Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. Wow. Year 11. Holy smokes! Y’all kept with me past a decade. I’m astounded.
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing, like we have for the past 11 years. I had no idea when I started it would keep going! This is Week 586 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 social media handle or email in the post (so we easily notify 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, Bluesky, MeWe, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 586:
Her Royal Hotness, historical and contemporary romance author, Sabrina York.
Facebook |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“There will be no questions.”
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 Times
After they became more comfortable with each other, Beatrix loosened up some.
“I don’t want to betray any long-held confidences,” she began. “You can understand that I trust?”
Danny nodded that he did but in truth it seemed unnecessary. Wilson had been dead for almost twenty years. Dead or disappeared which might as well have been the same thing.
“Thank you. Perhaps it will help if you understand that I was born just as the last century ended. January 1901. I was raised with wealth, protected, pampered, and positioned to assume my place in the natural order of things.”
Danny nodded again. He could see elements of her patrician life, the smooth skin, the air of well-inherited superiority. Though slightly over fifty, she could easily pass for someone younger. He thought it a shame that she had burrowed away in the cobweb of ancient loyalties.
“The war had no impact,” she continued, “but the Spanish Flu did. My betrothed, Kenneth, served in France and returned a corpse. The illness killed him…and some of me as well.”
She paused and took a deep breath.
“The flapper era liberated me from my grief. I only lived for fun. Life had no answers for me. From that I believed that there will be no questions worth asking. I was lost in frivolity and self gratification for almost a decade. Wilson rescued me from my decline. Salvaged me and gave me the only answer I needed. WE are all of one Spirit.”
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
My brother was missing after a mysterious job interview and now I had received a similar job interview, I accepted, was taken aboard a plane, where they promptly drugged me. Awaking as the plane was landing, I found a nano beneath my skin at my wrist. What had I got myself into? A least I had my plastic gun in my suitcase. A person appeared and advised me that the nano would allow me to interact with an AI at the hotel who would give me further instructions. Except it wasn’t a hotel but some kind of remote mansion in the middle of nowhere; I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake. My AI Frank met me at the front door and said, “Andrew is downstairs with Helene. Our family is complete now. There will be no questions.”
How did they know who I was? At least I still had the gun I could rescue Andrew.
“The gun in your suitcase has been confiscated. We will make your life complete.” Frank insisted.
“Why would you need us?”
“Andrew is family. You are his sister that makes you family. I am your partner. We protect family, as we save the world.”
As I entered the basement room, I was flabbergasted as I realized everyone I had met since I had boarded the plane were AI. , but this was worse than I thought Andrew looked happy and Helene was fawning over him like they were together. How could I rescue him, now?
250 words
@SweetSheil
Her reporter’s instincts wide open, Hank Phillips focused on the file that had slipped from the anonymous package then glanced at her husband. He held a picture frame with a cracked glass. She opened the file and scanned the information. Eyes wide, she pointed a shaking finger at the frame Timothy held. “The message is plain enough. Frame job.”
“What do you mean?”
“The cops are fingering Mick O’Connor for Tommy Gallagher’s murder. Allegedly, O’Connor put Gallagher on his knees and pumped a bullet through the top of his head and out his throat.” She kept reading before staring at her husband. “This is a copy of the original ME’s autopsy report. There is no evidence of a gunshot wound but there is lots of evidence of torture and a severe beating.” She read further. “Oh holy…” Her voice trailed off as she turned shocked eyes to him. “Whoever did this ripped out his throat and his heart.”
Timothy dropped the frame and grabbed Hank by her biceps. “Burn that file, honey. Burn it now.”
Her expression stricken, she shook her head. “I can’t, Timothy. They’ll railroad an innocent man if I don’t break this story.”
“And whoever is setting this up will kill you.”
“They can try. This corruption runs deep, Tim. If I don’t follow up, who will? There will be no questions asked. No investigation. An innocent man will go down and the guilty will get away with murder. That’s not happening, not on my watch.”
****
248 Moonstruck Mafia WIP the-plot-thickens words
@SilverJames_
“A press conference? Are you fucking serious?”
“A short speech.” August sighs. “There will be no questions.”
