#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 538

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 538 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 538:

Dark fantasy author, archer, and horsewoman, Daelyn Morgana.

Facebook | Twitter | 

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“All of it was gone.”

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!

10 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 538”

  1. I looked at the curb where the two twin sized mattresses and the twin sized box spring had been. All of it was gone.


    It wasn’t a surprise, really. After all, I’d called the city, and scheduled the pickup, following the instructions on the city’s information site. Schedule the pickup. If the pickup is approved, have everything at the curb, a safe distance from everything else at the curb, and the city picks it up, and hauls it away.

    I’d have hauled it away myself, but I don’t own a truck. I had nothing I could haul it in.

    The box spring, and the two mattresses were from the room the eldest grew up in. When the eldest moved out, we’d shut that door, and never gone back in that room. I don’t think I’d set foot in that room once in 10 years.

    Until she told me to clean it. “They don’t live here, it’s time to clean that room, and set up my art supplies.”

    Now, those two mattresses and that one box spring were gone. Now, there was space in that room. Now, I could work on finishing that room. Now, I’d admitted the oldest was gone. Independent. Sure, my memories of them would still be there, inside of me. But, the house was one step closer to being hers and mine.

    That felt good.

    229 Words

  2. “I want to fight.”

    The boy’s statement came out of nowhere. Kin glanced over at him, a glimmer of understanding poking at him. On sentry duty, he’d been surprised when Maxim showed up. The kid perched on a rock without a word. Now, ten minutes later, he’d found his voice.

    Unsure why the boy had picked him, Kin didn’t rebuff him. “Why?”

    “I am old enough to fight.” Max’s hands curled into fists and he thumped them on his thighs.

    “Not really. Not unless you have no choice.” Kin looked away. “You’re English is pretty good.”

    “I am smart.”

    “But you have a lot to learn, kid.”

    The boy sulked. “I need to fight. For me. For my sister. For my country.”

    “What happened, Maxim? Back in Maripol.”

    “Marishka was in hospital. The treatments. My father he was police, yes? My mother and I, we were home.” At Kin’s nod, the boy continued. “Sirens and then the bombs. ‘Something is happening,’ my mother says. Then…” He closed his eyes and shuddered. “The house, it fell.”

    Max’s voice lost all emotion. “My mother…she was…buried. I looked for my father. At the police station, I looked through the door.”

    “What did you see?”

    “Nothing. I went to hospital. I found Marishka under her bed.” He turned bleak eyes to Kin. “My town. All of it was gone.”

    Without thinking, Kin pulled Max into his arms.”

    “That village, they fought. If it is not for me, then who will revenge us?”
    250 Hard Target: Crossfire WIP words (that should have been posted two hours ago but I got distracted and just now remembered I hadn’t finished posting. 🤦🏼‍♀️ )

  3. The Road Back Part 4

    Charlie Angel fit nicely into my simple business plan. In the first place, he could cook. Not much, but he was a quick learner and Dick’s Joint would never get rated in Consumer Reports.

    Secondly, he had sharp wits. Five years in prison had honed his natural ability to survive. More than that, he had a private dick’s intellect.

    He enjoyed human foibles.

    We made a living by the persistent failure of humans to play it safe.

    I played it safe when I gave him his first case.

    I’d already solved it.

    I’d taken a shine to Jimmy the Box, a local moocher.

    To say the least, Jimmy was estranged from his family.

    Booze and violence were his back story.

    He had two sons.

    Or so I found out.

    I found them.

    Then, I made a pitch to Charlie Angel. “It’ll make a good Christmas story. There’s not much to go on. Jimmy the Box used to be Jim Clague. He drank his family away years ago. House, wife, kids, all of it was gone by the time he turned forty. Think you can find them?”

    Charlie Angel gave it a good think. Then said, “Probably.”

    I sent him on his way.

    In two days, he found one son. James Junior. Junior still hated his old man.

    Sadly, his brother Peter was dead.


    There was one grandson.

    Peter’s son.


    Family horror hadn’t poisoned him.

    Charlie Angel handled the reunion.

    Everyone won, I figure.

