Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 658 in 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 658:
Writer at Arms, Writer with Arms, and Pre-Published Romantasy Author, Jacob Summers.
Facebook | Bluesky | Threads |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“And that was hard to give up.”
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 Last Story
It had sat there in the back of his mind for a long time. Years. He’d shared his concerns with her from time to time. She’d always laughed and said, “I’m not responsible. Don’t give me any of that muse nonsense.”
But he knew, even if she kiboshed the notion.
On line during Covid, that first year and a bit more of it, he’d occasionally asked other writers what moved them along, stimulated their creativity. One said, ‘it’s a secret, even to me.’
Another, perhaps in jest, perhaps not, said, ‘a daily single malt shot. Clears the brain.’
Of course when he had to respond as well, he said, ‘she whom I love.’
They thought that cute, one even suggested unoriginal.
For a time he had a measure of doubt. It might not have been her who was his inspiration and that was hard to give up. For a time he fretted about it. It always came back to her though. Whether it was love or inspiration or some finely honed mix, it pleased him to think of her that way.
Then, in a cruel wicked wink of time, she was gone.
He spent weeks in a blank funk. Friends tried to console him. Peers, writing peers said, maybe give it time but grasp the pen. Keep her alive that way.
And he tried. None of his tales gelled. They stayed there lifeless on the page. Drained of humanity.
Of love.
He had written his last story.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
Ariel heard her coming. He didn’t move, not even when she stopped outside his cell. He should. She was his queen. But he didn’t.
“How long will you ignore me, Ariel?”
“How long will it take you to get bored and move on?”
Titania’s tinkling laughter scraped across his nerves like the sharp nails of a fairy tale witch. “You’ve already pissed off Oberon. Do you wish to piss me off as well?”
That was a good question. He rolled off the lumpy mattress to land on his feet, doffed an invisible cap, and bent at the waist. “Your highness.”
The queen skewered him with a look. “You could at least pretend to be sincere.”
“Why are you here?”
“I want to know what you did that angered Oberon so much he threw his beloved Seducer into the dungeons.”
He shrugged. “I went to visit someone.”
“Who? And did you seduce her?”
His expression softened as he gazed into the past. “Long ago.”
“Human.” She spat the word.
“Aren’t they all?”
It was Titania’s turn to shrug. “Why did this one anger him?”
“This one is dying.”
His declaration left her speechless. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft. “You love her.”
“Once.”
“And that was hard to give up. Is she beautiful?”
“To me she is. Her face reflects the trials of her life. There is a certain beauty in that.”
Titania unlocked the cell. “Take her to the Summerlands.”
He dematerialized before she could change her mind..
****
250 Penumbra Papers WIP words
Silver James
silverjames.com
He’d talked to Avery and they were glad to hear Martin was improving, but Corbin could hear the strain of running the bakery without him in their voice. To be honest, he was torn. Part of him wanted to stay and hold Martin to his promise of working on a relationship that could last for a long time. The last few weeks had been amazing, with Martin opening up more than Corbin thought possible, and giving hints that he truly wanted more when there weren’t an entire hospital’s worth of people around.
But Corbin also missed the quiet summer mornings in Montana where no one was awake and he had the sunrise to himself. He missed baking in a real kitchen where he had all his utensils and appliances exactly where he wanted them, and the counter space to do what he wanted.
He told himself he shouldn’t borrow trouble. But his mind reminded him that Martin hadn’t ever really come out—of the closet or the Navy—before, and he might not actually want a relationship with another man. The idea that he might be trying things out, not actually serious, curdled Corbin’s stomach, and that was hard. To give up on his hope and dream of being Martin’s one-and-only felt like cutting off a piece of himself and leaving it on the sidewalk.
The question was, did Corbin have the courage to try with Martin, and if it didn’t work out, could he walk away to save himself?
250 ineligible #StainlessSteelSEALs words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
ThurstThreads
Any other warrior could pick up the blade and put on the armor.
The problem was… no one else would. And to the best of his recollection, no one else ever had.
Not that he could recruit anyone else to this singular mission. He wasn’t even certain he could find the words to explain the madness he was caught in, let alone convince anyone it was worth it.
What would be the result if he managed to succeed?
A happily ever after?
Retirement?
Or just an honorable death?
He might be the only warrior willing to take this on… or possibly the only one willing to do so over and over again, despite unending failure.
His resolve was cracked and pending repair. But Leo’s wounds were not fatal – at least not the wounds he could see. He knew that. He also knew it would take weeks to heal, and that he was in no condition to fight anytime soon.
His armor? While cracked, could be repaired or at worst replaced.
His weapon? Just as sharp as before.
His shield… was done. There was no use for that any longer save as a memento.
But it wasn’t the wounds that would kill him.
It was her.
Fighting for her… and that was hard to give up.
Jacob Summers
>250 ineligible Words
@captainvalhalla
@captain__valhalla
@captainvalhalla.bsky.social
Sometimes life was tough. One of those times was when my Missy asked me, “What’s the hardest thing you ever did?”
You’re not supposed to lie. But that was one question I’d never thought about much. “Even when we weren’t going out, I still used to call her. Like clockwork. Once a week.”
“You did?”
“Yes, I did. Barely functional, and I called here once a week. And we talked. Until one night as I hung up the phone at the end of our talk.”
“What happened?”
“I knew I couldn’t call her again.” I thought that would be the end of the discussion. I thought wrong.
“How did you know?” That was Missy. Always asking questions.
I didn’t answer immediately. After all, how do you tell someone you knew you were in a million little pieces, and had to put yourself back together, and you knew you couldn’t do that around her. “Have you ever shattered?”
