Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 688. 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 Discord 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 688:
Scientist, Dad, and flash fiction author, Eric Martell.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“What are you doing?”
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!
“What are you doing?”
I heard it. Offered no reply, simply continued to fold his blue cashmere sweater and place it into a suitcase that was open on the bed.
“I asked you a question. What are you doing?”
When I still did not respond, I felt his hand pull my arm away from what I was, in fact, doing. He pulled me hard enough so I could look him straight in the eye. I don’t know that I’d ever seen him so irate with a hint of confusion.
“You really don’t know?” I asked, my voice as hard as I could make it. “I’m packing your things. What does it look like?”
“You found out?” His tone was altered. I could practically hear his mind working through a wide array of possibilities.
I turned back to fold a cotton sweater, yellow, that fit him well and was prominent in pictures that had been taken at the beach on the Cape on our last vacation. The ones that he plastered all over Facebook and Instagram.
“You can take these to her place,” I said as I tidied the piles in the suitcase. “And the rest of your stuff.”
He saw that his suits were all gone from the closet and draped across an armchair.
“It was nothing,” he said.
“The problem,” I said, finally looking at him, “is that it was.”
I zipped the suitcase closed and hefted in onto the floor.
“That’s what I’m doing.” I left the room.
250 words @JPGarlandAuthor
“What are you doing?” she screamed.
“Leaving,” he replied bluntly.
“No, you can’t!”
Rob rolled his eyes. Audrey could feel her temper rising. He’d been the one who’d betrayed her; he’d been disloyal, how could he leave?
“You can’t just walk out the door!”
“Watch me,” he said, turning away from her.
She felt something in her mind snap, as though she was no longer in her body. She grabbed the pair of scissors on the sideboard, and repeatedly thrust the blades into his back until he fell at the door. He wasn’t leaving.
She stood catching her breath as the rage dissipated, observing what she’d done. Shit!
She knelt down and tried to find a pulse, her mind spinning through all the possible ways she might get away with this – he was leaving anyway.
Then she had an idea. She grabbed her coat, phone and keys, pocketing the scissors, and went out the back door to her car. She jumped in and drove away, stopping at a gas station to clean up, tossing the scissors in a lake nearby. Then she went to the mall, bought a new shirt, putting the dirty one in a dumpster.
When she arrived home, she opened the front door, hand on phone ready to dial the police about an intruder. But Rob was gone; there was no blood or body.
She heard tires on the driveway.
Rob pulled up and climbed out of his car. He smiled at her. “You okay, honey?”
@purplequeenpub.bsky.social
249 words
A Perspective on Seasonal Descent
You hear it everywhere at this time of year. “What are you doing for Christmas?” It’s a seasonal mantra and is meant to express good will, concern, and I suppose gather information from friends and colleagues, and, of course, family about what they are up to as the year winds down.
Or what they are not.
Over the years, my answers have changed, been modified by age, loss, health and yes, interest.
Christmas is, as noted, the way the past year ends. To some extent, we measure our gains and losses and get a sense of where we stand on the celebratory calendar.
At least I do.
I have noticed a withering of enthusiasm from my corner. I may not be alone in this. Where I live, Christmas festivities occur with traditional abandon. Community dinners, local retail extravagances, candles lit on our meagre pathways, all are carried on with hope and love. Hope, mostly, so in that sense, its all good.
But there is also the unspoken. Our towns and cities are congested with homeless encampments. Perhaps they have always been there in more limited means. Skid Road was a place in many cities where single men, men of the forest and the mines, would winter, seek camaraderie.
The years have not been kind to the dispossessed. Their numbers are legion. Society has failed them.
So here I wait in the comfort of memory, waiting to be asked, hoping my answer suffices.
Merry Christmas, all.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
Aisling watched Ariel take ten steps before he paused. Then he pivoted a quarter turn and walked three steps before another pivot, which put him facing back the way he’d just come. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing?” He didn’t look at her when he answered. Instead he stared at the floor, his gaze intent, almost as if he could see what lay beneath the concrete floor.
“If I knew I wouldn’t be asking now, would I?” She didn’t hide the exasperation in her voice.
“Something’s not right.” Ariel strode to his original starting point and repeated his actions. He did this several times, but moving one step to the side for each subsequent trial.
