Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 643. 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 643:
Gamer, writer, and responsive connoisseur of characters and stories, David Ludwig.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Were you, your first time?”
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!
I Thought, Therefore I am
Maybe it was the brain worm. The whole idea kinda turned my stomach until I realized that brain worms had little to do with diet.
At least I hoped not.
I’d never given much thought to my brain, or any brain in my life. Well, back in High School, Esmeralda Hinkhorn was considered by all as a ‘Real Brain.’ She was smart, scary , and tall. She had us over both the brain barrel and the imposing how-tall-will-she-get-when-she-stops-growing barrel.
I left all that behind, lost track of my formative years, and have no idea what became of Esmeralda. Likely she ended up in Mensa or some University professorialising.
Me, I bounced around, even went to a community college for there semesters. A counsellor finally took me aside, asked, “You think this is for you?” Told her, “I haven’t thought much about it.” Which wasn’t true. Hadn’t thought anything about it.
I took to the road for a few years. A Kerouac with no stories to tell.
None that I cared to write about.
Then I met Elsie.
On a bus.
Sitting next to me.
Got to talking.
She asked, “Were you goin’?”
I shook my head, said “Duluth.”
It just came out.
She said, “Me too?”
I said, “Were you, your first time?”
“No,” she answered. “I live there.”
That was the moment I had my first real thought.
Married that girl. Now I live in Duluth.
Own a cheese store.
Makes you think, eh!
250 words (including title)
@billmelaterplea
I love the charming resolution of this piece.
Micah stabbed at the ground with the stick in his hand then drew some lines. He wanted to ask but figured he wouldn’t like the answer. Still, they were best friends despite Liam being several years older. He scribbled more lines in the dirt.
“What’cha drawin’?” Liam tilted his head this way and that as he studied the scratchings.
Shrugging, Micah mumbled, “Nuthin’.”
“Looks like somethin’ to me.”
He didn’t want to be embarrassed by his drawing—or the fact that he liked to draw. His dad was an Army hero. A sniper. A deputy sheriff. His mom was a scientist, a wildlife biologist. Micah drew pictures. And he knew exactly what he was drawing—a sketch in the dirt of Grace as Little Red Riding Hood. He started to rub it out but Liam stopped him.
“Wanna know something?”
Micah shrugged again, the gesture a mainstay of pre-teen boy language.
“I wish I could draw like you.”
He looked up at that, shocked. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. Dude, you have real talent. And it’s nothing to be afraid of.”
They were back on topic. “Were you, your first time?”
“Naw.”
Micah gave Liam the side-eye. They both knew he was lying. “Did it hurt?”
Liam nodded, knowing not to lie now. “Yeah. But that wasn’t the scary part.”
“What was?”
“I was terrified I couldn’t find my way back. Your dad and mine won’t let that happen.”
“My wolf wants out.”
“You’ll be fine.”
“Promise?” Hope shone in Micah’s eyes.
“Promise.”
****
250 words from a random scene about two young Wolf shifters
Silver James @silverjames.com
Great job evoking the characters and immersing me in the scene!
“Were you, your first time?”
“Afraid? Hell yeah!”
“Think she’ll answer?”
“Don’t know. Been so long…”
“Then why are you calling in the first place?”
“To hear her voice.”
“A voice you haven’t heard in…”
“Twenty years or so.”
“Lot can change in twenty years.”
“Or so. Sometimes you just gotta take the leap.”
“And all this leaping and listening serves what purpose?”
“Closure.”
“Closure of something for which there never was open-sure?”
“Because I never knocked.”
“Oh, is that what they called it in the 90s?”
“I’m serious. I never admitted my, my…”
“Infatuation? Obsession? Hallucination?”
“Not helping.”
“You seriously believe a woman you knew as barely a friend will talk to you for the first time in twenty years, let alone being open to your ‘knocking’ her?”
“No. But if I don’t try, I’ll never have that moment like in ‘Love, Actually,’ when Keira Knightley runs out of her flat, with her husband inside, to chase after Andrew Lincoln, after he professed his undying love for her.”
“Yeah, kissed him, gave him a sigh and a look like, ‘too late, maybe if you tried hitting on me before MY HUSBAND, you could have been the male half of this It Couple in London circles. So maybe…’ That what you want?”
“Actually, I’d be happy with what’s next.”
“Which was?”
“He walks away feeling like he’s found some closure. He says what I want to feel.”
“Again: Which was?”
“He says, ‘Enough. Enough now.’ I just want…enough.”
250 desperately hopeful that love actually is all around words
@JAHesch on X
@jahesch.bsky.social on Bluesky
joseph.andrew.hesch on Threads
Telling the whole story in dialogue suits the prompt splendidly.
Beatrice is angry. Her glare suggests I should do as she insists. Or die. It’s a death glare with instructions.
My apprentice steps forward, clipboard in hand..
“I am not meant to be…down here,” Beatrice whispers.
Most people say that, but here they are. My apprentice runs a finger down the list. She hands her a paper and gestures with her pen.
