#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 546

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 546 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 546:


Peddler of fantastical words and perpetual daydreamer, Lexikon.


And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’ll think of something else.”

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 546”

  1. Dalton would not admit defeat. There’d been progress, yes, but beyond cuddling up on these cold night, Kin had made no move to actually claim Meg. Which was ridiculous. Seriously, what was involved? Kin tells her he loves her, he’s a Wolf, and they’re mates. What was so difficult about that?

    But what did he know? Loch seemed to think it was a complicated process but that biology and nature would eventually take over and everything would be fine. Except Kin’s wolf turned into a snarly beast whenever he patrolled and the man glared at anyone who got too close to her unless he was at her side. They could cut the sexual tension with a knife.

    And they fought. Like cats and dogs. No, Dalton amended. They seethed and pretended to ignore each other. It was like rubbing a tiger’s fur the wrong way. Getting in the middle would only guarantee that you pulled back a bloody stump.
    Damn but they were perfect for each other.

    Loch was probably right about putting Meg in danger but there had to be a way to get them to admit their feelings. Too bad there wasn’t a handy padded cell to lock them in until they came to terms with their feelings.

    “Whatever you’re thinking about doing, stop.”

    Dalton jerked and glared at Tank. Lost in thought, he hadn’t heard the guy walk up. Considering he was on rear guard duty, that was stupid.

    “Fine. I’ll think of something else.” For now.
    250 “move along, there’s nothing to see here” WIP words

  2. Grissom hung back. She had the same under-nourished look as all the men, but she hadn’t been beaten. So long as she had a view of their future and a breath in her chest, she’d resist.

    And if she died, she wouldn’t die alone. She’d take as many blue Rigellians with her as she could.

    “What do you say?” she said. “Does anyone here feel like shenanigans?”

    A few of the men still in the undercroft groaned. They’d already been involved in some of her raids, many nursing wounds they’d gained in action. One or two would never fight again, their injuries too severe for them to rejoin the combatants, but others were still able enough to throw an improvised grenade or to drive a stolen car at the alien soldiers. It didn’t take much to be able to make a difference; it was a war of attrition as much as anything else.

    When there was nothing left to lose, it made it easier to commit to the unthinkable.

    “What about the armour they’re now wearing? Bullets bounce off them. What are we going to do about that?”

    Grissom noted the man. He was a new one. They’d picked up a ragtag collection of vigilantes in the last town, but few had been tested in conflict. They’d mostly looted as they’d run from each skirmish, recovering weapons from the dead and the dying.

    “We aim for their heads,” she said. “And if that doesn’t work, I’ll think of something else.”

    250 militant words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  3. The Road Back Part 12

    Cheri sent me the wedding snaps. A friend had used her phone to capture the blessed event. It’d been a small affair. The wedding party consisted of her friend taking the pictures, an elderly couple who made their living acting as witnesses, the groom, a cab driver filling in as best man, Cheri’s twenty-year-old step-daughter as Maid of Honor, and the officiant…

    The wedding had taken place outdoors in a small park.

    “Not indoors? Why?”

    “Sam said he loved being in the fresh air of Vegas,” she said on the phone. “I thought it was peculiar. Quirky. Cute, I suppose.”

    In the wedding photos, the officiant looked presentable. She had on a floral gown that might have served double duty as a Muumuu. It was festooned with massive flowers.

    “Dahlias?” I asked.

    “Marigolds,” Cheri had clarified.

    Las Vegas was a pricey flight away and there was likely little chance I could track down the wedding party actors. And really, there was little point besides perhaps getting a notarized statement that the ceremony had been a sham.

    After weighing the options, I told Cheri that there was little percentage in me wasting time traveling to Lost Wages.

    “I prefer to think of it as the divorce capital of the world,” she said.

    “In your case, divorce isn’t really necessary,” I rebutted her sad observation.

    A few phone moments of silence later, I wrapped it up with, “I’ll think of something else, Cheri.”

    Exactly what escaped me.

    250 WIP

  4. Ryan nodded. “So, you’re a romantic? What are you doing in a brothel, then?”

    Andrew shrugged. “It’s my brother’s bachelor party and his buddy got a packaged deal, like on Groupon or something, to an all inclusive night at the Diamond Ranch, and they needed me to fill in the last spot. I thought they were inviting me because they wanted to see me. But it turns out they just wanted me to stop being gay around them.”

