#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 570

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 almost 11 years. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 570 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 570:

Typo Sniper, fast fiction author, and the woman who started it all, Cara Michaels.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Have you been drinking?”

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!

22 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 570”

  1. The Conversation

    “You seem…buoyant…”
    “Well, it’s a sunny day. Got coin in my pocket. Putin hasn’t blown up the world yet. At least my world.”
    “Nobody’s world so far…but he’s made a pretty mess of Ukraine.”
    “Yeah, and that’s upsetting. Seems like it hasn’t any endgame. Except, you know…time for all of us to duck and cover…”
    “Maybe you aren’t as upbeat as I first thought? Is that possible?”
    “I was trying. No point in being all droopy mouthed about the rest of the world. Gotta think about number one. Get through the day. “
    “That’s what you’re doing? Getting through the day? “
    “Yup. One step at a time. First one foot, then the other.”
    “Have you been drinking? Sorry to ask but that was one of the conditions of you coming here. We could talk about anything, but your faculties need to be…available. Unhampered Otherwise, it a waste of time and money. Your time, my time, your money.”
    “Not my money. The health plans dime. To your question, I stopped off at the Sober Squirrel to have a few nuts and brew…guess I got carried away.”
    “The Sober Squirrel?”
    “A little drinking establishment in my neighbourhood. Cute name, huh?”
    “Oh, yes. Apparently somewhat misleading.”
    “Not their fault. Anyways, I’m sorry. I’ll leave if you want. Next time, I’ll be less lit up.”
    “Maybe we can work with it today. Maybe you need to be a tad lubricated to be honest about matters.”
    “Okay. Lets give her a shot.”

    250 words

    1. This is one heck of a way to start a therapy session, lol. And the Sober Squirrel sounds like my kind of place.

  2. “Have you been drinking?” she asked. She tightened the straps at my wrists, cinching them as tight as she could, securing my hands to the crossbar of the machine. “If you have, you need to acknowledge liability before we begin. It’s health and safety. Safeguards protecting this establishment from legal action if things happen to go wrong.”

    “If things go wrong?” I said, smiling. “Isn’t that ironic?” I closed my eyes, willing her to continue. I had only an hour – forty-five minutes if you excluded the decompression period afterwards. I didn’t want anything to delay the experiences she’d administer. I was here to submit and relinquish control. I was already ready for anything she could do.

    The band bridging my forehead came next. It pulled my head against the headboard. I felt her warmth as she reached across me, lithe, toned, and now unattainable. My heart began to race, excitement colouring the vague shapes behind my eyelids before the blindfold was put on.

    “It’s still the law,” Madame said, much closer now. “We don’t want any unfortunate incidents. And if you do, you should have gone somewhere else. It’s a common decency to your provider. A matter of respect. I’ve a boilerplate contract you’ll need to sign if there are any irregularities in your health. Paperwork, protection… and then you get to play. That’s why nobody does walk-ins now. It gets messy otherwise.”

    “No, I’m fine,” I said. “A perfect bill of health. You’ve nothing to fear from me.”

    250 safewords – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

    1. Love how calm and almost soothing the conversation is, juxtaposed with the action of the narrator being bound for a BDSM session.

  3. I’m a climber, the more risk the higher, the better, when my partner bowed out with a broken leg, I decided to ask my friend, Angie.
    “Have you been drinking? I hate heights.”
    I am climbing and what is the first thing I realize. I forgot some of my equipment. I’d climb freehand I done it lots of times. I reached for the next rock and I felt the shelf below me crumble. My foot slipped and then I tumbled down towards the bottom of a fifty-foot drop. Suddenly as if by magic I was caught in mid air by a furry arm. Had a bear caught me for a meal?
    I soon stared into the eyes of a furry red, ape-like creature, which smelled like a skunk in a garbage dump, between eight and ten feet tall, his eyes showed intelligence, were dark, but had a yellowish glow around them. His feet were easily a size 24. Carrying me down the mountain like I weighed nothing, he dropped me abruptly at the bottom with a eerie cry, and ran into the woods. Searching for a half hour, all I found were trees that were felled and a little red fur in some branches. Time after time I returned to the spot, but I never find him again. I’m alive and unbroken, thanks to that creature but all I can think is when can I meet him again? I begin my climb again. This time I slip again and …
    250 words @SweetSheil

    1. Free climbing and slipping ON PURPOSE to meet… Big Foot? He kinda sounds like Big Foot. But yeah, that’s some dedication.

  4. “Have you been drinking?”

    Maura attempted to look haughty by raising her chin and raising an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

    Stifling laughter, Ronan offered her a knowing smile. “Good.”

    Her expressive face morphed into confused concern—narrowed and shifty eyes under scrunched brows, her lips pressed together. She considered her reply for a long moment before her lips relaxed. She spoke one word. “Why?”

