Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 709. 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 709:
Scientist, Dad, and flash fiction author, Eric Martell.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Could he say goodbye?”
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!
Urban Decay 101
It was a windy day. Swirls of trash and sorrow were stifling the air, keeping asthmatics and people who breath through their mouths indoors or deep in alleyways, away from the fury of Mother Natures little weather joke.
I was tailing Walter Wickwire, local alderman and retired high school history teacher. Someone in city hall was worried about Walt. The Mayor maybe. I didn’t know. Henry Small, fast-talking lawyer about town hired me to look into Walt, his comings and goings. The basic concern was that someone, and it could be any number of spurious interests, had bought Walt’s vote on a massive inner city land buying scheme.
If he had been bought off, the cash had been well disguised.
Henry had given me my marching orders. “He’s dirty. Pretty sure of that. But he’s squirrelly. And not stupid. Walter was the head of the Teachers Union for ten years. Knows his way around gavels and grovelling. Politics are a blood sport for him. We could be wrong but every vote along the way says otherwise.”
So I had been following him for three days. Saw him glad-handing the locals, playing with his grandkids, dining with his lovely wife, smiling more than a crooked man should. On the surface, Walter Wickwire had a great life. Healthy pension, the respect of the people, the love of his family. Could he say goodbye to all that. Was he that far down the corrupt rabbit hole?
I guess we’d see.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
“The Tricky Lover”
She muttered under her breath while she thundered away, her steps failing to disturb the bright leaves littering the cemetery grounds. Had she meant so little to him? “Could he say goodbye?”
Jones was the last to leave. A quiet mourner, only nodding politely now and then to others. He’d waited until the coffin was lowered and a backhoe smoothed over the earth. At least he’d shown up. At least he’d worn a tie.
“Jackass didn’t shed a tear,” she cursed, sidestepping a gravestone, despite understanding no physical object could deter her momentum. She was mist, the nothing between spaces, the blink and you’d miss it.
A car door slammed. She whipped her head back at the sound, watching Jones pull away. Familiar, distinct–an older car she knew smelled like sandalwood and booze. She’d barely fit inside the trunk. The plastic against her face crinkled and the ropes binding her hands and ankles rubbed her raw. The stabs stole her breath. Jones had stood above her and spoken funny words that burned through her soul.
Cool rage washed over her as the memories returned. Friend. Lover. “Villain.”
Jones turned the corner at a stop sign, catching a shadow in his rearview mirror. His blood ran cold, but he knew what to do. Extermination was his job. Ghosts, monsters, the boogiemen of legends–they didn’t belong in the world. But *this* one? Unusual. Relentless. Somehow still *here*. He reached for his weapon. “Go back to hell.”
246 Words
@gorashade.bsky.social
Hadn’t I had a calling back in the day?
I grimaced. I couldn’t remember what I’d been planning to do with my life. Find a mate and continue the life cycle probably. But all that changed with the invaders and now there wasn’t anyone with whom I could hope to reproduce. To be honest, I didn’t have the interest or drive to do it, anyway. This planet had been ravaged and would take more decades than two to make it a place worth giving to offspring.
“Is there anything I can do that doesn’t involved cutting?”
I snorted. “Yes, you can tend the fire, and boil some water. I have some white tubers that would be good for a meal.”
“I can do that.”
Ryshtar unfolded himself and grabbed my stew pot with his good hand before ducking outside to fill it with water. I shook my head as I kept slicing the fruit and laying it to dry near the fire. He said he wanted to stay here with me, and I could admit to myself I was warming to the idea. But could he say goodbye to the life he knew with his own people and customs? I knew first-hand what it was like to be the only one of my kind in a vast space, and it was daunting as karn. It was doable, but it wasn’t fun.
Would he come to resent that voice he’d heard, telling him his destiny was here with me?
248 ineligible #SciFi words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
Carole punched in the numbers. Bud couldn’t. Cancer had taken so much from him months ago. He still managed to get out of bed with his walker and settle into the rental high-backed chair. Though mostly with Carole’s help.
“Thanks, hon,” he said, as he almost hoped to get Jay’s voicemail. But he knew he had to, so Jay knew.
No one but doctors and some family had seen Bud in months, though to see him wouldn’t be like seeing HIM. Not the Bud at one end of those long rainbows he once shared with a basketball, or 300 yards off the tee.
“Hey, Bud! How you doing? Long time no hear,” Jay said.
“Hi, Jay. You know, same old…”
“Oh yeah! When’re you back from Florida?”
“Got back a week ago.” It’d been three. “Just wanted to say hi.”
“Well, it’s great to hear your voice. You doing okay?”
“Eh, you know. Get to be our age.”
“Oh, for sure! Think we can get together for some lunch? Too early for golf.”
“That’d be great. Definitely before we head to The Cape.” Liar, he thought.
