Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 667. 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 667:
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:
“This had better work.”
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 Garden Ornament Restoration Project
“This had better work,” I said quietly as I nursed the little guy, cradling him in one arm while I bottlefed him, pacing the length of the kitchen, gently rocking him up and down.
The gnome belched aloud after I emptied the dregs of the beer past his thin lips, the noise a cross between a bathroom sink draining and a needy kitten’s mewl. I placed the glass bottle on the kitchen counter and gazed into his face.
The escaping gas was the first proper sign of life that I’d seen from the little guy, although I feared it may be the vestiges of existence, the equivalent of a death rattle. To confirm he was improving in his convalescence, I held out my digit and tickled his bearded chin. His little mouth opened, fangs bared, and he clamped down on my finger. I roared in pain, withdrawing my hand, dropping the little blighter on the floor, where he smashed in smithereens. I held my index finger, tears streaming down my face from the pain, as blood liberally dropped onto the shards of green and blue pottery now scattered across the kitchen tiles.
196 words @ragtaggiggagon
MoonTapeWorming
Katie Klopp and I took the MoonTram to Musk Alley. It wasn’t my favourite locale. Truth is, there weren’t many Moon hot spots that warmed the cudgels.
Named after a long-departed eccentric space entrepreneur, Musk Alley was a series of caves carved deep into a mid-sized moon mountain known as Trump’s Hump.
Clemmie Crockett relished cavern life. Descended from mythical earth mountain men, or so he claimed, he had found his niche in technology. Unravelling it. Exposing its secrets.
He also longed to return to earth. That in itself was a shared desire of many. Or few. It was a furtive desire rarely spoken.
Moon life wasn’t perfect. The noxious habit of Earth Governments to record every thought, every movement, every breath, ostensibly for the peace and comfort of us all, had been carried over.
“Little Dicky Doldrum,” he hailed us, startling Katie but amusing me. “You’ve finally tied the hangman’s knot of wedded confusion, I see.”
“You likely know better, Clem…”
“That I do. Pardon, Miss…just an old hairy man cracking wise. What can I help you with, Lad?”
“MoonTram tapes for last night? Could you conjure up a peek?”
“Gettin’ harder and harder, Dicky.”
“If anyone can…” I said and looked at Katie and tried to reassure her with, “This had better work, Katie. Only way we’ll catch the light-fingered asterhemorrhoid who lifted your LapTipTop.”
“Give a bushy old buzzard a little more credit, Dicky. I’ve been worming out truth tapes forever.”
“It shows, Clem. It shows.”
250 WIP maybe, much more likely
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
“Okay, okay, I’ll keep my eyes open.”
“Good. Now, before I let you go, tell me how the date went.” Sindee sounded almost giddy.
“There’s not much to tell.”
Sindee scoffed. “Don’t even try to get out of this, Barrett. We both know it was more than just a quick dinner.”
Barrett grinned. “Oh, it was definitely more than that. We shared some lovely moments over dinner. Turns out, she was engaged, but her chosen partner was killed before they could make it official.”
Sindee gasped. “Oh no. I’m so sorry to hear that. How’d you get on that subject?”
“Tonight is the anniversary of the partner’s death.”
Sindee groaned. “Yikes. I’m sure Lisa was feeling some kind of way, and not in a good one.”
“Yeah, it was a little hard tonight. But we made a celebration of it, and thing were going great until the sunglasses case.”
“Ugh, why do creeps have to ruin things? Well, never you mind. We’re gonna watch out for each other. Speaking of which.” Sindee paused dramatically. “This had better work out, Barrett.”
“Why?”
“Because I haven’t had any luck finding a partner who likes me for all of me, so I have to live vicariously through you.” Sindee sounded matter-of-fact. “Don’t mess this up. Lisa’s a catch, so you hold onto her.”
“I’ll do my best.” Barrett rolled their eyes, but a smile creased their lips. “I’ll talk to you later, Sindee.”
“You have a good night.”
245 ineligible #SirensInc words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“This had better work,” the woman said as she sat down in front of the console. It only had two buttons on it – “Off” and “On.” As far as anyone knew, “On” had been pressed only once and “Off” never.
The man shrugged noncommittally. “I don’t think anyone even knew this room was here before last week. That thing might not even be connected to anything anymore.”
