Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 606.
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 606:
When her eyes get tired from reading, she switches to audiobook, her ears don’t close, Mirra Allure.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“It’s quiet here.”
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!
Solitary Soul
The view from the deck of the party house was spectacular. Gronsky had mingled for the first five minutes. He knew he should be embarrassed that such a brief amount of time should impact him so but this wave of solitariness, the urge to not be in the company of others was a lifelong condition. Even as a child he had felt it. As protective as his mother had been, even she had often said, “Gilbert, for heaven’s sake, go outside. Play with your friends. They keep calling you.”
It had taken him years to learn to enjoy playing with others.
So, he had nodded, tried to find morsels of witty repartee, sensed his wit was incommunicado, saw that Miriam and Anthea were fully engaged socially, enjoying the chatter, and, feeling free of obligation, stepped outside into the crisp February night.
It was liberating. Gronsky had never seen mountains so chillingly vivid. A late snowfall had covered the peaks and the forest halfway down to the sea in a shroud of white.
It’s quiet here, he whispered to the distant mountains. He glanced back at the festivity inside the rural mansion, tens of partyers glowing with literate repartee, writers, rural hosts, the Writers Festival organizers, the crème de la crème of this rural bubble, a community removed from the larger world, a world in environmental distress, wars upon wars, surging homelessness and millions of migrants seeking a small iota of the peace that existed here.
A tear dropped.
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
“I didn’t think any of the Ground Runners survived the invaders. We thought you all extinct.”
I tightened my jaw a little before nodding. “As far as I know, I’m the last of the Cheyhannara. It’s quiet here, now, but I count it as a good thing. There are no more of the invaders’ tech or poisons to destroy our world left, and the land has time to heal.” I tilted my head to view him with the second eye on the left side. “Have you seen more of my kind?”
His shoulders slumped a little and his scent changed, tinged with sadness. “No, you’re the only one I’ve seen. Of course, I haven’t visited the whole continent, but you’re the only large, warm-blooded being I’ve encountered.”
“Your experience matches mine.” I righted my head. “What brings you here to the Cheyhanland?”
“I was part of a Naktanyuan exploratory mission that came here a quarter arn ago to find out of there was anything to save.”
I waited for him to say more. Arriving a quarter arn ago meant he’d arrived when the snows still covered the wasteland in a thick blanket. My kind didn’t hibernate, but I’d converted some of our underground storage areas into a winter living space—arn-round, actually—to work less hard on survival when the cold took over.
“We didn’t find anything then.”
I wanted to laugh. “You wouldn’t. But it doesn’t explain why you’re back now, and from the looks of it, alone.”
248 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
Dan sat down with his gran with a sigh. It was rare to get her out these days. It was nice to get her to the Promenade Bar. He’d only been before with a friend who’d proved to be an unfortunate one night stand, and while he’d hoped for more he had at least enjoyed the evening in the Promenade. The bass from the speaker seemed inappropriate in the afternoon to him. He wondered if he’d made the right call bringing his gran.
Jennie surveyed the place and smiled broadly. “It’s quiet here. And it’s very smart looking.”
Dan read her lips, which he was used to doing. She really was as quiet as a mouse—even when she fell.
“You’ve got your hearing aid off again, haven’t you?”
She smiled without a reply.
“I said ‘Turn your hearing aid on.” It was a common if useless refrain in the Murdoch’s house.
Jennie shook her head. “I can’t hear you. I haven’t turned on my hearing. Saving the batteries.”
Dan shoulders slumped, unsure as to whether to re-broach the subject.
“They’re free gran; the batteries are free. Please don’t save them. There’s no need.”
Jennie nodded and smiled. “It’s nice here. Quest isn’t it?”
Dan felt as beaten as ever. He nodded and smiled back to her. That seemed to be the only way to communicate over the last months. Then the bass stepped up a gear to a song he abhorred.
“Not quiet here, is it?” He muttered.
WC: 249
@zevonesque (Bluesky and Twitter)
A Snowfall Harmony
Yeah, it’s quiet here, but if you’re right, you can hear the snow fall. The “right” is the hard part.
