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 467 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 467:
Gamer, crazy cat lady and novice artist, Nellie Batz.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
“And she was a goner.”
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 467”
Following a Hutch
I decided to appeal to what I hoped was Henderson’s better nature. He was a benevolent if somewhat creepy landlord if Louella’s report on his rescue of her from the playful nude artists was close to accurate.
“Look, I was the one who called the cops on your bunny bandits. What was that about?”
I had his attention. He was finally giving me the once over.
“Private dick,” I said introducing myself. “Been hired to find Henry Samuels.”
“Henry? He should be easy to find. Who’d pay good money to find him? He ain’t worth much.”
“He works for you, doesn’t he?”
“I wouldn’t call it work. He’s good with cars and the occasional joe-jobs.”
“Okay. Sounds like an employee to me.”
“And a tenant?”
“I got a big house. That’s how I met Henry.”
“Must be more than twenty years. Him and his mother arrived in town and boarded with my old lady.
Henry was ten…clingy little kid. Got to know him well back then.”
“Quite a history. “
“Yeah. And a pain in the butt. His mother was a sickly wench. Smoked like a pulp mill. Took to her bed one October, hung on for a few months and she was a goner by Christmas. There was no family and Henry just stayed.”
“Like a little brother!”
“More like a stray mongrel.”
Henderson had a charming way with words.
And I still didn’t know where the gun-totting rabbits fit in.
Randall looked down at the boy–“Good, you’ve brought me all the things I need”–and placed a shiny coin in his small hand, as promised for the errand.
“Will she live?”
He mmmed his deep voice, thinking. “Herbs can only do so much. She must find strength to live.”
The boy followed him into the woman’s room, despite him having tried to close the door behind him.
“I’ve seen injuries less than hers…” the boy said.
Randall tried to find his patience. “Oh.”
The way he spoke wasn’t really a question, but the boy went on.
“And SHE was a goner.”
His voice remained flat. “That’s too bad.”
“It was,” the boy agreed. “I hope this woman will live.”
“Me too,” Randall replied.
“I have another task for you, boy,” Randall interrupted. “I’m hungry. And she’ll be hungry when she wakes. Go down to the innkeeper and bring back some stew, bread, and cheese.” He placed a neat stack of coins in the boy’s hand, the weight forcing him to close his fist.
The boy was suddenly quiet, looking down at his tatty shoes. “How do you know I won’t just run off with your money?”
Randall mmmed again. “Because you are not a stupid boy.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. With a hesitant head, he looked up, his thin face drained of most color as he whispered, “I know what you are.”
Randall nodded. “Then it’s a good thing you’re not stupid.”
246 words @AngoraShade
Glancing around the Bourbon Street bar to see who was listening, the handsome Black man leaned across the table to say in a low, ominous voice, like he was telling a ghost story, “And she was a goner.”
Sunny slanted a dubious side-eye in her friend’s direction. “What are you talking about, Dontrell?”
“Chu, boo. I be talkin’ ’bout chu.” He let the words, wrapped in a deep-fried batter of Cajun accent, roll off his tongue. “I seen you with him. Chu so gone on dat man. I love you and if I liked girls, I’d be jealous. Wait.” He flashed a toothy grin. “I be jealous of you, baby girl. That man swung my way? I’d be all over him like honey on biscuits.”
“Oh, please. Luc is sooo not your type. He’s too alpha for you.”
“Honey, for that man? I’d do whatever he wanted.”
She punched him in the arm. “You are so full of étouffée.”
“Rather be stuffed with andouille, cher.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “Now you’re just being dirty.”
“Dirty as rice, boo.” He licked his lips. “Now I’m hungry.” He waved down a waitress and ordered two plates of dirty rice.
When the food arrived, Dontrell dug in with gusto. Sunny picked at hers. “I can’t afford to get involved with him,” she murmured softly. “You know why.”
He pffft and waved his fork at her. “You think somethin’ like dat would stop dat man?”
“No. And that’s what I’m afraid of.”
250 Cajun Wolf WIP words
Catarina climbed the ladder to the hayloft and poked Ana with the handle of the pitchfork.
“Hey, stop it.”
“Wake up, princess. The cow needs to be milked.”
“Don’t call me that.” Ana brushed away the hay and straightened her dress.
“Duchess, then. You’re something.”
“I’m nobody.” Ana averted her eyes and started down the ladder.
“Wait. Hide yourself,” Catarina said. “Someone’s coming.” She left Ana in the barn as a rider approached.
“Anatoly? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping you’d be happy to see me, Catarina.”
At one time she would have been, but no longer. What there was between them was over.
“Where is the girl?” Anatoly said. “The aristocrat.”
“What are you talking about?” Catarina smoothed out her peasant skirt and said a silent prayer that Anatoly wouldn’t search the farm.
“Your brother suspects you’re hiding her.”
Would her own brother betray her?
Catarina was caught in an untenable situation—aiding the enemy. A girl of the despised aristocrat class. Bolsheviks, rumors said, had executed the Czar’s family, the Romanovs, and were now searching for Grand Duchess Anastasia, who had somehow escaped. And these same Bolsheviks were Catarina’s comrades.
Could Ana be the Grand Duchess Anastasia Romanov?
