Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 654. 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 654:
Gamer, writer, and responsive connoisseur of characters and stories, David Ludwig.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Helps most of the 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!
Yelapa Morn
“I’m sorry,” she’d finally said.
“You have a delightful laugh,” he’d replied. Though that was true, it was the timing that proved disconcerting. Throughout his not particularly difficult life, at least not until Berkeley and that series of violent events, he’d found that laughter of any sort helps most of the time.
Was this the exception, he wondered.
She turned to him, ran her sun-browned hand over his shoulder, touched his face, smiled, said, “I was laughing at me. I was so happy that you would travel all this way to…” and she paused. He thought to complete her sentence, a habit from their earlier time together. As he was about to say, “reconnect…” she said, “to be with me.”
He nodded. Then, afraid of allowing an awkward silence, added, “Did you think I wouldn’t?”
She kissed him and took him on a most pleasurable journey.
Sleep came easily.
The next morning the sun blazed down on the Palapa. Though there was a freshening breeze, the heat was stifling. They rolled into each others’ arms.
“Good morning,” she said.
“It is,” he concurred.
“What day is it?” she asked. When he looked confused she said, “I don’t pay much attention to what day it is here. Each day is quite similar.”
“Thursday,” he revealed. “Ascension Day.”
“You’re not Catholic.”
“No, but when you get shot, you give some thought to the afterlife.”
“Time for a morning swim,” she smiled. “Lets go.”
Naked, they slipped into the waiting sea.
250 words, from a short WIP
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
@billmelaterplea
At a farm in Kent County, Missouri, many years ago
The Guardian commanded, “Awaken, Gatekeeper. The Dreamer needs you.”
Etheldred Mueller’s eyes flew open. He closed his arms around his wife and cradled her. “Maggie…shhh…” he whispered into her hair. “What’s wrong my love? A vision? Is it bad?” From her shaking body, he knew her silent tears flowed.
Reaching out, he turned her into his embrace, caressed her cheek softly, and wiped her tears. He thought, “Why don’t her Dreams bring her joy instead of this awful, aching sadness?
Nuzzled in his shoulder, she shook her head. “Oh Dred, a terrible accident. I have tried to find a way to prevent a fiery, deadly crash, but I can’t. You need to hurry.”
At the mention of death, the last shadows of sleep disappeared. He knew from experience her dreams were harbingers of things to come. Fighting the urge to tell her everything would be okay, he rose.
“Easy, my love. I’m getting dressed as fast as I can. Tell me what to do. That helps most of the time.”
“Predawn is upon us. As the sun crests the horizon, their car will hit the bridge. Turn south on the main road, and you’ll see the burning car. The couple inside is gone, but their daughter was thrown from the car into the ditch.”
“Tell me, is this child The One?”
“No, my dear, but according to my Dreams, if she lives, she will be the mother of The One.”
###
250 words of a WIP
Social media handle or email, Patty?
Business at the counter remained steady. Most customers were mundanes though an occasional magick arrived, made their purchase and left, often with a scowl directed Sade’s direction. After a werewolf flashed red eyes and barely hidden canines at her, she raised her elbow and sniffed under her arm.
“I showered this morning. What’s the deal, Caleb?” She arched a brow. “Oh, duh. I’m sitting here with a werewolf and a dragon. It’s not me, it’s the company I keep.”
“Don’t be sarcastic, Sade.”
Nikos snorted. “That’s like telling a rooster not to crow, Caleb.”
She turned a jaundiced eye to the dragon. “You’re the one who insisted that Ariel frequents this place, Nikos. So where the hell is he?”
“Patience.”
“Patience? At this moment, all of my patience is contained in this cup of coffee.”
“Is it working?”
Sade stared at the mug she held, her expression morose. She eventually took a sip, swallowed, and said, “No, but it helps most of the time.”
Caleb rose, strode to the counter then returned shortly with a large to-go cup. He didn’t sit but teased her with cup. “You’re going to need this.”
“Why?”
“Because I just saw Ariel across the street.” He paused, his focus centered on a spot out the shop’s window. “He’s following something.”
Standing, Sade reached for the cup. “Who? Who’s he following?”
“Not who, Sade. What.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Whatever he’s after isn’t visible.”
“Great.” Sade growled, heading for the door. “Another wild goose chase.”
****
250 Penumber Papers WIP words
Silver James https://www.facebook.com/AuthorSilverJames/
I looked at my computer as I sat in my chair in my computer room. Alone. Just me and the computer, and the entire internet. The world at my fingertips, or at least that was one way to think about it.
A world that I got tired of dealing with sometimes. The endless chaos. The daily trudge to work. The daily chores. How the dishes and laundry never ran out. Grocery shopping. Cooking. Sometimes it was like I spent my time off work, working to get ready to go back to work.
But every night, there was a time for me. A time I could turn off the news. The day at work. The household chores. A time I could turn off life. A time I could breathe.
And what did I do with that time? I listened to music, because music helps most of the time. It was my one escape. My one time to myself. Turn on the music, and while the music played, I was hidden from the world. There were no chores. No deadlines. No groceries. No work.
There was nothing. It was my silence. My time to rest. My time to be calm. To stop. To heal. To breathe.
I didn’t care how late I stayed up. I knew I could work on 5 or 6 hours of sleep. I could stay up until midnight and listen to my music. Then, when the music ended, I could face one more day of chaos.
250 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
The room was dark. Thosilian opened the door anyway to check. He grunted in annoyance on seeing Elena’s desk unattended and her computer off.
“Where the hell are you?”
“Down here.”
