#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 547

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 547 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 547:

Lover of Words, Creative Writing MA, and Interracial Paranormal and Contemporary Romance Author, Nikki Prince.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“What are we going to do about that?”

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!

17 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 547”

  1. I’m sitting with a guy, an expert. And we start talking about that book – you know, the one about the kid and the judge?

    I tell him I don’t understand great whacks of it.

    And he says to me, “What are we going to do about that?”

    I furrow my brow, trying to look introspective and witty.

    The part-time barista at the counter says, “Chad. White Chocolate Mocha!”

    The expert crosses his legs and lifts his mug to his lips. “Think of it like this.” And he leans forward and says, “Just be open on all channels, ready to receive.” His head nods almost imperceptibly when he talks. “Do you get what I mean?”

    Dishes clink somewhere, and the guy at the next table says with his mouth full of cake, “Oh my God, this is so good!”

    I say, “Kind of. I mean, what if someone tries to trick me? What if the message is, I don’t know, malicious or something?”

    “Look,” he takes a deep breath and says again, “Look, just be present, man. In the now. And don’t put yourself at the mercy of their shimmers.”

    “And their spells,” I answer, finally starting to get it. And I give him my own imperceptible nod to prove it.

    “Exactly,” he says.

    The speaker in the ceiling says, “I wanna end me.”

    And the expert says, “You know,” he puts his mug on the table. “People like you keep me optimistic about humanity.”

    244 words

    *** This piece was inspired by The Numbers by Radiohead and Billie Eilish is singing Bury a Friend on the speaker. ***

  2. The Road Back Part 13

    As I pondered next steps in finding Sam Withers and derailing whatever messy xenophobic plans he had to interrupt Cheri’s life, something else was afoot that I hadn’t considered.

    The world was having a busy day. I flipped on the tube and caught Representative Omar speaking before Congress. Her words from four years earlier about money and Israel had led the new Republican House majority to seek her removal from the Foreign Affairs Committee.

    Though a powerful speaker with a painful personal narrative, she clearly was going to pay a price for her expressed thoughts, even if she had retracted them.

    I missed my door opening.

    Maybe my hearing was not what it once was.

    “Well, peeper,” Sam Withers said, “What are we going to do about that?”

    “Do about what?” I felt compelled to ask.

    “Not her,” Withers snarled, pointing to the television. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about her. You. And sweet Cheri?”

    He really didn’t want an answer. His pistol was the answer, and I had no questions left.

    Well, maybe one. A silent recall.

    Where was my will?

    How would my estate be dealt with?

    Who would miss me?

    It struck me as fascinating the number of thoughts one could squeeze into the last few seconds of life. A passel of them were not new though they hadn’t ever been seriously addressed.

    The first bullet hit me in the chest.

    The second shot out my right eye.

    That was it.

    250 words and the end of the WIP

  3. Dalton watched Meg cross the meadow. She carried two mugs in her hands. He stood as she approached.

    “Coffee?” She offered him one of the mugs. “It’s the real deal.”

    He accepted the cup and sipped appreciatively. “I’m ready for a coffee break.”

    “I’m mostly a tea girl myself. I guess spending time with my dad and all but frankly? I’ve missed real coffee.”

    “Me too.”

    “I feel bad about raiding the shepherd’s stash though. He’ll be up here with his flocks once winter is over.”

    “Duke’s keeping a list. When Dom flies in to pick us up, he’ll bring supplies to restock.”

    Meg sipped again and smiled. “Oh, that’s good then.”

    Dalton drank from his own mug. “What’s on your mind, hon?”

    She knitted her brows and pressed her lips together. “You know? About Kin and me?” She didn’t wait for a reply. “He won’t claim me, whatever that means, until we get back to civilization. What are we going to do about that?”


    “Yes. I need your help.” She paced off a short way, turned, and…disappeared.

    Dalton lunged but missed. His stomach dropped like the earth had beneath Meg’s feet. She’d disappeared into a dark hole. In the distance, a wolf howled. As he glanced up, a silver streak dashed toward him. Kin had shifted and was now hell-bent on reaching their position. What the hell was he going to tell the man? Oops, I lost your unclaimed mate down a sinkhole? He was so dead.
    250 Crossfire WIP words

  4. Sunshine watched the waves until the sun fell below the horizon, and the white caps became all that was visible on an endless sheet of black. Finally, she walked back to shore from the end of the pier.

    She walked the empty streets of the town, past the collection of shops at the end of the pier, to the houses along the ocean shore. She stopped before one of the houses. It was different from most, its exterior walls were pale blue. She decided to look inside.

