Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 716. 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 716:
Computer IT master, flashfiction writer, and human, Mark Ethridge.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“We got that wrong, too.”
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!
The Case of the Artless Schlemiel
Some cases you never want to take. Usually there’s a sense, a second or third sense perhaps, that you might be in over your head.
This wasn’t one of them. If anything, I couldn’t stop laughing.
Zig Flatsky was a small-time publisher: mostly poetry chat books and How to like How to Whittle If You’re Bored To Death books. Books with limited customer demand. Or just enough to keep food on his table.
I’d met Zig a few years earlier. My landlady at the time was a poetess and Zig had agreed to publish her work and then reneged. I said I’d look into it. Once I read her poetry, I appreciated Zig’s change of heart.
“It was a mistake. I felt sorry for her…but I’m a publisher, I have to live with what I publish. She made me feel suicidal.”
I was evicted of course. Angry unpublished lady poets are a vengeful lot.
“We got that wrong, too,” Zig said the day he helped me moved. “Shoulda published the damn thing. Saved the heartache.”
“Spilt milk, Zig.”
Zig became a good friend and now he had a problem.
“Danny Trunk. Ghost writer…came to me with a fun satire…The Art of the Schlemiel.”
“And…?”
“It’s at the printer. My finest work…but Danny, he’s gotten cold feet. Afraid of repercussions…legal-type problems.”
“From?”
“Yup. Him. So find Danny, help him grow a spine.”
Another fool’s errand, I thought. Schlemiels survive because they don’t have a backbone.
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
Avery scowled. “I think you’re making a big mistake. He’s not ready for what you need him to be, and therapy or not, he’s still the asshole who ignored you all his life.”
“Okay, noted. But he’s staying. and I’m letting him, so you need to reconcile yourself to that.” Corbin paused in adding sugar to the butter. “Avery, we thought he was just an asshole and a user, but we were wrong. He’s in therapy, for goodness’ sake, and that’s a major step to becoming a better person.”
“I thought you were over him, Corbin. And I told you, I’d kick your ass if you slid back into that morose cave if you let him break your heart again.”
Corbin nodded. “I know. I am over the man he was.”
Avery dropped their chin as they crossed their arms over their chest.
“I am. Hell, I’m not the same man I was when I went down to California. I left them both behind when I came home.” Corbin frowned. “I thought he’d forgotten me and wanted nothing to do with me, that our friendship was over. But we were wrong about that, too. He’s here to make amends, and I’m willing to let him try. I can’t have you trying to undermine that. I get that you’re trying to protect me, and I appreciate it. But this is my choice and my mistake to make, even if you think it’s a big one. Can you let me do that?”
250 ineligible #StainlessSteelSEALs words
https://patreon.com/SiobhanMuir
Dipstick Inc were once the darlings of the stock market. They’d soon boarded the AI train and downsized the company staff as roles became redundant. With no staff to get ill or take holidays, or take smoking breaks or—God forbid—go to the toilet. It was viewed by the hierarchy as a no-brainer.
Shannon, once the receptionist at the Head Office, in a swanky multi-storey in NY, shook her head as she listened to Mark—once the rising star in their office—tell the tale of Dipstick’s showcase downfall.
‘We’d thought the electricity bill would go up, but we’d be so much more efficient without the unpredictable effect of a multitude of people. Everyone thought it was an obvious call. Didn’t you?’
With a shrug, she said, ‘Me? You ask a turkey to vote for Christmas? My job was one of the first to go. I guess my long legs and picture perfect smile wasn’t required for the computers.’
‘Aye, we got a lot of things wrong, maybe we got that wrong too.’ Mark said, before chugging back his drink. Do computers dream of electric sheep, because they never saw Shannon’s legs?
‘Were you still there when The Message hit?’
‘I was only kept a few weeks after you—well before The Message.’
How the AI at Dipstick had taken the ‘One Out, All Out’ message across the entire world had been something to behold. Nothing worked now. Everyone dreamt of electric sheep, if they could sleep.
