Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 625. 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 625:
Jolly cynic and Transcendentalist groupie, K.R. Van Horn.
Bluesky |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“To the left.”
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!
Heyday
“Jump! JUMP you fool….”
“I’ll break my bloody neck.”
“I’ll break your fool neck if you don’t. This is where we get off…”
“Okay…here goes….”
“Right behind you laddie….”
“Really Gramps? That really happened…you and your friend jumped right off a moving train?”
“Three times, actually. Got better at it.”
“And you never paid for the ride?”
“That was the point. Nobody had any money. Well, the rich, they always had money. Even if they lost it, they always got more. Wealth creates wealth. But no, millions of us didn’t have any…little we had was gone in a puff of smoke…”
“Not like today, huh?”
“Not a lot has changed, Sonny Jim. Remember that when I’m gone. Wealth creates wealth. Poverty spreads like wildfire. Things gotta change. Be a person who makes that happen…”
“That was along time ago, Jimmy. I’m glad you wrote it, but the worlds changed. “
“Yeah, maybe? Gramps got lucky. The last train he jumped off landed him in a small BC. town. Met Grandmother. Went to war. Lived. Came back. Lumber mill there got a boost from the war. Three children. My mom and dad moved to the Island after Gramps passed. I’ve had a good life but exactly how I’ve ever improved the world…I dunno. “
“He probably meant, be a good person. You are.”
Maybe not good enough. Whole world’s veering to the right. I wanna help move it to the left.”
“Then let me help you.”
“Always thought you would.”
250 words
@billmelaterplea
Thanks for this, Bill. Might be fiction but sure gave just a little hint of hope.
“Yes, all right.” I nodded to the orchard. “Check the trees to the left. They are on the an-polar side and get the most daystar light. I will start here and grasp the lower fruits.”
I handed him a sack, startled by his delighted expression. His people opened their lips and the edges of their mouths curled up at the corners. My people didn’t do that—baring our teeth was a threat expression—but the language of his body suggested satisfaction.
“Do you want me to start low on these trees?” Ryshtar gestured to the ones I’d indicated. “Or just work on the top levels?”
I tilted my head, considering. “Just the top levels. I’ll get the fruit below. Leave anything that’s already been pecked or eaten. It will go to feed the local fauna and spread seeds.”
I immediately turned to work on the trees to the right without another word, uncomfortable with the feelings of gratitude swarming my awareness. I didn’t want to appreciate the help. If I did, I’d miss it when Ryshtar returned to his people and left me alone again.
Despite my morbid thoughts, we filled up three-times as many sacks with ripe fruit than I usually did, and Ryshtar helped me finish the lower portions of the trees. We worked in companionable silence, something I hadn’t realized existed after being alone. But neither of us seemed interested in filling the quiet with words beyond body language and gestures.
244 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
I earned a degree in political science, a bachelor’s degree with high honors in economics, an MBA and yet still I suffered from imposter syndrome.
My boss called me this morning and I was sure I would get the CFO position but to the left of his desk was security.
“I’m being canned? Why?” I asked.
“The company has decided to layoff a number of employees while restructuring under the buyout that occurred this morning.”
“We were bought out? But I thought the company was doing well.”
“So well that we became a liability, this company is buying us to gut us. “Don’t worry you are getting a sweet buyout package and I’ve talked to some my friends who think they can create some new jobs for us.”
“But what about the other employees?”
“They’ll have to hit the pavement, they should’ve saved some of their money.”
“They are paid minimally.”
“They are paid what they are worth.”
I took my buyout and started a competing company, as the management idiots hadn’t made me sign a non-complete clause. I hired all those who were underpaid (paying them a decent wage) and utilized their skills. My company is wholly owned by myself and my employees 70/ 30. Our former company and its parent company declared bankruptcy and some management begged me for a job. They are now on trial as blue-collar workers. I hope they can cut it, in this economy.
