Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 622.
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 622:
Fantasy Author, and Holder of Several Stories, David Ludwig.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“We all said it wasn’t enough.”
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!
A Punacious Fellow
“You can only do so much, eh! How many times have we heard that. Am I sounding a tad dispirited? You bet your Aunt Fanny, I am. “
“I don’t get you. You live in the First World. Life’s a breeze. Sure, you’ve got a few problems. Out of control nose follicles. You get occasionally hacked. Other than that…you’ve got it easy.”
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you. Thing is, if there’s one bumptious burr under your saddle…and I do like western references…if there is one that niggles away…won’t let up, it can ruin your life. Take Walker Grainge. No seriously, take him. The man was a social pariah. Nice guy though but, well I blame Ovid…”
“You mean…Covid?”
“No. I mean old Ovid. The poet. Grainge, he didn’t write poetry but mother of pearl, he was practicing punster.”
“So, he told the occasional joke? What’s the harm?”
“Everyday. He was unrelenting. You know I work in a very busy office. We’ll all Tax Assessors. Day in and day out, three hundred of us collect revenue. High pressure. And there’s Walter, over by the water cooler, sucking back water breaks, laughing a horse laugh, yucking it up, day in and day out saying, This is a taxing job. The same friggin’ pun. And every day we all said it wasn’t enough to silence him, we had to end the tyranny.”
“Murder seems extreme.”
“What can I say. We could have banished him…like Ovid…but, well, it’s done now.”
249 words
@billmelaterplea
I appreciate murdering the annoying guy at the office.
How playing with your food can make you a lot of money
Seventy-three-year-old Joe Guerin was nervous going into the meeting. The slump in sales suggested that Joe didn’t have the skills to market the product over the Web. Some of the board even suggested that Joe step down and let someone younger take his place. Joe, sweat on his brow and top lip, standing in front of the whiteboard where he had outlined his business plan with a red marker, shrugged and asked for one more chance.
Behind our backs, with his ever-diminishing purse, he hired a number of influencers to boost sales. Some of the board were furious. We all said it wasn’t enough, to throw money at clueless kids, but Joe Guerin stuck to his guns, citing the ageism of the board which seemed to go both ways, and encouraged these young trendsetters to promote and advertise. One of them, known as Eloise Cryptotech, a lithe and scantily-clad sex-positive Tiktokker, seemed to know what she was doing, smearing the product all over her face and body in a series of thirty-second videos. It seemed ludicrous, but she proved her value once she shared her analytics and the sales team could make its inferences. It was clear that the online peanut butter sales were shooting up because of her antics. Old Joe Guerin had been vindicated.
He no longer sweated in the meetings.
@ragtaggiggagon
223 words
Excellent hook, and I love that way to sell peanut butter.
“Because they’re people, in trouble, and we can help them. That’s the whole point to the military, Ambrose. Helping those who need it and can’t do the job themselves.” Roxanne narrowed her eyes. “Or were you just in it to fight and kill things?”
He took a step back at the venom in her voice, but she didn’t care. If he was only here to harm others, she had no use for him.
“Of course not. I joined because it’s what we centaurs do.”
She wrinkled her nose. “So, you just did it because it’s what you do? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” She shook her head as she scoured the ground for rocks that didn’t look like the rock wraith’s scale.
I have no idea how to tell the difference.
“Roxanne—”
“No, listen. If you don’t want to help, that’s fine. Go back to the fire. I’ll work with Mahalia and we’ll get her mother out. I’ll make sure they get back to their home, and you take Corlith to the Goblin lands. I’ll catch up with you there.”
“You don’t know how to get there!”
“You’re right. Maybe the gorgons will help me and give me a map. I’m known for my navigational skills.” She turned her attention to the ground. “Maybe this is one of the things that’s part of the mission from the Goddess, right?”
“We all said it wasn’t—”
“Enough, Ambrose. Either help, or get out of the way.”
248 ineligible #Sirens words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
Roxanne’s sassy and sharp. I really respect her commitment to helping, and the banter with Ambrose is fun–though I feel a little sorry for him by the end.
Mikey was crying and Jenny was in the corner telling anyone who would listen that we all said it wasn’t enough but no one listened to Jenny because she lied like a rug and Mikey was a whiner
of course it wasn’t enough but no one had had the balls to say it because at the end of the day Kenny was going to do what Kenny was going to do whether it was take Missus Potters chalk so she couldnt teach in third grade or try to go for a joyride on the police rocket with a fucking fishbowl on his head and his Spaceman Spiff halloween costume for protection
hes dead Mikey cried like no shit his head exploded like that time I fucked your mom and she came so hard she shit out your brother Tommy said and I kicked Tommy in his shins because Mikey was a whiner but Tommy was just being an asshole and besides Mikeys mom likes girls and ask me how I know
anyway yeah his head did explode and the cop rocket crashed and Jenny just wont shut up about how we all told him it wasnt enough and I know she didnt because Kenny and Jenny were sweet on each other and she had some weird Bonnie and Clyde fantasy about them in the future and now that was ruined but now the cops dont have anymore rockets so thats good and even though Jenny is sad shes a hottie
250 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
This snapshot effectively evokes a tight friend group at a major transition point.
