Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. 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 560 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 560:
Scientist, Dad, and flash fiction author, Eric Martell.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“A spark is all it takes.”
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!
The Arsonist of Hearts
It’s like writing a song. It is a song. Maybe not the music. That will come later. I’ll be out on the porch, the moon will be hanging high in the sky, nights sounds will drift in, some human, some not quite.
I will pay apt attention, soaking them in, measuring them, weighing their meaning.
These last few years, I have become a better listener. Not just to night sounds. The day has voices also. They are harder to differentiate.
Its more of a challenge.
I hope to get better.
At listening.
At being.
But now it is night.
That is when the sounds channel into me.
Find a new language.
A language of my own.
It is a time for love lyrics.
Simple.
Capturing a moment.
“A spark is all it takes
before the arsonist awakes,
before his blue heart breaks,
breaks in two.
The arsonist’s heart aches.
that‘s what lost love takes,
no time to pull up stakes,
if love is true.”
And, like every lyricist in love, I’ll put it aside. Try to, anyways. Hum a new tune, try it on. The words and music and the pain. They will all be there, coming together, then stepping aside, separate entities, emotions, united but separate, each seeking space in me.
Seeking a final voice.
It won’t be perfect but it’ll be close.
“A spark is all it takes
for the flame the fire makes,
whilst the heart of the arsonist quakes
for love anew.”
250 words (but no music)
@billmelaterplea
“Do you think you could make some time to gather a few of the grad students and come down to Deadman for the meeting?”
There was a short silence as Nozomi absorbed the announcement. “Yeah, I could do that. Why do you need me there? This seems like a Deadman town issue.”
“Did you see the map of the proposed expansion? It straddles the West Washakie River all the way down to mile marker seventy-seven on Highway 91.”
“Mile marked seventy-seven?” Nozomi was silent a bit longer. “The expansion includes all three of our sites, and one of the Anthropology department’s sites.”
“Yup. And if they put that awful resort in there, all those sites will be destroyed for a rich man’s vanity and friends.”
“Oh hell no. That’s not happening. I’ll gather who I can, especially Professor Audrey Campbell of the Anthropology Dept, and we’ll be there. Six-thirty on Thursday, you said?”
“Yup. I’m going to let the folks at Friends of Deadman Paleo know as well. I figure if we get enough people there, the project will be dead in the water.”
Nozomi sighed through the phone. “I hope so, but as you’ve said many times, humans are very susceptible to money.”
“Yeah, but they also like the preserve things and this expansion will hurt their livelihoods and shove them out of their homes. A spark is all it takes to get the community to stand up for their natural resources and way of living. I hope.”
249 ineligible #WIP500 words
@SiobhanMuir
Rivi stared at her best friend, who reached over and and tapped her chin with one long-nailed finger.
“Close your mouth, hon. You don’t want to be swallowing any flies.”
“Are you serious right now?” Rivi winced when her voice rose to the squeaky level. “You can’t do this.”
Glory smirked. “I can and I will.”
Taking the time to survey the bar, Rivi sighed. “They’re bikers, Glory.”
“And?”
“And that makes whatever you’re planning a really bad idea.”
“Just because it’s a bad idea doesn’t mean it won’t be a good time.” Glory winked and grinned, also surveying the place.
“Bikers,” Rivi repeated. “Big, scary bikers who are all wearing one percent patches.”
Glory lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug as she picked out her mark and dazzled him with her best flirtatious smile. “So?” Then her brows scrunched together. “What does that even mean?”
“What does what mean?”
“One percent patches. That’s important?”
“D’uh. It means they’re outlaws, Glory. These guys are all outlaw bikers. If you start something, they’ll finish it.”
“I’m just going to light a little fire and you know what my daddy says.” She winked coquettishly. “I’m a spark plug and a spark is all it takes.”
Waving her arms, Rivi intoned, “Danger, Will Robinson. Danger.” It was a pretty good impression, even if she said so herself.
Huffing out a disdainful snort, Glory stepped down from her barstool. “Here, hold my beer.”
And, yeah, Rivi could admit those were famous last words.
****
250 future WIP words
@SilverJames_
“We’re doomed,” Orville said, cowering away from the side of the gondola. The trees were a frightening distance below, and the swelling of the gasbag tethered above them was more worrisome than reassuring.
“Calm yourself,” said Wilbur. “This is much safer than the flier. With that, we were dependent on keeping the engine running. With this – if it fails, we merely release the gas and float gently down to earth again.”
“Yes. About that.” Orville looked up. “You see the flaps of the vents. How you’ve made them in the underside of the balloon. Have you ever thought about what would happen if you pulled them away? I’d like to also mention the position of the engine. And the fact that it uses a spark to push the propellor around.”
Wilbur nodded. Thoughtful. “Yes, a spark is all it takes. That was a fabulous idea of mine.”
“And yet, it could also be a problem. Have you wondered what would happen if we vented the bag above it? Even if we’d stopped running it? The cylinder head reaches a thousand degrees. And the ignition point of hydrogen is… what was it? Do you remember?”
“About six hundred and fifty. Give or take a couple of degrees.” Wilbur went quiet, imagining what would happen.