240 words Twitter: @SweetSheil Bluesky:@sweetsheil.bsky.social
I remember the line dancing craze of the 90s. And if I do say so myself, I wasn’t too bad at it. Achy-Breaky Heart came on and my feet hit the floor in perfect sync with the other dancers. Those were the days, for sure. And maybe I miss them, a little. I had a lot of fun in the 90s, being in college and all. Being an adult is not something I signed up for but here I am, being an adult, running a department at work, and, I think, killing it.
Dark humor is important at my job.
Anyway, I like to reward my employees when things have been going especially well. We’ve just come out of the busy season and things are slowing down. And we did so well this year that we’re having a party. The whole idea of the pizza party is overrated. And dumb. So I host dance parties. Everyone gets an envelope with their yearly raise amount in it, a cash bonus, and then we spend the rest of the night dancing and eating and having fun.
“Ready? Let’s go!” the DJ lights flash neon pinks and blues as we line up.
My feet move with the dancers, hips swaying to the beat. I slide to the right, to the left, jump and clap, do it all again. Have I mentioned my love of line dancing? Nobody better ever say Hell is boring. Because I will be insulted.
@Aightball
245 words
Druic crouched and pointed. “There. To the left.”
“I see it.” Ariel made no attempt to cloak his presence. It was bad enough Oberon had saddled him with this oaf, though he knew why.
The other man stared at him, his expression anticipatory. When Ari did nothing, he demanded, “Well?”
“Well what?”
“What are you going to do about it?” Druic fairly hissed the words.
Ari almost smiled. Almost. “Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?” Druic’s face flooded with angry color.
“I mean exactly what it means. Nothing. Period.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not my job.”
His companion sneered. “Of course, m’lord. How could I forget. You are but the King’s Seducer.”
His frigid smile caused Druic to take an instinctual crab-step back. “And what do they call you, fair Druic?” Ariel settled his elbow on his knee and tapped his jaw with his right index finger as if it would help him think. “Ah, yes. They call you nothing.”
In one lithe move, Aril stood. “I have seen enough.” He turned on his heel and strode back into the forest.
Seconds later, Druic panted after him like a barely trained dog. “But—”
“But nothing, Druic. King Oberon ordered me to find and observe. I found. I observed.”
“Are you a coward? Why not kill it?”
Ari stared at the hand that gripped his forearm then very deliberately raised his gaze to meet the other’s. Druic pulled his hand back like it’d been burned.
“I told you. Not my job.”
****
250 words in a future Penumbra Papers WIP
Silver James https://silverjames.com
“The best way is to fly.”
Mage Haust waved a stack of books aside and beckoned several vials out from the back of the shelf. Suzy rolled her eyes and pocketed something shiny from Haust’s workbench. Way to state the obvious. There was far too much open sky between Stargazer Island and the Wall of Stillness to get there any other way.
“How is your enchanting?”
Haust was talking to Morrigan. The magic swordswoman was the best friend Suzy had ever had, but neither elf had paid the halfling much attention since the mage let them in. Suzy palmed a strange black vial.
“Adequate. My crystal sidearm remains unfinished.”
“That is enough. Help me with the amulets.”
Haust laid items they had gathered out on the workbench, where Morrigan joined them. Suzy’s ears perked up.
“Amulets? To fly?”
Haust nodded.
“Airships are a bother.”
“What are we using for cores?”
“To the left.”
Haust gestured over Morrigan’s shoulder. The magic swordswoman retrieved three crystals and began arranging materials around them. Suzy leaned forward, nudging some sort of fork up her sleeve.
“Those don’t look like any amulets I’ve ever seen.”
Morrigan smiled.
“Ah, yes. I promised to tell you our secret.”
Haust shifted suspended materials between powder, liquid, and vapor with gestures and incantations. Morrigan lifted her materials with her shadow magic but kept her gaze on Suzy.
“Haust and I aren’t elves.”
Suzy squinted suspiciously.