Doesn’t crunch or squee like when folks walk on the virgin stuff. Once you break it, you’ve ruined everything. I mean, look at the mess those couples have made on the sidewalk in the park.
I darn sure wouldn’t ruin the moment by walking on fresh snow just to be someone’s main squeeze. Best to just stand there.
I’d know she was right when her heart isn’t an echo of mine, but more a harmonizing thing. The “thuh-duh’s” matching wouldn’t be important. That’s like opening up a bag of marbles and dropping them two at a time onto a wooden floor.
Wait for that nothing between one “duh” and the next “thuh.” That’s where the world gets revealed to you.
C’mere, please. Stand here by the window with me and follow just one flake onto your car. Like when you’re driving at night in a snowstorm and you follow flakes through the headlight beams.
Now hold my wrist with your fingertips. I’ll hold yours. Feel the beats. Quiet your breath. Softly. Your heart’s beating a little too fast.
Better. Now inhale. Exhale. Slow. Inhale. Ehhhks-hale. Feel my heartbeat. Shhhhhh. There!
No, I can’t describe it either. I only know what it doesn’t sound like anymore.
Ooh, the oven timer light’s flashing. Wouldn’t know what I’d do without such things since my hearing…
No, don’t let go. Feels…right.
250 Snowless words
@joseph.andrew.hesch on Threads
“It’s quiet here.”
“It’s a park,” Jarrod stated, “Patience, you have to pass a test. These beings have been hunted for centuries. Just because you have a little of their blood doesn’t mean they’ll trust you.”
I looked around no one was in the park, oddly not even the homeless and it was after midnight.
I heard a woman scream.
“Let’s go.” Jarrod insisted.
I ignored him and ran in the direction of the scream.
A man was holding the woman by the arm and pulling at her arm. Swinging my leg around I took him out at the knees and then asked her if she was okay.
“I’m fine, thanks for catching the inhuman.”
I touched her face gently commanding her to forget that she was ever here, putting some good thoughts in her head which would make her happy, then putting her to sleep.
I then helped the man up apologizing.
“You have the gift of mind control, like your grandmere Juliette?”
“I do.”
“You only use this gift for good?”
“I rarely use it. I only used it on her because she knew you wee different.”
“She called me an inhuman doesn’t that worry you?”
“No, because I too am inhuman, despite my father’s blood otherwise I couldn’t erase her mind.”
The woman stood up from the deep sleep and I was stunned.
“You’re Kelsey, daughter of Kalia, of the family Barellis?”she asked,
“Yes.”
“I’m your grandmere, Juliette, Welcome, home, my darling granddaughter; you’ve passed the test.”
250 words
@SweetSheil
It’s quiet here, as always. My footsteps make no sounds, my breathing – an unnecessary habit left over from my living days – is barely audible, and yet I can’t seem to silence the noises in my head. The stillness around me, the lack of any sign of life, just makes every one of my thoughts louder.
It’s no wonder all the other Keepers before me lost themselves. With only my own mind for company, how am I expected to stay sane? To not drown in my guilt?
“Wallowing in self-pity again?” You’d think I’d get used to Death’s occasional drop-in visits. They always show up just when I’m on the brink of letting my thoughts swallow me whole. I should expect it by now, and yet every time they catch me off-guard.
“It feels like we’ve had this conversation a thousand times.”
“One thousand two hundred forty-three times, actually.” Once, their smug tone would irritate me. Now, I can’t bring myself to care.
“Then why keep coming back?”
“Excellent question.” But, as always, no excellent answer follows. Instead, Death watches me, unfathomable pitch-black eyes looking into my soul. They don’t have to dive deep for it – a soul is all I am anymore. Nowhere to hide, laid bare. “You’re surprisingly resilient, you know.”
“You say that every time you come to see me.”
“I mean it every time, Lexia.”
And just like every other time, they only linger for a moment before disappearing, leaving me to drown in silence once more.
250 The Breach Trilogy words
@avilak90.bsky.social
It’s quiet here. That’s why I like it. Sure, I talk to people, check them in, assign them a job, and then they leave; but they’re in shock and the quiet lets me hear them. Doing HR in Limbo is a great assignment, one I’ve held for about fifty years. I could retire and rejoin my family, but I’m content here.
