#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 599

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

Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads. Wow. Week 599. 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 599 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 599:

Author Kelex

Uncaffeinated word witch writing daddies, bears, and paranormal beefcake, Kelex.

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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“It would not rest until he had paid.”

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!

8 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Together – Week 599”

  1. The Debt

    On the way back from his stakeout, Danny stopped for gas. He rolled down the window and asked for a fill-up. The gas jockey, a young guy, maybe twenty, with the beginnings of a thin red mustache and a ready smile, pumped the gas, and then, after replacing the nozzle, cleaned the windshield. The fellow then asked how his oil was and Danny took advantage of the moment and said, “haven’t checked lately,” and he popped the hood.
    At that moment Danny’s attention wandered to a car going in the opposite direction, driving fairly slowly, a safe speed for a country road, slow enough for Danny to catch a glimpse of the driver.
    In that brief few seconds, he was fairly sure that the driver was Lew Capra. The man behind the wheel looked enough like Capra that there was little doubt in Danny’s mind.
    It had been years since he had come close to eliminating the man he held responsible for Monique’s death. At the last moment, he had held fire.
    He had been, and still was, ninety percent sure that Capra was guilty, had been the third gunsel those many years ago.
    Still, something had held him back then, a hesitation born out of the insanity of war where death happened with no thought given, no reason.
    If Capra were the killer, it would not rest until he had paid mightily.
    There was no way to prove Capra’s guilt, but revenge was running out of time.

    250 WIP

  2. “So, aphasia of sorts?”

    Martin paused, taking in the word and letting it bounce around in his memory. “Yeah, something like that. Except it’s not just the names for things that I can’t access. Sometimes I can’t remember how to do things. Other times, my body forgets how to move—or my brain can’t access the motor skills I have. It’s not logical or at a regular frequency. Like, right now I can cut tomatoes for…for…”

    Martin gritted his teeth. They’d just been talking about what they were going to make for supper, but he couldn’t access the word. He could see the image in his mind, but there was no corresponding description.

    Corbin’s brow wrinkled as he waited and the silence stretched into awkwardness. Martin turned his face away so he couldn’t read Corbin’s expression. Damn, these stupid lapses made him look like a mental case.

    Which is exactly what I am because of the TBI.

    “For the burgers?”

    Martin nodded. “Yeah, for the burgers. Burgers.” He repeated the word and the vision in his head suddenly had a description, though it had been missing a moment earlier.

    His mind filled with a running commentary of all the things associated with burgers, listing condiments and ingredients, and it would not rest until he paid attention to each one in a long litany of items. It was like the one word unlocked the door where everything had built up like a logjam and came flooding out once it was opened.

    250 ineligible #WIP words
    @siobhanmuir on Bluesky

  3. THX-5492 looked on impassively, its face set into a mask.

    Andrews stood at the top of the ladder, his way down blocked, his only option: a step into space. His last few minutes of life were being shared with the world; he was being made an example in the hope nobody would ever do what he’d done again.

    “Have you any final words?” Proctor John was solemn, his face turned away. He spoke as much to the drones hovering around them, not wanting to look at the man. It was unseemly that he’d have to do this, but a measure of recompense was clearly due. There was too much at stake to do anything less.

    “But I didn’t do anything wrong. It was a victimless crime. I was careful to choose the droid I did. 5492 is completely asexual and neuter. I might as well have been fooling around with a toaster.”

    Proctor John shook his head. He knew the reaction those words would elicit. 5492 was humaniform, its features blurred in a way that was ambiguous, leaving sufficient doubt to its intended gender. A man like Andrews should never have become attached to it in the way he had.

    There was no reason behind his actions.

    A length of rope would put an end to his indiscretions.

    The proctor addressed the droid. “What does the injured party say?” he asked it, already knowing its reply.

    A line had to be drawn. It would not rest until he had paid.