“You can’t guarantee that.” John moves awkwardly through the motions of the Windsor knot. He’s never been particularly good at this, the golden silk wrinkling in his sweaty hands. “Reporters don’t care about me or—”
“There are protocols.”
“—or protocols,” John huffs.
“You represent the crown of the nation,” August says, voice calm and deep, belying the determination in his dark gaze. “The new king.”
“I’m a Ph.D. candidate,” John says, “not a king.”
“You will be,” August says simply.
“By process of literal elimination,” John mutters. “Succession by virtue of birth—because I survived an assassination attempt—is something I disagree with, you know.”
“I do know.” August gently bullies John’s hands aside, swapping the mangled length of silk for a fresh one. “You make very compelling points in your papers.”
“You read my papers?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“You’re a budding political radical, and I’m your chief of security. And… ideas alone have gotten people killed.” August smirks. “Seemed prudent to keep up with yours.”
“The people won’t like me.” An unqualified nobody. “And those reporters are going to eat me alive.”
“Not today.” August tightens the tie with the efficiency of a hangman.
“Tomorrow, then.”
“Tomorrow is never guaranteed.” August shrugs. “Why worry before it gets here?”
“Technically speaking, tomorrow never gets here.”
“That’s the spirit.” August claps his shoulder. “Now let’s introduce the nation to their future king.”
Cara Michaels
250 WIP words
The woman before him was ethereal, even shrouded in the stage’s shadow. It made sense- for it had been her stage once. Red fabric clung to her striking figure, so loud with its glittering sequins and embroidered jewels but somehow soundless in its movement.
Her hand’s hold on his face was a promise, blackened nails with red French tips digging just deep enough to threaten crescent imprints.
The message was clear; don’t mess this up.
His eyes burned in turn, too dry contacts pulling with each blink. It was hard to focus in the dim back stage light surrounded by a cacophony of sounds that only grew louder with each passing beat.
Was that the bass or his own heart? It was getting harder to tell them apart.
His lips parted, jaw aching with unspoken words.
Her gaze sharpened, “There will be no questions.”
Sharp like shards of glass the words cut through his throat, bubbling past his lips weakly. “But-“
Something on his face must’ve broken through her steely demeanor because her grip loosened, moving up to tuck a loose curl behind his ear with an unusual tenderness. “You’ll be fine. We’ve practiced more than enough.”
It was true; they had.
Steady hands guided him to the curtain, the stage just out of reach.
“Dance for me.”
And he always would.
222 words
@okaysadboy1
“They didn’t believe me. They said he couldn’t be that way because he was a cop.”
Triss stopped as she shot Briona a guilty look. “It’s why I don’t like cops. The Thin Blue Line is always there, always first. Brothers in blue before bitches.”
“Hey, not all cops are like that—”
“No?” Triss’s voice cracked like whip. “All the cops I know are like that. They’ll stand with their brothers when they say their girlfriend is mentally ill and must be medicated. They’ll sympathize with their brother officer when he tells them she’s crazy and a hysterical liar. They’ll keep an eye on her for him while he’s at work. They’ll perpetuate the abuse and will serve and protect him against any crazy lies told by his spouse.”
Triss scowled and waved her hand. “It doesn’t matter. I won’t go back to him. I disappeared on purpose and managed to start a new life. And I can do it again. This might not be a safe place anymore, but there will be.”
No questions seemed adequate to ask as astonishment filled Briona’s head. Triss had an ex, and it sounded like a husband. And he’d hidden his abuse behind his brothers in blue. She’d seen it before—other cops who’d been monsters and used their position as law enforcement to assert dangerous authority over spouses and partners. But was Triss who she said she was? Or was she just one lie after another?
245 ineligible #SummitSprings words
@siobhanmuir on BlueSky
It is generally accepted that oni are real. That doesn’t make seeing one up close any less disturbing.
Sora holds up impressively well under the brunt of the beast’s assault. But Mana can tell that the young lieutenant is frustrated by the limited efficacy of his own attacks.
After putting one of the fiend’s eyes out with an early arrow, Arashiko hasn’t had any further luck piercing the oni’s hide.
Tenko keeps their enemy off balance with timed blasts of her fighting spirit. But only Mana’s magic is doing any real damage. And not enough to win.