“If you’re protecting the girl, you betray the revolution, Catarina.” Anatoly started to leave. “Remember what happened to Yelena. She was a spy. The Bolsheviks caught her and she was a goner.”
“I’m no spy, Anatoly.”
She would never betray the revolution, but neither could she betray a friend.
250 Words (from my YA historical fiction WIP)
Jakob sipped at his pint. The O negative was at room temperature, the way he preferred it.
“It takes me back,” he said, listening for the crowd and knowing he wouldn’t hear it. “So many years, so many lives lost. Was it all for nothing?”
“You wanna be careful,” Shaun said. “You keep on like that; you’ll be walking into the light. And that would be a shame.”
They sat in silence, enjoying the mood. The cellar bar was where it had all started, the high of the shared adulation enough for them at first. The band travelled everywhere that first year, venturing across the channel, looking for new thrills. They became aesthetes, gourmands, gluttons; their audiences snowballing until the rapture began to plateau.
And then they did the residency at Tepes’ Vault in Wallachia.
They were a perfect fit. The Brooding Hearts had just released their second album, fans across Europe echoing the lyrics to Death in Harness, Bloodstain Spatter Analysis and And She Was a Goner; their eyes rolling back in their heads, their whites luminescing in the gloom.
It was such an incredible high. Everyone should have the chance to feel it for a while.
The in-house band there offered them a host of new opportunities. The Succubus Maids were a local group; six buxom blondes playing guitars. Their after-gig parties were legendary, their lead singer Elvira knowing no limits. She could charm every man who had drawn breath.
And almost all the ones who didn’t.
249 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com
“Wow, this is amazing.” He walked in and set his bag on the bed beside a stack of rust-colored towels.
“The bathroom is through that door and shared with the room next door.” She pointed to the right. “The closet is there opposite the bathroom.”
Chester nodded. “And where will you be staying? You know, if I need to reach you?”
She pointed to the bathroom door. “Straight through there. We share the bathroom. I’m your suitemate.”
She meant it like “roommate”, but it somehow came out like “sweet mate” and an awkwaard silence followed her words. She wasn’t prone to blushing, but the heat rose to her face and she glanced away as she cleared her throat.
“If we’re ever breached, drop what you’re doing and go straight through the bath to my quarters. I’ll get you out from there.”
He shot her a nervous look. “Have you ever been breached here?”
She smirked. “Not so far, but we’re prepared if it ever happens. I’ll let you get settled and I’ll meet you downstairs to give you the tour and the ground rules.”
“Yeah, okay. Hey Captain?”
She turned around at the door. “Yeah?”
“Thanks for doing this. I’m glad I’m here.” He gave her his crooked grateful smile.
And she was a goner, for sure. She nodded and ducked out, afraid if she stayed longer, she’d wrap him in her arms just to make sure he was safe.
240 ineligible #Sirens words
“That Plutosian pig is back!” Paprika spat.
The proprietor of the country roadhouse groaned and massaged his broad forehead.
“This is why I don’t let you talk to the customers.”
Paprika waved her employer off with a snort.
“You don’t pay me enough to talk to the customers! But this one’s worse! The way he looks at me…”
“They all look at you like that. That is what I pay you for.”
Paprika shook her head, rattling her headdress.
“Either ban him or find yourself a new dancing girl!”
“Lucretius is one of the richest men in Plutos! I can’t ban him!”
Paprika rigidly crossed her arms. Her beleaguered boss rose heavily from his stool next to the dressing room door.
“Alright, alright. Just wait here.”
The dubious dancer watched her employer exit the cramped back room. Her suspicions were confirmed by the key click in the lock on the other side of the door. She gave it a three-count before creeping over to test the door. Locked.
She’d said several times that the dressing room needed a better lock. Producing pins from her costume, she was for once glad her boss hadn’t listened. She had only ever seen a few locks picked in her life. This was one of them. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t sticking around.
Paprika got the door open in time to see Lucretius hand the proprietor an obnoxiously heavy purse. And wave his guards over to her. And she was a goner.
248 Cat’s The Pajamas words
“Did you have to do this?” Maxwell demanded.
“Do what?” I asked, pretending innocence.
“Don’t think you can wheedle your way out of this one.”
“It was necessary and she was a goner anyway.”
“Do you need help with disposing of the body?”
“No, I think I have that all handled; at least I will. It’s all in the details, you know!”
“That’s why I’m asking. If you want this to work you have to…”
“Are you mansplaining to me?”
“My name is Theodora not DORA!!”
“My name is Theodora Black.”
“Was that an air raid siren?”
“Are you trying to distract me?”
“Is it working?”
I didn’t answer thinking hard. Max started kissing my neck. I pushed him away.
“I thought you were done the killing phase last week.”
“I’ll have to get back to you.”
“Sometimes I think you don’t love me,” Max complained.
“Maxwell Black you are the light of my life and I adore you; but I need a half an hour to dispatch Ariel and then we can canoodle.”
“I thought you already killed her.”
“I’ve decided to exterminate her a little differently.”
“That’s what you said when you killed Paul last week and Henry the week before.”
“It worked the two of them have been eradicated; with no evidence to find the killer. See!”
Max read my notes.
“You are amazing.”
“Thank you dear now give me one half hour to finish this chapter, so I’m finished writing the book.”
#ThursThreads Week 467 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week for our 9th Anniversary Celebration!