“Please take this paper and go to the left.”
Beatrice gives my apprentice a death glare. “I’m in the wrong place.”
“To the left please, you’re holding up the line.”
My apprentice has a backbone. Beatrice’s petite hands slam the desk. Spittle flies from her perfectly red-lipsticked lips as she makes her point known.
“I said I’m. In. The. Wrong. Place.”
“To the left.”
“When I did my job, I was perfect. You are–”
Beatrice shifts her glare as I step forward.
“Were you, your first time? Perfect?”
Her hands plant on her hips and she shifts her weight to one leg, the bell of her pink slacks swaying. I shove her to the side and she stumbles, her three inch heels turning her ankles in opposite directions.
“How dare you!” she seethes, gripping the desk to regain her balance. “I will be rerouted to Heaven at once!”
I’ve had enough. I pull Beatrice into the correct line making sure that paper won’t leave her hand until it should. If she was like this alive, her husband is probably relieved he doesn’t have to spend eternity with her.
@Aightball
250 words
I really hear the character voices while reading this one.
Barrett laughed. “Fair enough. How about board games?”
“Board games? Like what, exactly?” She tucked into her burger.
Barrett chewed on some fries as they considered her question. “You know, like Monopoly, Sorry, Ropes & Ladders, Trivial Pursuit? You have played board games, right?”
She snorted. “Of course I have. But Trivial Pursuit? That’s ancient.” She swallowed her bite. “No, I take that back. What’s ancient is that word game with the little wooden tiles.”
“Wooden tiles… You weren’t thinking of scrabble, were you?”
“Your first time is always tricky, playing that game, but it’s good for the mind.”
“Oh, word games are a great way to engage the mind, but I’m surprised a computer geek like you loves word games.”
“I didn’t say I love word games, I said it was ancient.”
“Ohhhh, right, you did. Sorry, my mistake.” Barrett nodded sagely as they ate another fry. “But it is a great game that keeps most people focused. It’s especially good to keep the mind from freaking out with anxiety and traumas.”
“Okay, Mx. Therapist.” Lisa smirked to take the sting out of her words. “But no, not a regular board game player.”
“Hmm, a tough nut to crack.” Barrett wiped their mouth and narrowed their eyes, thinking. “I’m going to figure this out. What about… science fiction or anime conventions?”
Lisa’s eyes widened. “What kind of anime are we talking here? Japanese? Korean? Or American?”
“Oh-ho, you’re an anime fan. I knew it!”
245 ineligible #SirensInc Words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
I love this getting-to-know-each-other scene, Barrett being a they/them, and Lisa being into anime. Excellent food writing, too; it made me hungry while reading.
“How effective were you, your first time of feeding? Was it gruesome and bloody? You strike me as being an impatient one; messy and without self-control.”
Oguz smiled, his incisors glinting in the candlelight. He was urbane and self-possessed; a man who would normally dominate a room. It was hard to imagine him as anything but a predator. Any competition would be won in a heartbeat, the loser found drained and emptied of life.
“It was a long time ago,” he said. “It was a priest. A cardinal. He was delicious and one of my best. It was though I was drinking claret, his essence fountaining, spilling in torrents down my chest. I dream of him often, his eyes rolling back to white, his hands fluttering like doves as he tried to resist me. He was so sure of his faith, but afraid when he passed. They’re all liars when it comes to the test. Happy to parade in their robes, genuflecting and receiving praise on behalf of another.”
Angela nodded. “It’s as I expected. Like a kitten that plays with his food. Impulsive and taking delight from his cruelty. You manage to take what you need, but without class. You’re a base creature, an animal.”
Oguz shook his head. His smile melted, replaced by a snarl.
“What about you?” he asked. “How were you better?”
The woman shrugged, glancing at the fob watch clipped to the top edge of her pocket.
“Have you ever heard of phlebotomy?” she said.
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
I love the contrast of the two vampires, classic and practical.
I sat at my desk, in my cubicle, surrounded by printouts of various parts of the program. “None of this makes sense.”
The old man in the next cubicle chuckled. “Your first time with one of those problems?”
“I have no idea how to fix this.”
“I was there once. A long time ago.” The old man sounded happy, “We all get there, at least once.”
“We you, your first time?”
“Yep. Totally lost.”
“What did you do?”
“What any good software dude does. I made shit up.”
“What?”
“I made more than one version too. One with lots of print statements in it, so I could see what was going on.”
“How’d that work out?”
“Burned a lot of CPU time to figure it out. But the print statements told me a lot.”
I sat silently.
“CPU time is dirt cheap these days. Use it. Have the computer tell you what’s broken.”
“But. That flies against every rule they taught me in school.”
The old man laughed. “You want theory, or you want reality?”
“I’d like it if my education paid for itself.”
“Then you get to be the CPU and run the program steps yourself.”
I nodded. “That’s the same as using print statements.”
“Yep.” The old man answered. “Print statements are your best friend now. Welcome to the club. Put in print statements and find out what’s going on. Then you can fix the problem.”
