#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 450

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 450 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 450:

Luanne Bennett

Thrivin’ American Mutt, Reader with Honest Reviews, Luanne Bennett.

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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’m the one casting it.”

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 450”

  1. I don’t usually do it but he was remarkably handsome. In this part of town all the men are significantly above average and the key is to find one whose assets are not…artificially inflated. Most importantly, E-G-O. His was fine. I knew this because he was making cutesy noises to his shih tzu on a bench in St. Mark’s Park late on a Sunday afternoon in April. He laughed and apologized when Minnie growled and started yapping at Austin, my too-big-for-my-apartment lab.

    He somewhat controlled his girl and stood. He said how handsome my Austin was, holding a slithering Minnie in the crook of his left elbow. I am proud that while I thought it I did not mention how handsome he was. He began to walk with me.

    “I’m Peter, from the Island.”

    “Jerry, from Queens,” I said. “I could use the company.”

    I know. It was a cheesy pick-up line but truth be told, it popped out unplanned.

    It was getting on six. He asked if I was hungry. I confessed I was. Then one thing led to another thing and then yet another thing and I woke up in his bed, Minnie between us and Austin in a ball on the floor. I savored the view of his form wrapped in the blanket we shared when he suddenly jumped up.

    “Damn. I have an audition at nine-thirty on Bleecker.”



    I put my arm around him. “Relax. There’s time,” I said. “I’m the one casting it.”

  2. Death Sometimes Tickles

    Mona proved quite adept at a full-body frisk. It was not a totally unpleasant experience. As she tickled my private ivory parts, my eyes lasered onto the exsanguinating remains of Wick Waters.

    Waters had been a lout, no doubt, but his murder was problematic. For Gorgeous Mona, for Gunsel Skippy, it was a burden to be dealt with. For me, it might mean a death sentence. I felt the need to get the upper hand.

    “No gun,” she finally concluded.

    “My, my,” said Skippy, “A pistolless dick.”

    “You’ve seen one too many detective movies, Skippy. Some of us have better weapons of mass seduction.”

    “Funny one, bud. Anyways, this is my directorial debut. I’m the one casting it and you’re about to end up on the cutting room floor.”

    I let that sink in. Skippy was sending a clear message. I had no immediate physical move, so I went for a mental machination.

    “Let’s work on this together, Skip. Waters was no friend of mine. In fact, we’ve crossed swords a couple of times. So, no love lost here. You’ve already got one body. No point in doubling your dilemma.”

    To demonstrate his thought process, Skippy scratched his noggin with the barrel of his gun.

    I upped the ante. “There’s quite a lot of blood already. Gonna be a bitch to clean.”

    With that, Mona rushed to the bathroom, returned with a towel, screeched, “Murder’s so messy, Skippy.”

    Out of the mouths of murderous Babes, I thought.

    250 WIP

  3. If Calla thought working in showbiz was hard before the apocalypse, it was a nightmare now. Power outages and additional security to protect the actors from the dead, as well as the living, added new stressors. Reassuring up and coming starlets that they wouldn’t turn out like you took more of her time than she wanted, too.
    “You’ll be fine. Turned can’t get within fifteen feet. Your scene partner will come up to you, you’ll both say your given lines, and the director and staff will make their decision. They’ve seen three today so far. If you are prepared, I think you’ll make it.”
    “How do you know?”
    Calla smiled and lifted her hair to show the scars that made her famous. “I’m the one casting it, my dear.” She rubbed her hands down the actress’ arms, surreptitiously checking for any marks the girl may have tried to hide beneath makeup.
    “Next audition!” boomed from the row of chairs with the directing team. Calla gave the girl a last smile and then moved down into the pen of Turned for a closer look at the potential stars. Immune and invisible to Turned from her childhood bites, Calla could easily get within their ranks to shepherd the once-men where the director wanted them. She liked that the position let her see how an actress would look to their viewers.
    This girl…She had a spark. It was a pity she’d be bitten in the last scene.

    244 words
    Twitter: miya_kressin

  4. Kendra shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter. The upshot is we now have a way to get out of this place without setting off alarms.”

    Phinn frowned as he laid the clothes on the bed. “How do you figure we’ll do that?”

    She pulled up her pants and shrugged into the shirt. “The clothes are spelled for camouflage and invisibility. Can’t you feel it?”

    He raised his eyebrows and brought the clothing up to his nose as if he could smell the magic on them, but shook his head. “No, I don’t feel anything other than the high quality outdoor fabric.”

    “Then you’ll have to take my word for it. Just get dressed. We’re getting out of here tonight.”

    He shook his head and undressed, and she had a moment like he had, of just wanting to stare. When had he gotten so handsome? She hadn’t realized just how sculpted and strong he was. That could be because I’ve never seen him naked. That was as good as excuse as any and she mentally slapped herself back into the present.

