Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 683. 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 683:
Cat wrangler, master violinist, and Tea connoisseur, Muirlette #1.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“You should get out sometime.”
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!
“He’s not going to have a heart attack.”
“How do you know?”
“Jesus, he’s fifty-five and in good shape, he doesn’t drink too much, and your mother takes care of him like he’s the Prince of Denmark.”
“He’ll still be upset.”
“And your mom will be upset and your brother will be off-the-charts upset.”
“You’ve never like Billy.”
“Because Billy is a… He’s always hated me.”
“I try to defend you, you know that.”
“I do know that. It’s one reason I love you.”
“Isn’t what we have good enough?”
“We cannot keep having this conversation, okay? I’m tired of pretending we’re just roommates trying to save money. I’m tired of not being able to hold your hand or kiss you at your parents’ house. I’m tired of having to pretend that I’m not me and that you’re not you when we visit. Of your mother setting you up with a friend’s son. More than anything, I’m tired of not being able to marry you.”
“They’ll disown me.”
“Sweetie, if they disown you, they’re not worth being in your life. And, in the end, in my life. You know that.”
“Yeah, but knowing it in my head does not help me know it in my heart.”
“Heart? Don’t you realize? I have your heart. And you have mine. That’s all that matters.”
“But I’ve been in the closet for so long with them.”
“I know. I really do. But you should get out sometime. For both of us.”
The Conversation @JPGarlandAuthor, 248 Words
As she stepped off the bus, the drizzle trailed chilly fingers across Aisling’s cheeks. She didn’t bother with her umbrella. It would do nothing to hinder the damp and with the wind kicking up, she’d just be battling one more thing on her way home. Having grown up in Seattle, Rochester’s sodden atmosphere didn’t hold a candle to weather she was used to.
The long block’s walk to Post House was made in semi-dark. She’d stayed late at the library. Again. Even after six months, there were nooks and crannies and vaults to be discovered. There were times when she wanted to hunt down her predecessor and give that person a good rant. She made it up on the porch just as the front door opened. The Bees and Carla spilled out.
“Aisling!” Carla all but shouted her name. “Perfect. You’re just in time.”
Brad and Bruce nodded in unison. “Come with,” Bruce urged.
Aisling shook her head out of sheer reflex and took a step back away from the group.
Carla shook a finger at her. “Uh uh. We’ve talked about this. You should get out sometime. And guess what! This is sometime. We’re heading down to Cavanaugh’s.”
She couldn’t help herself. She asked, “The place across from the Daily Grind?”
“Yes. Ye old Irish pub and neighborhood watering hole.” Carla didn’t give her a chance, hooking her arm through Aisling’s. “C’mon. It’ll be fun.”
Pulled along, she wondered if those would be famous last words.
****
247 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
I am immortal-ish. Technically, I died 150 years ago, although I do not ever truly die. I am the One True Death (retired), and still living my afterlife. .
“You should get out some time.”
Percy is an old friend, whom I liked when we were growing up and playing together as best friends. I also liked him during our teenage years, when hormones surge, and girls have cooties and I was training to take over from my father. I liked him still when he joined his family business as a tailor and I joined my father as Death.
“It is hot outside, Percy.”
He throws open my curtains and dust particles float through the sunbeams. “This is why I could never marry you, Horace; you take the term homebody to a scary level.”
“I worked for two hundred years making sure the right souls departed the earth,” I remind him, standing near the window. He slips his thick hand into my slender one and squeezes. “I am permitted to be a hermit.”
“You, my love, have had six months of being a hermit. Therefore, I am kidnapping you. Be ready at dark.”
He pecks my cheek and leaves the room. It occurs to me Percy did not tell me what to wear or if I should bring anything. I shall show up in my robes, riding my fine black steed, and hope he does not feel compelled to loan me an outfit again. His taste is a bit…hoity-toity for me.
@Aightball
250 words
“You should get out sometime.”
“Out where? There’s nowhere to go.”
“That’s not true. The world is still there.”
“Yeah, but there’s nobody there. Anywhere.”
“Other than…”
“Other than us, obviously.”
“Duh.”
“Look, I know you’re angry with me.”
“Angry? Why would I be angry with you?”
“How was I to know what would happen?”
“I dunno. The way the rest of the human race did?”
“The rest of the human race wasn’t there.”
“None of them would have pushed the button either.”
“And you know that how?”
“The sign read ‘Pushing this button ends the world.’”
“If I’ve said it before, I’ve said it a thousand times. Who the hell would have created such a button? And how does it even work?”
“I don’t know! But on the off chance the button did what it did, why would you test it?”
“It didn’t end the world, did it?”
“Wha?”
“As you pointed out, the world is still there.”
“But the people aren’t!”
“Other than…”
“Other than us! Fer crying out loud.”
“You hated most of those people.”
“Not all of them!”
“Is this about Heather?”
“Obviously!”
“Let me get this straight. You’re only mad I pushed the button that eliminated all human life on Earth other than us because you had a date with Heather Kaplinsky?”
“Everybody at school wanted a date with Heather Kaplinsky!”