    “Stop being…What the hell does that mean?” Ryan gaped.

    Andrew grimaced. “Someone somewhere convinced my father that it’s a choice to be gay and I’m just doing it to rebel to be different than my brothers, or some such bullshit. And because it’s just a choice, I can choose the other direction anytime.”

    “That’s fuckin’ ludicrous.” Ryan scowled. “That’s why they brought you here? To get you laid by a woman?”

    Andrew nodded. “They think I’m a virgin even though I’ll be twenty-six in August.”

    “Fuckin’ A.” Ryan shook his head as he scrubbed his face with his hands. “Straights are seriously messed up.” He sighed. “So do you want to go back out to the main room and get a drink? Or do you want to stay here and talk?”

    “Can we, I dunno, get a cup of coffee, or something? I’m sure I’ll think of something else to do while I wait for the straights to do their thing.”

    Ryan tipped his head. “Oh? What did you have in mind?”

    250 ineligible #TripleStarRanch words

  5. Sunshine looked toward the ocean. There was a long pier that extended from the shore. She headed toward that. It turned out to be a fishing pier, made of wood that sat atop concrete pilings. It was designed to last centuries. As she walked on it, her footsteps made no sound. The structure was solid.

    “Tell me about this pier,” she waved her arm at the pier, and waited for the machines to explain.

    “It was the town park. People came here to fish, and to watch the ocean, the sunrise, and sunset. People even got married on the pier.”

    “Did anyone ever jump off the pier?”

    “No. You will be the first, if you follow through with your plan.”

    “You figured that out already?”

    “You know we won’t let you drown.”

    “Then I suppose I’ll think of something else.”

    “You need to stay alive.”

    She wanted to scream. To stomp her feet. To cry. To explain to the machines they didn’t understand. That her entire world, everything she’d ever believed, had been destroyed before her eyes. That her sister, Fauna, was gone. That she felt no sunshine in her heart. All she felt was empty. Hollow. Like everything was pointless. Like nothing mattered.

    “Why? Why do I need to stay alive?”

    “Because. So long as the sun rises, so long as the cycle does not end, there is a chance your people will survive.”

    Sunshine stood at the end of the pier, and watched the ocean waves.

    248 Words

  6. I’ll think of something else.

    Something happy.

    I’ll think of my kids, laughing and running to me.

    The swirl of snow on the open road, dancing in eddies that disappeared into the night.

    My wife, looking up at me and telling me yes. Yes. There’s so much power in that little word. Yes.

    All these things come into my mind. I know they should make me happy.

    All these things leave my mind, pushed aside by the sadness that is always there.

    Okay, I say. Talk to me. What do I not know that you are trying to tell me?

    But the sadness doesn’t speak. It demands.

    So I sit there as if happiness was an option.

    It waits. It knows me.

    It knows that I’m going to light a fire. Grab a drink. Try to lose myself in my senses.

    But I don’t hear the crackling of the wood. Don’t smell the smoke or taste the burn of the whisky.

    They’re there. I just don’t have access to them.

    The sadness won’t let me.

    It just sits there. Impassive. Unyielding. Blue. Formless and rigid. Waiting.

    I don’t cry. Not really. My throat gets tight and my eyes well up, but crying comes with its own release, its own catharsis.

    The sadness doesn’t want that.

    It wants me just where I am, sipping my tasteless drink by a fire that casts no heat in a room that provides no shelter living a life offering no respite from its demands.


    250 words

  7. When the supper table is silent, that’s not a good sign. My folks like to talk, more so when my brothers and I are all home. However, my brother Brandon managed to bring the entire table to a silent halt when he announced his most recent plans. He doesn’t always make the best decisions.

    “You plan to do what?” my dad asks, his fork clangs on the blue and white plate.

    “Buy a funeral home.”

    Mom sips her glass of tea. My other brother and I shift in our seats and I focus on stirring my mashed potatoes a littler more. Brandon’s in the spotlight, again, for making a bad decision. It’s like high school all over again.

    “Is that a bad idea?” he asks, shoving a bite of meatloaf into his mouth. “I am a licensed funeral director.”

    Mom gives him the side eye and he chews a little slower.