    “What are we going to do about the guards? They’re not just going to wander away from their posts to let us leave the room.”

    She slid her arms into the jacket’s sleeves and settled the hood around her head. “I’ve been working on a little spell just for this occasion.”

    “How do you know it will work?”

    “Because I’m the one casting it and I know my craft.”

    248 ineligible #CloudburstColorado words

  5. Tristram continued to stare her down. He had caramel eyes; his irises flecked with green. His jaw was angular and lightly furred, Thursday’s full moon affecting his mood.

    Ophelia decided to bait him more. She loved to watch him fighting himself. She was glad to have him on his back foot, his need to ingratiate himself giving her an edge.

    “You presume too much,” she said, raising her fan and wafting it between them. She ventured a feral smile, knowing he’d see it as a challenge.

    “It’s hardly a favour,” said Tristram. “Your mother wouldn’t hesitate to choose me if she were here. I’m simply the best choice – the only choice, if you compare me with the other candidates.”

    “And yet Mama’s indisposed.” Ophelia snapped her fan shut. “And she’s left me in charge. We need a man, but not any man. We need a beast to fill the role, more of a cur than the whelp I see before me.”

    Tristram tried again. He growled low in his throat for a moment. “But what of Timothy and Hugh? And Cedric?” he said. “Do you see any of them as the Bridgeton Beast; the alpha male in Regency clothes?”

    Ophelia nodded, curt. “Timothy was a poor fit. Too compliant. No fire. As for Hugh?” She raised her fan and let it fall, hanging limp from her wrist. “Which leaves you and Cedric vying for the role. So, persuade me now, mon Cherie. And remember, I’m the one casting it.”

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  6. “I’m the one casting it.”

    Martha read those words just minutes before it happened. I tried to warn her that something was off here. Unfortunately, she didn’t hear me in time.


    Let’s rewind and go back to just a couple of hours earlier.

    We decided to go through the Woods on our way home from school today. It was like a typical day nothing out of the ordinary. However, when we got to a clearing in the woods, we saw something that was going to change our lives.

    We had stumbled upon this ancient community. But we went this way every day and it was never here before so of course we had to investigate.

    It looks like they just vanished. We’re intrigued and decide to look around. The first few houses seemed normal. However, on the table on the next house, there was this spell. It seemed to be there for us. Against our better judgment we walked over to the table picked up the paper. Of course, two teenagers think what’s the harm in reading a paper. We didn’t know until it was too late.

    Martha finished reading the spell along and then vanished.

    I ran away as soon as I could but to this day, I avoid the woods. The people in our town think Martha ran away and I’m too chicken to tell them the truth.

    I’m afraid of what would happen to me if I returned.

    242 words – kmariehamelink@gmail.com

  7. “This isn’t going to work. We’re going to be found out,” my sister whispered.
    “I am Hecuba high priestess of this city and I’m the one casting it. Cilla you must be quiet lest you incur the wrath of those in the coven gathered here,” I whispered.
    Cilla quieted.
    I stood before the Lecter and cut open the boar on it. Dripping its fresh blood in the caldron, I then mixed the ingredients quickly.
    Taking a brush, I spread the mixture quickly over the decaying body of Tristian and then spoke the incantation. Then with a flare for the dramatic, conjured fire that flared upon into the air; but did not touch Tristian.
    We all waited patiently and Tristian’s eyes opened.
    “Who did this to you Tristian?” I asked.
    “Cilla.” He answered.
    We all turned to Cilla shocked; she had killed our grand seer and my husband?
    “Ask him what he did! He’s under your guidance is he not and must answer.”
    “Hold her. I commanded the others, then turning to Tristian I asked, “What did you do that Cilla wanted you dead?”
    “I slept with Evanora and we plotted to overthrow you; but Evanora killed me not Cilla.”
    “Has anyone seen Evanora?” I asked.
    No one had, I mixed the ingredients again and threw the powder into Tristian’s eyes. His body quivered then died again. We buried him. Cilla and I were free; they’d never know we killed them both. I would remain high priestess to lord over all.
    250 words

  8. “Because I’m the one casting it, that’s why!”

    Two men made soothing motions with their hands while backing away from Verity. Steam all but shot from the little witch’s ears.The third man cast a baleful glare toward the gargoyle. “She’s your mate, Roman. Can’t you do something?”

    Leathery wings exploded from Roman’s back. “And you, Ariel Daoine, are sometimes too stupid to remain living. As you carry the title of the King’s Seducer, I would have thought Oberon would choose a fae with more brains.”

    A nimbus of glitter glistened around Ariel but Caleb stepped between the two magicks. “You do remember that Sade is missing? And if we don’t get her back before Sinjen gets here…” He deliberately trailed off the sentence.

