Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 710. 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 Facebook.
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 710:
Slightly past-it Canuck and word chucker, Bill Engleson.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“He couldn’t do it.”
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!
Mac knew he could do it. Run that long arc toward the bar suspended just below his head level, plant his left foot, spring up, twist onto his back, flip his legs over the bar, shoulders landing on that thick mattress of foam rubber.
He was certain he wouldn’t clank the bar again and both end up in an X marking the spot where gravity and reality proved stronger than hope and technique.
“Shuffled your stride again, Mac. Slowed down like you were afraid the bar’d give you the herp or something,” Coach Wills said. “This phobia isn’t helping you. Thought you were gonna headbutt the concrete pole-vaulting yesterday.”
“Messed my steps, Coach. I know I can beat ten feet.”
“Why do you keep trying to do stuff your body’s not capable of Mac? At least not at this level. You’re a fair second-leg relay runner, meh long jumper, and let’s not talk about the hurdles experiment. Your best event’d be 800 meters but you won’t run it.”
“He ran the 800”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah, school record, twice regional champion, full-ride,” Mac said as that freshman flew over 5’8” on her first try. Ever.
“I’m going over to the discus ring coach. Then the shot.”
“Okay, Mac. Just don’t kill any cheerleaders over there. No javelin!”
The jumps coach sidled up to Coach Wills and said, “Seriously, why’s that kid keep courting failure when he’d be decent at something else?”
“Because he couldn’t do it. Gotta admire that.”
250 words
@JAHesch
@jahesch.bsky.social
“Sacrifice”
Elara rained fire over the kingdom, her great wings feeding dust devils of oxygen to the stone-melting flames.
“Do it,” Vera commanded. Her face was flushed, windburn. Soot stained her jaw, temples, and the delicate digits of both hands, but her iron resolve shone like starlight through her hard gaze.
Colt could hardly stand the sight of blood at her temple, her forearm, or the bruises on her knees. She was too beautiful to be maimed in any way, too honest, too pure. Of course the sacrifice they needed would come from such a heart. One mortal life—that’s all it would take. One mortal life—freely given from the ancient bloodline—would throw the witch and her beast back into the hellscape.
Tears broke from the corners of Vera’s eyes, taking in the destruction, the death, Elara drawing nearer. “Do it now,” she pleaded.
“Not you, my love,” Colt wept. He couldn’t do it. Loathed the idea. But he already held the blessed dagger at her throat.
“Gods and mortals were never meant to be.”
Colt made his slice quick and deep, allowing death its sweet swoop without suffering. He met his lover’s eyes as the magic unfurled in a golden light around her. He never made promises, especially not to mortals, but this was different. Vera was *his*. “I’ll find a way to follow you. No heaven, hell, or border between worlds will stop me.”
239 words
@gorashade.bsky.social