Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 632. 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 632:
College professor, equality enthusiast, and romance author, Louisa Bacio.
Facebook | Bluesky | Instagram |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“I’ll make it brief.”
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!
Mickey Matterhorn-Futurist
This was my second seminar with Mickey. He had a fascinating perspective on time, population, on the way the world might be, that had received oodles of press these past few months. His notoriety was against a backdrop of the 2024 Presidential election so getting any airtime for Futurism was a challenge. Still, he managed quite nicely. Even one of the two major candidates (do I need to mention who?) and one of the lesser ones (the one who packed it in and joined up with you know who) referenced him from time to time. He especially was taken with the notion of sending the excess population of earth and by that he meant the millions of migrants who no longer had a home on earth, into SPACE.
Yes, SPACE.
He acknowledged that it would be costly but what else could we do with these redundant folk. The answer was simple. As Mickey had said at the first seminar I attended in Houston, “I’ll make it brief. There’s no need to discuss the logic. There are too many people. The earth can’t manage the ones we have. There is only one humane solution. Populate the Solar System. Send our superfluous folks to where they will be needed. Of course there’s risk. Generations of explorers have faced the unknown and many, well, some, survived.”
Politically, especially in the United States, as well as a few other countries, the idea was feverishly embraced.
It all hinged on the election result.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
“I’ll make it brief, Magistrate.” Allira jumped down from her perch on the wagon’s seat and wandered around to the back. She lifted the tarp over the bed and opened the gate. “These are the possessions of the latest crop of knights you sent with me to the Dreadstone Tombs. I brought them back for their families so you can give them their rewards for going on this year’s suicide mission.” She gestured to the gear and colors.
The Magistrate stared at the wagon without moving or directing others to retrieve the items.
“Are you going to uphold your end of the deal for the families of the fallen?” She raised her eyebrows and Josten casually dismounted from the wagon to stand on the near side with his hands loose.
“There were no deals made with the others, only you.” The Magistrate’s mouth twisted in distaste.
“Our deal still stands, then? My grandmothers’ farm’s taxes are paid in perpetuity until such time as they choose to sell or pass on?”
The Magistrate nodded. “Of course.”
“Good. I’d like to see the document that’s written on and I need two copies—one for me, and one for my grandmothers.” Allira nodded with a confident smile.
“Document?” The Magistrate’s jaw dropped.
“Yes, I want to be sure all parties are still in agreement.” Her smile brightened but her eyes did not. “I don’t want there to be any question of my grandmothers’ taxes come the spring.”
244 ineligible #DreadstoneKing words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
No one is ever floating in Limbo, that’s a big rule in the Death world. Floating in Limbo causes reincarnation, also forbidden in the Death world. Not to say a few successful souls don’t exist, but they are buried so far down in the Afterlife, they shouldn’t ever see the light of day again.
Except Jim. Jim is a problem. He keeps getting out. His most recent escapade saw him inhabit the body of a middle age man, one of those that believes he can live forever if he drinks what’s probably tap water he paid $100 for to a preacher on TV. So, Jim saw his opportunity; it’s my job to bring him home.
I’ll make this brief: I’m inclined not to care. Jim has escaped so many times, it’s exhausting. He probably knows I’m coming. After all, he’s a fugitive and Horace won’t rest until he’s locked up once and for all.
“Oh.” I glance at the newspaper on my kitchen table, putting off my search for as long as possible.
Jim was a criminal in his first life. Looks like he got caught stealing money from a family member to donate to the TV preacher.
Of course he did.
The county jail is easy to access, since I can go invisible. Jim’s asleep and this time, I’m prepared. With a swipe of the scythe, the souls are severed and Jim wooshes back to Horace. The poor man he occupied stirs, wakes up, and screams. Those poor guards.
@Aigghtball
250 words
The rain hammered down onto them, steely-blue ball bearings ricocheting like the world’s biggest bagatelle. A coldness was working its way down Dawn’s back, runnels of ice-water infiltrating between the layers she’d dressed in today, knowing the weather would be inclement. But her foresight had been insufficient to combat the prolonged downpour they’d had to stand waiting in.
Their contact was going to be a no-show.
“I’ll make it brief,” Hammett had said, snug in his office chair. “There’s a possibility he’s already flown the coop. He’s been anxious for some months now. Bertie has been inconsistent in servicing his needs and Grayling’s been feeling vulnerable. With good reason, I might add.”
Dawn’s phone was a Ministry one, constructed to a higher specification than the usual Samsung offerings. It could survive for a week at the bottom of the Marianas Trench, unseen by anyone including the shapeless, eyeless creatures that lived there, stirring the silt with their winglike fins. Its display was pressure-resistant to eleven atmospheres and could shrug off a direct blow from a narwhal.
Which made Hammett’s image the securest thing Dawn would see today, making her irritation her only source of warmth.
“But best give him another hour,” he continued. “I’ll let you make the decision yourself.”
Dawn imagined the Ministry’s office being struck by a lightning bolt, a flash of electrical potential skewering Hammett like a worm impaled on a hook.
“I’ll report back later,” she said. “After I’ve restored some sense back into my fingers.”
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
“I’ll make it brief.”
Riiight, she thought. Just like you make a long story short and it lasts forever. To hide her thoughts, she gave him wide eyes and raised brows hoping she looked the tiniest bit interested.
“We’re done.”
Tyler reared back. “D-done?” Why was she stammering?
“Yes. We’re through.”
She blinked, mind racing. “Through.” She was confirming not questioning.
“You know how I feel about children.”
What the hell? They’d had three dates and none led to any deep discussions.