And I don’t have to live here forever. I have a staff and I visit family and friends often. To think, this job started because I died before my parents or even my grandparents. No one to greet me on the walk to the afterlife accidentally gave me the best job ever!
So many people, with so many interesting stories. To try and ease their shock, I ask easy questions first: name, date of birth, occupation. From there, I take it up: favorite food or how many pets or kids they had. Favorite movie? Anything to ease them into their temporary time in Limbo.
The door to my office opens and a teenager steps hesitantly over the threshold, a Deather beside them. A phone is clutched in sweaty hands. Deathers help guide the departed to the afterlife. Or to me. This poor kid looks scared to Death. A little humor helps everyone.
And so it begins, asking the easy questions first, then ramping up. Finally, Brandon is checked in, assigned a job refilling hourglasses for babies yet to be born, and the Deather heads off to their next assignment.
@Aightball
250 words
It’s quiet here, this place I come to.
It’s not silent. Silence is scary. My mind fills silence with thoughts and thoughts lead to questions and questions lead to other questions that don’t have answers.
I don’t need answers. I don’t want answers to all the questions. My gods, the responsibilities that would come with that. But the questions without answers – that demand answers – those questions. Those turn into monsters.
There are no monsters here. It’s quiet here.
I choose a flat, smooth rock to sit on. Not perfectly smooth; nature doesn’t do perfect. There are cracks and chips and fissures for my fingers to play with as I watch the wind play with the water.
No storms are blowing in today. Maybe tonight, the radio says, but for now, it’s just a steady breeze. The water pushes forward and pulls back, leaving itinerant pools and eddies that will vanish with the next inflow. The air does the same thing, all unseen. I feel it around me, in the space between a susurration and a murmur. It’s not that irritating sibilance of a too-distant whisper that draws your attention but provides no resolution, but the comforting quiet of white noise.
I’m by myself on the beach, but I’m not alone. Being alone tends to make me sad. My family is back in our room at the hotel giving me space to be by myself.
To be with myself, as long as I need.
I breathe. I exist.
It’s quiet here.
250 words
@drmag00
It’s a long walk from the parking lot at the welcome center at Back Bay National Wildlife Refuge to the beach at False Cape State Park, over 5 miles. No cars. No trucks. You can ride a bike. You can walk. Once you’re there, it’s a long walk back.
There was a time I could make that walk. Not too many years ago. Before my right hip gave out. Before every step started to hurt. Before I had a permanent limp. I can still walk a couple of miles at a time. But I wouldn’t try walking 5 miles, let alone 10, in a single walk.
I remember the walk well. I used to carry my camera with me. I’d take pictures of the wildflowers, and the wildlife I encountered on the walk.
My favorite part of the walk was when I got to the beach. I could stand there, and think, “It’s quiet here.” I used to walk for a mile or more on that beach and never see another person. I could stop, stare at the ocean, watch the waves.
It was an escape from the stress of having to do something, be somewhere, make progress, make money. An escape from the relentless nature of life. I could stop, breathe, feel the breeze, smell the ocean, reach down and touch the sand.
I wish I could take that walk now. I wish my hip would let me.
I miss the isolation and the quiet.
246 Words
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
The arc of the tree curved toward the earth, its heavy spring-laden boughs drooping. Janey sat tucked against the trunk, her knees bent and her arms crossed over them. Her long dark hair draped over her body like the branches over the tree.
“It’s quiet here,” she whispered – almost as if she feared disturbing the solitude afforded by nature.
The chaos in her head and in her soul quieted, and she breathed in the soothing vibes. It felt good to get away from it all, if only for a few moments.
“It’s mine. Give it to me!” Kristopher, her younger brother, yanked a toy car away from Kerry.
“I want it.” She kicked a tuft of grass into the air, punctuating her impending tantrum. “Give it back.”
Kerry made a grab for it, her small fingers brushing the edge of a fender before Kris twisted away.
“Baby. Go play with your dolls.”
