Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 616. Happy Independence Day for those who celebrate.
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 616:
Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Then you can stay.”
There will be prizes offered to the winner and honorable mentions this time (they’re rocks since the judge is a geologist) shown below.
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!
The Patriot
She looked at him as if to say, ‘what’s in it for me?’
He wanted to answer, ‘nothing, I suppose. Nothing I can put a name to.’
He knew that wouldn’t satisfy her. She was one hungry bag of bones. The street had worn her down and she looked like she’d been run over by a semi.
Several times.
He had to look beyond that, the superficial, the burnt skin, the way a rough life ate away at them.
She still had something going on.
He needed to tap into that.
“It was just a kid they killed, “he said, once again. “Nine years old. Ran her down and drove off. I think you saw it, the car, the license. Maybe even the driver.”
The dead kid had been part of the encampment. A whole city block of homeless squatters. That was as much a crime as the hit and run.
As he ran it through his head, how to get her to trust him, to share what she saw, the weariness of it all crashed down on him and he fell back, saved from collapsing on the ground by the wall.
Maybe that’s what turned it. He could see her face change, soften, if that was possible.
Finally, she uttered, “Stop them tearing our lives down…”
He knew what she meant. The NIMBY’s from the city. Scooping up the tents and trash.
“I’ll fix it,” he said. “Then you can stay.”
They had a deal.
He prayed.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
Being two hundred years old is fun, to be sure; I have seen a lot and therefore have learned a lot. Of course, the downside is outliving my entire family and finding my descendants do not always know who I am. And they appear to be frightened by my appearance. I did not know my skeletal form was scary; it is how I look most of the time.
After two hundred years in charge of the Dark Plane, which rules over the dead, my time has come to retire. I am in no hurry to do so as I do not have an heir. I took this job over from my father and he from his and so on down the line; I chose not to get married or have children and perhaps assumed I could stay in my role as the One True Death forever. My father could easily give permission, but he insists that two hundred years is plenty long enough and I should enjoy my retirement.
I am allowed to be disappointed. No heir, no interested staff members from the Death world; why not leave me in place? But Father says no one should have the same job for two hundred years and my time has come.
So, what does one do? Naturally, I chose to break the rules. I found a woman to take over and it has, predictably, in the land of tradition, caused a stir. Perhaps I will finally hear ‘then you can stay’.
@Aightball
250 words
At a barbeque; I spotted the woman hiding near some flowered bushes hoping no one would notice, as she ate her hot dog, even though she as trying to hide her dress was red, somewhat intriguing to me.
Sarah to me in short spurts, after a while, she laughed at my jokes enjoying my company. It was like everyone at the party had disappeared. Before we knew it was dark and everyone else already going home.
“You’re going to think I’m crazy, I think I’ve fallen in love with you, in one evening.”
“Me, too, “Sarah cried then took my hand and smiled.
“I see you’ve met my sister,” my best friend Gerald said.
“Sarah is your sister?”
“Of course this is Kieran,” Sarah cried, touching her forehead.
“I was to go back to Houston this evening.”
“Stay here at my house. Sarah lives next door, we can all have breakfast tomorrow,” Gerald offered.
“Then you can stay?”
“I can stay. My stuff is all packed I was moving here next week anyway. I haven’t a ring but will you marry me?”
“I will,” Sarah cried.
“I knew you two would gel.” Gerald stated, “You can have the reception here if you’d like.”
“A barbeque reception? I like it,” We both cried.
We were married the next day by special licence. It’s been fifteen years and were still happy in a little corner, by the bushes in the garden, as we find each day is a new discovery and wonder.
250 words
@SweetSheil
Maggie glanced at her watch feeling rumpled and out of sorts. Declan sat across the room in his tailored slacks and starched shirt looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine. Her purple scrubs held a stains that could be any number of body fluids. She’d dealt with them all during her shift. Why had she knocked on his door instead of her own place next door?
“Why are you here, Maggie?”
His voice was warm and soft like a caress. She knew the answer but couldn’t bring herself to admit it. “Because I didn’t want to be alone.” The words were out and she couldn’t call them back. So okay, maybe she could admit to her loneliness—which hadn’t been a problem until she met this enigmatic man.
“Then you can stay.” A wicked gleam lit his eyes.
“I wouldn’t want to intrude on your hospitality.”
Declan burst out laughing. “If this is a hint of your bedside manner, remind me to stay out of your hospital.”
“Fine. You don’t want my company—” She marched toward the front hallway but he snagged her arm before she got even halfway across the room.
“Ease down, Maggie. You’ve had a hard day. I can see it in your eyes. Still, it’s good to know your temper lurks there under the sadness. Come. Sit down. I’ll get you some wine and you can tell me about your day.”
“I’d rather have a beer.”
“A girl after m’own heart then. Good to know.”
****
250 Moonstruck Mafia WIP words
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
They separated us into two lines from the very start. Every so often, there would be a checkpoint, and at that checkpoint, some people would be moved from line 1 into line 2.
No one was ever moved from line 2 into line 1.
It was very hot, even this far north, and the spring rains hadn’t come. Line 1 was given water, and there were benches in the shade. Line 2 only had bare earth under dead trees.
At some of the checkpoints, they looked at documents – birth certificates, bank statements, property deeds. At others, they drew blood or stripped you naked to inspect your genitalia. At others, they just looked at you. Money could get you through some checkpoints, but not always.
Line 1.
Line 2.