Aisling watched intently. Whatever intrigued the Fae was lost on her. “Can you be more specific?”
Pausing, Ariel glanced at her. “If I knew what is off, I’d say.”
“This room isn’t square, if that’s the problem.”
“I’m aware. This has nothing to do with…” His voice trailed off as he stared at something on the floor. Crouching, he ran his fingertips over the spot.
Kneeling beside him, Aisling asked, “What?” She whispered for some reason. “What did you find?”
Ariel slowly turned his head to look at her and then a wicked smile curled his lips as an odd light wreathed his face and reflected in his eyes. “I would say it’s the back door to Narnia, but Mordor is more apropos.”
“Holy crap.”
“You can say that again.”
****
250 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
“What are you doing here?”
Ahram damn near jumped out of his skin before spinning around with his hand on the hilt of his sword. His weapons master would’ve been appalled at his lack of situational awareness.
A man leaned against one of the two white birch trees that had grown into a natural arch leading nowhere. How he’d arrived there when Ahram could see both directions of the road and no one had been on it, Ahram had no idea. But there he stood, dressed in black leather armor and a deep forest green overrobe belted to his slim waist. Long, black hair gathered into a ponytail at the back of the man’s head brushed his ass, and a pair of sword hilts appeared over his shoulders.
Beautiful.
Not that noticing his beauty was going to help Ahram if the man chose to use those swords on him.
“Uh, camping?”
The man’s emerald eyes narrowed, and Ahram tried not to notice how long his lashes were.
“Is it not customary among your people to ask permission before creating an abode in someone’s domain?”
“Uhh…” Ahram glanced around at the clearing where he’d pitched his tent. “Of course, but I thought this was just the road through the Flamewood forest. Isn’t it?”
“The road happens to cross a corner of my domain, and you’ve managed to find the place. So, I’ll ask again. Who are you and what are you doing here?”
242 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
Mourn watched the paladin’s son in the morning light a moment before voicing her question.
“What are you doing?”
Connor glanced back at the wizard.
“Uh, praying.”
Mourn frowned. That is what it looked like he was doing.
“Don’t you need an altar and rune circle for that?”
“If you want to be ultra formal, sure. But the way I see it, the Goddess created the world; what better place could there be to pray than surrounded by Her creation?”
Mourn made a mental note. That was a perspective she had not encountered in her books. And an interesting one. She’d had limited access to literature on other faiths and couldn’t yet rule out Connor simply doing it wrong. Mourn’s family’s patron would certainly have been angered if they neglected any formality in Her worship.
“Hey, you casters ready to go?”
Fiona, their fearless leader, hefted her reconstituted shortsword to her shoulder. Connor clasped his hands for one last invocation then turned and nodded. The nascent party was headed to the river valley to hopefully make some coin helping with a giant rat infestation.
“The Goddess has blessed me with knowledge of miracles that should come in handy.”
Mourn hugged her spellbook to her chest.
“My studies are also complete.”
“Then let’s get rich!” Roy, their rogue, twirled his dagger between his fingers.
223 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Dealing with the souls of the departed is interesting. Most go across without a fight, but some don’t want to go. The reunions are the best part, couples and families coming back together. But this particular reunion is interesting…although that might not be a strong enough word.
The gentleman I’ve escorted over and reunited with his wife grins as he walks her across to the door between worlds. He lived to be 102 and says he was “on the stage” in his youth. Now, he holds the door for his wife then turns back to me.
“Before I go, I’d like you to give me the map.”
His wife taps his arm. “What are you doing?” she asks, brow furrowed. “Our daughter is waiting.”
“Give me a moment. I need the map.”
“Map?” I ask. “What map?”
He smiles. “Don’t you escorts always have a map of hidden rooms? So I can make thunderstorms in December or snow in July?”
Oh boy. “I’m sorry, but we don’t. We can’t control the weather. You’d better go meet your daughter.”
His wife pulls him through the door and I laugh. That old rumor got started eons ago. What he doesn’t know is that I can—
“I knew it!”
“Leonard, come back! Mary wants to talk!”
I find a random folded paper in the pocket of my robs and hand it to him. “You’ll have to find magic ink to read it.”
Delighted, he runs back, pulling his daughter into a hug.
@Aightball
249 words
#ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I will see you in 2 weeks!