    “Dear Fauna. I wish you could see this house with me.” She opened the front door, and stepped inside, onto a carpeted floor, into a climate controlled environment. The lights came on inside the house as she walked from room to room, exploring it. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, one kitchen, one common room.

    In the bathroom, there was a walk-in shower. Sunshine had never seen one, and wondered what it was. Approaching it, she opened its sliding door, then cautiously stuck her arm inside. Nothing happened, so she stepped inside.

    The shower turned on, and warm water sprayed her down, clothes and all.

    Sunshine was surprised, then confused, then angry because her clothes were soaked, then she thought, “I haven’t been clean in ages.” The water was warm, and felt good. “What are we going to do about that?”

    She washed her clothing, and herself. It was the first time since Fauna had died that Sunshine felt anything other than dead inside.

    249 Words
    Part 3 of a continuing story.

  5. This room is so quietly loud. My heartbeat thunders in my ears. My breathing sounds like the volume is turned up to 100. I don’t know where I am or how I got here and nothing about this feels right.

    “Oh dear!”

    A round woman, wearing a pink skirt and white blouse, with kitten heels to match, waddles toward me. Her face conveys concern but her stride is all business. She looks down at a clipboard.

    “You are Virginia Masterson, yes?” Her British accent is thick.

    I nod. My recently cut hair loses a piece in my face and I puff it back. Stuffing my hands in my jean pockets, I wait to hear what’s going on.

    “Ah. I was afraid of that. You are currently in the care of Doctor Michaels for heart surgery, yes?”

    Swallowing a lump in my throat, I nod again. “Did I–?”

    The round woman shakes her head, a smile on her face. “I’m Petunia, dear, personal secretary to The One True Death. You, my dear, are alive and soon to be well! Sometimes, the ECMO machine causes people to end up in Limbo.”

    “Oh. What are we going to do about that?”

    Petunia flashes a smile, her plump fingers thrusting the clipboard at me.

    “You’re going back. Sign here.”

    My chest is numb, my throat is dry, and I blink at the lights overhead. My husband kisses my forehead and smiles. I sure had some weird dreams while I was under.

    248 words

  6. “I’m sure they’ll both think we’re meddling,” Flynn said. “And I know Luc’s a super grouch. I can guarantee he’ll want to tear out my throat: he’s irritable at the best of times.”

    Eleanor nodded. “And Meg’s at least as bad. Even when it’s not the time her powers are active, she’s usually impossible. That glare she gives people who annoy her. It’s enough to stop anyone in their tracks.

    “So, tell me again, Ellie, why are we doing this?”

    “Because they’re even worse when they’re both apart.”

    Flynn studied his charts. He’d got a table of dates based on Meg’s biorhythms and another showing the Moon’s phases. When he compared the two, there was another problem: the couple would be out of sync almost every month, with only two when their cycles aligned.

    “I was hoping there’d be a better correlation,” he said. “You’d have thought they’d both be governed by the Moon.”

    The mage and the witch shook their heads in unison. “What are we going to do about that?” they moaned.

    Flynn gnawed at his nails. It was what he did when he was stressed. “Can you slip her medication? If we could delay the peaks of her cycles, maybe that could work.”

    Ellie almost growled. You’d have thought she was the werewolf. “It’s always the woman that needs to change. Just because she’s a Human-Medusan hybrid, you think she’s the problem. Why can’t you think of something Luc can do? Reset the moon; why can’t you?”

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  7. Hermione raised her eyebrows. “So, what are we going to do?”

    “About that? About reading your mind?”

    She snorted. “No, I’ve got that part covered. I meant about you and me. What are we going to do from here?”

    “Oh.” Chester picked up his cup to sip his Chai, only to find it empty. He set the cup down and met her gaze. “How about we start with regular dates?”

    “You mean like dinner or lunch?”

    He couldn’t help the heat rising to his cheeks. “No, I meant more like Netflix & chill, possibly naked.”

    Her grin bloomed big and bold. “I’d say that’s a perfect start. Your place or mine?”

    “Yours. You have a better theatre system.”

    She narrowed her eyes. “True, but there’s no way we can be naked while watching. Too many roommates and no good bed there.”

    “Yes, but the bedroom isn’t far…” He wagged his eyebrows. “What do you think? My TV is only a forty-inch, nothing compared to your big screen.”

    “You know what they say—size really does matter.” She grinned as he laughed. “Okay, Chester. Come over to my place.”

    188 ineligible #Sirens words

  8. I wiped sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand. Benny was hanging over my shoulder, his heart pounding loud enough that I could almost see the vibrations.

    The clock attached to the dynamite continued its inexorable countdown to our obliteration and I didn’t have any better idea how to disarm it now than I had when we’d first discovered the bomb.