    “How do you know it will make money?” Dad asks. “Dad didn’t just sell me the farm; I worked it until it made money and then he signed it over. You’re talking about buying this funeral home and expecting the established clients to stay with it.”

    The right answer is ‘I’ll think of something else to do when my boss retires’, but Brandon digs his heels in.

    “It’s the only game in town.”

    Brandon digs his hole a little deeper. After supper, Dad takes Brandon into the farm office. I guess dessert is going to have to wait.

    249 words

  8. “Hey, Spooky! That purse looks awful heavy; why don’t we take it off your hands?”

    What are these hooligans doing on this part of the beach? Where are the guards?

    “Leave me alone,” the kid’s luminescent hair and eyes shift to green.

    In hindsight, I should have given her enough coin for food and left the rest at home. Still, these guys shouldn’t be here.

    “Now, that’s not very friendly,” the lead thug crouches and waves a big battle-worn knife. “A little girl could get hurt, walking around with that much money.”

    My fur bristles. I loathe to admit it, but I couldn’t even handle one of these guys when I was human.

    Just give them the purse, kid. I’ll think of something else to get us fed.

    “Leave. Me. Alone.”

    The kid balls her little hands into fists.

    “Or what? You’ll glow at us some more?” the thug teases his knife over the kid’s cheek. “Freak!”

    Before his buddies can laugh, their leader is knocked on his back by the kind of uppercut one would brag about.

    The kid’s hair and eyes blaze red. I mrowl for us to get out of here. The other two goons draw their weapons.

    “Stay back, Blackie!”

    The two-fisted terror tosses me the purse and charges her remaining foes.

    The fight is brutally short and entirely one-sided, in a way only the kid could have seen coming. I just hope the lights she literally knocked out of them weren’t their souls.

    248 words

  9. I took a drive to the little amusement park area at the entrance of Conitail State Park.

    My dad used to take me and my brother, Eric, out there to ride the rides when we were little.

    On the way to the park, a girl on the radio sings me a song.

    I turn off the engine and get out and look around. The parking lot is empty except for some cracks and a car that reminds me of something.

    The sign at the entrance promises that “Thrills and Excitement Await!” I see my reflection in the dirty window at the ticket booth and walk through one of the turnstiles.

    Inside the park is what I expected – a ghost of years past, now a scene of decay and neglect. The decorations and signage, once colorful and vibrant, now faded and peeling. The horses on the carousel stand motionless. Dusty. Weeping.

    I remember a million years ago when I was waiting in line to ride the Scrambler or the Swinging Ship or something. It doesn’t matter.

    And then Eric had to go to the bathroom. And he didn’t come back.

    And every time I come back here, I always tell myself I’ll think of something else, something I overlooked.

    I walk around, here and there, looking around corners.

    Then my phone rings, and it’s my wife asking me when I’ll be home. And I think to myself, yeah, it’s time to go home. And I tell her, “Not long.”

    248 Words

  10. Reluctantly, she enters the office and sits.
    “I’m happy you want me to help you recall your lost memories. Please, stare into the diamond.” Dr. Beckett’s voice softens. “You are so tired.”
    She lets her shoulders slump.
    “Let’s return to the night Keith disappeared. What is the first thing you see?”
    Despite resisting, she becomes focused on the prismatic lights that caress her closed eyes. “Keith looking out the window into the dark night.”
    “What window?”
    “His father’s study.”
    “Is anything unusual about Keith?”
    “He’s afraid.”
    “Do you know why?
    “No, but he’s never afraid.”
    “Are you afraid?”
    “We hear a Hellish scream echo through the doorway. Keith runs, shouts, ‘Hide,’ and slams the hallway door.”
    “What do you do?”
    “I…The lights go off and put me in darkness. I grope my way to his father’s desk and hide under it.”
    “How long?”
    “I don’t know. Until my legs and back cramp up. Then I crawl out and freeze. I fear I am not alone.”
    “Is someone there?”
    She does not answer the hypnotist.
    She blinks and opens her eyes. “No body there. The room was empty,” she lies.
    “Do you know where Keith is?”
    “Sorry, no,” she lies again and rises to escape. “Thanks for trying to help me remember what happened that night.”
    But she does remember. Keith’s ghost told her where his and his father’s bodies were buried, but she won’t tell.
    Especially not their murderer.

    ## 245 words

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