    Ari puffed up but stopped glowing. “I am not afraid of the vampire.”

    “But you should take heed of the werewolf’s words.”

    Caleb snarled, punctuating the gargoyle’s advice.

    “Why not just ask the infernal dragon?” Ari whined.

    Making a slow study of the room, Caleb growled, “Do you see the bloody dragon standing here?”

    “Obviously not. Why not go find him?”

    Roman closed his eyes, struggling for patience. “What do you think we are doing?”

    Ari looked perplexed. “I thought Verity was casting a seeking spell to find Sade.”

    “I am,” she snapped. “Plus locate Nikos and a returning spell to get Sade back.”

    Ari surrendered. “Shutting up now.”

    “Where’s Sade?”

    All eyes turned to the dangerous vampire standing in the door.

    Oh. Shit. Sinjen was in the building.
    250 Penumbra Papers WIP words on a frigi winter afternoon

  9. The movie celebrity DRAKE pushed back his chair dramatically, struck a pose, and bellowed, “I came here to be Dastardly Dirk Daemonne. You call this a rehearsal. This play is amateurish, and this troupe is the most disorganized, group of country bumpkins I’ve ever been a part of.”

    All eyes were upon DRAKE as silence filled the room. Slowly, eyes fell upon me.

    I stared. My head crooked; I breathed through my mouth in shock.

    Joan grabbed Drake’s arm, “That was rude. Sit down.”

    “No, I could do a more professional job of directing this amateur show.” After sweeping his arms wide in another dramatic gesture, he sat awkwardly because the chair had moved.

    I almost chuckled, but swallowed, and spoke self-confidently. “Really? Mister Drake, we may be country bumpkins, but we’re here to have fun.”

    I looked around and heads nodded.

    “We,” I pointed to the troupe, “are friends and neighbors. Our ticket purchasers will be family, friends, and neighbors. We’re here to stage this melodrama about our community to raise money for our community center. I’m the one casting it. You may be a famous actor, but in this room, you don’t possess OUR union card.”

    “How dare you?” He rose and hustled to the door where he posed for his exit line. “Real professionals call me DRAKE.”

    “Sorry!” Joan left her script and skitted away. “I’m so sorry.”

    Slowly, eyes turned to me. Then clapping erupted.

    “Thanks, but it looks like we’ll need two replacements. Suggestions?”

    250 words pattydump1@embarqmail.com

  10. The heat of the day is passed with a good hour of daylight left. More serious anglers won’t show up until after dark. Our dad likes us home by then, so Clara and I have Angler’s Rock mostly to ourselves.

    “Look how far I threw it!”

    Clara’s musical laugh makes the year teaching myself to surf fish instantly worthwhile. Of course, our lure didn’t really go that far and I’m the one casting it. Still, it’s enough to make her happy and that’s enough for me.

    Other kids have one parent or the other to teach them this kind of stuff, but Clara’s only ever had me since our mum died. Dad’s lucky if he has enough strength to feed himself between working, passing out and working again. Most nights he doesn’t even make it to his bed. I’ve noticed while the rest of the island tolerates us, they don’t like us much.

    “What are you doing?”

    I’m shaken from my thoughts by a voice too cultured for someone Clara’s age or from our island.

    “Fishin’!” Clara declares proudly.

    My voice clamps in my throat at the sight of the girl in the green satin dress and blindingly polished shoes, either one of which is probably worth more than our shack. She must be the magistrate’s daughter! Are we even allowed to talk to her? If we aren’t, it’s already too late to stop Clara from explaining the intricacies of surfcasting, as she understands them, to her new friend.

    249 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  11. Jumping at shadows.

    The shadows are growing long again, and as the seasons change, I can’t help but wonder what lives in those shadows.

    What lies are told? What worlds exist only in that moment?

    As I walk I see my shadow follow me and the writer inside starts playing ‘what if?’ What if the Shadow is a living thing? What if it’s following me, trying to catch up and take over my life?

    Is there some metamorphic point where the shadow and the real world meet and what happens if we dive into each other? Do I become the shadow? Does the shadow become me?

    I used to wonder these things— until one moonless night when the shadow moved and I didn’t.

    I hate to admit it, but I ran. I ran for all I was worth, and in that moment of panic, I didn’t realize I’d run out into the street until the headlights rushed towards me from all angles. I’d lost my shadow, but only until that moment of impact when everything became clear.

    I looked up to see a young man standing in front of me, offering me his hand. I let him help me up, and looking around I realized my shadow was where it belonged doing things that shadows do.

    I gave him a relieved smile, “I was running from my shadow,” I shyly admin.

    “I know,” he said. “I’m the one casting it.”

    240 words (not including title)

  12. #ThursThreads Week 450 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week. 🙂

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