    “Because I’ve been curious.”

    If anything, her face scrunched up more. “About what?”

    “About what it would be like to have drunken sex with ya, Maura.”

    Air rushed from her lungs as she breathed out, “Oh.” Then her eyes widened and she perked up. “Oh! You want to have sex with me?”

    “Always,” Ronan muttered then said, “Aye, Maura. I do. Specifically, drunken sex.”

    Her expression shifted again, this time to the face she wore when in court. “And what, Mr. O’Connor, makes you think drunk sex with me would be good?”

    “Because when yer drunk, y’pull that stick from yer arse and I get the real woman, not Maura Brannigan, Assistant District Attorney.”

    She tilted her head, confused again. “I’m always me.”

    “No, darlin’, yer not.”

    The gist of his words finally penetrated her drunken haze. “I do not have a stick up my ass.”

    He arched a patrician brow but said nothing. She glowered. He waited. She sank back against the cushions in the corner of the couch. In moments, her eyes drifted shut then she was snoring softly.

    “Just m’luck,” he groused. “Another wasted chance.”
    250 Moonstruck Mafia: Boston WIP words

    1. Haha… Ronan getting cockblocked by that fine line between tipsy and drunk. Hopefully he finds a better way to help Maura loosen up.

  5. I am not afraid to break down into a groovy dance, two left feet or not. Thankfully, it’s mostly family here and they don’t care if I can dance or not.

    “All right, ladies and gentlemen, please clear the dance floor for the father daughter dance.”

    We all return to plastic folding chairs, while my cousin and her dad take the dance floor. He wasn’t so sure about this whole thing at first, but has come to accept her wife as one of his own.


    I turn in my chair, careful not to knock over a delicate-looking vase of orange lilies. Dad’s wearing a tie that looks like he bought it in the 70s, which he probably did; he hates ties. At least the orange matches the fall-themed décor of the wedding. My favorite thing is the bats that hang from the ceiling of the venue.

    Mom hands me a plate, giggling when she drops the fork. She wipes the fork on her dress and hands it to me.

    “Have you been drinking?” I ask.

    “The beer bottles are so tiny!”

    Mom doesn’t drink often, which explains a lot. I stick to pop at receptions.

    “The brides would like all of the fathers and daughters to come dance.”
    Dad and I look at each other, then he shrugs.

    “I’ve got two left feet,” he says, as we step onto the crowded dance floor.

    “It’s genetic,” I say, and he laughs, as we sway to the slow, sappy, 90s song.

    250 words

    1. Very cute. I was especially fond of Dad’s 70s orange tie and the genetic left feet, lol. That makes dad and daughter perfect dance partners.

  6. Billy flipped the light switch, and with my head feeling the way it did, the naked 60 W bulb hanging from the ceiling felt like the sun.

    Thankfully, it wasn’t.

    “What the fuck, dude? Turn that shit off.” I tried to bury my head under the pillow, but Billy yanked it away and laughed.

    “Shut up, you baby. You’ve got supernatural eyes now. The pain should already be gone. Anyway, it’s time to get up. She’s here.”

    “What? Already?”

    “It’s already 11 pm. Let you sleep as long as I could.” He tossed me my clothes. “And get dressed. You’re hot and all, but She has big appetites in a lot of ways, and I’d like you to survive the night.”

    I pulled my shirt over my head and tried to untangle the rat’s nest that was my hair. That wasn’t going to get better without a shower and a lot of brushing. The shirt was a little rank, but not too bad. I grimaced at the thought of putting that underwear on again, though, and decided against it. If She had an issue with me going commando, might as well find out quickly.

    Billy sat down on the bed next to me and pulled off his hat. Now he spoke with some concern. “Have you been drinking enough blood? The first week is rough either way, but you need it.”

    I thought of the night before and how I’d finally gotten something of value from my parents, and nodded.

    250 words

    1. “Something of value…” This one line communicates so much about the narrator’s relationship with his parents.

  7. “Have you been drinking your medicine?”

    The room was the wrong color. The stones were screaming. And Dimitar’s head was pounding.

    “Hold this under your tongue.”

    The nurse standing over Dimitar placed a thermometer in his mouth. She seemed to be thinking aloud as she handled his jaw with one hand. He wasn’t sure that she’d noticed he was awake.


    The nurse shook her head at the thermometer. It looked the same as when she put it in his mouth.

    “Maybe injections would be more effective.”

    Dimitar took a deep breath to speak. Or, he tried to. He’d never thought about breathing before, but he vaguely remembered being able to feel it. At least his chest should have moved. Right?

    “Oh? Are you trying to talk?”

    His attendant leaned over Dimitar, fixing her eager eyes uncomfortably on his own. There was the hint of a disturbing smile at the corner of her full lips. Why couldn’t he move?

