#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 465

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 465 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 465:

Heidi R2

Book promoter and fantastic beta reader, Heidi Rundle.

Facebook | Twitter | 

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“It was too late.”

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!

9 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 465”

  1. He’d wanted to wake at sunset, Sade in his arms. Instead of getting his wish, he got the hard truth. This was it. Time. So he’d turned off his emotions and did what he did. Closing his eyes, he leaned his head back.

    The earth spun on its axis. He felt the slip of time as sunrise edged ever closer. Maybe he would remain here on the balcony, looking out across the lake. He could watch the first rays of dawn without ill effect, then the lethargy of the day sleep would envelop his body. He could sit here, watch Day arrive in her colorful dance. He would close his eyes, a last breath expelled from his lungs as his heart slowed and ceased beating altogether and finally find some semblance of peace.

    What about now? Is it too late?

    The words Sade recorded on that message jabbed into his heart. Yes, it was too late. He’d done what had to be done.

    As much as the oblivion of true death beckoned, he wasn’t that big of a coward. He rose, went inside, and emptied the glass of the whiskey he could no longer enjoy into the sink. Courage, he realized, was saying goodbye to the one woman who filled his death with life, so she could live hers to the fullest. And strength was watching over her from afar to ensure that she lived it. Sade deserved her fairy tale ending. Gods knew he would never be a prince.
    250 WIP words, Ghosts & the Ancient Stones

  2. The father spent little time with his family. He figured after he got established, he could relax and be home more. But now, keeping a roof over their heads and food on the table was his priority; work haunted his existence. So when his youngest asked for a puppy, he got her one, because that was easy—it took little time away from his packed schedule.
    The dog had brown eyes and brown fur. Gina cleverly named him “Brownie.”
    “Do not let him leave the yard,” dad said. Gina nodded.
    Brownie and Gina were together constantly. She tried teaching him tricks: stay, come, roll over; however, they were both too young and lessons fell apart quickly.
    But the new red ball excited Brownie: Gina threw, he ran. “Fetch,” she called out, even when it bounced into the roadway.
    As soon as she saw the puppy dart into the street, she called out his name, then chased after him, sprinting into the rush of traffic. Frantic drivers slammed on their brakes, madly turning steering wheels as cars careened in all directions.
    At the sound of the commotion, dad hurried outside. Unfortunately, it was too late. Gina’s lifeless body lay on the blacktop, next to her broken puppy.
    Dad did not return to the office. Paperwork piled up, the phone went unanswered, messages were not returned.
    He just couldn’t manage it anymore: the sound of squealing tires played over and over in his brain; it haunted his existence.
    249 words

  3. Deeper Down the Bunny Rabbit Hole

    I drove to Henderson’s Car Repair. It was languishing in a dank section of town. It was hard to imagine what sort of clientele Glitch Henderson was trying to appeal to by locating his business in Murkyville.

    Some places just seem wrong.

    Time can do that.

    Locals called the South Corridor of town, Murkyville.

    Seemed dead-on to me.

    Our town is mostly built on high ground and the Waverly River flows somewhat around it, narrowing in here and there before washing the southern edges of our civilization, the murky South Corridor to be specific, and then coasting south through a series of farms and new housing developments before connecting with the sea.

    The Waverly floods every few years, so local farmers and the Feds have built a series of earth dikes. As the farmland gets sold off and subdivided, as housing has been built to meet the endless demand, millions have been made.

    Murkyville, the erstwhile South Corridor district, is poised, some believe, to be gentrified soon in a big way.

    A couple of years earlier, I had given some thought to buying up a building or two, you know, invest in my future, sort of a gumshoe retirement plan, but even then, it was too late for my modest means.
    I parked half a block down from the Garage.

    It was close to noon.

    A delivery van drove up.

    Out jumped two giant rabbits.

    Toting guns.

    Loaded for bear.

    Or the rabbit equivalent.

    250 wip

  4. “You’re making an assumption that he’s after me specifically. There are a lot of research scientists in the Big Timber Research Campus. How do you know this Max Louderhorn just wants me?” Okay, he was playing a bit of a game. He’d heard Avery say he wanted Chester, but he wanted Agent Matthews to tell him what all he knew.

    Wilcox tilted her head and the other woman resettled in her chair, but neither said anything to gainsay him.

    “We’ve been watching the Eagle Militia for a while and caught chatter that they’d be making a move on the research campus. There were some emails mentioning a Dr. Martell and his research – I assume you’re the only one at Big Timber?”

    “Yes, as far as I know.”

    Matthews nodded. “There seemed to be some familiarity between Louderhorn and you in his communications, at least on his part. The person with whom he was writing seemed to know you as well.”

    Chester frowned. “Who was the person this Louderhorn was writing to?”

    “No names were given, but the personal email address was irishdrumflower at black dot net.” Matthews tapped his pad of paper with his pen. “Louderhorn intimated that he has some personal history with you that he could use to secure your cooperation in his scheme. What can you tell me about that?”

    It was too late to try to come up with plausible deniability. Chester let his gaze move to Wilcox and she dipped her chin in a quick nod.

