#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 535

Welcome back to the home of Paranormal & Dauntless Romance. Wow. Year 10. A whole decade. I’m astounded.

Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, like we have for 10 whole years. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 535 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 535:

Mary Decker

Computer geek, bass player, historical reenactor, and flash fiction writer, Mary Decker.

Facebook | Twitter |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’ll think about 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 535”

  1. The Road Back

    It was one of those nights when the stars were dancing in the heavens. I was driving back from Grover City and a small collection of debt matter.
    Up ahead, I saw a lone figure, thumb out seeking escape from the dark. It was colder than a mature witch’s generous bounty, so I took a chance, pulled over, and gestured him in.
    “Thanks,” the young man said. “It’s colder than a …”
    “Yeah,” I jumped in. “I know. Where you headed?”
    “Any place warm,” he smiled and shivered.
    “Then you found it.”
    I got back on the highway.
    We were quiet for a few minutes the way most people are when it’s a new engagement.
    “Okay to smoke?” he asked.
    “Crack open your window a bit…but okay.”
    “Nah. I can wait.”
    More silence, then he dug in with a classic opening gambit: “What’s your line?.”
    Given my amusing career, I told him. “Private Eye AND Restaurateur.”
    “Really,” he smiled. “How’s that work?”
    “Marginally,” I downplayed it. “I like food. I like solving other people’s problems. Opened my own place. Dick’s Joint.”
    “Your name’s Dick?”
    “Nope. That’s what I do.:
    “Funny,” he said.
    “I think so.”
    “How about you?”
    He thought about that.
    “It ain’t pretty.”
    “Not much is,” I answered.
    “I just did a nickel at State.”
    “Harsh. Anything for me to be worried about?”
    “Nah. I’m cured.”
    “Good. Can you cook?”
    “Prison food.”
    “Looking for a job?
    “I’ll think about it.”
    “Don’t think too long.”

    249 WIP possibly

  2. “I asked if you were good with this after all the ribbing we caught.” They’d made it up to the bedrooms and stopped in front of Chester’s door. “I wanted to make sure we were still on the same page about this.”

    “Are you planning to kiss me more?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

    “Yeah, hell, yeah. Every place you’ll let me.” He nodded, his expression guarded but hopeful.

    “Then I’m all for it. Let’s get to it, doc.”

    His smile turned shy and his cheeks flushed with heat. “Right.” He pushed the door open and led them inside, before he kicked it closed and pulled her close. “I’ve been waiting to do this for days. Ever since I watched you work in the underground labs.”

    He slanted his lips over her and her heart thundered with the pleasure surging through her. She loved when a man took charge, showing her what he wanted without treating her like some delicate flower that couldn’t take his loving.

    When they came up for air, she met his gaze with a grin.

    “I like the way you kiss.”

    “You do? That’s good. Maybe we can do some more, but naked.” He winked.

    “I’ll think about it.” She tilted her head and placed her index finger on her chin. “Yup, thought about it and I’m all good with it.”

    He laughed and tugged her over to the bed. “Good. Let me get undressed and then I’ll be right with you.”

    245 ineligible #Sirens words

  3. “But you said that when you were done with work we could go!”

    “I said I’ll think about it. And I’m not done with work!”

    “But dad…”

    “I said I’ll think about it! If you ask again, the answer will be no. Now you’ve got to let me work.”

    She slunk away, not for the first time that day. She wanted me to go to the park with her. To play video games. To buy something – whatever it was. I mean, fuck. What does she think I am?

    This project has turned into a major pain in my ass. The client waited until a week before delivery to change, like, everything.


    As if I don’t have enough on my plate. Now I have to gut a 63-slide deck and reframe the entire presentation because some rich prick wandered in and decided that he didn’t think what we’d done would sell.

    Done with work? I’d never be done with work.

    I suppose I might have heard the garage door opener. It’s possible I could have noticed that she hadn’t asked for anything in hours, but frankly I was glad I could focus on one damned thing.

    I didn’t even hear my phone buzz five different times.

    The knock on the door was insistent, though.