Lil’ Sis barely came up to Kris’ shoulder, but she rarely backed down. She launched onto his back, knocking him in a whoosh of air, clutching for the coveted item.
“Gimmie!”
What the actual fuck? Could she not have a moment without a full-out war happening? How did parents deal with this on a daily. She’d been home for spring break for a day and was done with it.
“That’s enough!” Janey roared, the noise of the nearby freeway and bickering assaulting her senses full force. “Guess what? Now no one gets the toy!”
246 words
@LouisaBacio
Their penthouse held too many memories, so he stayed away. Without her there, the dwelling was lifeless shell of where they had built their life together. He couldn’t even call it a home anymore. His home died the day she did.
Standing on the balcony of his Hills property where they would often go to get away from the city was no different. It felt cold and lifeless, despite the warm California sun. His only company was her ghost, always lingering near him but never making a sound. Her voice, her touch, all memories now. At least he had an eidetic memory so he wouldn’t forget a single moment he had with her.
“It’s quiet here,” he said to her. “Too quiet.”
She nodded but said nothing.
“What I would do to hear your voice again, your touch.”
Her ghost looked at him sadly but made no move to try to touch him. Like it would matter anyway. She was just a figment of his imagination, his grief manifesting.
His cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, like he had all of the other calls and texts from his friends -their friends. They were concerned, but he was beyond caring. There wasn’t anything any of them could do. She was gone. He hadn’t talked to anyone since her funeral, unless shouting at God counted. Not that even doing that mattered, since he knew God wasn’t listening. God hadn’t listened for a long time. Why start now?
248 words
@mlgammella
Helen Harper doesn’t tell her father where she’s going. She doesn’t think he’s the one she warned herself against in that video message. This just feels like something she must do alone. Driving down country roads with just her thoughts doesn’t hurt, either.
Things had happened so fast at Dan’s Gym; she could almost believe she’d imagined it. But last night she was fully present for a copy of herself splitting off from her body, making eye contact, and being reabsorbed.
Gemini, the superhero version of Helen, told their dad that she acquired the memories and experiences of duplicates she reabsorbed. And that duplicates closer to the original had priority in the reabsorption process. This is a problem because neither superhero-her nor supervillain-her know which is closer to the original, and each would love to absorb the other.
Until this week, Helen had no idea she had a Power at all. Now she’s in the running for possible original. Superhero-her said to come to this address if she wanted answers. Answers would be nice.
Helen pulls up next to the high stone wall just before the iron gate. She kills the engine, takes a breath, and gets out. It’s quiet here.
She looks for some sort of callbox or buzzer. An eerie feeling draws Helen’s eyes to a second-floor window of the manor beyond the gate. Another her? Only, this one’s wearing the kind of frilly dress that Helen has always hated.
The gate swings open.
246 The Many Lives of Gemini words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
All the legends and myths didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. Morticia had expected screams, the scent of smoldering embers on the air, dankness, and darkness. Instead, the room around her, built into the stone, was almost homely, comforting. A vase of tulips even sat on the nearby bone table, though they were already wilting with the lack of sunlight.
She fingered the crinkling edges of one rosy-red flower petal. So delicate for a place like this.
“I’m afraid flowers don’t last too long once I come down here.”
“A pity,” she whispered, turning her attention to the Goddess of Spring and Queen of the Underworld who had entered the room.
“A pity indeed.” Persephone sat in one of the plush, ornate chairs – also adorned with bone – and patted the one next to her for Morticia to join. “I do miss the sunshine, flowers, wildlife…”
“Do you regret your decision, to come stay here for half the year?”
“Gods no,” she chuckled. “As much as my mother may hate it, I love Hades. He deserves to be happy, too, and down here I am his only sunshine.”
A soft smile pulled at Morticia’s lips that faltered as she looked out the doorway. “It’s quiet here, quieter than I expected. I hope I will be able to feel the sunshine warm my skin, smell the fragrance of the flowers again, hear the birds sing…”
“You need not worry, dear, Death will find a way.”
~*~*~*~*~
245 WiP words
@daelynmorgana.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 606 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.