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 588 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 588:
Cat afficionado, Editor, and Mid Week Flash host, Miranda Kate.
Facebook | BlueSky | Goodreads |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Which service do you need?”
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!
Typo repair and signing
The Business of Secrets
“I know who you are, Mr. Hawkins. It’s a small town, perhaps not as small as it once was but it is 1952. We have newspapers.”
She had him by the shorthairs. He was a secret finder by trade, but he clearly could not keep his own secrets hidden.
He quickly gave some thought to starting out. For some reason, likely the fact that he had never started a business before, Danny thought it would be easier than it proved to be. He had an office, his second one after the first office rental imploded, or exploded if you suddenly had your landlord and his boat blow up in the harbour. He had made sure that this second office had no connection that he knew of to explosive relationships. He found a desk in an old garage down the street from Anne’s parent. It was oak and had more drawers than the King of England. The telephone company seemed willing to connect him up without too much fuss.
And then there was advertising.
In the local paper.
But what to say. He couldn’t very well approach each local and ask, “Which service do you need?”
Many would just ignore him, a stranger on the street soliciting their views on private detection.
Others would laugh.
He’d finally concocted a small ad that said. Daniel Hawkins. Confidential Enquires. Your Secrets are My Business.
She interrupted his reverie with, “So, Mr. Hawkins, which of my secrets are you investigating?”
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
It was becoming more and more common, that people didn’t notice me. I kind of liked it. I didn’t have to hide away in corners at work to avoid the people that set my teeth on edge and started my anxiety levels to a ten.
“Sharon?’ my best friend asked coming into my office, “Your nose is visible, now. I have a friend who might be able to help. Let me make a call.”
A few minutes later Angie said, “Follow me.”
I followed her into a non-descript building.
A woman directed Angie to an office with Alexander in it.
““Which service do you need?” Alexander asked.
“Isn’t it obvious? I’m invisible,” I said showing my nose.
“That’s a problem because?” he stated, then promptly disappeared.
“You can do this too Alexander?”
“I missed you, Sharon.”
“You can see me?”
“Just your nose. Try hard to think of your form.”
I tried, but only my feet were visible.
“What am I going to do I can’t be invisible forever?”
Then Alex kissed me and the whole world disappeared but the rest of me appeared.
“What was that cure?”
“True love, but it only works if both people are in love and kiss and make-up over a misunderstanding. Do you forgive me?”
“I do, but you have to tell me about why you know so much about invisibility.”
“It’s like this we were both in to a family of magic….”
So, began my training in magic and my life with Alexander.
250 words
@SweetSheil
“My name is Elaine. Which service do you need?” the woman asked him, positive and calm.
“I don’t know,” Schiller replied hesitantly. “What options have you got?”
The woman sighed, and he could imagine her at her desk, looking across at the clock. It was just short of an hour past midnight, late enough to have reached the weekend’s surge of drunks and addicts, the percentage of genuine callers lower than at any other time. She’d be wondering how soon she could get him to commit to a decision and thinking of the others who would hang up before they managed to speak to her. It might be hours before anyone could follow up on the ones in the queuing system. For some, it might be too late – it was better to not dwell too much on those.
“We’ve got karmic reintegration,” she said, not needing her list. “We’ve also a full, dynamic blood-letting – it’s a systemic purging, one of the best ways to detox. And then, we’ve our classic trepanning and cranial roof removal. It’s like letting the stars shine through your soul. I’d do it myself every year, but it’s almost impossible for staff to get onto the list. Our surgeons are hyper-busy, and you wouldn’t believe how long you need to wait if you’re not a paying customer.”
“But what would you suggest? Is there an offer you’d recommend?”
“We can do you a course of leeches,” she said, “Administered orally, from a shot glass.”
250 words – thwothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
I let my forehead slump down onto my desk as I connected the next call.
‘Hello, which service do you need?’ I was five hours in to my shift and I swear time was starting to slow down. ‘Hello, is there anyone on the line?’
‘Er, yes.’ The voice was male, mid-thirties and very uncertain. I pulled over a notepad just in case. ‘I well, I was told to ask for…’ He paused and cursed under his breath. ‘The special service?’
‘Prank calls are an offence.’ I rolled my eyes.
‘No, no, it’s not a prank. Sorry, I can’t remember what he said. It all happened so fast but he said to ask for the, sudden? No…’
I sat up a little straighter and adjusted my headset.
‘Subter, that was it, subter service.’
I froze for a second, remembering the protocol. I keyed commands into my computer and waited for the call to go onto the separate server system, alerting the top bosses immediately.
‘What is the nature of your request?’
‘You know it? You can help?’
‘Sir, what is the problem.’
‘We were attacked, this guy helped but my friend was hurt and the other guy told me to call you if things got…weird.’
‘Your friend was hurt how?’
‘He was bitten!’
My fingers flew across the keyboard as I traced the call. ‘Sir, I need you to get into a different room from your friend, quickly as possible. And if you can, you’re going to need a crucifix.’
250 words @lexikonical
Sora’s blades cascaded down, one after the other, like a torrential waterfall of steel. The underbrush across the clearing swayed in the wake of his warrior’s spirit.