    250 WIP


  4. Magic had been. a snap of my fingertips and I had whatever I wanted. Taking everything for granted it all turned to ashes, it meant nothing, without my mother to cheer me on. My selfless mother had been taken from me by dark forces never to be retrieved. As I thought all this a wizard appeared before me.
    “I am your Uncle Aodh.” He exclaimed.
    “You’re dead,” I muttered.
    “Such an exaggeration. I’m here to help you.”
    “But I am responsible for mother’s demise.”
    “Bronwen is not dead, merely hidden.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “Powers as you and I have bent to the dark side are at odds with our good side. Lucky for us a long time ago, a grand-wizard put a spell that protects members of our blood and those we love from that evil.”
    “So where are they?”
    “Hidden in the Neverworld. It won’t be easy, but if you reform and people see the change then in a year they will be returned.”
    Struggling, still with my uncle’s help I became a favourite of the people for my charitable works, but still my mother didn’t appear. I had all but given up when showing kindness to beggar woman before my eyes my mother appeared. I vowed then to always use white magic not black. One day I was alone again, but that was when my uncle introduced me to the wizard who accepted me as I was, flawed, but trying making me the white witch I am today.
    250 words

  5. It was dead. Her runes were blazing along the length of its torso and its head was missing. Its stomach had been chewed up, chunks of flesh hacked away where his blade had bitten in. A mortal creature would have been finished at that point, but he’d needed to be sure. These creatures had a habit of coming back and surprising the unwary.

    “You finished him. Of course, I made it easier for you to pull your sword free so you could remove his head. You could have been in trouble if I’d not seen you struggling. You’re lucky I was following you: it proves you need someone to watch your back in case your traditional methods fall short.”

    Gallant lowered his weapon. He hated to admit it, but perhaps his wife was right. Her spellcasting was unnatural – there was no reason behind the things she could do. He preferred to put his trust in the physical sciences. A length of cold-forged steel was more reliable, a comfortable weight in his hand.

    He turned, determined not to feel shame. He’d needed this; his manhood had been at stake. He was sure he could have beaten it back and regained his advantage.

    “I was going to bring you a trophy,” he said. “A token to prove my worth. But your magic has spoiled everything. And now, it’s melting away like a winter snow on desert sand.” He watched the chalk outline slowly fade away until all of it was gone.

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  6. Lopez Family Thanksgivings were always perfectly presented productions. Not for the attendees’ benefit. A photographer or three from one publication or another consistently showed up just in time to snap a shot of the model family before they dug into their mouthwatering spread. All of it was gone now.

    Jorge and his family had flown out already. They’d be back in three weeks for Christmas. Conveniently, Lupita’s nephews shared her disdain for formalwear. Since her work was less predictable than Jorge’s, it seemed safer to stick around rather than look for trouble. The prodigal daughter even removed her motorcycle leathers and found a pair of jeans with no holes in them.

    “You seem well, Mija.” Mama stepped out onto the porch behind Lupita. “What was it you said you were doing these days?”

    Lupita hadn’t said. Deliberately.

    “Ah, odd jobs where I can find them. Gig work, sabes?”

    “I’m proud of you. You’ve really pulled your life together.”

    Lupita almost laughed at Mama’s acceptance of her evasion. The surgeon to the rich and famous—and good causes—was proud of her daughter doing gig work? But it felt like she meant it. Lupita previously recoiled from the concept of any job as bloody as Mama’s but somehow ended up in one at least as bad.

    The supernatural vigilante was tempted to test Mama’s opinion of what she really did.

    There had always been judgment and distance between Lupita and her immediate family before. All of it was gone now.

    249 PRUDENT words

  7. Sally thumbed off her phone, cutting off the rant on her voicemail mid-word. There used to be love in those voicemails. Love and thoughtfulness and a profound level of insight into matters mundane and esoteric. But now all of it was gone.

    When she’d met Tommy her junior year, he was triple majoring in chemistry, philosophy, and art, somehow fitting 33 credit hours into each semester. She’d been at the top of her class everywhere she’d gone, but Tommy was in a world all his own. And when he’d seen her on the quad that September day, he’d created a place for her in it that fit her like a comfortable sweatshirt.

    No matter what he was doing, he always found time for her. He’d sketch while they were talking or trace chemical formulas on her skin when they were making love. He wove worlds of wonder around her that dared to expose the secrets of the universe, of the human condition, and of why burritos at 2 am were the food of the gods all at the same time, all while making her feel like the center of all things.

    She’d had forty years with that version of Tommy, and they were beyond her dreams. But whatever magic had allowed his brain to soar into the heart of the sun and come out better for it had started to run out.

    Now there was only chaos and anger. Sally wanted it to mean something.

    But it didn’t. Not anymore.

    250 words

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