Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 628. Year 12! What a fantastic testament to the writing community. Y’all rock!
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 US.
- 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 628:
Cat wrangler, master violinist, and Tea connoisseur, Muirlette #1.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Challenge accepted.”
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 End of the Road
I was guessing that he’d be at his father’s house, a man he’d never met. How odd that must be for him, to live over thirty years without knowing his true origin.
All he really knew now were the mined memories of his birth mother, her claim about his parentage, her regret, her comfort with it.
He’d held his pistol by his side, she said, a promise of threat, his anger contained, too contained to be normal.
“I expected anger. Yelling,” she had told me. “The way most men can get. You know …?” she asked, expecting me to admit my own gender’s failings.
It seemed a small price to pay to keep her talking, sharing her perceptions, so I said, “Challenge accepted. I do know how men get. Most men…they can go overboard.”
She acknowledged that, said, “His anger, what little there was…it went away. Or maybe he knew how to conceal it. He became like the centre of a storm. Still. As calm as stone.”
And that description worried me.
So, I chased after him. Along the familiar back road that slithered effortlessly onto the old highway, a thoroughfare that eased into the nighttime countryside, down this lane to the cabin by the sea where his father had once lived, had ministered, had led a cult of a few thousand lost souls, mostly wealthy disaffected lost souls…decades earlier.
I had my weapon.
He had his.
Unlike him, I had no intention of dying.
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
“I’m the owner. What can I do for you?”
Maybe the guy was a real estate broker. Corbin had turned away several over the years trying to get rich quick by buying low and selling high.
Not gonna happen, pal.
“Oh, hi. Uh, I’m Max Aberdeen. This used to be my grandfather’s house and I just wanted to see how it turned out after he sold it.”
Corbin hesitated. “Your grandfather’s house? Who is your grandfather?”
“John Hiller? He said he’d sold his place to a baker.” Max gave Corbin an earnest smile.
“Yes, I remember John. Nice guy. What can I do for you, Mr. Aberdeen?” Corbin rested his arms on the counter.
“Really, I just wanted to check the place out. I haven’t been here for years and I wanted to see how its had changed.” Max let his gaze float around the room again.
Corbin narrowed his eyes, wondering why the grandson of the man who’d owned the property was suddenly showing up fifteen years after the sale. Something seemed off. At the time John wanted to sell, the whole family had basically washed their hands of the property, not waiting to pay the taxes, the upkeep of the old house, or the mining claim fees. Corbin had needed a good place with land and John needed to be free of a property too big for him to care for.
Challenge accepted. But the visit seemed too calculated, almost like Max was looking for something specific.
249 ineligible #StainlessSteelSEALS words
@siobhanmuir.bksy.social
Dima had watched the woman be seated. He’d seen her around, plying her trade along the boardwalk near the beach. He’d let her squirm for a time before sauntering over and sitting at her table. Were her words a threat or a warning? He did have plans for later, plans no one but Mikhail knew about. His next words shocked her.
“Challenge accepted.”
Eyes wide, she opened her mouth to speak. Didn’t. She had to wet her lips and swallow before any words came out.
“You can’t.”
He wrinkled his nose at the faint traces of ammonia wafting from her. She was afraid. Again, he had questions. Was it of him or for him? “I can do what I want.”
“No,” she insisted.
“Why not?”
She wet her lips again and ran her tongue over her top teeth. “Because I don’t want you to die.”
“I do not plan on dying tonight.”
“But you will.” She remained stubbornly insistent. “The signs are all there.”
“You said someone paid you to read the cards.”
Shaking her head, she took a nervous breath. “No. I said someone came to ask about you. I didn’t—don’t know you so I read the cards.”
“While this person was there?”
“No. After.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know her.”
A chill settled in his spine. “She is of no consequence.” And she wasn’t. Mikhail would ask Dima to settle that account in the future. Not tonight. His wolf stirred, interested. Tonight there was other prey, including Gypsy.
****
250 continuing words from semi-WIP, Moonstruck Mafia: NYC
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
Ana clasped her hands before her, swaying to the music filling the vast room. The pastel pink ball gown she wore stood out among the rest of the high society attendees, as it rightfully should. Only the finest lace and silk were acceptable for her family’s attire.
Her sisters were twirled around by suitors and betrothed, skirts flowing, to the rise and fall of the melody, which Ana found herself humming to.
One day, much too soon, she would be twirled around like them.
