#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 536

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 536 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 536:

AKV in sunglasses

Cat wrangler, master violinist, and Tea connoisseur, Muirlette #1.

If you’re concerned, she is just shy of 18 yrs, so she can read adult themes.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“You can send backup anytime now.”

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!

12 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 536”

  1. “Before I destroy the fabric of your reality, let me say this. You can send backup anytime now. You’re going to need it.”

    I didn’t wait for a response, and instead leaped straight into my destructive work.

    “How much is 100%?”


    “How much is 100% of something? Or anything? Can you have more than 100% pure gold?”

    “No, you can’t get more than 100% of anything! Every idiot knows that!”

    I looked at the chart on the wall, and pointed at it. “Then explain this to me.”

    The chart showed survey results from asking 2382 white Christians a set of questions about the population of the United States. What I found hilarious was the makeup of the population, per the chart.

    White people – 40% of the population.
    Black people – 30% of the population.
    Asian people – 40% of the population.
    Hispanic/Latino people – 40% of the population.

    If you added it all up, it was 150% of the population of the country.

    “How can white Christians think there are more people in this country than are in this country?”

    I was greeted by silence. Apparently the idiot knew that the numbers made no sense at all.

    “How can white Christians add 40, 40, 40, and 30 together, and get 100? Do they not know how to add?” I stared at him. “Or, perhaps, they’re just terrified of things, of people who are not white Christians like them?”

    You can’t really argue with numbers like that. The guy shut up.

    249 Words

  2. The Road Back-Part 2

    I’m not sure I’d recommend hiring any goober you picked up on a dark highway. I’m usually more thoughtful. Leastways, I tell myself that. But every once in a while, you got to step out of yourself and look at the world with the eyes of someone else.

    Charlie Angel had readily admitted he had just spent five years in prison.

    The upside was he could cook.

    Prison food.

    Me, I owned a small café, Dick’s Joint.

    That and occasionally taking on private eye matters.

    Private Dick matters.

    Get it?

    Maybe it’s an in joke.

    Or should stay that way.

    Anyway, he was game to come to work for me and we headed through the night smoking up a storm and bonding the way two strangers who usually didn’t trust anybody might.


    And because there was no time like the present, we drove until we arrived at my café.

    “Show me your stuff,” I said.

    “You mean now?”

    “I’m hungry. Cook me up some vittles.”

    He jumped right in. Eggs over easy; Thick bacon crisped to a frazzle; home fries; Coffee.

    After eight hours on the road, it smelled like culinary heaven, so I told him, “Looks and smells great.”

    “Yeah,” he said. “I was going to say you can send backup anytime now if I fumble the ball but I been whipping up this menu since I was a kid.”

    How could you not appreciate an ex-con whose mother taught him to cook.

    249 WIP (possibly)

  3. The call came at just after 6 a. m, a week ago, my fiancé, Massimo was missing in action. Grandma had passed away last month, but I needed to talk to her, even if she didn’t hear me.
    Icy rain poured from the heavens and I slipped on a patch of ice near grandma’s grave, hitting my head.
    I awoke and looked into the eyes of my rescuer in shock. My grandmother cradled me in her arms.
    “I moved heaven and earth to get here, to tell you missing, doesn’t mean dead.”
    “You can send backup anytime now.”
    “Don’t get snippy with me, my brothers came back from missing.”
    “They did?”
    “Yes, but my father didn’t, but Bobby and Willie were safe. They lived to ripe old ages of 101 and 101. You come from a long line of strong women. You can survive for my great-grandchild growing in your womb. I must go now, I love you.”
    With that I awoke again lying-in an arm with a cast that still held me tight.
    “Are you real?” I asked.
    “I’m real. Are you okay?”
    “I am now Massimo.”
    Massimo went back to fight another day. My sorrow was only postponed as Massimo lost his life, ,remembering grandma I found my iron spine. My daughter and are taking one day at a time, perhaps some day I will find love again; but I am strong, I have grit, I am a Jones woman and we blossom, not just endure.
    249 words

  4. Beau tilted his head back until his neck popped. The sky was a long way up. He lifted his right foot. Mud squelched as water gushed from the top of his boot. Chin dropping to his chest, he heaved out a sigh. Raising his head, he pleaded, “Seriously? My favorite pair of boots?”