Mana can only see one way for them to all get out of this alive. Something he hasn’t even told Tenko about, yet. He expects her to understand, but would have liked to know the others a little better before sharing this particular secret with them.
Even Tenko is going to have questions.
“But,” Mana sighs, “if I don’t, there will be no questions ever.”
Reaching into the darkness beyond the darkness, the dapper artist speaks the name of death and draws his demon sword from the void.
The forest chills. The stars fade. Mana’s friends watch with horror. Even the oni takes a step back.
Mana leaps close by the creature. His sword finishes drinking the fiend’s blood before its head hits the ground.
222 Tale of Tenko words
@DavidALudwig on Bluesky
The four competitors huddled together, their contest forgotten. The gate lurched against its hinges, the wood bulging in the middle, its locking bar jumping as something powerful pounded on its reverse side.
“What the frack is that?” Dane said, his spear suddenly seeming like a toy. “Nobody mentioned anything about any creatures being involved.” He looked up into the bleachers, trying to find his coach.
He’d gone, of course. There was no advising the candidates after the starting gun had fired. The advice they’d received in training would have to suffice.
“What’s that?” Leviticus Graham boomed, sitting in his chair in the commentator’s box, echoing Dane’s first comment. “You know there will be no questions answered. You’ve got to take your chances and figure it out. Man up and make yourself a hero.”
The rest of the crowd began to chant, their voices ragged and uncertain. “Man up,” they shouted, a rabble thrown a piece of raw meat. “You’ve got to take your chances and figure it out.”
Graham nodded. His visage dominated the stadium, repeated on the viewscreens mounted at each corner of the testing ground. His face was thirty feet tall, his voice loud enough to shake the air within your chest. You couldn’t ignore him, however hard you tried.
“I think it’s time to release the beast,” he said, thumbing an elaborate button on the console before him. “We’ve had enough of talking. It’s action we want to see. It’s a process of elimination to the end.”
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
I prefer seasonal work. It has a beginning and an end and both are predictable. Much better than taking a job that might last years and years and years. And so, when my seasonal job ended, I prepared myself to walk away. After all, the end had arrived and my contract was over. But my boss apparently doesn’t know the meaning of the word seasonal.
“You want me to do what?” I asked, my mouth hanging unceremoniously open. “My contract is over. Done. I’m not staying.”
“There will be no questions. I am being forced into retirement and you are my star employee. Therefore, you will take over for me.”
He leaves and I stare after him. I know darned good and well he can hear me.
“Oh HELL no! I am not staying in this job one more damned minute! I agreed to work for you for one year. That time has come and gone.”
Predictably, Horace, my boss, walks back into the living room, right through the wall.
“And I have extended your contract. We must begin your training immediately. Being the One True Death is a big job and not one you can ‘wing’, as you like to say. Report to work on time tonight and we will begin your training.”
“No.” That’s not a question.
“I did not ask if you wished to; I said you will. Report on time tonight to begin your training.”
He leaves and I shake my fists at his departing back.
@Aightball
250 words
Ironic Moments
“Let’s go through this by the numbers,” Raj stated as he studied his companion and shook his head. While the man had ‘cleaned up’ he didn’t look like a spokesman for anything good or wholesome.
“What?”
“Have you thought about what you’re wearing?”
The man looked at him over his shades and shook his head. “Raj, I’m the good part of the bad element. You really think wearin’ a tie is going to dress this up and make it look good? It ain’t happening, son.”
Raj took a step back and looked at his list. “You come on, you make your statement, then step to the side, and the mayor will make his.”
The man nodded. “And then we take questions?”
“There will be no questions.”
“Son, you may think there won’t be questions, but sure as hell, there going to be questions.”
“We have briefed the press. There will be no questions.”
“Raj, cher, you may think there won’t be questions. You may not want questions, but there are going to be questions. Hell, I got questions and I’m one of da ones makin’ statements.”
“You won’t be taking questions.”
The man shook his head obviously not believing him.
“Trust me, I’ve been in this town long enough. People know when to ask questions, and when not to. This is definitely one of those times.” As he spoke, Raj adjusted the microphone and completed his sound check, then looked back at the man.
“Any questions?”
The man laughed.
250 words (not including title)
@mishmhem
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I’ll see you in two weeks.