    Benny’s anxiety wasn’t helping, but I suppose it was understandable. I hadn’t known that he was in the back of the van when I’d stolen it, and he’d been too stoned to wake up even as we bounced through the desert.

    By the time we were aware of each other, we were running from what seemed like a fleet of black SUVs and the temperature gauge on the van was buried in the red. He was screaming at me to find out where we were, I was screaming at him to be quiet, and I didn’t even stop to think that the conveniently van-sized cave was a trap. A rockslide later, I knew I’d screwed up, and it wasn’t long before our entire world was consumed by the red LEDs that counted down the last minutes of our lives.

    “Ummm, Miranda?”

    “What, Benny? I’m a little busy.”

    “What are we going to do about that?”

    “I’m trying to disarm it. Please be quiet.”

    “No, not that.” Benny pointed off to his left, but he didn’t really need to.

    I could hear the rattling just fine.

    249 words

  9. “I told you the cops wouldn’t listen,” Keith grumbled.
    “I tried to convince your boss to look into Dr. Teufel.”
    “I know. He doesn’t believe in ghosts.”
    “I didn’t mention ghosts. I described how you left me to follow the doctor and then search his office. But you disappeared. Special Agent Rico sympathized but explained that you hadn’t reported to him, so my story was hearsay. He asked me for hard evidence. I don’t have any.”
    “So? What are we going to do about that?”
    “We? You’re a ghost, a figment of my loneliness.” Cheryl opened her palm and glanced into the crystal pendant she had been grasping. Its facets glistened.
    “Yes, ‘we.’ You need me.”
    She sighed. He spoke the truth. From the moment he walked into her grandmother’s bookshop, his electric personality drew her to him as excitedly as a dog to a refrigerator door opening. When he vanished, she called his friends and put-up fliers. And nothing for three days until she gripped her grandmother’s magic pendant and wished for him.
    Like now, a breeze whispered around her, a comforting hug, and lifted tendrils from her face, just as his hands once had.
    “Hey, I’m here. I know it’s not the same, but I need you to find where Dr.Teufel hid my body.”
    She gazed into the ghostly liquid brown eyes. “To convince Agent Rico, I need something more than the testimony of a ghost. Let’s walk. I must look crazy standing here talking to myself.”

    250 words

  10. My tail tip flicks back and forth, and I grumble as I eat the lox off my bagel. If I ever get my human form back, I’m giving that baker an earful about ripping off a little girl and her cat. At least the kid’s looking better now.

    I mean, what do I know about kids? I hadn’t noticed her wearing down, but she definitely has more energy now than she’s had the last few days. Of course, now she’s picking glumly at her bagel, and her hair and eyes have turned blue. Do they change with her mood?

    “Mommy isn’t coming back, is she?” the kid sighs. “Blackie, what are we going to do?”

    About that? Count our lucky stars that witch is out of our lives. I get how some people see the kid’s ashy skin and glowing eyes and hair and think there’s a non-zero chance she’s some kind of demon. If they knew her mother, they’d probably treat us even worse.

    I leave off my bagel to nudge the kid’s back toward her mouth with my head under her wrist. I purr. We both need to eat better.

    Don’t worry, kid; I’ll figure something out.

    Our money situation is only going to get worse. I’ve been wracking my brain and just not coming up with any way into my bank vault. It’s not like I told them I had a kid.

    I didn’t know myself; until my last day as a human.

    246 words

  11. She dipped her fingers into the borrowed children’s pail and smoothed the thick mud over her dry scales. The cooling concoction included some ground kelp, which gave it a dark green tint. Even though she lived half of her life in the water, this time of year totally dried her out.

    The tip of her tail flipped in and out of the water. Gentle undulations of waves rocked the buoy, and she braced her other hand against the rough surface. The summer sun beat against her bare shoulders and the heat spread across her back.

    “You’re turning a little pink there.”

    A familiar voice cut through the squawking of gulls and distant purr of boaters. She shielded her eyes and a plop of mud dropped on her thigh. Even though she’d knew him oh-so-well, the King of sea dragons still made her stomach swirl and her pulse speed up.

    “Can you believe that? I’m a mermaid who burns.” She shrugged and scooped another dollop, splatting it on her left shoulder and swiping it as far down and across as possible.

    He swam closer, near enough to see the dancing glimmer of playfulness in his green eyes.

    “You missed a spot there.”

    “Can’t reach it.” She pouted her lower lip. “What am I to do? A damsel in distress.”

    “Hmmm. What are we going to do about that?” Peder placed his hands on either side of her tail, stroking upward. “Maybe I can help you.”

    “I could use some help.”

    249 words


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