Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 665. 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 665:
He’s a dreamer, a doer, a madman with focus – he’s the good kind of dangerous, Ben Bisbee.
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And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“I can’t get through to them.”
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!
MoonStalk
Katie Klopp was finally opening up. I hoped this meant she was starting to trust me. Gizmo Sage was the likely culprit who had stalked her last night on the MoonTram and snagged her LapTipTop.
As we waited at the station to retrace her journey home the previous evening, I tried to reassure her that I supported her casual sexual proclivities. “That is Moon life,” I said, trying not to sound like a wizened intergalactic philosopher.
“Of course, I know that. Still, it’s not as if I can get away from him. We live under the MoonDome. We breathe the same recycled air. We need our wonderful sexual freedoms to feel alive. Gizmo…he steals that from me…”
“And now your LapTipTop…”
“It might mean my career…”
I’d had a few female clients over the years in a similar situation, menaced by Moon men who’d reverted to primitive earthly male power grabs. Most of the time I can’t get through to them the quaint notion that they have to fight just like women on earth once had to. So many generations, and planets have passed since those liberation battles were waged.
Memories fade or simply don’t exist. I would have to show Katie Klopp that she could maintain her sense of self, that she had it in her to control her space here in space, that it was her right.
“Come on,” I urged. “Lets see where last night took you. Perhaps find a witness.”
That seemed to buoy her.
250 words of a WIP apparently
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
“I can’t get through to them. They aren’t answering their comms,” I complained after the twentieth time of calling in the last twenty- four hours
“Casmir told you he might not get a signal. Relax he’s fine.”
“For the last ten generations, if a seven daughter of a seventh daughter is born, she has the gift of prophecy. I am a seventh daughter but they thought it had skipped me as I had never dreamt of any future or present event until last night that is I had a dreamt Casmir was ambushed by the Hoplites and begged my forgiveness for dying before our baby was born.
“Is Casmir doomed?”
“I’ve sent my brothers, Boris, Aleksander , Valter, and Boleslav to save him. I hope I am not too late,”
“You must rest for the baby. You haven’t slept for twenty – four hours rest now. I will monitor the communications.”
I lay down not expecting to fall asleep soon I was dreaming. Casmir. Boris, Aleksander, Valter, and Boleslav were fighting the enemy, their swords took down the men who waited in the ambush. Casmir was safe .I saw Casmir deliver our son and daughter. I saw us in the future, with seven daughters and seven sons. I woke up smiling, Casmir had lots of surprises ahead and so did I even with the gift of prophecy I couldn’t know everything ,but that was also part of the gift, life was a surprise to most people even those who were seers.
250 @sweetsheil.bsky.socialwords
Sade listened to the endless tone on her cell phone. The call never rolled over to voice mail. Giving up, she stabbed the end call button. Her expression betrayed her helpless feeling as she stared at Caleb. “I can’t get through to them.”
Calm as always, her werewolf partner shrugged. “Not surprised. The magic around here is thick enough to choke a dragon.”
“Careful, wolf.”
Sade watched, fascinated as two thin tendrils of smoke curled around the words spoken by Nikos.
“I rest my case. You have flames in your eyes, Nikos, and are literally a breath away from spitting fire.” Caleb glanced at Sade. “It’s a miracle you have cell service.”
Sade pushed hair off her face and turned into the rising wind. The storm continued brewing. Black clouds churned, pierced by lightning and heralded by thunder. “We have to do something, Caleb. Ariel’s in trouble.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
She glanced at the dragon. Nikos still struggled for control. She flashed a telling look at her partner.
Caleb shrugged again. “Wild magic. That’s my guess.”
“Wild magic?”
“Yeah.” Caleb then explained. “Like, the magic that runs with the Wild Hunt.”
“Why do I get the feeling you just capitalized that term.”
“I did. I know you’ve heard of the Wild Hunt.”
“You mean…” Sade blinked. “No. Seriously? Like in the fairy tales? When the Fae courts run amok through the world?” Her gaze darted between both men as they nodded. “We’re fucked.”