Missy shook her head.
“I did. That night, I realized it. I wasn’t me. I was lots of pieces of me.” I figured that would sum it up.
“Pieces?” Of course, she asked for more information.
“I had to take time to put myself back together. Figure out what I wanted to be. Who I wanted to be.”
“So you gave her up totally?”
“I gave up that weekly phone call. And that was hard to give up.” I took a breath. “I had to let her go.”
245 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
“Bring her hard about, helmsman! We may be outgunned, but we can sail circles around that monstrosity.”
Starlee Swann mounted the quarterdeck, one hand on the pommel of her rapier and her glowing eyes fixed on the HMS Temperance.
“Belay that order, Shinichi!” Captain Rhea Damas lurched after her first mate, brandy bottle in one hand, bandolier and cutlasses in the other. “Outgunned, Miss Swann? We have no guns. That’s a navy ship of the line!”
Starlee sneered at her captain’s bottle.
“That’s why we need to board her from the rear.”
“You’re. Not. Thinking.” Rhea emphasized each word with a tap of her bottle to her temple. “There must be a hundred sailors on Aguilar’s ship; if not two.”
Starlee tossed her luminous hair back dismissively.
“That’s no problem. Blitzi and I can handle thirty each. Pippi and her demon twenty. The rest of you just need to average a couple each.”
“And if it’s two hundred?”
“We do it twice.”
Rhea did not need the puff shirted swashbuckler’s insubordination right now. Worse, she could sense the crew weighing their odds between Starlee’s bravado and Rhea’s bottle. There was a good drink or two left in the bottle and that was hard to give up. But Rhea had to take control of the situation. She threw it overboard.
“We run. Elodie, how long to that reef we were avoiding?”
“Thirty minutes? If Angelina can call us a favorable wind.”
Rhea raised her voice to the assembled crew.
“Set course!”
250 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐫𝐮𝐭𝐡 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫
Sick clouds pissed on a city buzzing like a dying refrigerator. Inside the Playhouse, the lights flickered with indifference. The curtain stank of mildew and sweat. Someone had vomited in the prop room again.
Leon stumbled onstage, tights clinging damp to his thighs. He smelled of gin, stage makeup, and something ferrous – maybe the blood from where he’d scratched himself raw beneath the waistband. The doctor had diagnosed Leon’s condition with the bedside manner of a man ordering lunch. Leon hadn’t told anyone, but it lived in him now, itching like guilt.
He slurred through the monologue, eyes half-closed, mouth hanging open in drunken reverence. His breath was metallic. The audience was three people and a dog. He imagined them as a crowd – rapt, moved, transformed. In his mind, every rehearsal was a doorway. Each performance, a small lie chasing truth.
“That’s the trick,” he’d said once to a girl in the lighting booth. “You lie until the truth leaks through.”
She didn’t laugh. She never came back.
The director watched with the eyes of a man regretting a long series of small decisions. At the end, Leon bowed. Someone clapped with the passion of a stifled cough.
Later, alone in the alley, he lit a cigarette. The rain soaked his collar while he whispered lines that were carved into his throat like psalms.
The stage never thanked him. Never held him. But it had always made sense, the truth of the theater.
And that was hard to give up.
250 words
@krvanhorn (X & Bluesky)
I entered the room silently and heard Cecilia say, “And that was hard to give up. I can’t give that up, I can’t!!” to her friend Natasha.
What was she talking about had she given up someone to be with me? I thought we’d opened our hearts and minds and shared all but now I saw that Cecilia had a secret that was eating at her should I alert her to my presence? Or should I pretend I hadn’t heard a word?
“Oh my, you heard, didn’t you? I can explain…”Cecilia continued as if I hadn’t confessed.
I didn’t want to press her so, I allowed her to continue.
“Do you remember when we met how wild we were how we couldn’t keep our hands off each other?”
“Of course. I thought we would last forever, but then you left me.”
“I didn’t want to leave you know what happened to me.”
“Your father kept you prisoner until I rescued you.”
“He moved me from place to place and I was kept docile with drugs and threats.”
“Threats, I’d kill him, father, or not your father. if he hadn’t died.”
“I know you never wanted to be a father but we have a child and now that I’ve found out where she is I’m bringing her home.”
“She… we have daughter?”
Cecilia with tears in her eyes nodded.
“Let’s go get our daughter.”
Cecilia and I retrieved our daughter and began our new life with our daughter, Nadia.
248 Words @sweetsheil.bsky.social
Grandfather had tried his best to stop her from enrolling, and the Board, too. But she was strong and she knew what she wanted. She had anticipated some jeering, some laughter. She knew it would not be easy. The mockery was quiet at first, but in the hallway after first period it turned to open derision. The girls huddled in little groups, whispering behind their hands, glancing furtively, their locks shaking as they giggled together. Then it started with just one word, hissed across the hallway: freak. The crescendo was sudden, the refrain nearly identical, interrupted by a bell which sent them scattering. She had anticipated this. It did nothing to her. Yes, her family were all freaks. They liked it that way. When everyone with money had started to get chipped, grandfather had resisted. Then the first implants came online and the debate in education was Biblical. The old ways were finished, and that was hard to give up. Now everyone had links and it was simply impossible to get by without them, unless you were a freak and had actually learned to use your brain, and had actually practiced the strain and effort required to think. She liked thinking on her own and did not give a goddamn what those incipient slaves thought. Their jeers were not even their own, but auto-output from an AI connected to Mother. She had a mother – she had no need to suck from that techno teat. Time for Quantum Entanglement 101.
(WC 249)
@ErnestWilde78
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.