Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 661 of 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 661:
Dead Thing Specialist, Mining Geologist, and Original Book Boyfriend, George Varhalmi.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“I don’t remember putting it there.”
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!
Moonstoned
She snuck up behind me like a cool tsunami wave, all roly poly and smelling of the sea. I was gnawing on my Moons of Saturn omelette, Dinky Diner’s powdery mix special that’s seen me survive a zillion dark moon mornings
“Mr. Doldrum?” she breathed her salty breath.
Startled, egg slop dangling from my fork, I swirled around and yelled, “Who needs to know?”
Put aback, tears started to bubble up. I’m no good with crying. I gave her one of Dinky’s paper napkins, said, “Dab your peepers, Missy…plunk down, let me eat in peace and then we can verbal…”
She dabbed her peacock blue globes and sat opposite.
I took my time munching but finally finished.
“Now…what’s the matter and who are you?” I asked. I like to ask double-barrelled questions to see if new clients have their thinking caps on correctly.
She sniffled, said, “I’m Katie Klopp. I work as personal everything to Mr. Dack Dinge…”
This was clearly big-time stuff. Dack Dinge was the Moon’s premiere Digger. His company burrowed most of the caves we all live in.
“And the problem?”
“Oh, its terrible. I had the plans for Moon City 2…the only ones. On my LapTipTop…I went to a party last night right after work…snorted some Uranus Gold…it’s all so hazy…took the MoonTram home…left it on the seat next to me…I don’t remember putting it there…but I must have.”
I patted her cheek, said, “a simple recovery. Have an omelette. Then we’ll get to work.”
250 WIP maybe
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
They told me he was gaslighting me. I denied it!! That he really didn’t love me, he was really after my money, but I knew they were wrong. The man loved me, showered me with flowers, and love poems. He loved me they were wrong,
I was sick again this morning maybe I was pregnant? I hurriedly went to the drug store and collected a test. I came home and used the test. Waiting I heard the bathroom door echo with knocks.
“Giselle?” Terrence cried, “Hurry, I miss you”
The test was negative, but my stomach was still lurching and I threw up and then brushed my teeth.
“Are you okay? Can I rub your back. Here let me help you into bed.”
Terrence helped me into bed and fluffed up my pillows.
“I can’t find the remote for the television,” I complained.
Terrence looked around the bedroom, he then left the room coming back with it in his hand.
“I found it in the refrigerator,” he said pointedly shaking his head as if he could believe I’d do that.
“I don’t remember putting it there.”
“You’ve been doing that a lot lately it must be stress.” he confessed.
I started to wonder why I really doing strange things? I waited until he went to work then I went to the doctor’s and was tested. They found poison. The police are here now collecting all the evidence soon they’ll arrest Terrence at work. How could I have been so wrong?
250 words @sweetsheil.bsky.social
Aisling peeked around the corner. The hallway remained empty. Darting to her office, she slipped the key into the lock, opened the door, and ducked inside, shutting the door behind her. She turned the lock. Her office had no windows and she stood, breathing hard, in absolute darkness.
She hated the dark, was afraid of it, but she couldn’t force her hand to the light switch. What was happening to her? She’d sat down in one place and stood up in another. She’d lost time. She feared she was losing her mind.
Now breathing normally, she flipped the light switch—and stared at a massive volume resting on the corner of her desk. The red leather cover, torn and faded, sported gilded letters in a language she’d never seen, yet seemed familiar. Focusing, she searched her memory. A name popped into her head. Tolkien. The words resembled the Elvish language he’d created for his books. Granted, the president was an Elf but that didn’t mean they’d ever released any of their literature into the human world. Or had they?
Close to hyperventilating, she muttered, “I don’t remember putting it there.”
“That’s because you didn’t.”
Aisling screamed, whirled and threw the book. She didn’t recall picking it up. The man standing in the corner of her office caught the tome easily and handed it back.
“You need to read it.”
“I don’t understand the language.”
He walked to the door, stepped out. “You will,” he promised, shutting the door behind him.
****
250 words in Penumbra Papers #6 WIP
Silver James
https://silverjames.com