Rain came, but not the kind that gives life. Vicious winds. Hail. Lightning strikes that didn’t seem to end.
When the storms abated, the sun returned hotter than before. We could see the family groups in Line 2 had shrunken. Fewer elderly. Fewer infirm. Fewer children. Line 1 told jokes under the eaves.
Some checkpoints had desks, and men behind them who asked questions. Questions about who you’d known, before. What you’d done. What you’d believed. There were right answers. And there were Line 2 answers.
At each desk, a man judging you. If you passed, gave him the answers he expected, he’d click his computer and nod. “Very good,” he’d say. Then, “you can stay.”
If not.
Line 2.
248 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
I’m nobody special. Actually, I’m nobody in general. Drowning in student debt with a worthless arts degree and scraping by on gig work that doesn’t even qualify as dead end.
So, when a supervillain smashes out of a bank wall with bags of money in her fists, I’m usually among the first to get the hell out of there. Not that I want to keep living or anything. Supervillains just seem like trouble I don’t need.
This time? I’m one of the assholes standing way too close to the action. Why? Because Jian is here kicking the villain’s ass. Some people prefer the newer heroes. Or the edgier or flashier ones. For me, there’s no beating the original. She’s still the gold standard of what superheroes should be, and I don’t see anyone else ever taking the title of “the world’s greatest hero.”
Holy shit! Jian just made eye contact with me! I think I’m going to faint. Wait. I think I am going to faint. When was the last time I ate? Shit.
“How are you feeling?”
I come to laid out on an apartment couch. With Jian watching me! She’s even cuter in a sweatshirt and without the mask. I don’t think any of what comes out of my mouth are words.
“I’ll get you something to eat. Do you have somewhere to go?”
I shake my head. I am not telling my hero about my cardboard box under the bridge.
“Then you can stay here,” she smiles.
250 Mind and Body words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“What does it matter? Where the fuck is the Relic?” Windsore shouted until his voice echoed in the chamber and Josten tightened his hands into fists.
“Sshhhh!” Allira waved at the knight. “Keep your voice down. You’ll wake the orcs and goblins, and the last thing we need is to fight them after you wounded their shaman.”
Oh, the gren and grells were awake—Josten saw them creeping to the throne room, but he’d caught their attention and waved them to wait. This was the last time Windsore would make it inside the Tombs.
And he’s not making it out alive.
Josten shifted toward the back of the throne while Windsore stomped closer to Allira, brandishing her sword with a snarl.
“Where is the fuckin’ Relic?” He got in her face and roared the words at her. “We’re not leaving until you show it to me!”
“Then you can stay here and rot, Windsore.” Allira dodged the sword blade and drew her dagger. “I told you I don’t have a clue where it is or even what it is! You’re the one who’s been in the Tombs, day after day, terrorizing the people here, not me. I’ve been outside, so I don’t know where your fuckin’ Relic or treasure is. Got it?”
Windsore’s eyes narrowed and fury tightened his features as he bared his teeth. “Then you’ll die here with the rest of the loathsome creatures!”
He leapt at her and she whirled away before striking him with her dagger.
250 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
His finger drummed on the table, his nerves needing a release.
The receptionist glared at him from the other side of the room.
He stilled his hand. Then his leg started bouncing, his heel of his shoe clicking on the tile floors. He was too wound up to care that he was annoying the receptionist. If she knew what he knew, what had just happened, she would be anxious too.
His wife, his dead wife, had returned. Not just returned, but seemed like she was in perfect health. It shouldn’t be possible. It wasn’t possible, and yet, she was back, like nothing had happened.
Now, she was at her doctor’s office getting checked out. How does one restart their life after being declared dead? There had been no mistake. He identified her body at the morgue. Her fingerprints and dental records confirmed it was her. Yet, here she was, alive and well.
The door next to the receptionist opened and his wife stepped through with a smile on her face. Her doctor followed behind her with the same shock and bewilderment on his face that his own had when he first saw her. They talked quietly for a moment before she joined him by the table.
“So, what did he say?”
“That I’m perfectly healthy. He can’t find a thing wrong with me but wants a run some additional tests. Said I’m as healthy as a middle-aged woman could be.”
“Then you can stay.”
“As long as you’ll have me.”
250 Words
@mlgammella
“I don’t want to fight them.” Sunshine started inland, to go around the village of the humans, to leave them alone, and move on. She wanted to continue her journey around the world, to learn what the world was like, and to learn who she was. “Merlin said I should do this. I should take this journey.”
As she flew inland, she stayed low to the ground, hoping it would keep her hidden from the humans. It did. They did not spot her.
But she learned something about the humans she didn’t want to learn. There was a burial ground inland, hours of walking time from the village. A burial ground with unmarked graves. “What is this?” In her curiosity, she stopped to explore.
The machines intervened. “This is where the unwanted are.”
“The unwanted?”
The machines showed her. Images appeared over the ground, where things had been buried. All of them were babies. Babies with wings. “They kill all the fairies at birth.”
“Babies!” Sunshine felt the fire or anger ignite in her heart. “They murder their own babies!”
“Yes. It is how they remain human.”
“It seems I have things I must do.” Sunshine stood among the images of dead babies. “I cannot let them do this.”
“Then you can stay for a time. And use your wild magic against them.” The machines knew she would. “As Merlin did, centuries ago.”
“Merlin was once here?”
“Yes.” The machines answered. “He stayed until he learned.”
246 Words
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.