Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 719. 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 719:
Gamer, writer, and responsive connoisseur of characters and stories, David Ludwig.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“I tell myself this is OK/okay.”
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!
Firestorm
It was a hot summer day. Late afternoon. The woods were ablaze, smoke was choking the air, and I was craving a cold tall drink, a Singapore Sling maybe, but I wasn’t fussy.
Just as I was locking up, he appeared. Fifty, manicured, a suit. It was too damn hot to be wearing one. I should know. I had one on too.
I started to shake my head, mutter something about the shop’s closed but he was quicker. “My kid, Janie, she was working at Haileys Winery. Serving, mostly. The fire ripped through there, they all ran. She called me…in a panic…Daddy…the fire…told me they’d all jumped in the owners car and then the call ended.”
I listened. Kinda figured what he wanted of me. Me. A Private Eye. Not a firefighter.
“I tell myself this is OK/okay. Christ, that she’s okay, that they made it out. The authorities are busy, too freaking busy to look for her. Here’s a thousand dollars. I have more if you need it. Find her.”
As he handed me the cash, he also thrust a photo of her into my hands.
It was nuts. I wasn’t an EMT. Nor a cop. Most certainly what I was was a middle-aged city slicker with an aversion to being immolated or choking to death in some godforsaken firestorm.
But I was also a sucker for a sob story.
At least this one.
He was playing a long shot.
Me!.
Little old me.
What could go wrong?
250 Words
@billmelaterplea
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
“It’s okay. It will be okay. It’s fine.”
The sound of my voice didn’t convince me anymore than the words as I finished my task. I knew better than to believe in fairy tales. My people had believed the invaders weren’t so bad because they only wanted a small portion of our land and would live in their bubbles. But the truth was they were like parasites, taking over, consuming, and polluting everything until nothing could live on our planet.
If I tell myself this is okay, it won’t necessarily make it so.
Just like telling myself it was okay that Ryshtar stayed only because some imaginary voice had told him his destiny was with me on this broken continent.
I shook my head and closed all four of my eyes, hoping to find some measure of reassurance deep down despite the harsh realities from which I’d learned.
“Where are the tubers?”
His voice startled me a little, my solitude interrupted again, and a weird frisson of awareness went through me. He was staying—at least for now—and he seemed amenable to that.
The question is, am I amenable to that?
I twisted out of my sitting position beside the fire and moved into the prepping space. My cold storage sat behind a woven mat to keep the relative warmth of my living space from spoiling the food. I pushed it aside and brought out the basket of tubers to hand to him.
“Oh, they’re really big.”
248 ineligible sci-fi words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
The six nations are assembled for the first time ever. I mean, there have been meetings of the monarchs and decision makers. But the citizenry? Never all six. This monumental occurrence honors the success of our collaboration to save the world from the Hungry Legion.
And I’m up on the stage with two heroes, the child of a hero, and a prince. Yeah, Hila sent one of their royal family. And Epistan may have lost their greatest hero in the war, but the guy was a big enough deal that even the rest of us knew he had a kid. Then Commander Ermengarde of Glatteis is probably the reason our defensive lines never broke when it really mattered, and personally killed Commander Prophos of the Hungry Legion.
Then there’s Aalis of Flamma. Literally the one who cut off the head of the Empty Devil himself. The only one I don’t know is the champion from Westland. And he looks like he could snap me like a twig.
Yuuchi of Miduas. That’s my cue. Smile. Do some tanbo flourishes; the crowd likes that. I tell myself this is OK. My family won the lottery and will be set for life.
Still, I wonder if I’m the only one who doesn’t want to be placed in frozen time just in case the Hungry Legion returns.
223 Ineligible words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
Every morning, with no exceptions, I take my fluoxetine. I’m not right without it, and I know that. Although it might take a few days for it to start to show if I stop it.
I know. You ask, “How do you know you won’t be OK without it?”
I’ve tried. More than once. And each time I try I end up with Major Depressive Disorder. Thank the gods that I’m not suicidal.
Have you ever lived with MDD? Have you ever been mostly useless? Unable to do simple things like the dishes, or laundry, or even go to work. Yeah. That’s what happened when I came off my fluoxetine.
I slowly fell apart.
I look at the pills each morning. One 40 mg dose. One 10 mg dose. 50 mg total. Every day.
I used to ask myself if being dependent on a drug was OK. Each time I ask, I make myself remember what happened when I stopped taking it. How I slowly fell apart. And each morning, I look at the pills, and I tell myself this is OK. That my biochemistry is defective. Broken. Not right. And the pills make it better.
Sometimes, though. I get tired of taking it every morning. Like a drug addict, getting their fix that they can’t work right without. Or an alcoholic, who has to have that next drink.
Sometimes it’s hard to stick with it. Until I remember what happens when I stop. Let me tell you. MDD sucks.
250 words per Google Docs
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
I tell myself it’s better than being alone.
I tell myself that it’s the way things are.
I tell myself that expecting kindness is for other people.
I tell myself that it’s the only way people will spend time with me.
I tell myself that the words don’t hurt.
That the punches don’t hurt.
That the laughter doesn’t hurt.
I tell myself that there’s something wrong with me.
I tell myself that everyone wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true.
I tell myself that it’s okay that they went without me.
I tell myself that I don’t fit, that I can’t fit.
I tell myself that this is how they show me they love me, how they show me they care.
I tell myself that it’s okay to cry every night.
I tell myself that they’re good people.
I tell myself that it’s not their fault.
I tell myself that I should be ashamed of who I am.
I tell myself that I’m not like everyone else. Like anyone else.
I tell myself that I’ve always been this way, that I’ll always be this way.
I tell everyone else I’m okay.
I tell myself this is okay.
197 words
@drmag00.bsky.social
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
The sharp tang of iron permeates the air.
A darkening pool spreads with every drip. Cooling with each second. Turning tacky as it coagulates.
I tell myself this is okay as I watch another bead of my lifeblood travel down the rebar that pierces my chest.
The bead hangs off the end of the twisted steel until enough collects to acquiesce to gravity and join the pool below.
It’ll be okay. Someone will find me before I lose too much blood. Before another aftershock buries the building even farther.
It’s getting colder, or maybe I’m getting colder. Shivering, I rub my arms to warm myself. My arms shake with the effort as I bump the spear of rebar. My body is electrified with a fresh wave of searing, white-hot pain.
People are calling looking for survivors. They seem so far away. I cry out, my voice a hoarse whisper. My mouth is so dry. Full of dust and particulates from the building collapse. I cough to clear my throat, but it hurts.
I pound the floor in frustration. How can I make them hear me?
I stare at the rebar sticking out of my chest that is both killing me and may be my salvation. Closing my eyes, I grab a rock by my leg, brace myself, and strike the side of the rebar hard. It rings. The pain is overwhelming, but I keep going, hoping someone hears.
“Hello? Anyone there?”
@MLGammella
244 Words
#ThursThreads Week 719 is now closed. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.