“We are indeed,” Nikos agreed.
****
249 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
silverjames. com
The canvas of the big top ripped from ground to crown as Blitzen Brün made her entrance through the wall.
“Captain! Elodie! The others are outside!” The pigtailed brunette barked.
Captain Rhea Damas spared a glance away from the undead acrobats dancing in and out of reach of her cutlasses. She could barely keep them off little Elodie Lee. And had the bruises to go with her failure to do as much for herself.
“Excellent timing as always, Blitzi! See if you can do anything about these blighters; I can’t!”
“Get through to them,” Blitzi jerked her head back then cracked her knuckles. “I’ll handle things here!”
Blitzi charged, knocking acrobats from the air whether they were attacking or evading. As she passed her captain and their navigator, the ringmaster struck his cane against the stage.
“It’s a bit rude, arriving so late! But leaving early I cannot allow!”
Brilliant crimson light flashed from the ruby atop his cane, forming a barrier all around the tent’s interior. Rhea tested the barrier with a cutlass. And was shocked for her effort.
“Sweet Isobel!”
A festering strongman emerged from the shadows to bear down on Blitzi. The acrobats returned their focus to Rhea and Elodie. The little navigator took a deep breath.
“I’m holding you back. You need to stop worrying about me.”
“Elodie! Where’re you going?”
Elodie stepped forward, pulling the hood of her brown coat over her black curls. She dropped down into her seal form in the same motion.
250 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
“Why don’t you ever visit your brother? He’s only a few hours’ drive away.”
Yeah. I knew that question was coming. “You don’t know my brother.”
“Sounds like you two have had a falling out.”
“Don’t get me wrong. He ever needs help, he gets to call and ask, and I’ll help if I can. He’s my brother, after all.”
It was always fun when the person you were talking with paused, and tried to figure out what you meant. “But you never visit him, or call him. You send him a text message every holiday. That’s it.”
“Yep. That’s it.” I inhaled, and slowly breathed out. “You have to understand. I can’t get through to them.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Politics. Religion. Science. History. You name it. I can’t get through to them.”
“Explain.”
“What is this? Therapy?” Yeah. I probably shouldn’t have asked that question.
“Explain!”
“He’s a Christian Nationalist. Wants the US to be a Christian Nation. With Conservative Christian Values.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Wants all LGBTQIA+ people to be removed from the country. Because they are the work of Satan. Wants to get rid of Social Security and Medicare and Medicaid.” I paused. “Wants to bomb Iran. With nuclear weapons. Wants the US to take over the world, militarily. Believes in God and Guns. Believes vaccines don’t work. Doesn’t buy genetics at all. Global warming either. Etc. Etc. Etc.”
“Oh.”
“I can’t get through to them. So, I don’t stay in touch.”
247 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
– the music box –
a faint blue line, a tremor in the fabric of my life, and I panicked and laughed and bought six more just in case and talked to the bump like it already knew me and cried when I heard the heartbeat and held them at birth like stardust incarnate
and dreamed in 17-minute cycles for months and worried about fevers and choking and scraped knees and bullies and I framed crayon stick figures like stolen Da Vincis and watched them grow big feet with loud shoes
and when they got moody and taller than me and didn’t want hugs, I still stood in doorways like a ghost of comfort muttering love spells they barely heard and sometimes I can’t get through to them would echo in my skull like thunder and I’d lie awake replaying every mistake but then they’d laugh at my dumb jokes or steal my sweatshirt and I’d think maybe I’m not so bad
and now they’ve moved on with lives of their own and I still check their weather and send them headlines like messages in bottles they never open and worry like I did when they were teething because no one tells you it never stops, not when they’re grown, not when they’re gone and living with their own kids, not when you’ve thinned out with time and spend your todays living in yesterdays, because the ride doesn’t end, and the music box they wound inside you keeps playing long after they’ve left the room.
250 words
@krvanhorn (bluesky & X)