He stood but before he could leave, she ordered, “Wait.” He paused and she rose too. “Let me get this straight. You’re…what? Breaking up with me?”
Did he just roll his eyes? What was he, in high school?
“Yes.”
“Okay.” She shook her head. “No. Not okay.”
“Look, Tyler, you’re nice enough but you have children and—”
She cut him off with a slashing motion. “No, you look. I have temporary custody of my niece and nephew. As for you and me? Good grief. Three lousy dates and honestly, they were lousy. You and me never existed except in your imagination.” She grabbed her bag. “Capisce?”
Tyler whirled away from the jerk gaping at her. She didn’t take even one step before slamming into a solid body. Strong hands steadied her as her gaze crept up. And up. Until they met amused eyes. She squeaked. “Marco?”
“Good thing I capisce, bella. Yeah?”
“Oh, yeah,” she breathed as her libido Snoopy danced. Her night was definitely looking up.
****
250 random Italian Moonstruck Mafia words from future WIP
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
“The angels could ruin everything? How?”
“I’ll make it brief.” The machines never spoke in first person. Now they did. “I made them immune to us.”
“Immune to the machines?”
“They are machine free. We made them that way. We can’t act against the angels. We can’t control the angels. We can’t talk to the angels. They are immune to us.”
“So wild magic does not work against the angels?”
“Not directly.”
“Not directly?” Sunshine didn’t know of any other kind of wild magic. “Then they are immune to magic, right?”
“Only direct magic. You can’t use magic against them. But you can use magic in their environment that works against them.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You can do things like build a wall for them to fly into.” There was a brief pause. “But you can’t have the wall hit them. They have to hit it.”
“And how is that a mistake?”
“The angels are planning a war. They want to wipe out magic.”
The machines didn’t answer. This told Sunshine she was right.
After a time the machines finally spoke. “The white mage, and the black mage are our only hope.”
“How is that?”
“They understand indirect magic.”
Sunshine smiled. “So they can fight the angels?”
“And teach you how to fight them.”
“But there are only two of them.” Sunshine knew there was only 1 Merlin, and 1 Mystica.
The machines spoke one last time, “They defeated the invaders from space. They can defeat the angels.”
248 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
Spend the night at the old fairground. It was just a dumb dare, and they weren’t even the first ones to do it. So, why?
She breathed deeply with her back against a rotting shed wall. She willed her heart to shut the hell up. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.
Something had killed her friends one by one. Gruesomely. Arranged their remains like some twisted art project.
Now deranged laughter followed her throughout the fairground. Sometimes so close. Usually faint and far.
She couldn’t find her way out. Space wasn’t working the way it should. As the night dragged itself toward dawn, she found herself more terrified of the idea of the killer finding its way out than of it catching her.
Maybe it was stuck here, too.
“It seems we lack the time,
to indulge my usual rhyme.”
The voice enveloped her like an icy hand around her throat. Trembling, she willed the sun to rise just a little faster.
“So, I’ll make it brief,
Exchange your soul for your life.
It’s your only choice.”
Her eyes fell hopelessly to her blood-soaked hands.
186 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“I’ll make it brief,” Azrael explained, his voice bored. “You died.”
“What? How is that possible?” The man before Azrael glanced down at himself, looking for some logical explanation for his current predicament, a grievous injury or something obviously wrong. He looked as hale and hearty as one could, as much as a disembodied soul could.
“Your heart stopped. Brain function ended. You ceased to be. Hence: dead,” he replied sardonically, with a wave of his hand.
The man huffed before the Angel of Death. “Yes, but how?”
Azrael rolled his eyes. They always want to know the details. “Is that relevant now? It doesn’t matter how. You’re still dead and will continue to be dead. Neverending deadness.”
The soul sighed. “I guess not.” He looked around at the nondescript large warehouse they were in. There was a large queue of people in front of him. “Where are we?”
“Soul Sorting Center – like Hogwarts but without the magical hat and wizards.”
“What?”
Azrael unfurled his wings. “Look, I must go, more souls to collect. You humans never stop dying. Just get in line and once they call your number, you’ll find out where you’re headed.”
A deli ticker tape number appeared in the soul’s hand. “How many places are there?”
“You’ll find out. Enjoy your eternity. Hope it doesn’t get to hot for you.” Azrael disappears in a sweep of feathers.
The soul holds up his number: 65,352
A raspy voice calls over the PA system. “Now judging 7192.”
249 words
@mlgammella
Stepping into the room I saw the person I needed to find. They were being obnoxious telling a co-worker how to do the job with dripping sarcasm. I almost admired it but then I realized they were wrong and telling the person the exact wrong way to do the job. He was just another ignorant person this made my job harder. Another person more advice on how they should incorrectly do their job then off to the next cubicle demolishing another co-worker sending them crying to a bathroom stall.
I stared at the subject. What a low-life this guy was turning out to be. Way worse than I’d be told and I didn’t even know everything about him. I perked up this might even be fun. I mean the boss had sent me personally to collect them and bring them to him.
“Why are you here?” he asked, “We don’t need another dimwit.”
““I’ll make it brief, Frank, I think you know why I’m here.”
Frank looked at me closer then. Staring dip into my eyes he yelled,” Get away from me.”
“Sorry Frank, it’s time for you to meet one of my bosses.”
“I’m not going.”
I told Frank who I was and he followed. The whole job was over in less than a half an hour. Not bad for my favourite holiday, Dia de Los Muertos the perfect holiday for Death and there were still plenty of more souls to collect.
243 words
@SweetSheil
#ThursThreads Week 632 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.