    With serious effort, he freed both feet and sloshed over to the sloping wall of mud. His hands sank into the slimy dirt and no matter how hard he scrambled with his feet, he only managed to climb about four feet before ending up on his ass in the murky water. Soaked and mud covered, he just sat there, filthy hands resting on his bent knees.

    “Well, ol’ son,” he groused. “This is a mell of a hess you’ve gotten into.” He glanced skyward. He was about thirty feet down. He remembered sprinting for the bank of the bayou, Luc beside him. They’d been sent out to pick up Florent Mouton on an arrest warrant. The damn couyon took off running, he and Luc hard on the Cajun’s heels. And then the bottom dropped out. Sinkhole.

    Cussing in French, he half crawled, half swam searching the crater’s bottom. “Luc!” Silence. “You be a damn Wolf, Beau LeBlanc. Use your nose.”

    His mouth watered at the scent of hot, buttered popcorn. Someone was asmused. Looking up, he saw Luc peering over the edge. Laughing.

    “Need help?” his partner called.

    Beau growled. “Yeah, you can send backup anytime now.”
    250 Cajun Wolf WIP words just for fun

  5. Ranking Roger

    Harriet Duvane was a woman of a certain age. Few people would call her a lady, but she had no problems with that. She knew how to have a good time, and her notoriety had made her notably popular. Moderation was for people lacking in passion.

    This man was riding the edge. He had enough money to be interesting but fell short on personality. He’d look good the morning after, but he would also require several bottles of champagne to overcome his problems.

    Surely there’d be some better prospects here tonight.

    “Go on then, Roger,” she said. “Please call your friend over. You can send backup anytime now. I’m feeling tired, but not in the way that would hasten my bedtime. At least not one that would finish with me alone drinking a mug of cocoa.”

    The flight lieutenant was still in his uniform. He’d thought it would give him an edge, an advantage over the other men here tonight in the civilians’ club. Instead, it confirmed him as a junior, someone trying too hard to overcome his inexperience.

    Maybe his friend would have a little substance behind his bluster. She could pass for ten years younger than her actual age. That would make them ideally suited, her savoir-faire and his youthful stamina guaranteeing them a night to remember.

    The trouble with commissioned officers was that they were too self-confident. The younger ones were filled with fire but lacked finesse, proving the worth of the military ranking system.

    250 words including title – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  6. Her eyes were sucked back into her skull as she yanked the stick back into her lap. Sirens wailed in her ears, with a monotone alert of “Missile! Missile!” and gravity forgot for a moment which was was down as her Mirage V pulled its way around a loop it was never designed for.

    Once her blood was pushed back down to her limbs, Indalya stomped on the right rudder pedal and pulled the fighter’s nose left, making the whole contraption shudder in mid-air. But no longer confident in where her engine was pointed, the missile that had come to impale her pointed to where she should’ve been, sailing through empty air and into the melee around them.

    “Control, you can send backup anytime now!” She bellowed, pulling her throttle back to cut her turn even sharper. Now facing almost the opposite direction, vibrant jade eyes caught the sliver of sunlight high in the congested blue sky. Immediately, she felt her heart pulse a new burst of adrenaline into her. “Let’s dance!”

    “Negative, Captain. All forces are committed now, we…Break! Break! Unknown contacts at zero-two-seven, speed nine-hundred!” Came the frantic reply, equal parts fear and confusion.

    Indalya saw the streak cutting through the clouds before she realized what she was looking at. Only when the new arrival pitched up toward the infinite void before turning straight down toward the earth did she realize what she was looking at. It was the last image her mortal eyes would ever see.

    249 Words

  7. “Do you really think I should go?”

    Lupita Lopez feigned interest in packed shelves of relics and reagents in the back room of her abuela’s curio shop. The cramped space had always smelled heavy, dangerous, to Lupita. An effect now exponentially amplified.

    “Ciertamente,” Abuela didn’t have to feign her interest in stirring her bubbling cauldron. “Your family has missed you, Pita!”

    “I think they were happy to get rid of me.”

    Abuela clucked dismissively as she selected a shriveled hand or claw of some kind to throw in the cauldron. Lupita realized she didn’t know if the compact old woman was brewing stew, a spell, or something else.

    “You have changed since then!”

    “Si, into a werewolf!” Lupita scoffed.

    “Bah! So you leave out that part!”

    “And when Papa y Mama ask what I’ve been doing? I can’t tell them I’ve been wandering town to town battling the forces of evil.”