“Say, I was wondering…”
“Ooh. There’s Cody and the kids. Gotta go. See you soon, Jay. Honest.”
Bud’s chin dropped to his chest.
“Could he say goodbye?” Cody asked her mother.
“No.”
At the wake, through tears, Jay’s wife Michelle and Carole whispered to each other.
“He couldn’t do it,” Carole said.
“Neither could Jay. But please let Bud know he tried.”
250 Words
@JAHesch on X
@jahesch.bsky.social
Ariel watched Aisling from beneath half-lowered eyelids, his expression one of bored disinterest. Movement in his peripheral vision drew his attention. The queen watched him like a hunting hawk with its prey in sight. Arousing Titania’s curiosity was never good.
Oberon called his name sharply. He looked toward the king. “Yes, your majesty?”
“Your report leaves much to be desired.”
He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. “I have given you the facts as I’ve learned of them, m’lord.”
“I warned you.” Titania did not keep the scorn our of her voice. “Allowing free rein during the Lilac
Festival is dangerous.”
“We all need to let loose. What is the term the humans use? Let our hair down? Yes. That’s it.””
Ariel leaned back against the wall. This conversation would quickly devolve into a typical Titania and Oberon row. Except it didn’t. Titania marched up and stabbed him in the chest with a wicked nail.
“Does she have it?”
“Have what?”
“The book, Ariel. The book. It is the key to this whole catastrophe.”
He forced his gaze to remain focused on Titania but he’d heard Aisling’s sharp intake of breath. He shook his head, knowing he was lying.
Titania leaned in close. “You must walk away from her, Ariel. This will not end well for either of you. Do your duty and be done with her.”
The queen was right but would he ever be done with Aisling? Could he say goodbye? He didn’t want to find out.
****
250 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
Veronica silently slipped shadow to shadow, easily evading the guard patrols she had spent the last month studying. This job was already compromised enough without getting caught on her way out. Reaching the duke’s chamber undetected had gone perfectly to plan. But the old veteran spoiled it by waking up.
Veronica loathed shoddy work.
She pressed herself to the base of the exterior wall with the rough stones. After a ten count, she scaled her scouted egress, disappearing over the top and into the night.
At least the duke hadn’t put up a fight. Had he struggled, even a few seconds, Veronica would almost certainly have had to fight her way out. She huffed at the memory of his tired eyes boring into her steely ones. And his last words; those irritated her almost as much as having been caught.
Could he say goodbye to his family? What kind of assassin did he imagine acquiescing to such a request?
159 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
He looked over her in the darkened room and thought,” Could he say goodbye?” Henrik never thought he would walk away from someone he loved, but if he stayed, she could be in danger. He had to walk away no matter how much it hurt either of them. If they had any idea ,that he loved her his enemies would kidnap her and /or kill her. He had to be strong; she had to come before his need to remain and cuddle her. Someday he would acknowledge her.
She was tiny barely six weeks old. Rayella, her mother had died in childbirth; she hadn’t told anyone Henrik was the father of her baby. He had promised to take them away but he couldn’t take Ariella away now. Sharelle was her aunt, her mother’s sister, but she had stepped in to look after Ariella naming her for a lion, because she had survived and Ariella had bonded with her. She thought of Sharelle, as her mother. He was a paid assassin; he couldn’t look after a child. Ariella would grow up without him. If he survived maybe someday, they could be together after he eliminated his enemies, of course.
If he truly loved his daughter he had to say goodbye. He left Sharelle a note and money to raise his daughter.
One last look at Ariella moving her fist up to her mouth in her sleep and he was gone, a blip in the night.
244 words
@sweetsheil.bsky.social
It had been ten years since Poppy had met her brother, but last week she had, in a ropey LA dive bar. She’d been used to the idea of her father dying, but ‘soon’ had begun to strain her thoughts. Weeks, maybe days? The rhythm of clocks was wearied on her. Sol had asked repeatedly to see, or at least speak to, her brother, Ryan. Ultimately his pleading wore her down. And so she had told him that she would get her brother there ‘by hook or by crook’. Poppy searched for Ryan weeks before finding him in the background of a blurred shot on a bar’s Instagram page.
She’d driven there rabid; caught between the twin towers of hope and trepidation. Ten years earlier Ryan had left suddenly. She’d never been close to him, and if truth be told she was happy he’d managed to get away in one piece—at least physically She’d gone through school close to no-one. Home had been a challenge and not one she wanted to dwell on with anyone outside of it. Poppy had shared looks, shrugs, screams and tears with Ryan, but never words.
In the car Ryan sat stiff and unmoving—wondering if his legs could work at all. Polly had said that Sol had wanted to see him before he died. Why?
Upstairs Poppy wondered if Ryan would make it. Could he say goodbye? Or maybe he’d just spit on him, or do something to speed up Sol’s demise.
_________________
249 words
@zevonesque Bluesky
#ThursThreads Week 709 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.