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
Chairs scrape the hardwood floor, creaking as people sit down. The thrum of cards shuffling comes from one end as snacks are set up and bottles of pop and water and juice hiss and pop open. Once my cat has found a lap to start the night on, I glance around the table.
“Pooey first?” I ask.
Everyone nods and I remind everyone of the rules, particularly that the Joker card is worth 50 points if it’s not out of their hand at the end. My boss, Horace, in his fully human form, plaid button up shirt and all, goes first.
“Three of diamonds.”
We make our way around the table, and soon, it’s my friend Adrianna raises her eyebrows.
“Sorry, sir, but I must.”
Horace groans when he sees the Joker, drawing five cards, as he munches a couple of chips. When the game comes back to Adrianna, she plays the suit, he reverses it, back and forth until he hits her with a Joker.
“Turn about is fair play,” he says. “Also, last card.”
Game night started off as showing Horace, age approximately 200, how to have fun. He hated these games until we taught him how we play. And honestly, he’s kind of brutal at Pooey and Cards Against Humanity. He wins and we deal another hand. He and Adrianna side eye each other and then he hits her right off the bat with a draw five. This is going to be an entertaining night.
@Aightball
248 words
“Hey! Quarterwit! We need a fifth for our Element Circle!”
The tall mage called across the common. Luger groaned and snapped shut the textbook in his huge hand. He hated these games. Plus, the morning’s reading had already given him a headache.
“And we all know you need the practice!”
The one with narrow, always-gleaming glasses added. He probably enchanted them to do that. Luger would have loved to plant his fist in that smug face. But he’d definitely be expelled if he got in another fight in town. Let alone on campus.
Worse, he did need the practice. Badly.
“Don’t worry,” the pink haired girl of the group smirked, “we’ll even let you start.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
Luger trudged over to his classmates, dropping his textbook into the backpack he wore on his belt. There were two valid responses to each element. Each could only be used once, and the spell blew up in the face of the first to make a mistake. He generated fire and passed it to Pinky. He should probably learn his classmates’ names.
She doused it with water! Stupid! That was one Luger knew, and now it was off the table. Starting with fire was a bad idea. Pretty Boy absorbed the water with wood. Luger couldn’t even cast wood consistently.
The spell blew up the first time it made it back to Luger. The others laughed and Pretty Boy shook his head.
“How’d the headmaster end up saddled with a dunce like you?”
249 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Graphic photos of murder victims were scattered across the conference table as Rhys tapped his pen deep in thought. He needed to find a connection between the deaths before the serial killer struck again. They were already getting bolder in where they were leaving the victims.
Then there were the untraceable phone calls to the precinct where the killer taunted him, using a voice modulator to disguise their voice. Forensics were still analyzing the recordings and so far, no matches.
With a sigh, he sat down heavily in the chair. He hated these games. He hated these psychopaths that treated humans like pawns in their games. There was absolutely no rhyme or reason for these murders. The victims were all different, all seemingly normal people living vastly different lives. If this was a Venn diagram, there would be no overlapping circles.
His cell phone buzzed, skittering across the tabletop. He grabbed it before it slid off the table and answered without looking at the caller. “Detective Rhys.”
“Still floundering, detective?”
Rhys spun around and stared out the windows into the city below. “How did you get this number?”
“That’s not the question you should be asking, detective,” reprimanded the modulated voice.
“What do you want?” Rhys spat as his mind whirled. His cell phone was unlisted. No one outside the precinct should have it.
“Now you’re catching on.” Someone whimpered in the background. “I thought you’d like to hear a familiar voice.”
“Rhys?” He’d recognize that voice anywhere.
“Shaina!”
249 words
@mlgammella.bksy.social
#ThursThreads Week 692 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.