He jerked in surprise and hit his elbow on the door. Hissing, he stepped in and looked down to his left in search of the voice. He felt around on the wall and finally located the switch. The lights spluttered into life, exposing a blinking Elena sat on the floor at the end of a bench, leaning against a cupboard.
She reached up and shielded her eyes as she adjusted. “Thanks for the warning.”
“What are you doing?” He walked over and felt awkward looming over her so pulled a stool closer.
“Sitting in the dark, I thought that was evident.”
“Sitting in the dark, in your lab at ten o’clock at night, alone,” he pointed out.
“And?”
“Are you sulking because you can’t figure out how his device works?”
“No,” she pouted. “I’m thinking through the problem.”
“In the dark, alone, in the middle of the night?”
“Helps most of the time.” She stared at the far wall.
“And this definitely isn’t sulking?”
“Maybe I can multitask,” she screwed her face up at him.
“Getting angry with him won’t him won’t help…”
“I’m not angry with him,” she cut in with a bitter snort. “I’m angry with me. If I can’t figure this out, what good am I?”
240 words @lexikonical.bsky.social
𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑺𝒕𝒆𝒆𝒍𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒅𝒐?
The man on TV did it. Everyone called him Steelheart. He never raised his voice. He loved his family with the patience of a saint. The endurance of a pack mule. It was beautiful and inspiring. It was nonsense.
Because in real life, your daughter knocks the cereal box over like it owes her money. Seven-thirty A.M., and your son is already into the video games. Ignoring breakfast. Ignoring the test he has today. And there’s your wife, huffing, shuffling, opening and closing cabinets too hard. She’s waiting for someone to ask. Waiting for someone to give her an opening so she can snap, yell, vent.
Steelheart would smile. Steelheart would stay calm.
“Fried chicken for dinner,” you say, a peace offering.
No one responds. Your daughter flicks a Cheerio across the table. Your son dies violently in whatever game he’s playing and immediately restarts. Your wife slams the fridge door and takes a slow, angry sip of coffee.
You thought love or patience would fix this. But love doesn’t do the dishes. Patience doesn’t make teenagers polite or spouses grateful. Not in real life.
You pick up the cereal box. You wipe the crumbs. You kiss your wife on the forehead. She doesn’t look up.
“Have a great day at school, sweetie,” you say to your daughter.
You give your son a squeeze, and he grunts something in response.
And you head to work, telling yourself you’ll keep trying. Because love helps most of the time. Right?
249 word
@krvanhorn (X and Bluesky)
“She was a combat nurse, and was killed in a helicopter crash. I didn’t find out until months after. Today was the day she died.” Lisa cleared her throat. “I always have a piece of chocolate cake, her favorite, on this date to commemorate it. It helps most of the time with the grief.”
She expected Barrett to say something like, “Why didn’t you say anything,” but they simply picked up the other fork and pointed to the cake.
“Do you want to share or just enjoy it alone?” There wasn’t any censure in their face, only compassionate interest.
“I—” She swallowed hard, trying to keep the grief at bay. “I want to share. I’ve always wanted to share, but she’s not here to share it with. And I wasn’t there for her when she needed me.”
Barrett’s lips tightened but they pointed with the fork. “You might not have been there, but I’ll bet she never blamed you. You were in different units, each of you doing what you needed to be doing.” They gestured to the cake. “May I?”
Lisa nodded, the grief closing her throat. Barrett carved a bite off the cake and held it up as if making a toast. When they raised their eyebrows, Lisa scrambled to follow suit, holding up her fork.
“To…” They waited for her to supply Julia’s name.
“Julia.”
Barrett nodded. “To Julia, lover of chocolate cake, saving lives, and Lisa. May her memory be a blessing.”
248 ineligible #Sirens words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“Who’s the new girl?”
Amelia asked in a low voice. Dorothea glanced over her shoulder before returning to the coffee station huddle.
“Oh, that’s Aisling Meredith! She’s actually been here longer than you have.”
“No! Then why haven’t I seen her before?”
Amelia re-evaluated the young woman with the uptight updo, huge glasses, and bland blazer with matching pencil skirt. She was almost comically forgettable. Maybe Amelia had seen her before?
“There are lots of areas where she helps. Most of the time she works from home, though.”
The subject of their discussion perused the morning disaster reports. Responding to that earthquake was going to be an all-hands situation.
“I’d go crazy trying to work with nobody to talk to!”
“I guess she still lives with her parents; way out in the country.”
“That’s rough. I know we’re not paid much, but there’s no way I could stand still living with my parents.”
No one noticed when Aisling slipped out. But the whole office cheered when the colorfully caped Dream Girl arrived at the earthquake epicenter and started saving lives at super speed.
183 INELIGIBLE Lord Pembroke and Dream Girl words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“So, how long do we have the room for?” Abby looked over at Mel, adjusting the full face mask and gloves she was wearing.
“I figured half an hour would be good. There isn’t anyone after so we can add more time.” Mel yanked the protective gear on before going into the smash room, bat in hand. She really needed to unlease some aggression and punching people would end up with her in jail. maybe. If she went to a club, she might get away with it.
“So are you going to tell me the reason you need to rage this time?” Abby followed behind, handling a sledgehammer with ease.
“Later. But it revolves around the same subject it usually does.”
“And this helps a lot?”
Mel shrugged. “Helps most of the time.” She raised up the bat and picked a pile of plates, unleashing her anger, picturing the faces of her family on them. After this she needed to think about cutting them off. They weren’t worth the stress.
Nellie
170 words
@solimond (bluesky)
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.