Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 633. Year 12! What a fantastic testament to the writing community. Y’all rock! I thought you’d appreciate the retro look for Oct 31st this year.
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 633:
Uncaffeinated word witch writing daddies, bears, and paranormal beefcake, Kelex.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“It doesn’t matter how.”
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 Pernicious Pickled Plastic Pumpkinween Puzzle
It doesn’t matter how it began. Really, the point is…it began. Some say that political operatives recognized that there needed to be an alternative to war and a new racket sport might just replace the sting of battle with the wap of plastic.
Crazy notion, right? Right!
Of course, initially, it was plastic that got wapped.
Back then, plastic was a good thing. The future was in plastic.
Plastic was worshipped.
Plastic could take a beating.
Not that it was a violent sport.
Still, it helped to get the yaya’s out.
But I’m getting away from the origins.
It was a couple of years before the Summer of Love.
The Cold War was still a memory.
It might return.
America was confused.
Because of that bafflement, the world was befuddled.
Time moved on.
The game was slow to find its footing.
People got older.
The Baby Boomers got wrinkled.
They wanted to live longer than the generations before.
At the same time, Global Warming was messing with earth.
Plastic and people floated miserably in the sea.
It became very confusing.
Plastic was needed for the game but the horror of halloweening the good life from the mixed blessings of plastic became too much for some .
Wap the plastic ball.
Break it to bits.
Live longer but save the world.
THEN, yes, there was the noise.
Neighbourhoods around the world erupted.
Mini wars.
Not a good look.
War.
Pickleball.
Cut from the same cloth.
250 words
@billmelaterplea
A Minor Quibble
“I require your input,” she said formally, as she drafted an email for work.
“What will happen at your place of employment when they find out you’re a functional illiterate?” He monitored her face for any sign of anger at his question.
“I get the job done, don’t I?” she asked him, eyebrow raised. “It doesn’t matter how.”
He read through the missive for flow and structure from over her shoulder as she sat at the desk, first ignoring the countless grammar and spelling errors. Finally he tapped her on the shoulder so that she would get up.
“Do you like it?” she asked.
“You won’t win any literary prizes,” he said, scrambling into her seat as he started to type up the changes. “Your spelling is atrocious.”
“Such an alpha male, coming to rescue me.” She hummed and laughed. “And bad spelling is a minor quibble.”
“I’m not about to extol the virtues of complete crap,” he shot back. “If that makes me an alpha, then so be it.”
She picked up the saucer under her teacup beside the computer, putting the cup carefully back down on the desk, and, with a sudden brutality, smashed the small plate over his head. It split apart as he fled the living room. She pursued doggedly before he slammed the bedroom door closed and locked it.
“Let me in!” she bellowed. “You let me in there right now, Mister, or it will be far worse for you later!”
247 words @ragtaggiggagon
He had only followed his orders. That didn’t help him sleep. And it wouldn’t save him.
“Sir?”
A voice and knock on his door frame yanked Commander Tristan from his thoughts.
“Yes, Willis?”
The commander’s weary voice was weighed down with restless nights.
“You wanted to know if the jester on the hill did anything?”
That woke Tristan up.
“Report.”
Willis hadn’t served long enough to completely keep the confusion from his face or voice.
“She, uh, changed her mask? To the sad one?”
“Oh god,” Tristan dragged his hands heavily down his face. “She’s going to kill us all.”
“Sir? We’re an entire regiment inside a fortress.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“How can that not matter?”
Willis’ incredulity crossed dangerously close to insubordination. That didn’t matter either. Not anymore.
“Pippi Pierrot isn’t human.”
133 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Regina “Reggie” Jackson stared, incredulous. “You let him walk away? What is wrong with you, Gwyneth Campbell?”
Gwen flinched at her best friend’s use of her formal name. She wasn’t strong and brash like Reggie. As an investigative reporter, Reggie was always up in somebody’s business. Not her. She dealt with kids and their parents and as a doctor, she was a caretaker. She’d be the first to admit she had a soft heart. And Dante Caruso had stomped all over it. She toyed with the food on her plate and lifted one shoulder in a half-hearted attempt at nonchalance. “It doesn’t matter.”
“How can you say that?” Anger sparked off Reggie like a sparkler on the 4th of July.
“Because it doesn’t, Reg. I’m not the sort of girl he’s looking for.”
“Not the sort—” Reggie broke off her sentence with a snort of disgust. “You are beautiful and smart and sweet and kind and the man is an utter moron if he doesn’t want that in a woman.”
Gwen let out a soft breath and mumbled, “He wants someone like you.”
A burst of laughter escaped before Reggie could contain it. She reached over and laid her hand on Gwen’s forearm. “I’m sorry, hon. I am so not laughing at you. I’m…” She blinked. “What’s another word for gosmacked? Flabbergasted. No…appalled. That’s the word. I am appalled by the man’s gall.”
A smile twitched the corners of Gwen’s mouth. “Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for.”
****
248 future Moonstruck Mafia: Chicago WIP words
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
As the man turned away, Krissy made a decision. She’d been looked at by men in one way or another since she first hit puberty. Sometimes it made her feel good. Sometimes it made her feel horny. Sometimes it made her feel like taking a Silkwood shower. Sometimes it made her feel like all men should cease to exist. But she’d never felt like this. This man was – she couldn’t think of any word other than stunned – by her, just at a glance. And that was a powerful feeling. Krissy wanted to get to know the man who could make her feel like that.
“It doesn’t matter how awful this year has gone,” Krissy thought to herself, “if I can end it with a bang.”
She told Lana that she sure could go for another Old Fashioned and that crème brûlée. She shuddered to think of what it would do to her budget, let alone her sobriety, but she needed to stay at the bar.
The man hesitantly spoke. “Old Fashioned? How is it?”
Krissy smiled, turning to him. His eyes widened. She liked this feeling. “Considering I’m about to have my third, I think they’re pretty good.”
Lana picked that moment to show back up with her drink and a raised eyebrow. “Just pretty good?”
Krissy laughed. The man’s breath caught. God, this was such a rush. “Might be the best I ever had.”
236 WIP words
@drmag00.bsky.social
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.