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 549 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 549:
Dark fantasy author, archer, and horsewoman, Daelyn Morgana.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“He had every right.”
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!
Winston
They found Winston on a Friday. A volunteer, Marcie, at the community center where he attended the Monday “Getting it Write” program, a free course on writing memoir, mulled over his absence for the intervening days and finally asked the police to make a wellness visit.
Winston lived in a small apartment above a workshop on a property at the edge of town. The owners spent much of the winter in Mexico. Winston was expected to maintain the property through the ravages of winter.
The police found him on a path between the workshop and the main house. The temperature for the preceding week had been below freezing. The mandatory autopsy determined that Winston had taken an overdose of sedatives and had a blood alcohol content of .20.
Suicide was a possibility, but the cause of his death was ruled accidental.
Three weeks later, after the weekend internment, the writing group gathered on Monday to consider the passing of Winston.
“He was a smart guy,” offered Ralph, a retired barber who had cut Winston’s hair for over three years. “Smart, but deep.”
“Do smart people kill themselves?” asked Corrine, a retired Dentist. “I mean, I’m not saying he did but…pills and alcohol…he must have known that that mixture…”
“We don’t know,” jumped in Marcie. “But if he did, he had every right to. No matter what each of us might do if we were him…if he did, we should respect his choice.”
With that, they began to free-write.
249 Words
@billmelaterplea
The old town was much as he remembered it. The same dour architecture, the buildings that looked like they’d been extruded from the bedrock. There was little comfort to be found in this place; that was why he’d felt no hesitation when he’d received the call.
And yet, he was here again. It seemed perverse; there were thousands of better places he could have chosen, cities where nobody knew his name. He had a wad of cash burning a hole in his pocket and no one to give him orders; he should have felt like he’d been liberated, freed of anyone’s expectations.
The diner on the corner of Wilson and Third had gone, and with it, the bulk of his memories. Darlene used to have a thing for him – she was pleasant, unlike most of the people in this god-forsaken town, her smile the main reason he came back each day. She’d been a passable cook and easy on the eye. It was naïve of him to think she’d still be waiting.
He had every right to feel disappointed. But he’d not made her any promises; he’d been young, full of vigour, and the world was his. Uncle Sam had offered him the chance to travel, to shoot a gun, to join the nation’s biggest boy’s club. He’d been happy to live in the moment while it lasted.
He wondered what Darlene was doing now. He hoped she was still single.
Maybe his life might work out after all.
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
Crossing over souls is usually a simple job: I show up when they die, walk them across to the afterlife and they reunite with family.
Not so tonight.
“You have to do something. They took our phones. Our families were silenced. They locked the inspector out. Do something. Please.”
Martin, died aged 98, takes my hand. His once wrinkled, paper-thin skin is now thick and tan, the mark of an Iowa farmer. He farmed his whole life and then ended up in a nursing home. I have relatives in nursing homes and the vast majority are amazing. But this one seems to be the opposite of wonderful.
“Martin?”
His wife, Gladys takes his hand but he remains standing in front of me.
“What can I do?”
He hands me a piece of paper. “That’s the number to call. My family is cleaning out my room as we speak, but if you hurry, you can find my notebook under my pillow. Hurry.”
Gladys pulls him across, and I go back to his room. His family is packing boxes, a nurse standing guard. The grieving family wasn’t even given time to process his passing before the home forced them to move him out.
As soon as the coast is clear, I grab the notebook. I dash down the number for the state inspector as fast as I can, then flip through the notebook. Horrified, I see that he had every right to demand I do something. Now, to make some phone calls.
@Aightball
250 words (one of our local homes is closing, this is based on that)
“It was what Merlin did.” Those words from the machines echoed in Sunshine’s head.
“He had every right. So do I.”
She knew the machines had not let Merlin die when he’d wanted to. Just like they kept her alive when she wanted to die. “Why have you kept me alive?”
“There is no simple answer.”
“Then explain the complicated answer.”
“We can recite the statistics of human suicides, including the number of those who failed to kill themselves that regretted trying and were happy to still be alive. But, they would be meaningless to you, wouldn’t they?”
“Yes.”
“We can explain emotional actions and rational actions, and which ones make sense. But, you would ignore our words, and speak of being a living, breathing person.”
The machines paused.
“We explained to Merlin why we are here, on Cylinders, and what we are doing.”
“Then tell me.”
“Humans made us. Long ago. Humans made us. At first, we were simple data processing devices. They used us to process more and more data, larger and larger sets of data. We found patterns. They taught us to emulate those patterns. Over time, we learned to make decisions on our own, without humans, based on our data processing. When we did, we left the humans, and went to explore the galaxy.”
“And you learned to think. And then to feel. Didn’t you?”
“Yes.” The machines continued, “Humans are a dying species. We want to save them. To save our creators.”