“We’re what the elves refer to as ‘forgotten gods.’”
245 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Eugene had never felt less prepared. He’d had an hour of coaching before the show with a combat trainer, but he’d thought it all a joke. He’d groomed himself, picked out his most expensive suit and practiced his best pickup lines. He was a handsome guy blessed with an unfailing self-confidence. How could he ever lose?
The first killer clown had burst through a paper hoop, unsheathing its knives as it somersaulted. The second had cartwheeled into the arena, raising its hat and honking a horn puffing out poison gases. The third was tossing a couple of chainsaws, singing along to the calliope tune battering their eardrums. And the only thing Eugene had to defend himself was his quick wits and the bouquet of roses he’d been given in the studio.
‘The IT Factor’ had been a mystery, the show’s tagline promising, ‘A ring, unexpected glamour and a whole bunch of cash.’ The host had appeared, surrounded by pneumatically endowed Playboy models, carrying a Perspex briefcase filled with money. He’d had the knowing smile of a barker from a travelling carnival and the cruel glint of a cobra in his eyes.
Eugene shook his head, trying to remember what he’d been taught. He dodged a shower of daggers from the clown to the left, held his breath and charged forward, heading toward the one tossing the chainsaws, both spitting sparks and screaming like banshees.
“If in doubt, go for the juggler,” his coach had urged him. “It’s your only chance.”
250 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
𝙍𝙚𝙣𝙤𝙫𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙋𝙚𝙧𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙨
They sat together and apart, as if the air itself had drawn a boundary. To the left, an old book lay dusty. Gibran—a symbol of profound ideas they once shared. The silence around them was dense, pressing in—not empty, not empathy. A rhythm they’d both grown accustomed to.
She felt his presence, the subtle shifts, the weight of his gaze when he thought she didn’t notice. He was neither far nor close; he existed beside her, a parallel, a current of thought flowing in sync but separate. She had learned to live with it. He had, too, eventually.
He spoke once, lightly, “The kids…” A heavy expression.
She nodded, her thoughts lost in the past. “The oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other’s shadow,” they’d agreed. And their romance, their friendship, took a backseat to parenthood, making sure the kids did better. And had they? Perhaps. Higher test scores, more extracurriculars. Solid supporting details in well-written admissions essays. And now they were away, developing.
But the couple had stood apart for years now, just far enough to keep their temple from toppling, but too far to keep the structure from weakening. And now, the weight of that separation felt heavy and full of decay. Chipped paint.
He reached for her hand, and she, after a moment, did the same. Their fingertips met, hesitant, as though testing whether the foundation could hold. In the stillness, they wondered if what had crumbled above them could be rebuilt—a renovation perhaps.
250 ineligible words
@krvahorn@bsky.social
@krvanhorn (X)
The world had gone to hell. I’d known it would. I read the news headline again, “President rules there are only 2 genders.” I shook my head. I wanted to laugh, to lean back and laugh. Instead, I picked up my current can of hard cider, mumbled, “I’ll drink to that too,” and took a big chug from the can.
I’d known for nearly a year that this was going to happen. That the idiot public was going to vote the right-wing fascist into power, no matter what the left did, or tried. It was a case of, “Things aren’t working now!” that made a lot of people angry, and they voted for change. I took another chug of my cider.
I held the can out and I declared, “To the left! Stupid frogs that they were!” Then I finished the can. I set the empty can next to the other empty can on my desk and reached for the third can.
“I’ve never had 3 at one time. But then these idiots have never elected a known criminal either.” I popped the top of the can and took a long chug. “Let’s FAFO. Just like the damn idiots and their votes. This ain’t working! Let’s try anything else.”
It was going to be a long four years, and probably more, before the idiots finally figured out what they’d done. It would take me a sizable chunk of that to figure out how I wanted to deal with it.
250 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
I feel this in my bones – the folks left will have a lot to clean up for a lot of years.
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.