I did what he said. It worked out of the box.
249 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
Excellent passing of wisdom and attention to detail.
The wild-eyed mage scrutinized Morrigan through their cracked door.
“What are you after!?”
“I require passage through the Wall of Stillness.”
“Why are you here?!”
“A sailor at the dock told me you could help.”
The mage nodded sagely as they turned this information over in their mind. Eventually, their eyes faded from blazing gold to a cooler steel hue. They opened the door the rest of the way.
“I can. Does the halfling know?”
The mage nodded at Morrigan’s mouseling companion, Suzy.
“It hasn’t come up, yet. But I trust her.”
Suzy cocked her head, “What hasn’t come up?”
The mage beckoned the pair inside before waving the door shut and their front room to arrange itself for three.
“Coming here. You reject the Courts as I do?”
Morrigan sat in the high-backed chair, perfectly sized for her.
“I… am questioning.”
Suzy hopped onto the stool by Morrigan’s chair.
“What don’t I know?”
“Are you prepared for the Other World?”
“Were you, your first time?”
“First time?” the mage shook their head. “Impossible.”
“C’mon! What haven’t you told me?” Suzy tugged on Morrigan’s sleeve.
Morrigan smiled at her companion, her pale skin taking on a warmer hue.
“It’s a bit complicated. I can explain on our way north, if you’re coming. But if you’re staying, it would be easier if you didn’t know.”
Suzy bit her lip seriously.
“Can you promise we’ll survive?”
“No.”
The mouseling took a bracing breath.
“Okay. Tell me.”
244 INELIGIBLE words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“Were you, your first time?”
“Were I – was I what?” Mark pulled a twig out of my hair and threw it casually to the side.
“Were you, y’know, you? The first time you tried?” I was ashamed that my voice was as weak as it was, but I was ashamed by the entirety of who I was these days.
He put his arm around me and kissed the top of my head. “I wasn’t anyone the first time I tried.”
I tilted my face up to look at him. “Really?”
“Really really. Didn’t corporeate at all.”
I giggled.
“Took me twelve tries to even become a mammal.”
“Wow.” I’d been a puppy my first time. Then a cat. I hated cats, but whatever. My third time, I was a child. Not, well, me. But human.
He cupped my cheek in his strong hand. “You worry about everything, but you’re so far ahead of me it’s not funny. You know yourself in ways I still don’t.”
“But you’re…”
“Old?” He laughed. I fell in love with him at that moment, though I knew I shouldn’t have.
I blushed. “I was going to say wise.”
“Same thing. If we’re lucky.” He kissed my forehead. “C’mon, we’ve got to go tell your parents that you’re you now.”
I didn’t want to share this moment with anyone, not even my parents, even though I knew they would be overjoyed.
“Soon, please? I…I like being here with you. As me.”
He smiled. “Soon.”
246 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
Absolutely charming interaction and intriguing scenario.
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.
I POSTED AN HOUR OR SO BEFORE THE DEADLINE, BUT MY STORY DIDN’T COME UP IMMEDIATELY, SO I FIGURED IT WAS BEING CHECKED FOR APPROVAL.
BUT JUST LOOKED AGAIN AND SAW IT NEVER CAME UP. HERE IT IS AGAIN. I HOPE IT WILL BE CONSIDERED.
***Not This One***
The cadavers lined the sterile chamber in neat rows, their bodies pristine, their faces expressionless. Jarek shuffled closer to the selection pod on frail legs.
His mother whispered, “This is your chance. A new start.”
His eyes scanned the bodies. Each had a tag: Age, Health Score, Cause of Demerit. The latter always caught his attention. Theft. Assault. Debauchery.
A technician gestured, “This one’s solid. Nineteen. No defects.”
The body inside was young, muscular. Jarek hesitated. “Who was he? Before?”
The technician frowned. “Does it really matter?”
Jarek fixed him with sharp, weary eyes.
The technician sighed and examined his pad. “Vandalism. Repeated offenses. Enough to hit the threshold.”
Jarek looked at the face—sharp features, a scar above one eyebrow. He imagined fleeting moments of a life. Violent. Chaotic.
Another child shuffled in, pale and gaunt, eyes wide, darting.
“First time?” Jarek guessed.
The boy nodded. “You?”
“No,” he answered, his voice hollow.
The boy hesitated and asked, “Who were you… the first time?”
Memories stirred in fragmented flashes. Three bodies. Each transfer had traded away pieces of himself, leaving fragments behind, lingering.
He scowled at his sickly reflection in the pod’s glossy surface. Enough.
Jarek’s gaze returned to the muscular cadaver. His fingers brushed the glass, then pulled back.
“No,” he said firmly, stepping away. “Not this one.”
And his mother’s eyes, and the technician’s, and the boy’s followed his fragile figure as he left the room, carrying with him a defiance that none of them could truly comprehend.
250 Words
@krvanhorn (X)
@krvanhorn.bsky.social
Excellent expression of a world of those who go through multiple bodies, and those who provide the bodies.