    250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com

  4. “What did you do?”
    “I cleaned. Everything. You really do need to pay more attention to your oven, the build up in there was disgusting.” Theodore stood in the middle of the front room surveying his work. It looked pretty good, considering it was still full of all the mortal junk. Having said that, the television set was growing on him.
    “You’ve moved all my stuff.”
    “Tidied. Books should not live on the floor, nor clothes.”
    “You better not have cleaned my bedroom.”
    Theodore opened his mouth and then shut it again. Instead covering his frustrated expression by taking the apron off over his head.
    “You need to stop.” Soraya lumped down on the sofa with the grace of an elephant. “And how come you’re full size, I thought holding mortal sized form was tiresome.”
    “It is, but cleaning your house at my true size would have taken several lifetimes.”
    “No-one asked you to clean.”
    Theodore balled up the apron and then unrolled it to fold it properly. He ignored Soraya’s smirk. “You saved my family’s and my life. I owe you.” He bowed his head, his teeth grinding at the magical tether between them. Since her rescue, he could feel the pull of obligation and it would not rest until he had paid. Although apparently a clean house was not the source of her desire. He had a horrible feeling he knew what was. He was going to have to help her break in to the museum.

    @Lexikonical 248 words

  5. “Nope. That’s not going to work.” I stared at the computer screen, and looked at the encrypted list of files. “This is a new ransomware. One I don’t know how to undo.”

    Charles had brought me his computer. “It put up this screen,” he showed me a picture of the screen on his phone. It was a classic ransomware notice. Your files have been encrypted. The encryption key is stored on our server. For $500, US, we’ll send you the key, and you can decrypt your files.”

    I knew the encryption had stopped. I’d pulled the Solid State Drive out of his computer, and hooked it to my recovery system as a standard external drive used for data storage. Sure enough, tons of his files were encrypted.

    I’d already copied the clean files off the system.

    “512 bit SHA, Charles. I could hack it, but it would take my network years to find the right decryption key.”

    “I’m doomed, right? Ransomware?”

    “Yep.” The ransomware, it would not rest until he had paid for the key. “I put the drive back in your computer, and boot it up, and it’ll keep right on encrypting things. Sad part is it’s not legal to pay for the key.”


    “Yeah. So says the FBI.”

    “I’m doomed.”

    “You should have had an offline backup of all your files, Charles. Then, this wouldn’t be happening.” That was the only good thing about ransomware. It made people learn about data backups.

    245 Words

  6. Wielding a demon sword always exacted a price. In the two and a half centuries since Daimyo Mana had made his pact, he felt he had paid that price many times over. Apparently, his sword didn’t agree.

    The early years had been hard. Mana’s unspecified debt hung over him with no guarantee that the sword’s power would be worth the cost. His childhood friend, Tenko, had been his great comfort in those years. When she took up her parents’ swords to build an empire, there was no question that he would be by her side. His demon sword became indispensable.

    They were joined by the noble Sora and adventurous Arashiko, before uniting the elves and convincing them to take the future in their hands. Next came the wise Hoshi and holy Shinrin. The following century of war seemed hell at the time. Before the true troubles began. Before the sundering of the elves.

    Mana, Sora, Hoshi, Arashiko, and Shinrin became the five daimyo to Shogun Tenko. Over the next century of peace, elves dedicated themselves to one daimyo or another more than the others. Their differences began manifesting physically. Painted elves, like Mana, had always stood out visually. But there had never been so many of them.

    Then the shogun died. Arashiko didn’t back anyone to take her place. Now Mana faced Daimyo Sora, greedy sword in hand. It would not rest until he had paid.

    Mana’s sword vanished before connecting with Sora’s neck. Sora’s blade plunged into Mana’s gut.

    250 Tale of Tenko words

  7. Protection Detail

    Hanging in the shadows, he watched the safe house. It had been forty-eight hours since the ordeal began, and every time he thought he’d been safe, he would hear a pounding on the door. It had been relentless in its pursuit and he knew there was no stopping it. He had to get the information back to his people, but he couldn’t lead the enemy to them.

    He needed time and a chance to clear his head if he was going to be of any use to the agency. He pulled his collar up to his ears and waited for the telltale signs and finally relaxed. He was alone.

    Slipping in through the side door of the apartment he climbed the stairs to the apartment and let himself in. He slipped his coat off and dropped it on a chair, not daring to turn on the lights. He waited another half an hour and let out an audible sigh,

    Booting up the computer in the living room, his hand trembled as the screen came to life.

    “We have found your personal information on 27 data broker sites. And your personal information may be at risk…” The bright yellow box flickered on his screen. “Do you want to upgrade your subscription/?”

    He bowed his head and wept knowing it would not rest until he had paid.

    “Holy wombat on a tortoise,” he swore, Norton had found him, again.

    237 Words (not including title)

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