Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 603.
Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing on #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 603:
Computer IT master, flashfiction writer, and human, Mark Ethridge.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“How are you holding up?”
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!
Timing
Bea was digging deep into her memory, her guilt. Maybe not her guilt, but surely her personal record of missteps.
Danny kept his own list. Stored it somewhere back in his brain, drew on it from time to time when he found himself too quick to scorn others for their failings.
This was one of those moments.
She’d dropped her bombshell, a vague explosive with no direct victims or perpetrators beyond her role, a libertine of sorts caught up in the disintegrating mores of the 1920’s.
He’d been saved that time of folly. But not for long. The 1930’s were his challenge and ultimately, a time when his first moral failure presented itself. The residue, a child and the child’s mother that he had abandoned, walked away from never to make amends.
Not that amends were ever possible nor, if attempted, ever enough.
“I need more coffee,” she said, stirring him out of his own shallow pool of wasted thoughts. “Can I get you some more?”
He nodded and she went off to replenish their caffeine.
A couple of minutes late she was back, with their coffees, looking drawn out, pale in the sheltered light of her living room.
“How are you holding up?” he asked, sensing yet again how exhausting her truth must be for her.
She lifted her cup to her mouth, the white porcelain cup momentarily resting on her pale red lips, sipped and swallowed, placed the cup back on the mahogany coffee table, and smiled.
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
“I’m really glad to see you.” He ushered her into his quarters’ reception area, closing the door and securing the bolts that kept the world outside. The corners were all dark, the sconces either missing or burnt out, the sole source of illumination a red globe that did more to deepen the shadows, adding further definition to the gloom. “It’s not often I get visitors,” he admitted, apologetically, seeing his home through her eyes. “You’ll have to take me as you find me, I’m afraid.”
Phoebe nodded and let him lead, following him into the room where he spent most of his time. It wasn’t much better than the corridor or the entrance had been. It was dirty and untidy, filled with indelible memories but little affection.
“So, how are you enjoying your retirement, Lord Hawk? How are you holding up? Are you enjoying the rest you’ve earned?”
The Hawk Lord scowled, and briefly, she saw the fearsome herald he’d been. He’d led five battalions of avenging angel commandoes, unforgiving and cruel, his sword blazing as it ripped countless legions of sinners’ souls from their bodies, his wrath mightier than the ire of the demons he’d fought. Eternity had been his battleground, its casualties springing up like weeds moments after their slaughter.
And all she could do now was to offer him an immediate oblivion or endless pain. A poor reward for a faithful servant.
Heaven wasn’t a land of ambrosia and cream. The fallen often suffered less, she thought.
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
Mectarn grunted with amusement. “Are you not…a member…of their party?”
Allira took a deep breath. “I came with the knights, conscripted to be their thirteenth warrior, but I remained outside the Tombs watching their horses. I have no interest in treasure or raiding, and I’m only doing this because it guarantees my grandmothers’ prosperity.”
Mectarn grimaced as she tried to find a comfortable position with a wound in her gut. “And yet…you wish to stay…near the Tombs…as you call them? Despite their inhabitants?”
Allira shot a look at Josten before she nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Why?”
“I like it here. Your gardens are beautiful and the hot springs are a wonder.” She shot another look at Josten. “And the company has been good.”
“Oh-ho, it’s more…than land that holds…your interest, is it?” Mectarn nodded, a little smirk creasing her lips. “I’m grateful…for your help and…your willingness to defend…my people. I will think on…your request. But now…I must rest.”
Josten bowed and backed way. “Be well. We’ll check on you later.”
The goblin woman nodded and closed her eyes, and Allira followed Josten up the corridor toward the main meeting chambers of the goblin council.
“How are you holding up, Josten?”
He grimaced. “I’m worried about Mectarn. Her energy is weak and any little thing could shift it toward death.” His jaw tightened. “We can’t lose her. She’s the glue that holds this community together with wisdom and strength.”
249 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“How are you holding up?” Mike asked.
“Holding up are you kidding?”
“I know that you lost the love of your life but…”
“I have to go on, memories should sustain me… blah blah blah.”
“I am here for you.”
“You’ve been coming ever day for the last year, letting me talk on and on about Trevor.”
“Let’s celebrate Trevor’s life.”
“You were his best friend you loved him, too. Okay.”
It’s been three years now and Mike is still in my life. At first, I didn’t understand what had gotten into me why I felt jealous when other women looked at him. How could I be jealous, how could I love Mike and Trevor? Trevor would want me to live and what would be better than his best friend who also loved him? But could he fall in love with me?
I didn’t want to risk our friendship but I wanted more. I made a lovely dinner and invited Mike. I opened my mouth it came tumbling out how I still loved Trevor but also loved Mike.
“Mike said he loved me but Trevor had begged him on his deathbed to look after me telling him he knew Mike had always loved me. Trevor had given us his blessing in his last words. We visited his grave introducing our children to their uncle Trevor knowing he is watching over us, living on in the memories we impart to our children. Yes, life can go on, if you hold on.
250 words
@sweetSheil
@Lexikonical 249 words
‘How are you holding up?’
He stared at me. ‘I am not holding anything.’
‘No, it means how are you.’ I tried again. I waited, resisting the urge to say more, to try and force a response.
‘I see.’ His head tilted to one side as he considered the question. ‘My systems are working at optimum speed.’ His head righted itself as he blinked. He didn’t need to blink but the artificial eyes just staring at you constantly was off-putting after a while. ‘Thank you for asking. What are you holding up?’
I sighed. I’d gone over his plans, done everything just as he’d designed it, but he’d never had a chance to test it. I should probably have not used the first model but if there were issues in the robotic design that Cal had designed, then there was no hope that I was going to be able to solve them. It should have been a miracle that the thing even turned on, let alone was sentient. It could think for itself although it had very little database knowledge to base its thoughts on.
I hadn’t had time to think about the consequences. Cal had planned on using artificial consciousnesses. But when the accident happened, he’d staggered to the lab and I knew there was nothing I could have done. The only way to save him was to download him. Cal was in that metal head somewhere. I just had to find a way to wake him up.
“Hello, this is Colonel Jack Harper.”
The Colonel indicated he’d get back to his daughter with a finger as he answered his phone.
“This is Toni Tyler.”
Jack checked his upside-down wristwatch with a frown.
“Ah, Miss Tyler. How are you?”
“Holding up. Can you come in?”
His daughter stared blankly at the super suit in her lap. He cleared his throat.
“What is this regarding?”
“I’d rather not say. Even on the secure line.”
The Colonel couldn’t shirk his duty. He also couldn’t leave his daughter alone with the bombshell that she was the multiplying superhero, Gemini. Miss Tyler seemed to sense his hesitation and sighed.
“It’s Gemini Prime. She missed her check-in window. Now we can’t locate any of her duplicates.”
Jack blanched for the second time that evening.
131 The Many Lives of Gemini words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 603 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.