    “Goddamn politicians! I’ll vote against anyone who’s knocking right now!”

    But it wasn’t some candidate for dog catcher at the door with some useless pamphlets.

    He did have a body in his arms, though.

    248 words

  4. Meg attempted to step around the tall man with the fascinating eyes. He leaned slightly to block her. “Move out of my way.”

    “Not a chance, lass.”

    “I’m not a lass. I’m an adult.” He muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “Then act like one,” but she wasn’t sure.

    “Why are you being so stubborn?”

    “’Tis my job at the moment.”

    “Well, you could stop doing it. Or let someone else do it.”

    “I’ll think about it.”

    “You’ll think about it? Don’t bother. If you have to think about it, I already know the answer.”

    “And that would be?”


    Kin did not smile. The woman’s cheeks were already flushed with temper and as tempted as he was to provoke her even more, he’d regret subjecting the others to her ire. Besides, this was a private game between the two of them.

    “Let me make something perfectly clear, provided your pea-sized male brain can comprehend it.”

    When she paused to breathe, Kin arched one brow in both challenge and amusement. Her eyes narrowed to angry slits and he was reminded once again of the kitten he’d once rescued from a bucket of water.

    “You are not the boss of me.”

    He still didn’t laugh, though he wanted to. Desperately. Instead, he lowered the arched brow and raised the other. “Is that the best you’ve got?”

    Sputtering, so angry now she couldn’t speak, she hit his chest with closed fists.

    “Feel better now?”

    “No.” Whirling, she marched away.
    249 Hard Target: Crossfire WIP words

  5. It’s been a long day. I’m fried. But I got a lot done. Okay. Maybe that depends on how you define a lot. Yeah, yeah. I can hear you. Inside my brain cells, you’re standing there, looking at me, screaming at me, “A lot is just that! A lot! You idiot! Don’t you know anything!”

    I’d tell you, “I’ll think about it.” But I’d be lying. I won’t think about it. I’ll just call you one of those blind followers of simplicity that doesn’t understand anything more complex than an on and off switch for a desk lamp. And anyway, I know you’re not real. You’re one of those Autistic scripts that runs amuck every now and then when I’m tired, or stressed, or depressed, that tries to tell me how pathetic I am.

    What if you were real? What would I say?

    “Okay, smart ass. Define a lot without using the words a lot.”

    That’s like asking people, “What’s the answer to the question, how are you today?”

    People look at you like you’re stupid. “How can you not know the answer to that?”

    Because I’m Autistic you idiot! You know what that means? All that social crap that you know by instinct? All those rules you are born understanding? All those things you know not to do? All the bad behaviors you know not to have?

    For us Autistics, that doesn’t exist.

    So, tell me, oh great, magnificent one. What is the definition of “a lot”?

    248 Words from #NaNoWriMo2022

  6. “Jerome Solomon, you are under arrest for mutiny, suspected murder, and several crimes against the Bioethics Replenishment project.”

    Jerome turned back to see three of the maroon-suited jarheads, that the Congregation for Scientific Advancement used for security, approaching him.

    “I have committed no crime. I simply commenced the planned Ark expedition early and liberated its crew from involuntary confinement and forced servitude.”

    “Sir,” Simon’s voice hissed in his ear, “you also jettisoned Dr. Abelle without proper bulkhead reinforcement and ordered your computer to run an unlicensed mindwipe of the entire command structure of this facility.”

    “Not helping, Simon,” Solomon gritted through his teeth.

    “Mr. Solomon,” the guard growled, “do we need to take active measures?”

    “You can send back up anytime now, Simon.”

    “I’ll think about it,” the computer’s voice answered.

    “Think about it, what is there to think about? Everything I did today was based on your model for my best escape route.”

    “But you did it, sir, not me.” Simon answered, sounding oddly philosophical for a computer.

    “Yes, of course I did it. I had to do it.” I had to be responsible, otherwise people would blame…” Jerome looked up, finally understanding, “they’d blame you.”

    “Did I pass your test Simon?”

    At that moment, five dock droids slammed into the jarheads.