“Envious yet?”
She glanced aside to find her one and only brother, Alexei, surveying the crowd. “Not in the slightest.”
“Well, you’ll have to get used to it. Soon enough Ivan will be guiding you along the dance floor.”
Ana snuffed him, nose tilted high in the air. “I still have a year.”
“A year too short,” Alexei mused.
“And what of you? Should you not be courting your own suitors instead of pestering me? This celebration is for you to choose your future wife.”
Alexei smirked. Ana didn’t understand why all the girls swooned at it. She found that haughty look to be irritating and full of himself.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Perhaps so.”
“Well then, my dear sister—” He stepped in front of her, took her gloved hand delicately in his and bowed, placing a kiss to the back of her hand. Ana scowled and snatched her hand back. “Challenge accepted.”
~*~*~*~
238 WiP words of something new
@daelynmorgana.bsky.social
“That was amazing.” Lady Elizabeth Bourchier sighed languidly before rolling to her side. “But you shouldn’t have come. My father will kill you this time, for sure.”
“Fret not, my darling.” Starlee Swann pulled her luminescent hair from within her shirt with a dramatic flourish. “Neither the lord nor lady has been born that can catch the Moonlight Duelist.”
The swashbuckler proceeded to pull on her tall boots as her lady watched amidst tangled sheets.
“What about the Church Inquisitors?”
Starlee tied her simple white mask over her hazel eyes, then stood to fasten the belt with her rapier and whip about her waist.
“Less threatening yet!”
Elizabeth gathered the sheets warmed by her lover’s body about herself.
“You may have slipped in among the party guests last night, but my father’s soldiers will all be watching for you this morning. You can’t possibly escape the compound.”
Starlee’s pristine cloak settled about her shoulders. She tipped her wide-brimmed hat to her lady.
“Challenge accepted, my love.”
The hero extended her hat tip into a deep bow during which she kicked open the window behind her and reached for her whip. She rose into a headfirst plummet out the tower window.
Elizabeth shook her head and rolled back over for another hour of sleep.
213 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“You will be very fortunate in your future.”
I have this pesky eyebrow that likes to raise at the oddest of times. And there it goes. That eyebrow said challenge accepted and is threatening to leave my forehead. My boss is sitting behind his desk, gently caressing a crystal ball with skeletal hands, droning on in some sort of weird accent. And his outfit is eyebrow raising indeed: skirts, bandana, coin belt.
“You will live a long life,” he drones, gazing deep into the crystal ball. “With many children.”
“Okay…what’s going on?”
His head snaps in my direction, cocked to one side. “I am practicing for the work Halloween party. I am going to be a fortune teller. Is my costume okay?”
If my eyebrow gets any higher…
“I think fortune tellers wear some sort of off the shoulder, puffy shirt. They don’t go about in their birthday suit.”
If he had eyebrows, they’d be raised now. Even still, his jaw dropping like a discount store skeleton is funny and I burst out laughing. He may be The One True Death but he’s not trying too hard today.
“Perhaps this fortune teller is in their afterlife.”
“Perhaps. But you should probably wear a shirt to look more authentic.”
He resumes his crystal ball caressing as I head out, giggling. Frankly, I think it’d be funnier if he went as a pirate. He can be disassembled and reassembled with very little effort. He could spare a leg for one night.
@Aightball
249 words
“Challenge accepted.” The voice purred behind Sela. She spun on her heel, glowering up at the pale haired man behind her.
“I wasn’t talking to you. You are not part of this contest.” She pointed a finger before looking back to the rough old man, slamming some coin behind her. “My crew and I are signing up. The Aura is my ship.” Making easy money by getting lightning strikes in the ion storm was going to be a piece of cake. She cut her teeth on those storms. And the extra money would be great for the needed supplies back home.
Another hand slammed coins down and the man leaned over shoulder, practically breathing in her ear. “The Zephyr is signing up as well.”
She snorted. “Your ship isn’t even outfitted to handed the clouds. Hate to see something like that crash to the ground.”
Golden eyes shifted to her and he grinned. “You don’t know my ship. I’m open to give you a personal tour.”
“I have to do my nails. Or hair. Maybe both.” She sneered before taking the slip with her entry and walked away.
“What about next week?” he gave a laugh behind her.
“Busy.”
“I didn’t even tell you the day “
“Still busy.”
209 words
@solimond
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.