“I didn’t.”
“What? Why?”
“I…”
“Me? Me? I wouldn’t date you if we were the last people on Earth.”
“Are you sure?”
248 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
“Patton Edgerton? We used to play together when your family came to visit.”
Grace searched her memories, but she couldn’t bring up any with a little white boy in them. She remembered when her parents had said they bought the cabin, but they were in Detroit when that happened. Still, she pasted on a polite smile. “Oh, yes, right. What can I do for you, Mr. Edgerton?”
“Oh, call me Patton, please.” His smile broadened. “I saw you around town and wanted to stop by to see how you’re getting on. Do you have some time to visit?”
The idea of letting Patton Edgerton into her sanctuary made her gut clench and her instincts scream. That would be a no-go.
“I’m sorry, I don’t. I have a Zoom call scheduled here in just a few minutes.” She added regret to her smile. “But thank you for checkin’ in on me. I appreciate it.”
“Oh, all right, then.” His own smile dimmed and he shoved his hands together as if making sure his gloves fit more securely. “Well, hey, let me give you my card with my number on it. That way you can give me a call if you’d like to see the sights of town after all this time. You should, get out sometime soon. I’m happy to show you around.”
“Oh, that’s very kind, but I’m really here for a staycation before I head back to work. But thank you for the offer.”
245 ineligible #SirensInc words
socel.net/@SiobhanMuir (Mastodon)
A Royal Flushing
“I thought about it, Maxie, you know, hopping in the old ford, crossing the line, helping out the Yanks with their No Kings folderol.”
As I said this, hoisting my mug of splendid Canadian lager, thinking about Maxie’s phone call, supportive, telling me, “Bucko, you should get out sometime. No point in moping about because your sweetie’s taken a powder.”
I knew he was right. I needed something bigger than me.
Thing about love, one day its there, next day its toast. Bridges burnt. The oldest story in the world. Or maybe the second oldest.
Anyway, watching what was going on in the States, that old squirrely pseudo-Midas in the White House, what was left of it anyways, it was enough to make my skin crawl.
I turned to Maxie, twenty years older than me, tough as nails, smart as cheese, said, “Thanks for the intervention.”
He’d brought me to the Xavier Inn, deep in the heart of our town, a town close to the US/Canada border. Maxie’d been a draft dodger back in the day, fresh faced, scared of dying, brave enough to pack his life up in a satchel and head north. Became friends with my mom and dad, both gone now.
Sort of a second father.
“I’m heading south, Maxie. Join in the No-Kings thing. Canada may have one but they are pretty much an anachronism. That’s what King Tut Trump is. Time for me to tell him.”
Maxie smiled large.
Made him proud.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
I looked at the doctor’s orders. “You should get out sometime. Eat dinner somewhere. Go to a movie. Visit a bookstore if you can find one. And get out of your house for a while.”
I sat in my chair at my computer. “That’s easy for you to write, doc.”
It was one of those times I couldn’t win. I could ignore the order, but I knew the doc would ask about how I’d done at the next therapy session. Alternatively, I could get out of the house sometime. Do something. Other than grocery shopping, which was a survival skill.
The problem was, there were people out there. Now don’t get me wrong. I don’t have a problem with people as such. It’s just that 47 out of every 100 of them were stupid. Resoundingly so. I knew all about them. They’d voted for the disaster we were in the middle of.
Then there were the other 53 out of every 100 people. I was willing to concede they weren’t stupid. But they weren’t exactly smart either. You could tell because of how many of them didn’t vote at all. They might as well have voted for the disaster, since they didn’t vote against it.
I’d become a shut-in as a result. I wanted nothing to do with the 47 stupid ones, and I wasn’t sure about the 53 others.
“Sure. Get out and deal with humans. I have to ask why, Doc. Why?”
247 words
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
The old dirt road was pitted and overgrown by the ravages of time. Never a major thoroughfare. Now reduced to a repressed memory. The perfect place for thrill seeking teens at night.
“This is far enough, right guys?” Connor raised his lantern feebly against the encroaching darkness just off the path. “My dad will kill me if he finds out we came out here.”
“What? Are you scared?”
Fiona led the way, casually swinging a stick she found earlier. All three teens jumped at the silence shattering shriek of a ghostly owl. A stark reminder of the otherwise deadly still encompassing them.
“Shi—damn bird!”
Roy plucked a stone from the road and chucked it at their eerie observer. His near miss ricocheted deeper into the darkness, producing the thunderous report of stone striking stone. The trio locked eyes in the lantern light.
“I think we found it,” Fiona grinned.
Connor shook his head, “No way! No one’s going in there!”
Roy dug his fingers emphatically into Connor’s shoulder.
“I think you should.”
“Get out!”
“Sometime you’ll have to grow a pair if you want to live up to your father’s legacy.”
Fiona beat bushes aside with her stick.
“He’ll kill me,” Connor’s shoulders slumped as his friends left the road. “Guys! Don’t leave me out here by myself!”
The teens didn’t see the dark-robed figure exchange a glance with the white owl. The pair’s peace would be disturbed for the first time in a decade.
246 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social