“We all said it wasn’t enough,” Julia said, planting her hands on her hips. “But you had to do it your way.”
“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve optimised the design, eliminating any excess weight. The addition of any unnecessary doodads would have made it impossible for it to fly.”
He had a point, Julia thought, studying the subtleties of its construction. There was a leanness to its wings, narrowed like laths, but long enough for them to wind themselves around the air as they passed through it. She couldn’t work out the mechanism that would drive them; it wasn’t possible to see everything Gregor had incorporated into its fuselage, a series of panels deliberately obscuring its key elements to prevent his competitors from copying them.
“So, when are you going to make your attempt? We’ll have to arrange for our observers to be in attendance so they can confirm your records of your launch point and where you come down. And then they’ll need to remove your airship and disassemble it carefully. We can’t promise you’ll be paid a cent if there are any deviations from the regulations.”
“What do you mean they’ll have to remove it?” Gregor’s beard bristled, the hairs on his chin matching his eyebrows, catching the sun so it looked like flames were licking across his face. “Nobody said anything about an inspection. And as for those regulations, who decided what those would be? Somebody with an interest in stealing my secrets?”
248 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
An intriguing, situation, device, and characters.
“I can’t believe one of her minions was that difficult to defeat.”
Vedania scowled at her longbow. Oaklie placed a hand gently on her sister’s shoulder.
“You’re the best archer in the world. But we all said it wasn’t enough. That’s why we’re here, so you don’t have to do this alone.”
Vedania neither responded nor showed any awareness of the quaver in Oaklie’s voice. Their eldest sister, Bluebelle, was tending to the human captain of the guard behind them. Emathyst, the remaining sister, placed her own reassuring hand on Oaklie’s shoulder.
“Are you all right?”
Oaklie nodded and removed her hand from Vedania.
“There’s no body, so she must have survived. Right?”
Emathyst smiled gently. Vedania paced to the tower window that their foe had fallen out moments before. The storm rolling in over the lake was unnaturally dark.
They should head out again soon. She should thank her sisters for having her back.
She couldn’t wait to see that fucking sorceress dead.
164 ineligible words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“We all said it wasn’t enough.”
There was enough food left, or water. People looted everything. I had hoarded, canned food, water bottles and other essential needs. I had a gun and a number of other weapons all to protect my family, building a fallout shelter in my backyard, connected from my house’s basement much to my husband’s chagrin.
Twenty years later my son and my daughter were unhappy. We wanted to see if anyone survived. Cars were decrepit, lacking gas or any other fluids. Then I remembered the farmer two hours away. Was the farmer alive? I ventured to the house carefully. my rifle at my side ready to raise it. Farmer Jones was old but he was alive.
“Were you been? Everyone else had to leave twenty years ago with those troops.” He asked.
“Were did they all go.” I asked thinking how I’d scarred my children.
“You’ll have to go for re-education, them Canadians grew on us and we say sorry, please, thank you and share all the resources of those bodies of water and food equally, including free health care.”
“Sounds like Utopia.”
“It’s not perfect but it’s home! Come back at three and my son’s army tank will take us home “
I trusted him I should have asked about the tanks!! You know what Barnum Bailey said. ”A sucker is born every minute but my daughter has a husband in the farmer and my son is married to the farmer’s daughter. One unhappy family!.
250 words
@SweetSheil
A fascinating scenario with some fun twists, like the wife being the prepper.
It was really happening, The world was ending. The apocalypse was nigh and there wasn’t jackshit anyone could do.
Of course, when the news broke of the prophecy, mass anarchy broke out. Looting, rampant crime, the complete and total breakdown of modern society. If the world wasn’t already ending, the current state of the world certainly would do it.
Wait.
The prophecy never said how the world was ending, just that it was. Everyone assumed they knew how, well every religious fanatic nutjob did. Fire and brimstone, hellfire and destruction.
We didn’t have to wait for the end of the world. We did it ourselves.
Shit.
The ultimate self-fulfilling prophecy.
With a long-suffering sigh that only a being who wasn’t quite immortal but certainly older than any human could make, Josiah cracked open a beer.
That first cold, crisp swallow coated his throat and down to his stomach. He sighed again, this time in relief. The fires were getting closer and the ever-present smoke in the air was irritating his throat.
His companion, another quasi-immortal like himself, leaned back in the chair across from him, his boot-clad feet propped up on the table.
“We all said it wasn’t enough.”
Josiah looked down at his dwindling beer collection as the other man grabbed a beer from the cooler.
“I know, but how does one properly stock enough beer for the end of the world? I bought ALL of it.”
@mlgammella
238 words
Self-fullfilling prophesies are a timeless classic.
#ThursThreads Week 622 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.