    250 ineligible #Sirens words

  5. Catarina grabbed her satchel and climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

    “Put these on.” Catarina handed Ana some clothes. A peasant skirt and wool sweater.

    “What’s wrong with my clothes?” Ana said.

    “Nothing. If you want the Bolshevik gangs roaming the city to recognize you.”

    Ana stared at her a brief moment and then quickly changed her clothes.

    “Meet me at the stable door. We need to leave St. Petersburg now.”

    But it was too late. She brought the wagon to a halt.

    “Bolsheviks. Hide yourself under the floorboard.”

    “Stop!” One of the men approached the wagon pointing his weapon.

    “Dimitri?—It’s me, Catarina. Aron’s sister.”

    The man lowered his rifle and tipped his cap. “What are you doing here? Do you know how dangerous it is? There is fighting all over St. Petersburg.”

    Catarina glanced around her. The Bolsheviks were blocking the road.

    “We are looking for Anastasia Romanov,” Dimitri continued. “The Czar’s youngest daughter.”

    “And you think she’s hiding in my wagon? I spit on aristocrats. I despise them.”

    “She won’t escape. She will meet the same fate as the rest of her family,” Dimitri said, motioning to let the wagon pass.

    Catarina started up the wagon and sped away. She was a Bolshevik. A revolutionary. Aristocrats were the enemy. But now she found herself caught in between, hiding one of them. Not just any aristocrat, but—possibly—Grand Duchess Anastasia. And they had become friends.

    She was torn. Could she betray her new friend?

    Catherine Verdier
    250 Words

  6. The bus’s door banged shut again, and the driver forced the transmission into gear. Kenzie grabbed at the vertical bar and swung into the seat.

    “Another one for launchpad nine,” she said, clipping the lap-belt together. “And can you hurry? I’ve an appointment with Mars, and I don’t think he’s gonna wait.”

    The coach picked up speed as it pulled out onto the expressway. The road was almost empty, the only traffic muddy yellow buses like the one they were in.

    “So why did you wait?” The bus driver looked over his shoulder, ignoring the way ahead. The bus was fitted with governors preventing it from getting too close to the one in front. The rain was coming too heavily for its windscreen wipers to cope. It was like they were driving underwater: it was only the bus’s weight that kept it on the road.

    “It was my folks, ya’ know? Too scared to go themselves and not willing to sign a consent form.” She rolled her eyes and grinned, settling back onto the bench seat. “Said I was too young to go alone; said I’d have to stay with them.”

    “So, how come you’re here? You’ve got a boarding pass – somebody must have signed for you.”

    “Or maybe I borrowed one of their ID cards. Made the decision for myself before it was too late.” She pulled out a pair of glasses and placed them onto her nose. “From now, I’m gonna be called Maggie, don’t ya know?”

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  7. Slayer smiled into the bottom of his lukewarm ale. It was too late to order another round, but too early for the drunks to admit they should be home in bed. The off-duty enforcer hadn’t spent the night in this seedy dive for the drink or the ambiance. He was here for closing time.

    The first toughs began clamoring for something else to fill the void of their existence as their drinks ran dry. Voices raised and chairs toppled. Slayer downed the last of his ale, stood, cracking his neck, and began to look for his first victims. What he found surprised him.

    Someone else had the same idea about how to close out the night. Some sort of tiny cat-eared girl stood on one of the tables, cockily holding the ire of much larger men drawing blades and breaking bottles. Slayer crossed his arms to observe and was rewarded with the girl drawing a cutlass clearly sized for a giant.

    There was a brief window in the best bar fights when the remaining combatants all united against Slayer, before they realized they couldn’t win and turned tail. The girl riding her cutlass like a hurricane through the bar must have really set the fighters off. She was getting an unusually long window and showing no sign of slowing. Slayer’s heart echoed her brash laughter as she demolished her opposition and the bar. This girl was good.

    Slayer drew his favorite axes. This was going to be fun.

    248 Cat’s The Pajamas words

  8. Despite my exoneration from the murder of my parents (by a jury of my peers ) the mistrust and condemnation continued; unfortunately, tainting my teenage daughter’s life and my husband’s career.
    I knew that it was now up to me to nail the killer, I had narrowed down who had killed them… my brother Greg who had always been jealous of me and had wanted all of the inheritance from them, was the culprit. Greg was compulsive about hiding his misdeeds and would have kept paperwork bloody clothes and the murder weapon just as trophies.
    I broke in to what was once my parent’s home while he was in work through an open kitchen window. I knew all his hiding spaces and searched them nothing. Then I remembered the hiding space he had beneath the floor in his closet. I banged the floor the floor lifted leading down to a secret room. In the room he had the things I was looking for. I quickly snapped pictures on my phone. I was just about to leave when he came into the room. It was too late…for him…I sent the pictures to my husband the Chief of Police with instructions on how to get in to the room.
    Calvin came into the room guns blazing I was safe and Greg was on finally on his way to jail. Some still think I’m guilty. I have two words for them but I’m a lady so I won’t say them here.
    248 words

  9. #ThursThreads Week 465 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope ot catch you next week.

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