“Exactly,” Orville said. He sighed, looking up again. “Maybe if we turn it off and let it cool a while. Enough time and we should be alright. But in the meantime – don’t light any cigars!”
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
Sunshine had never seen anything as large as the ocean. She’d been walking along its shore for more days than she cared to admit, yet all she could see was endless water, and waves. At least the shore was flat, and not filled with mountains, cliffs, and fjords. She knew from the sunrise and sunset that she was heading south.
To one side was the ocean. To the other was an endless expanse of sand dunes, and beach grass. Both went as far as she could see. There were a few small bushes and even fewer trees scattered here and there among the dunes. She hadn’t seen anyone. No towns, no villages, no houses, no one. It was an endlessly empty landscape.
Until the day the landscape changed into a wall of mountains that ran into the ocean, and disappeared beneath its waters, and into the landscape as far as she could see.
As she approached the mountains, she noticed the smoke of volcanoes. Soon, she could see the mountains were filled with them. She had to fly to cross those mountains. It felt good to use her wings once more, to fly in the sky, free from the ground again.
It took two days to cross the mountains. On the other side was more ocean. The land had moved eastward, as if two blocks of land were sliding past each other.
“A spark is all it takes,” she thought, as she realized the name of her world.
Cylinders.
250 words
@mysoulstears
“My mom said my healing and destruction touches weren’t spells.”
“That hardly needs saying!” Vedania scoffs sharply. “What’s more important is that they’re magic.”
Spooky cocks her head, hair and eyes shifting to a confused teal. As far as I know, no one else’s features change like that.
“I don’t understand…”
The ranger composes herself with a deep breath. We’ve been with the elven sisters long enough to tell when Vedania is more composed. A subtle distinction, given her stoic nature. It isn’t so subtle when she flips out.
“Spells are methods of manipulating magic. They’re useless without it. A spark is all it takes, so your powers more than cover that.”
Spooky ohs her understanding as her hair and eyes brighten to sunny yellow.
Vedania continues, “You need to take ahold of the magic with your body, mind, and soul. Visualize holding the power behind your touches. Then, while hanging on to it, you can pull it into different shapes with each aspect of yourself. Spells are specific sequences of those shapes.”
The ranger presses her palms together, then pulls them apart while combing her fingers inward until she pinches a thread of pure energy taut between her fingers!
“This sequence is a spell strand. One of the most basic and versatile spells and useful as a foundation for many others.”
Spooky’s hair and eyes blaze to orange as she imitates Vedania’s motion, producing a much larger strand. Vedania purses her lips.
“That took me thirty years to master.”
250 words
@DavidALudwig
“What am I doing, Iris? Why am I even bothering anymore?” Kailyn sighed and leaned heavily on the railing of the balcony, staring down over their vegetable and herb garden. A light, warm breeze brought the mouthwatering aroma of cinnamon apple. Someone was baking somewhere. Too bad their Coven neighbors would never dare to share with the Black Widows. All because of her.
The younger witch came to lean beside her. “You are bothering because you still have fight left in you.”
She snorted. “Do I? After fourteen years it seems pointless.”
“Was it so pointless with us?”
There was a quietness to Iris’ voice that made Kailyn give pause and turn to her. “You know that’s not what I meant. But the rest of Dallen…”
“The rest of Dallen hasn’t seen what we’ve seen yet. When it comes to a wildfire a spark is all it takes to spread.”
“That spark will never spread, not when the wildfire of hate and fear already decimated the forest.”
“Alright, then a seed to grow. Never say never,” Iris said gently. “You defy the odds all the time.”
Her shoulders dipped. “I should have been dead ages ago, or you lot should have killed me in my sleep.”
“You know,” Iris tilted her head, “I’m sure it passed through at least one of our heads in the beginning.”
“Whose? Cara or Drey?”
“Likely both.”
Kailyn laughed finally before sobering. “Thanks for…you know.”
“I know.”
~*~*~*~*~
242 #DarkHeir words
@DaelynMorgana
Keep the Home Fires Burning
Erdane watched as the invaders made their captives swear their allegiance one by one.
There seemed to be no pattern in whose oath they accepted. The brothers of the woodland tribes, swore the same oath, with the same fervor. They accepted one and the other they denied. One was taken to their caravan, the other dragged before their executioner.
Worse, each vow made their decisions more capricious.
All too soon it was her, and her mentor. They could not swear allegiance to anyone– their oath was to the land. They could swear not to fight, they could not give the invaders more.
She looked to Kepross for guidance, and he nodded “A spark is all it takes.”
She drew herself up prepared to give them the Oath of the Vale, that she had sworn at the equinox of her 17th year, but Kepross stepped in front of her.
“We are foresters,” he stated. “We fight only fire. No one here is our enemy, even you.”
Their leader nodded and Kepross was led towards the executioner.
Erdanes’ eyes widened as she realized what was happening and reacted without thinking. For the first time, the fire came at her bidding. It wasn’t an accident, it wasn’t a strain, it was a beautiful living thing, undulating with her breath, born of her will.
While the enemy screamed Kepross smiled, laughing as the farce of a court fell around them.
He was right. All it took was a spark.
245 words (not including title)
@mishmhem
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.