Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 677. Year Lucky 13! The last year of the cycle, the Moon Year. To those who keep coming back, I’m delighted to see you again!
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 677:
Jolly cynic and Transcendentalist groupie, K.R. Van Horn.
Bluesky |
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Then you are perfect.”
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 in the Moon Year. Good luck!
Time Travails
It was one of those incredibly serendipitous moments. I found myself in San Francisco in 1994 for a conference but I’d arrived a day earlier than required. At loose ends, I went for a walk. Turned out to be a long one and I found myself in a part of the city I didn’t know all that well, a side street really with a few second-hand clothing shops, a grocery store and a small café…Miriam’s. Curious, I wandered in and there she was.
There were only a couple of customers, two men hunkered down eating burgers and fries. She looked up, clearly recognized me immediately even though decades had passed.
“You?” she said and stepped out from behind the counter and came up close to me.
“Yes,” I answered. “This is so…peculiar.”
We stood there, both of us likely remembering that day in 1967 , October, the 6th, gathering in the Haight, the mock funeral commemorating the death of the hippie.
She and I‘d had that summer, the early fall, the dozen friends we lived with, my need to leave the country, head north to safety, her need to not leave, to stay close.
“Why?” she asked
“Why what?”
“Here? Now?”
“I was lost,” I said, stupidly I guess.
“Then or now?” she asked
I grinned, said, “both.”
“Then you are…?”
“Perfect in every way, I suppose. And you?”
She swept her hand to encompass the wholeness of the small café.
“In my element, my love.”
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
Our Twentieth
We’d gone all out. Our twentieth. The kids were spending the night with friends. A car picked us up at our suburban colonial, to a small restaurant on a side street off Columbus Avenue. It was something of a secret among New York restaurantistas. We got a table thanks to a call from one of my partners.
It was magical. The food. The wine. The ambience. A sort of mystique flowed from the other tables. The dress wasn’t formal. But it fell just short of that mark.
The meal over, I signaled for the car to pick us up. With the help of the subtle doorman who stood on the sidewalk atop three steps that gave the place a speakeasy feel, we settled into the back seat of the Mercedes. As it drove north, we remained silent, gazing out our respective windows with our own thoughts and memories and our hands clutched together.
After some fumbling with the keys, we got inside and climbed straight to the master. She pushed me to sit on the side of the bed and locked her eyes on mine. Then she began to undress. Her three-inch heels kicked to the side. Her burgundy dress slipped to the floor. Piece after piece until she stood only in her matching burgundy La Perla lingerie. She displayed herself and the smile that had drawn me in over twenty years earlier, like a moth to a flame.
“Don’t stop,” I said. “Finish. Then you are perfect.”
@JPGarlandAuthor (Bluesky) 243 words.
Aisling stood there like a soldier at attention. Chin up, shoulders, back, hands at her sides, barely breathing. Her eyes watered from not blinking and she closed them for the briefest of moments. She wanted to track the woman’s movements but forced her gaze to remain forward as this stranger circled her.
“So,” the woman said, her voice tinged with ice. “You’re the reason for all this chaos.”
She didn’t reply, concentrating solely on shallow breaths and not screaming.
“Do you know who I am?”
Aisling blinked again. And swallowed.
“Ah, I thought not. You are sadly lacking in your education. I shouldn’t be surprised. Considering.”
The words bit deep. She had a very fine education, thank you very much and while her parents weren’t the most loving, they’d provided her with food and housing and her advanced degrees. The woman stopped in front of her. Aisling got the chance to really study her.
Tall. Svelte. Beautiful. Almost painfully so. Her eyes watered again, this time from the sheer power radiating from her. This woman had to be one of the magicks. Was she a fae?
“Let me introduce myself. Humans call me Titania. The Seelie Court calls me queen.”
Aisling locked her knees. Not just fae but Fae!
“I am not quite sure what he sees in humans. The silly boy falls in love so easily. What is it about you?’ The Queen circled her again. “Do you love him?”
“No,” she lied.
Titania smiled. “Then you are perfect.”
****
250 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
It was high noon the next day when Sunshine walked into the village. Everyone there noticed her. They didn’t often see strangers, even those passing through. The machines were silent. She stopped in the middle of the village, where she proclaimed, “My name is Rain!” She looked around. “You have murdered a child.”
Several of the villagers stopped and stared at her. She was getting their attention.
Three men with bows and arrows came out of one of the houses in the village. Sunshine continued to speak. “And no doubt, the three of you did the deed.”
