#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 590

Tying Tales Together, #ThursThreads Year 11 Got a tale to tie on?

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 590 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 590:

College professor, equality enthusiast, and romance author, Louisa Bacio.

Facebook | Bluesky | Instagram |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“What is the problem?”

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!

7 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 590”

  1. Listing

    Occasionally, Gronsky would set aside a few moments when he mentally listed the top ten issues that befuddled the earth. The list would stay pretty much the same each time. Certain things never changed.
    The earth was dying from heat.
    Global warming!
    That always seemed to head the list except when some monstrous war erupted.
    And then there were those poor migrants drowning at sea. He thought about them often.
    “What is the problem I can be most effective at addressing?” he would ask the mirror each morning. Well, each morning when he troubled himself with making a list.
    “Why are you talking to the mirror,” Miriam asked shortly after they married, and she noticed his behaviour for the first time.
    He explained his list making. Miriam was a list maker as well though typically ordering world calamities was not on her agenda in quite the same way.
    “That’s crazy making,” she had suggested in a calm and caring voice. However, there were not many gentle ways of expressing to a lover that their behaviour was a little weird.
    He couldn’t disagree. He didn’t think being concerned about these horrible matters was all that outlandish but appreciated that talking to oneself in the mirror over matters no one else could solve was a tad excessive.
    “I can’t stop,” he admitted. “There’s not a whole lot else I can do.”
    She saw the truth of that, hugged him tightly and from that day on, they made the lists together.

    249 WIP


  2. “Okay, here’s what I’ve been thinking.” Tam put the vehicle in gear and eased into the falling snow. “I’ll ask my friend to do some discreet checks into Castellucci’s background and give him the reasons why you’re not doing it, then I’ll have him contact you directly so it shows up as an official request rather than an off-the-books operation.”

    Briona nodded. “Good. Let me give you my personal email and cell number. I don’t want anyone in the office knowing about this yet.”

    Tam shot her a sharp look. “You don’t want your office knowing? What is the problem, Sheriff?”

    Briona grimaced. “The problem is I don’t know who contacted the LAPD on the BOLO without talking to me first. Most of my deputies knew not to act on it – that I was taking care of it. But the fact that Castellucci is here in Summit Springs means someone called on the BOLO and he knew where to go.”

    “Fuck, you have a leak in the department.”

    Briona scowled. “Yeah, it looks like it. The problem is I can’t reprimand them for this because it is a BOLO. Technically, I should’ve called as soon as I recognized the target. But I had suspicions about the motivation behind the BOLO and didn’t want to endanger the victim. I had my reasons for not acting and someone went ahead and endangered her anyway.”

    “You’re gonna need to figure that out, Sheriff.”

    “Yeah, I know. So, have your contact call me directly.”

    250 ineligible #WIP words
    @siobhanmuir on bluesky

  3. Kathleen didn’t want to open the door. After catching a breaking news alert on the morning show, she refused to answer either phone despite screening calls and ignoring voice mails. Why couldn’t they leave her alone? The imperious knock rattled the front windows. She cracked the door and peered out at the two police officers standing on her porch. She didn’t open it any wider.
    “What is the problem, officer?”

    The one who’d knocked glowered. “You need to come with us, Mrs. Gallagher.”
    Instinct urged her to slam the door and lock it but she was through hiding. “Why?”

    “We’ve made an arrest in Tommy’s murder. There’s a press conference.”

    “My husband’s dead and buried. The department doesn’t need me on display.” Yes, she did sound bitter. She almost smiled.

    He shrugged. “The powers that be say otherwise.” He pushed against the door and she backed up. He looked her up and down. She wore jeans and a soft sweater, her feet shoved into sherpa-lined moccasins. “You need to change clothes.”

    Her newly-rediscovered independence warred with her inner coward. She hated to cave in to their demands. Trouble was, they’d continue to hound her until she complied. Maybe this time, the smart thing was the path of least resistance. Maybe this time, with an arrest, they’d finally be done with using her.

    Two hours later, she wore widow black and a stony face. When it was her turn, she uttered four words. “Thank you for coming.”