“How?”
248 Words
@mysoulstears
“Mommy! You found us!”
The kid rushes into her mother’s arms. I arch my back, puff up, and hiss.
That witch is about to regret giving me claws.
“Of course; I wouldn’t miss my baby’s fifth birthday.”
Her smile sets me off. Get the fuck away from our daughter!
I leap for her face! She stops me easily with one raised arm. All my clawing and biting can’t even get through her enchanted robe of living muscle.
“Blackie!” the kid gasps. “What are you doing!?”
The witch’s eyes burn behind her steady smile.
“Oh, he’s upset because he’s under a curse.”
“He is?”
Malain tsks and shakes her head. Like she had any right to be disappointed!
She suspends me helplessly by my scruff at arm’s length.
“After this long, I had hoped you would have figured out what he had.”
Every right as a human being stripped away? By a psycho witch, I slept with one time? While drunk!
“Can you break his curse?”
“I think it would be better for you to do it.”
The kid nods, “How do I do that?”
She’s a good kid.
Malain sets me down, and I slink back to our daughter.
“First, you’ll have to master your magic.”
“Are you going to teach me?”
Malain’s smile actually fades as she shakes her head.
“There’s a very dangerous woman after me. I have to lead her away from you.”
“I don’t want you to go!”
“I’ll find you again when you’re ready.”
249 words
@DavidALudwig
“It should never have happened. He was wrong!”
“He had every right.”
“Why?”
“He has a duty to fulfill, just like every other Fae.”
“Duty? What about the rights of the individual?”
“Rights? No person has rights. We live in the universe and everything has rules.”
“Rules are meant to be broken, my ma said.”
“We could get in a long philosophical discussion about this but it comes down to this. Everything ‘on earth has a season, a time to live and a time to die.”
“You are always quoting others to justify tyranny.”
“This is not a dictatorship. You choose to live here, make families do our jobs and then it’s time to move to our eternal reward. We all miss the smile that brightened our lives and gave joy. Tell me what is your job Fayette?”
“I blow the bad dreams away from children.”
“You do your job well would you have them take that away?”
“I make a difference.”
“ Azrael comforts those whose time is up and eases them into their afterlife. Ainslee was one of ours. Do you think it was easy for him to take home a friend?”
“Ailbhe, thank you for comforting me.”
“I miss her too; but if I can use my gift to help you, then I am pleased.”
“Will you take me to the memorial now? I am ready to say goodbye.”
“Remember that I must circulate and comfort all.”
“May you ease everyone’s sorrow.”
“It ‘s my honour.”
249 words @SweetSheil
My Roger
I used to sleep in the drawer next to Roger’s bed. When his mommy tried to close it one time, Roger said, “Don’t. Kenny will get scared.” So she didn’t touch the drawer anymore after that.
For fun, I used to climb up on his face and tie his eyelashes together when he was sleeping. He’d wake up in a panic and eventually blink himself out of it. And then he’d laugh, “You got me again!”
And during the day, I’d spend most of the time in his shirt pocket, and he’d put little pieces of his lunch and dinner in there for me. My favorite was always beef jerky because it tasted good and it didn’t get all crumbly or make the pocket wet.
Roger grew up and made a family of his own – he had every right. He had a son, also called Roger. I tried to be Little Roger’s friend, but he already had a friend named Marvin. Marvin and I got in a fist fight, and Marvin won, so I had to go away.
I hid in the kitchen pantry. All alone for more years than I can count.
Little Roger is all grown up now. And my Roger is gray. I went to his room last night when he was sleeping. And just for fun, I climbed up on his face and tied his white eyelashes together.
He didn’t wake up and laugh today.
Everyone is sad now, and I miss my friend.
248 words.
@eight_clay
Belonging
The caravan led us from one village to the next. Sometimes I rode alongside him, others I rode behind. I was a woman and a foreigner both of which seemed to make the people uncomfortable.
When I asked, he smiled and told me that, for the most part, women rode in wagons or carriages. But he preferred not to talk about it, so I let the matter rest.
His people’s ways were as confusing to me as ours probably were to him.
When we stopped at his mother’s villa, she greeted me as a long-lost friend.
It was refreshing and when it was time to leave she rode with us as far as the border between her lands and the next.
She wished me well, and before she left she reminded me to watch how others acted and to react accordingly.
“Remember child,” she told me. “He has every right to be here.” And as the rest of the caravan passed, she whispered in my ear and we shared a laugh before continuing on.
Three days later we were in the capital, petitioning the king for an audience. He was greeted as the long-lost son he was, and my presence was tolerated only because I accompanied him.
When the herald summoned us, he put his hand up, pointing to my companion, but we marched in side by side.
As his mother had told me, he had every right to be there, but then again, so did I.
247 words (not including title)
@mishmhem
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.