“If it’s not, I don’t know what we’ll do. Not being able to reset the world might be worse than ending it.” The woman was thin – undernourished would be a better word – and the man had limped all the way down the tunnels that bored kilometers under the surface. That they’d been considered the most likely to survive the journey was not something they felt like thinking about.
They’d been listening for pursuit the entire way but the only sounds that came to them were their labored breathing, their uneven steps, and air handlers that somehow worked after, what, four billion years? Who even built them? But as the woman contemplated what would happen if she reset the world – or didn’t – the unmistakable buzz of a MAGDrone started echoing down the tunnel.
“How far away is it, do you think?”
“No way to tell. And you know how fast they move, especially now that the shadow courts have removed the last limits on surveillance power.”
The woman whimpered. “I guess we push it, right?”
The man swallowed, nodded. “Let’s trust to hope.”
249 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
“Is this thing on? This had better work. I’m not going through that portal again, Geoffrey, no way. That was WAY too freaky.”
Saffy coughed and blew into the microphone. It let out a whistle and the entire pod flexed with the sound. She didn’t like this at all.
“Mayday, Mayday. SOS. Anyone out there? We are in Pod 19. We are in need of urgent assistance. Repeat, we are in need of urgent assistance.”
“We’re trapped in time, Saffy, not at sea.” He took the mic from her. “Hear me, hear me. This is Pod 19. We are stuck on level 56. Portal entry 1408 went array. We can’t ascertain our position for re-entry. I repeat, can’t ascertain our position. Can someone guide us?”
They heard a sizzle of static, and then a voice said, “Pod 19 is out of commission, and has been over a decade. Please identify yourselves.”
Saffy and Geoffrey looked at each other.
“I’m Geoffrey Artimis, with pod mate Saffron Juniper.”
There was a second of silence, then the voice said, “Geoffrey Artimis’ and Saffron Juniper’s bodies were recovered from Pod 19 after a newly opened portal collapsed and spat them out.”
There was a stunned silence over the radio and in the pod.
“But that can’t be, we’re here on level 56. Please send rescue,” said Saffy.
There was muffled whispering from the speakers, and then, “That might be a bit tricky, level 56 has been inaccessible since you both … died.”
Miranda Kate
248 Words
@purplequeenpub.bsky.social
Wanting to surprise my daughter with a doll house, I took a small book shelf spending loving hours (after my daughter was asleep) making each room, individual and unique. The floors were made with real flooring tiles and remnants of plank flooring, curtains for the bedrooms and rugs that I had made with fine wool . I took some popsicles sticks and made a little ladder to the second floor. I put lights in each room after watching a video on how to wire them all . I flipped the switch and thought this had better work only to have them flicker and go out, working on them until they worked. I made a small doll size bookcase with some little books, a couple of them real little books I wrote just for her. Tomorrow was her birthday I only hoped I would finish in time. I continued working on it and finished just before dawn. Three hours later I was awakened by my daughter screaming it’s my six birthday and then she saw the present in my room.
“Mommy it’s perfect. It looks just like the house from “Wednesday”, It even has all black rugs, curtains and blankets. Even small plastic spiders hanging, from the ceiling .What’s this?“ she asked as she flipped the lights.
“Fantabulous! I have to Facetime my friend Willa and show her my present.”
I’d succeeded; Cassandra would remember how much I loved her when I died from my cancer later this year.
248 Words @sweetsheil.bsky.social
Sade wrinkled her nose. The tunnel remained drenched in gloom despite their LED flashlights. Taking a step, her boot sank to the ankle in something she didn’t want to identify.
“Which way?”
Ariel pointed. “There. I’ll lead.”
“Be my guest.” She glanced at the other man. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.” It wasn’t a question.
Nikos flashed an enigmatic smile. “My lair is comfortable. And dry.”
As they trooped along, Sade refused to remain silent. “I had no idea all these tunnels existed under Rochester.”
“It’s part of the old canal system,” Nikos explained. Then he froze. So did Ariel.
Sade glanced between them. “What?”
“Do you hear it?”
Ariel nodded. “What is it?”
The dragon’s eyes widened. “Run!”
He sprinted past Sade, grabbing her hand as he went. Ariel ran hard on their heels.
“What the hell?” she panted.
