    “I know your reputation! Don’t insult me by pretending not to know mine!”

    Evening darkened to dusk as each legend waited for the other to twitch. Jasna’s bullets flew faster than Sforzando’s spells, but she would only get one shot. At this range, he was one of two people that might not be enough.

    “What I mean, is you might regret wasting an opportunity to unite against our common enemy.”

    “I might. If you weren’t the higher value target.”

    Sforzando smiled with understanding that turned Jasna’s stomach.

    “Professionally, perhaps. But I know things between you and Cat are personal.”

    247 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  8. She held the toddler tight against her chest. Feeling the little one’s heart beating as fast as her own. The child’s golden curls tickled the underside of her chin.

    The man shuffled toward them, arms outstretched. The cuffs of his shirt hung in tatters, and water dripped from all parts of his body like he walked out of the ocean – after being there for many moons.

    “Hand the brat over.” His jaw dropped as he spoke, and black sediment dripped from the side of his mouth. “You can’t win. If you don’t, you may be …”

    “Sorry? I don’t think so. I don’t do well with threats.”

    Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention, and Serena shifted to see two additional men approaching. That made three against one—and a half—and her blocked off from the sea and her familiar.

    Fast-moving clouds darkened the sky, and thunder roared so loudly, it reverberated through her body.

    Squaw-squaw-squaw. A blur of white feathers swooped, sharp talons tearing at the man’s clothing. A clump of hair dangled from one seagull’s claws.

    “Damn beasts!” He flailed, momentarily forgetting about them.

    A bed of seaweed rose to the surface, tendrils streaking out and striking the two other figures, wrapping around their ankles and retreating with the tide. The feet pulled out from under them, they dug into the wet sand with their nails … only to be yanked into the unforgiving sea.

    She hadn’t done that. In her arms, the child giggled. “Again!”

    250 words

  9. Furious words are on the tip of my tongue when I turn to look at Valmong, but they fall away at the sight of him. The base of his left horn is bleeding, and his right hand holds his ribs, indicating an injury I can’t see. He struggles to stay upright.

    “Val – what happened?” I rush over to help him inside.

    “Noquate’s men.” He groans, sagging into the chair. “More than I anticipated.”

    “Why did you go alone?” I can’t keep the frustration from my voice, even as I tend to his wounds. “I told you-“

    “And risk you too?” He takes over holding bandaging against his wound. “I’m fine.”

    “And your ribs?”

    “Just sore.” He leans back, closing his eyes.

    “Do they know we’re looking for Nevari?”

    “Dead men can’t talk.” Despite his wounds, Valmong is the very picture of ease. Like he didn’t just almost die. Or maybe I’m being alarmist. Either way, my stomach twists with guilt.

    “Let me help.” I swap the bandaging for a cleaner set. The wound has mostly stopped bleeding, so I finish wrapping it. He winces as I touch the gash. “Sorry.”

    “It’s okay.”

    “No it’s-“

    “You may be sorry, but you shouldn’t be.” He opens his eyes and offers me a small smile. “I did this to help you. To keep you safe. And I’m happy to do it.” My heart stutters, and I fight the blush in my cheeks.

    “It’s like you have a death wish.”

    He chuckles.

    248 #TeamRPG words

  10. #ThursThreads Week 448 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

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