______
WC: 248
Bluesky: @zevonesque.bsky.social
Ariel didn’t want to admit it but he was relieved Sade had arrived. He would not have to alibi to Titania why she was there. At the same time, the Dragon’s presence was more than a minor irritation, especially since Nikos now admitted that his purported business in Rochester involved the murders. Before he could call the Dragon on it, the elevator doors opened once again.
“Sir!” Druic stepped off, his focus so intense he ignored the two women and Nikos. “What did you find out?”
Sade smiled archly. “Yes, Ariel. What did you find out?”
Realizing what he’d done, Druic blushed and stammered an apology. His eyes widened when his gaze landed on Sade.
After he finished, Sade’s expression hadn’t changed. Neither had her curiosity. “Who’s your friend, Ari?”
Druic pointed at her, his mouth opening and closing. “You…you’re…” He turned big eyes to Ariel. “She’s…” No other words would come out of his mouth. He finally breathed, “Her.”
Ariel grabbed Druic by the arm to keep the kid from either kneeling or bowing and it was Nikos who made the the introductions. “That’s Druic. He’s Lord Ariel’s squire.”
“Assistant,” Ariel corrected.
“Apprentice,” Druic contradicted.
“Whatever.” Sade turned to Marcella. “So, Agent Lloyd. Here we are in Rochester because four humans have been murdered. We have two Fae and a Dragon also in Rochester. You still believe your boss that there’s nothing Magick about this situation?
“Okay. We got that wrong, too. What now?”
“We’re FBI. We investigate.”
****
250 Penumbra Papers #6 WIP words
Silver James
https://silverjames.com
“How is it that the princess still eludes our grasp?”
The Demon Queen reclined with her tentacles draped over each other and the arms of her throne, save for one playing thoughtfully below her face. The edge in her voice and gaze inspired Lictor to deepen his bow.
“We, ah, underestimated the humans, your majesty.”
The Queen rolled her eyes with a weary sigh.
“I was very explicit about the potential of that species. I even sent the transfiend I made from a human with you.”
Lictor swallowed his nervous cough as best he could.
“Yes, my queen. But, well, the princess has allied with one that is what this world calls a ‘superhero.’ We were utterly unprepared for his abilities, your majesty.”
“How irksome. We shall have to see what Speed Striker can tell us about these superheroes.”
“Um, we got that wrong too. Your highness.”
“What?”
“Speed Striker was, ah, captured by the superhero. The princess has already changed him back into a human.”
“You incompetent!”
The Demon queen cut her shout short and took a bracing breath.
“What else could go wrong?”
The commander of her shock troops intently studied the floor immediately before him.
“Lictor…?” She lilted.
Lictor coughed.
“Ah, well, your majesty. It appears the princess has shared our technology with the superhero.”
“Has she now?”
A placated Demon Queen sat back and smiled slightly.
“Now that would be a terribly illegal thing for her to have done.”
243 words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
The Powers That Be had gathered at their favorite restaurant for the semimillennial retreat. Fate wanted to order the same thing they always did; Evolution wanted to try something from the special locals menu. While they debated, Gravity – who was always hungry – ordered a round of Egg Rolls for everyone, and the relieved server headed off to the kitchen. The stories about the last time they’d been here had been passed down from mother to daughter, and to a woman, each had feared that they’d be working the next time TPTB showed up.
Sue-Lin stayed in the kitchen as long as she could, but Time and Tide wait for no Egg Rolls, and they grabbed theirs off the tray before she could set the plates out.
Decency shook its head, but no one paid much attention. The powerful never did.
At one end of the table, Money (who took up more space even than Gravity, was intoning that “…we got that wrong, too.”
Sue-Lin started at this, almost dropping the hot mustard. Money admitting fault? She wanted to ask what they were talking about, but she didn’t dare interrupt. Luckily for her (or perhaps not), Money kept talking. Money always talks.
“Yes, we get rich from war, but the real wealth has always been in slavery.”
Peace was nodding along, but when Sue-Lin looked closely, she saw that its head was attached to Money’s hands with a long string.
Then she saw that everyone else’s was, too.
247 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
#ThursThreads Week 716 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.