“Water.” The two men said simultaneously.
“Water?”
“These are drain tunnels,” Nikos said.
Ari added, “Someone opened the valves.” He suddenly grabbed Sade’s free hand, jerking her in the opposite direction.
Nikos held on, his feet sliding in the muck.
After a string of expletives, she shouted, “I’m not a wishbone!”
“Lay line,” Ari explained. “This way. Higher ground.”
Sade heard the roar. She jerked Nikos, pulling him along as a wall of water chased them. The dragon released her. He shifted and then the channel filled with dragon fire. The torrent churned, turned to steam.
“This had better work,” Sade yelled. “Drowning is not on my bingo card!”
****
249 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
I finally plugged the last connector to the motherboard. I didn’t turn the computer on. I checked the manual and read all the power connector pin names again. I double checked each connector, making sure I had them all connected in the order specified in the manual. I knew if it wasn’t right I could fry the entire computer.
If I fried it, I’d be out the money for the computer. No one would pay for your mistake but me. No warranty coverage. No coverage from where you bought the parts. Nothing. If it broke, it was because I broke it.
So, I checked the connector a third time.
I did not pull the CPU cooler to check the CPU and make sure I’d mounted it correctly. I’d done that at least half a dozen times before I ever hooked the cooler up. But still, I wondered about it.
I hooked my new computer up to the monitor. I plugged the power supply in. I turned the power supply on. I turned on the monitor. I smelled the air for smoke.
Nothing.
The next part was the scariest step of all. When I turned it on, it should boot to the motherboard BIOS. If it didn’t, I’d know something was wrong.
I’d made computers before, but this was the first one I’d made for myself. I crossed my fingers. “This had better work.” I pushed the power button on the computer.
Then I waited for the BIOS.
249 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
“Must we go?”
Marigold glanced to where her daughter and her daughter’s friend watched Lavender prepare one of her famous box lunches.
“I don’t see another way. All the good jobs are going to the new company. If we don’t go now, the transition will only be more difficult.”
Marigold’s husband, Chester, sighed as he waxed his longbow. In the background, Lavender’s son, Kunzite glowed with excitement.
“This is your best lunch yet, Mom!”
Lavender laughed, “Well make sure you get it to the campsite before eating it. Now, did you want some from this one?”
Lavender levitated one of her crystal containers to the counter. Kunzite shook his head and pointed to a different container.
“This had better.”
“Work will be slow to start,” Chester continued. “I’ll come back for you and Epony once we’re set up.”
Chester lashed his quiver about his waist. Marigold nodded. Her eyes on the children.
“I’m glad Epony and Kunzite get to have one more camping trip together.”
Chester cupped his wife’s cheek in his hand, his steady gaze quieting the doubts in her mind.
“Don’t worry, my love. My talents will be in much higher demand on the Material Plane.”
198 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
– Proof of Work –
The sky scintillated with drifting orbs, floating ambitions destined for somewhere better. Balloons big and bitty, all scribbled with “I can” in hopeful, orange ink. Everyone tied their dreams to balloons in the town of Uply.
The Elders said they’d come true once they reached the Cloudkeepers. But no balloon ever came back.
Marla watched day after day from her perch on the edge of the world, clutching ancient star charts and flamingo feathers. She’d never released a balloon, not even when her mother threatened the corner. And so she spent hours of childhood staring at the wall, because she didn’t like “I can.”
But the time wasn’t idle. She was devising a plan. A blueprint. And from it, she built wings crude, clunky, stitched from silence and secondhand books, kite string and stubborn glue. Every night, she tested them in secret.
On the Day of Loft, when everyone launched their grandest balloons, Marla stepped onto the ledge, wind rushing like laughter in her ears. The townsfolk below paused, balloons tugging at their wrists.
Someone shouted, “Where’s your ‘I can’?”
Marla smiled. “Don’t need one.” She stuck a final flamingo feather into place.
She leapt.
Wings wobbled. Feathers flailed. The ground, a hungry blur.
She whispered, “This had better work.” Lips blabber-blurbing in the wind.
And then she was aloft. Floating.
For the first time in Uply’s long, floating history, someone rose. Not with a promise, but with proof.
Above the drifting balloons, she soared.
245 words
@krvanhorn (Bluesky & X)
#ThursThreads Week 667 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.