    Then she walked out.
    250 Moonstruck Mafia/Boston Wolves WIP words
    Silver James, @ http://www.silverjames.com

  4. The elves had made camp among the roots of an ancient maple tree. Their rescuer was presumably still somewhere overhead.

    Sora had taken the first watch and now meditated next to his gear. It was Arashiko’s watch but Tenko was having trouble meditating. Perhaps Mana was as well. His pack sat abandoned.

    Noticing the direction of Tenko’s attention, Arashiko inclined her head toward the other side of the maple. Tenko nodded and quietly tucked her swords through her belt.

    Tenko’s childhood friend had his easel set up behind the tree. She smiled. Of course he brought it with him. Mana noticed Tenko watching him and patted the tree root next to him.

    “You seem troubled, Little Sister.”

    She sat next to him and considered his charcoal painting.

    “You have a demon sword.”

    His painting was an elegant abstract. It also had a dark, almost violent, undertone.

    “I do,” he sighed.

    “Can it kill the Wood Witch?”

    Mana stared into his painting. What was he seeing that Tenko couldn’t?

    “Yes. Are you sure you want to?”

    “I’m still weighing our options.”

    Mana nodded and turned firmly to Tenko.

    “Now, what’s really bothering you?”

    Tenko averted her eyes.

    “Isn’t that enough?”

    “I know you better than that, Little Sister. What is the problem?”

    Tenko sighed.

    “Do you think elves and tigerlings can be friends? Maybe, more?”

    “You’re thinking of our rescuer?”

    Mana placed a hand on Tenko’s shoulder.

    “If you want to find out, I’m on your side all the way.”

    249 Tale of Tenko words
    @DavidALudwig on Bluesky

  5. Bone covered his eyes. He began to count. The rest of us started to run and hide.

    “Two. Three. Four. Five.”

    Emily stayed where she was, tears already streaming down her cheeks. Vladimir was peering over the rim of his coffin, and there was a bulge under the dust sheet above the pair of toecaps that belonged to Igor’s boots. Bone was still counting, but he turned around, knowing something was wrong.

    “What is the problem?” he asked, his voice ghostly and thin. “Why aren’t you playing like the others?”

    Emily shook her head, her eyes already red. She snuffled and gave them a rub.

    “S’not fair,” she said, kicking her crutch. “I can’t run like everyone else. Besides,” she continued, levering herself onto her good foot and clonking her cast on the ground. “It’s not even as though I can move quietly, either. You already knew I was here without turning around. I’m always going to be the first one found.”

    “Maybe if I went outside for a minute? You could hide without worrying about how long you take and how much noise you make.” Bone gave her an encouraging smile – which was difficult, given that he was a skeleton. He’d been a companion to Emily for most of her life and was one of the few toys who’d survived her terrible twos. Barnes the Bear had lost his head before he’d been removed from his bag, and the less said about Cloth, the piebald cat, the better.

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  6. This job is supposed to be easy: greet the dearly departed, escort them across into the waiting arms of a loved one, wash, rinse, repeat. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.
    Such is the case tonight, as an eighteen-year-old stands next to me, her body cooling following organ donation and disconnection of life support. She was in a ‘wrong place at the wrong time’ sort of accident while crossing the street to go to work and now I get to bring her across. However, no one is coming for her.
    “What is the problem?” Horace, my boss, asks, popping up to stand with me.
    “No one’s here to meet her,” I say, feeling like Captain Obvious. “And according to my notes, she’s lost both of her grandmothers. They should be here.”
    The girl fidgets beside me, occasionally staring back at her body. Her parents are in the throws of grief, while she waits for grandparents that don’t seem to be coming.
    “Uhm. Well. She will have to go into Limbo, then,” he says. “That is our only option. She is too old for the Children’s Plane.”
    “All right. But you need to find out what happened.”
    He disappears and I turn her toward a second door. “You’ll be able to find a job here until someone else passes. I’m so sorry.”
    She walks through the door, her eyes on the floor. I would sure like to know where those grandmothers are. She doesn’t deserve to be in Limbo.

    250 words

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