    “Yes, you treated me as a peer and not a machine and protected me.” Simon replied. “Now please run, we have five minutes before our launch window closes.”

    241 Words
    Joel Sandersen

  7. Getting an audience with my father – no matter how many times I’ve done it – is always an ordeal. Never mind actually getting him to agree to my request. And now that I’m actually face to face with him and have his undivided attention, my resolve wavers a bit.

    What if I’m making a mistake? But I can’t let myself think that way. My gut has never steered me wrong, and the visions are only getting worse. I pace to keep myself from shaking as I recount the visions I’ve had over the past week – flashes of Celeste and Kieran hurt and in pain. Both princesses being held by some unknown force. My father’s men bloodied and beaten. Each image bleaker than the last. By the time I’m done, my father is as taken aback as I am tired.

    “So what do you propose, Eleanora?”

    “Let Nolan and me go ahead of the main party. Give us a few days to investigate.”

    “We’ll send word when it’s safe to follow.” Nolan’s voice is steady, calm, a contrast to mine.

    “If it’s safe.”

    My father leans back in his chair, eyes going between us, worry behind them. He doesn’t usually take me seriously, so seeing him like this does offer a little comfort.

    “I’ll think about it.”

    “Thank you.” I bow, and Nolan follows suit before we both leave the throne room.

    “Do you think he’ll agree?”

    “I hope so.”

    238 untitled fantasy WIP words

  8. A thrill ran up Mikhail’s spine. He reflexively began to bare his fangs before mastering himself. The mortals showed surprising success in constructing a cell to contain the ancient vampire lord. He could barely sense the outside world. Still, something was different.

    It was night. He never needed to see the sky to know that. The compound was unusually still. Even with the stacks of books Marilla kindly brought him, he had ample time to practice extending his senses through the formidable barriers.

    A key turned heavily in Mikhail’s cell door. They never opened his cell at night. They depended on the safeguard of sunlight should he try anything.

    The door slid into its pocket, and the sharp scent of fresh blood nearly drove Mikhail into a frenzy. Marilla stood in the doorway, as stiff and insensate as a statue. Behind her leered Avery, Mikhail’s crimson-clad consort.

    “Here, Beloved. I’m sure they haven’t been feeding you properly!”

    Avery cruelly shoved Marilla into Mikhail’s chest. He fought the urge to rip the gentle guardswoman open and sate his terrible hunger. He had gone this long without blood before.

    Control was the one thing he never managed to teach Avery. How many did she kill to free him? And what cost would they pay this time?

    “Often, I’ll think about it. You were always selfish, but you have become truly evil since I turned you.”

    “And you still love me.”


    Mikhail sank his fangs into Marilla’s neck.

    246 PRUDENT words

  9. The next EVA suit was a Kzin design; its shoulders articulated to allow the wearer to reach behind it. Its gauntlets were preloaded with concussion drivers, their needle-point heads formidable weapons at close quarters.

    But it had nothing that could be used at a distance. I preferred to keep my enemies beyond arms’ length, paring their appendages off one by one.

    I shook my head, feigning disinterest. There were a couple of Protean Goliaths taking up space in the rear of the hangar, the polished chrome of their heads dulled by age. In another corner, a Synod IX stood tall above everything else, its height making it an easy target for a disruptor.

    “I don’t know,” I said. “I was looking for something more humaniform. I need it to function like an escape pod but not draw the attention of an enemy’s gun turret. There’s little point escaping from a disintegrating alien attack craft if someone with an itchy trigger finger vaporises you before you’re clear of its wreckage.”

    I pointed to the Atom Sub-Commander I’d been hoping to buy. “I’ll offer you salvage rates for that one. Minus a surcharge for my trouble. I can’t offer you much because you can’t get the reactor rods anymore.”

    “You’re making me laugh,” Charlie guffawed, sucking his teeth and hawking out a loogie. “There’s a good five hundred man-hours left in that suit. Now, if you offer me a thousand credits and a trade-in on your Armourlite, maybe I’ll think about it.”

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

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