Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 692. 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 Bluesky, MeWe, Discord, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 692:
Most Consistent #TT Winner, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“He hated these games.”
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!
“It was him.” Wyatt sighs, dropping onto the bar stool next to Julian as though his strings have been cut, elbows propped on the questionably clean varnish. “It was him and I need a fucking drink.”
Julian signals for two more whiskeys—one for Wyatt and one to replenish his own empty glass.
“The cops are stumped.” Wyatt almost laughs. “And the ME’s all ‘wait for the report,’ but his—his corpse—fuck—it reeked of magic. Nasty shit. Not the pure stuff the professor dealt in.”
“What do you think happened?”
“He flirted with the wrong fucking crowd on campus, obviously,” Wyatt says. “I just—I don’t understand why.”
“Power? Influence? Money?” Julian suggests. “All very potent lures to those without.”
“Yeah, right. Bowing and scraping and smiling? Selling his principles?” Wyatt snorts. “He hated these games. Our games.”
Wyatt’s right on one level. There’s an art to playing weak to gain strength. And the professor didn’t possess it, so why be there? What was he after?
“Maybe…” Julian drags the word out, thinking. “Maybe we didn’t know him at all.”
“What?”
“It’s the ultimate play, right?” Julian sips his drink, smiling to himself. “Making everyone believe you’re not playing at all?”
If he’s right…
“It’s brilliant, really,” he says. “If it had worked, the devil himself would applaud.”
“You think—what?” Wyatt stares at him with narrowed eyes. “That he danced with the devil but got caught?”
“The corpse you just ID’d for the police would suggest… yes.”
@raethye.bsky.social
250 dark academia vibes
Fuck, I gotta get something to eat.
At 2300 hours, no one would be monopolizing the kitchen, but she still found Petty Officer ret. Lin Su Ki enjoying a ramen bowl while watching a K-drama on her tablet.
“Ooooh, which one is this?” Lisa paused at Ki’s shoulder to scrutinize the characters.
“It’s called You’re Not The One, and it’s about a woman hired to be an image fixer for a playboy heir who is too free with his time, money, and laziness. He’s teaching her not to be so uptight and she’s teaching him discipline. It’s hilarious.”
“Oh yeah?” Lisa headed for the fridge. “How far in are you?”
“Just started. Do you want me to pause it so you can watch?”
“Hell yeah. I love K-dramas.” Lisa hurried to make something to eat so she could settle beside her teammate. “Do you like the story so far?”
“Yeah, it’s really cute. Mr. No is dyslexic so that’s why he tends to act out and won’t stay in school—college—but he passes it off like he doesn’t care. So she has to find ways to improve his reading comprehension because his father wants him to look scholarly for the best wedding and life prospects. She uses word games for comprehension, and she intimidates him. He hated these games in school and always tries to distract her from her work because he’s afraid to look dumb in front of her. It’s cute.”
“Great. Let’s do this.” Lisa grinned.
250 ineligible #SirensInc words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
A slight edit:
A Night Out
I hadn’t seem Philby in a month of Sundays. Life at the Philby ranchero had gone south during Covid. So many others too, I suppose.
Maggie Philby had begun to lose her marbles. I’d run into Philby on the street near the end of the lockdown. We’d bumped elbows, talked about how we’d coped and he’d mentioned that Maggie was no longer herself.
I asked how and he’d started to weep, said he wasn’t really sure, it was just that she didn’t have much to say anymore.
The Maggie I remembered had always been the whirlwind in that twosome. Wittier than a stand-up comic…not that all of them are that quick. Still, Maggie always had something smart to say.
Anyway, Philby and I didn’t talk after that street encounter until one night three months ago when he showed up at the Leaky Tapestry, out local pub and art gallery.
He sat down at our table. Mickey and Sal were also there. We ordered a fresh round and then I asked how life was, meaning, and he knew it, how Maggie was.
He shook his head said, that he hated these games, not so much what we were asking but how slow it all was, talking to her, reassuring her, loving her, holding her, knowing she didn’t know him anymore, that he held all the cards but that the game was over for them.
He couldn’t care for her anymore.
An institution awaited.
I sensed he would intervene.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
Jay sat at the bar watching his ex, Cody, rule the threadbare field of green under the fluorescent lights.
She’d already whipped five guys, reconnoitering each shot, as if reading a green at Augusta. She took forever, but made them all. He hated these games.
Every time Cody leaned over to stroke a shot, she’d peek at Jay with The Look. And, as always, he’d forget how to breathe.
Cody made quick work of the guys ahead of Jay, maybe allowing one shot before she ran the table.
“Who’s next?” she said above the din of a raucous table that’d hooted her every bend and reach. And above the thumps of Jay’s heartbeat.
While he selected a stick and Cody racked balls, one of these drunks patted her butt.
“Hey, a-hole, look but don’t touch,” Cody said. She didn’t sound particularly frightened, Jay thought.
“Give them boys a chance and join us,” the drunk said, clamping Cody’s wrist.
Her “Jay!” registered somewhere between plea and order.
Jay cracked his cue across the drunk’s forearm and the rowdies fell upon him like a beer-scented avalanche. Prying him loose, Cody half-dragged Jay to her Toyota and raced across the Saranac bridge to her flat.
“C’mon, Jay. Let’s get your boo-boos looked at. I just knew… C’mon, up.”
Jay winced as Cody touched his cheek.
Then, The Look.
Jay wasn’t sure if he’d broken a rib or forgotten to breathe again. She always won, but he hated these games.
From 500-some to
250 lean words.
heschwrites@gmail.com
@jahesch.bsky.social