“Every blow should be a killing blow. If you do not kill with the first swing, kill with the second.”
Tenko understood the mechanics of Sora’s technique. But, considering her parents’ daisho supported by her noodle arms, had reservations.
“I’m not sure I can utilize that style properly.”
Sora considered Tenko seriously.
“Given the size of your blades, I agree with your analysis that a two-sword technique is your best option. And I know you have the warrior spirit for it.”
“But not the strength.”
As Tenko hefted her mother’s sword and father’s dagger, she felt their weight emphasized her point more than was strictly necessary.
“That’s what training is for.”
“We fight the Wood Witch tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow, you hang back with your bow. I’ll protect you.”
“You don’t even think we can win.”
“No. But I trust you.”
Tenko had no answer to that, and it did nothing to calm her racing mind. So, she took her leave.
Later, she found their companion, Arashiko. The wild haired elf appeared to be dancing in the moonlight, juggling leaves with the tips of her short swords. Without damaging the leaves.
Tenko hurried to Arashiko’s side and bowed deeply.
“I would request a service of you!”
“A service?” Arashiko arched an eyebrow. “Which service do you need?”
“Please teach me your sword style!”
248 Tale of Tenko words
@DavidALudwig on Bluesky
To an extent, one is free to choose what one wants once they come to me. And surprisingly, that seems to be the hardest part. Not the part where they didn’t go up to heaven, not my normal looking appearance, nope, it’s the choices they get when they arrive.
“Hi, welcome to h e double hockey sticks. Which service do you need?” I ask, smiling broadly at the young man standing befuddled in front of me. I even spelled it so his sensitive ears wouldn’t burn too much. How thoughtful of me.
“Uhm. What? I’m in…H…?”
“Yes, you’re in h e double hockey sticks. Don’t worry, you didn’t do anything bad. But when you died, it was determined that the regular afterlife options were not for you. Do you like music? Movies? Reading?”
“Uhm…yes?”
This is going to be harder than usual. Okay, I lied, I can generate a menu if needed. So, there’s technically a menu. And it is this menu, full of creative pursuits, that I hand our newest resident of the down below.
“Oh. These are all the hobbies I never had time for.”
“Precisely. Which is why your time in h e double hockey sticks will be spent with infinite time to pursue your hobbies. Off to level one!”
The young man opens his mouth but my greeters have already whisked him away. Behind him, an elderly lady gives me the side eye. This ought to be entertaining. The LOLs are always the hardest new residents.
@Aightball
250 words
“What service are you interested in today?”
The ensuing silence is less telling than the twitch of restless fingertips against the knee of an economical pair of wool trousers.
“Ah, I’ve asked the wrong question, haven’t I?” Mars traces his fingers along the breadth of his client’s shoulders. The slightest shiver encourages him to lean in, press his lips softly to the tender pulse beating just behind the man’s cheek. “Tell me, darling. Which service do you need?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yet you asked for me,” Mars says. “That implies you understand my specialties here. That there’s something about me that speaks to you.”
Mars cups his hand around the front of the man’s neck, thumb teasing tensed muscles. The man inhales sharply when he gently squeezes.
“Is this your first time in Wonderland?” he asks.
“Yes,” the man gasps.
“Tell me what you want,” Mars whispers against his ear. “There’s no judgment here.”
“Even for murderers like you?”
The keen edge to the question makes Mars pull away. Another fucking reporter?
“Like me?” Mars scoffs. “Do you often let a murderer put hands on you?”
The man has the decency to blush.
“You’re quite cunning to have made it this far, darling,” Mars says, “but try waiting until your target has their cock in you before interrogating them. I’m sure they’ll be more agreeable.”
“Pro tip?” The man smirks.
“No tip for you, I’m afraid.” Mars presses the red button by the door. “Security will escort you out.”
249 WIP words
Hello! Not seen or spoken to you in a while!
Didn’t see the original go through so trying again)
First Line of Defense
I’m guessing that a funeral home is the same, no matter where you are, dealing with grieving family members; having to ask questions they hadn’t thought about before, then again I’ve never arranged one for myself.
That’s why I wasn’t entirely surprised when the funeral director asked, “Which service do you need?”
I pursed my lips for a moment as I thought and finally asked if they had a listing of the services offered. There were so many choices.
The funeral director, bless her heart paused and nodded before asking, “What would the deceased like?”
“I think I’d like a Jazz funeral,” I finally answered.
She looked at me, her brow furled. “You? But you’re–”
“Breathing, for now,” I agreed. “But soon enough I won’t be. It’s how it’s been in my family for ten generations. A man reaches 25 years old and dies within a week.”
“In that case, might I recommend another service? This is the land of Voodoo, Gris-Gris, and more than a little magical shenanigans when it comes to the borders between life and death.”
“Is there an option for not dying?”
“It doesn’t always work– but it’s better than giving up,” she answered. “Let me check with our curses department.”
I got shuffled around and finally ended up in the back of a bar in the French Quarter, with a group of four women, including the funeral director.
Let’s just say, I survived but I”‘m not the man I was.
My name is Emma
@mmishmhem
250 words not including title
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.