Sunshine watched the three men. One pulled out an arrow and his bow. “I don’t know who you are, but you are not welcome here.”
A second man drew his bow and arrow. “You should leave.”
The third man spoke, “We take care of ourselves here. We protect ourselves from wild magic.” He paused. “The child had wild magic.”
“You did not have to murder the child.” Sunshine watched the three men carefully. “You could have called for Mystica to help.”
“Who is Mystica? And no one can help with a child tainted by wild magic.” The man took one step toward Sunshine. “We maintained the peace of the village.”
“Then you are perfect, at least in your own eyes?” Sunshine was ready to act. “The rains will come for you. Until you learn.” With that, she swept her wings and took to the sky. “The rains will come.”
247 Words (Per Google Write)
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
I would like it to be known that I am not normally the judge. The actual judging falls to either a deity the person believed in or the Planes Historian who can review their life and then decide their placement in the afterlife. I am in charge of Limbo, so it seems unfair to have me be the judge.
But the Planes Historian, God, and other deities are at a conference. And people do not stop dying simply because there is a conference. I am seated upon an uncomfortable wooden chair, wearing a ridiculous curly powder wig, sending people to their afterlife.
“Next!”
An indignant looking man steps forward. Arms crossed, wrinkly mouth set in a frown, I feel as though he is sizing me up. I am a seven foot tall, 200 year old skeleton; best of luck to him if he picks a fight.
“It says here you were rude, crass, and disliked by all. True or false?”
“False!” he shouts, spittle flying. “I helped the needy, prayed, and helped the homeless.”
“You committed no sin?”
He huffs, age spots dotting his hands. “Of course not!”
“Then you are perfect.” If he misses the sarcasm, that is his fault. “I will assign you to Limbo.”
The man’s jaw drops. “I’m not going to Heaven?!”
“Being awful and causing your family to go no contact does not warrant time in Heaven.”
I wave his indignant face away. The judge does not have to tolerate being yelled at after all.
@Aightball
250 words
She returned to the kitchen and found another envelope on the counter in front of a basket of koji fruit, the sweet orbs perfectly ripened and ready to eat.
There it is.
She took the letter back to the settee in front of the fire and opened it.
Dearest Mawhri,
Now that you have the key to the cottage, feel free to move your things in, and any of my old things out. Give them away, sell them, or use them for firewood, it doesn’t matter to me. I no longer need them. One thing I do hope you don’t give away is the Moru Staff. It should be in the leather sheet tied with a plain strap next to the hearth. That is meant for you because I see great things in your future.
Mawhri snorted and rolled her eyes.
Don’t roll your eyes at me, simsy. I might have been old, but I wasn’t senile and I know what I’m talking about.
Mawhri blinked. Did Sabina know what she was thinking, even after her death?
The staff is more than just a walking stick. It is a symbol of power, mastery, and strength. And the very power of the D’Gah flows through it. It’s as true now as it was then. You are perfect as my protege, student, and heir to my gifts. If you’re interested and willing, I can teach you all you need to know to wield the Moru Staff.
244 ineligible #MiddleAgedJedi words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“You did great work today, Helen.”
Gemini, the superhero copy of Helen Harper, sat next to Helen on the transport bench. They were down to the two of them and Helen was feeling somewhat better after the ministrations of the DENT medic.
“I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”
Helen dropped her head back against the airlift frame. Gemini smiled sympathetically.
“I know what you mean. But bringing Hive in alive and saving me, all while our villain copy was threatening your life is as much as any PRU hero could have done.”
“She… wouldn’t really have killed me. Would she?”
Gemini lowered her head, hands clasped between her knees.
“Our villain copy doesn’t like killing. But she never makes empty threats.”
“I don’t understand how one of us turned out a hero and one a villain.”
“Don’t you?” Gemini cocked her head. “You remember when you were fifteen and the other girls dared you to shoplift?”
“Sure?” Helen arched an eyebrow.
“That was the first manifestation of our Power. The villain did shoplift, and ran away instead of going home. Some time after that, either you created me to use our Power for good, or I created you so one of us could have a normal life.”
Helen didn’t like the idea of being a copy. But if the world needed any version of her, it was the hero.
“What if I’m the original?”
Guilt twisted Helen’s stomach. Gemini squeezed her hand reassuringly.
“Then you are perfect.”
249 The Many Lives of Gemini words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 677 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.