    “No, don’t tell them that!” Abuela cackled into her cauldron. “If it would help, I can link our minds. You get in trouble; I get you out.”

    “Si, por favor!”

    They’d used that trick before. Lupita suddenly had the strength to battle ghosts and vampires, but Abuela had the know-how. Yet, somehow, going home was scarier than anything she’d seen the past year.

    Lupita focused on her breathing all the way up her parents’ long driveway. She froze at the sight of her mama, arms crossed, in the doorway.

    “You can send backup anytime now,” Lupita thought hard.

    249 PRUDENT words

  8. Corbin patted Martin’s thigh and stood. “Besides, I figured we should talk a little since we haven’t seen each other in a decade at least.”

    “Yeah. I’ve been busy.”

    “Mm-hm, I know. Saving the world. I remember.”

    He couldn’t see Corbin’s face, but his voice sounded resigned. He pushed the automatic door button and they rolled out into the mild sunshine of Coronado, California. The garden had been planted with a variety of palms and tropical shrubs that bloomed with exotic flowers. Birds sang in the waving foliage as the breeze off the ocean brought the scents of sand, salt, and seaweed.

    “I wasn’t trying to save the world, just doing my part to make it a better place.” Somehow, despite his history and records, he felt defensive of Corbin’s resignation, as if Martin hadn’t valued his friendship.

    “By killing people?” Corbin stopped the chair in the shade and settled beside it on the wide edge of a planter. “Sorry, that wasn’t fair. I know SEALs have to do what they’re told and sometimes it means killing. And it’s not like you can send backup.”

    “Anytime now, you’re going to tell me someone else should be my backup, but that’s why we work as a team. Two is one, one is none.” Martin nodded. “I know you were never into the military in any way, but it was what I wanted to do all my life.”

    “And now you have a TBI. That’s a helluva trade, Martin.”

    247 ineligible #StainlessSteelSEALs world

  9. Beach House

    Gravel skittered as our bikes slid to a halt behind Ms. Winther’s beach rental. Streetlights glowed in the near dark, making the whole neighborhood creepy.

    “Ready?” Joey’s eyes danced with mischief. To him this was just like Scooby Doo only without the dog. We were here because Jack said his mom had overheard Sheriff Johnson at the diner talking about drug cartels moving into town. Jack thought it was vampires.

    I don’t believe in drug lords or vampires. But with that dead man they found at the docks, Joey figured we should help the Sheriff out.

    “You go in first,” Joey whispered, standing beneath the tiny window that led to the only bathroom in the place. He shoved a walkie-talkie in my hand. “In case you need help.”

    I laughed. I was meaner than anyone else in third grade.

    Joey hoisted me up and in.

    Inside smelled awful. No lights were on. The place felt empty. I went to the living room. In the center of the room was a manikin. It was tall and dressed in dark clothes. Probably left over from Halloween last month.

    Then I turned toward the bedroom and tripped over the rug. At the sound, the manikin turned around and growled at me. I looked up into eyes that glowed red like in the movies.

    The stories I’d sneered at not an hour ago seemed like truths now. My sweaty fingers squeezed the walkie. “Joey? You can send backup. Anytime now.”

    249 words

  10. A lightning bolt sizzles over my head and a fireball erupts in my hand. I lob it toward some sort of squid-looking beast, who roars, steam rising from a tentacle. I don’t know how I pissed off some of Stan’s crew; I haven’t even sent anyone to Hell recently!

    Thunder shakes the ground, the trees dumping leaves. Five hellish creatures surround me, anger radiating from them. I can only make so many fireballs and lightning bolts at one time. Tentacles, wings, and claws advance toward me, my defenses barely touching them.

    “Horace! You can send backup any time now!”

    The thundering voice of The One True Death rings through the roars and screeches. “I am trying! But Squiddles over there is blocking me. If you send him back from whence he came, I would be grateful!”

    Squiddles? “And where the hell did Squiddles come from?” I shout.

    “8th Circle.”

    These creatures are determined to make my death a reality, I fling everything I have at them. Squiddles dissolves and The One True Death flies in, an army of Death people behind him.We make short work of the four remaining creatures. Horace sighs, his empty eyes asking the question.

    “I don’t know what I did,” I say, raising my hands. “Who’d you send down?”

    “No one,” he says. “I will have a word with Stan about his people coming topside. This must not happen again.”

    He disappears, leaving me in a pile of scorched leaves, wondering what to do next.

    250 words

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