    “This is good! We can work with this!”

    She turned her back on him and grabbed something from a metal tray. The brief metallic scrape rang much louder than the stones. Dimitar thought he flinched even before the nurse turned around with what he considered an unnecessarily large syringe of fluorescent greenish-yellow fluid.

    The nurse rolled Dimitar on his side and raised the syringe like an assassin’s dagger.

    “Pay attention, now; I want to know exactly what this does to you!”

    240 words

    1. This got so unsettling as it progressed, with Dimitar going from patient to test subject. *Shudder*

  8. Yeah, the only thing I’ve accomplished is avoiding Barrett.

    She hadn’t done it on purpose—at least, not really. But the memory of them seeing her at such a diminished capacity made her shudder. They’d been great about it—probably were the best person to see her collapse—but it still made it hard to see them again, despite their text conversation afterwards.

    Which means I’m probably stuck in my own mind, seeing shadows that aren’t boogeymen.

    But it was hard to gainsay her unease when she thought about what had happened. She didn’t want to call them, interrupting their day, especially if they were preparing for a show.

    Biting her lip, she grabbed her phone and typed out a new message.

    Lisa: Hey Barrett. Sorry I haven’t been able to attend any of your shows. Got swamped with a project. Are you still performing tonight?

    She thought it would take a while for Barrett to answer, but the three little dots appeared almost immediately.

    Barrett: Good to hear from you! I was getting a little worried but figured you were busy. Yes, tonight I have a show. Going to be a great one. Are you coming?

    She nodded as her fingers hit the keys: Yes, I think so. I need a break away from the computers. My eyes are starting to blur.

    Barrett: Have you been drinking enough water? Sometimes dehydration messes up your eyes enough to dry them out.

    Lisa: Yeesh, you sound like my teammate. I’m drinking.

    250 ineligible #Sirens words

    1. Bravo to Lisa for getting out of her own head and communicating. Definitely not easy to do when haunted by embarrassment.

  9. “Yo ho, ho and a bottle of rum!” Kailyn paused her single person, largely off-key choir and looked into the bottle. “Why’s the rum gone?” With a frown she rolled off the bed and stumbled toward the door. As she opened it, she practically ran right into her best friend.

    Well, to be honest, her only friend and now her only viable family.

    Matt’s hand was raised ready to knock but instead he reached out to steady her. Brown eyes full of concern furrowed his brow.

    “Hiya Matt!” she hiccupped.

    “Have you been-?”

    “Drinking? That sounds awfully like a dumb question, don’t ya think?” she murmured in her best Captain Jack Sparrow impression and an overexaggerated nod of her head.

    He took the empty bottle from her and gently guided her backwards to the bed once more. “I don’t think drinking heavily is such a good idea right now.”

    “And why not?” she slurred and then snorted, plopping down heavily on the soft fleece covers. “I’m not underage here in Dallen. No law against it here.”

    “That’s not why and you know why.”

    Kailyn snorted again. “Can’t be because I’ve been living a lie for thirteen years, and certainly not because I just upended my entire life and left Earth, home, for good. But hey, at least by leaving my family and my life behind I can finally stop pretending everything is perfectly fine.”

    “You didn’t have to leave…” he said softly.

    “What other choice did I have?”


    248 words

    1. Intrigued to know why Kailyn left Earth. By what’s implied, I can’t say I blame her for hitting the bottle.

  10. Sheets to the Wind

    “Look, you need to know”

    “Know what?”

    The question was simple, but the way he looked at me I knew it wasn’t good. And then then I smelled his breath, make that his vapor trail. No, this was bad.

    “Have you been drinking?”

    “Yes. No. Not nearly enough.”

    “Which is it?”

    “Yes, I am drinking. Now. I was not drinking then, and I haven’t had nearly enough since.”

    “Since what?”

    He poured me a double and passed it across the bar. “You’re going to need that.”

    “You’re pushing me.”

    “Just trust me. Once you see this– you can’t unsee it.”

    I took a sip, hoping it would loosen his tongue, but he just kept staring at me. I downed it and placed the glass on the bar. Instead of talking, he poured me another.

    “You’re still three behind me,” he said gesturing to the glass.

    This was annoying. I stared at it and then back at him. It was a game of drunken chicken and he was winning. I took the shot, and my world shifted a hair to the left.

    My eyes widened as I caught my first glimpse of the man watching me from the corner of the bar. He was shrouded in a mist that kept him hidden, but the booze had broken the illusion. His robes kept him hidden, but I could see his reflection. Death was sitting at my bar, and he was wearing heart-covered boxers.

    I tapped my glass and nodded. Nate poured another.

    250 words – not including the title

    1. Oh, the way the ending made me laugh. The shift from curiosity and intrigue to THE BOXERS. Loved this!

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