#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Togther – Week 453

Welcome back to the home of Paranormal & Dauntless Romance. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’re at the beginning of our ninth year of weekly prompts. It’s amazing we’ve gone this long! This is Week 453 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook 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 Twitter handle or email in the post (so we don’t have to look for you)
  • The challenge is open 7 AM to 8 PM Mountain Time
  • 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 Facebook, Twitter, MeWe, and Google Plus, etc.

Our Judge for Week 453:

Renaissance Woman, Newfie mom, and Romance Author, Silver James.

Facebook | Twitter | Goodreads |

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

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. Good luck!

11 Replies to “#ThursThreads – Tying Tales Togther – Week 453”

  1. He needed sanctuary, and she was the only one for miles who could provide it. With hunters hot on his trail, Jeremy needed the minister to invite him in, or she needed to travel with him to another safe location. He’d already waited on the church welcome mat too long. “If you won’t let me in, please come with me. They killed my nest.”

    “I’m not going anywhere with you; I have a duty here.” The cleric crossed her arms and glared at him before glancing at the huddled humans behind her. “And you’re scaring the people I already have here for safety from the war. You can’t be in here.”

    Jeremy bared his teeth and watched the surroundings for hunters searching his trail. “I don’t drink from unwilling humans. I filed off my fangs; see?” Even though his family only drank from donated blood, it didn’t matter to the huntsmen. He’d gotten home from picking up their weekly ration at the blood bank a few moments too late to save his family, or moments too late to be burned with them.

    The minister sighed out her irritation. She had made a vow to protect all who sought her protection. “There’s a door to the basement around back. I’ll unlock it and let you hide down there. You’ll be close enough to trigger the anti-detection aura. One day and night of rest, and then you have to go to the next church. I can’t risk my reputation on you.”

    249 words
    Twitter: miya_kressin

  2. Death’s a Butchers Wrapper

    I poured myself a double brandy from what was now Mona Monterey’s Estate. As I sipped and processed what had just happened, I tried not to look at the three bodies splattered about.

    It was damn fine brandy.

    With all the shooting that had gone on, I fully expected someone to have heard something. On the flip side, it was a high-end building. Excellent soundproofing. And it was a Penthouse.

    I thought about just walking out but my legs weren’t in the mood. They get that way after witnessing a bloodbath. It’s like each of them is saying, “I’m not going anywhere with you, buddy. This dog needs a break.”

    About ten minutes had passed. No sirens. No one knocking at Mona’s door. I was getting my strength back. And my wits, such as they are, were reconfiguring.

    What to do?

    Flight seemed a wise move. There was obviously no one left to fight. Though the proof was in the puddling of blood in and around Skippy, the odds were that he had killed Mona’s mother, Helen Monterey.

    Skippy had blasted cop Wick Waters to oblivion and Skippy and Mona had mutually done each other in.

    I was the only witness.

    And only Irv Finecastle…remember him, Mona’s quite creaky boy toy…knew I was coming to meet Mona.

    Ah, Irv, I thought, you have left me with a pretty penny of a conundrum to address.

    What do I do about you?

    How do I save my bacon?

    250 WIP
    @billmelaterplea

  3. In the conversation we never had, you didn’t say, “Life’s subjective. One person’s joy could trigger another’s despair. Like someone else’s woe could bring another cheer.”

    “We’ve lived each,” I would’ve said. “You, often, the latter,” my eyes would blink in code.

    But we weren’t really talking about Life (like I said, we weren’t really talking at all), unless you consider just getting out of bed Life. Really about living, opening those eyes, taking that big inhale, letting it go, sometimes with words strung thereto, just to get to the next gulp of existence.

    “You know, there was a time I didn’t care if my last exhalation, whether preceded by a sob or a snore, was indeed my last. Go to sleep. Wake not. I wouldn’t have considered that failure. THAT might’ve brought someone solace.” I could’ve revealed.

    “That’s what I’m saying,” you didn’t say.

    “I wish you would’ve talked to me about it,” I wish I’d said.

    “There was no point. I wanted to talk to very few people and you weren’t one of them.”

    Ergo, the non-conversation we’re not having.

    “Would you like to come talk now?” I might say.

    “No. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

    “Yeah (or is it ‘No’), we’ve each made that clear,” I could whisper.

    “What didn’t you say?” You’d probably ask.

    There was so much.

    “I’m not going anywhere with you, either,” I’d say.

    It’d always been a one-step-toward-and-one-back thing with us, symbiotically going nowhere.

    249 experimentally woven, broken-hearted, throbbing-headed words
    @JAHesch

  4. “This ain’t Cheers and I don’t want to know your name.”

    The bartender wore a plaid shirt and a black vest. He smiled as he lifted the bottle of gin from my glass.

    “I love saying that to newcomers. You don’t tell me who you are, that’s fine. You running a tab?”

    I said I was. He moved down to a regular.

    I turned on my stool, my G&T in hand. At a table in a corner, I thought I recognized someone who was working late—I spoke to him not ten minutes earlier—so it wasn’t him. When the woman with him turned I recognized her. We met at the firm’s Christmas party. “My bitch of a boss,” my husband said later. I finished my drink and lifted my glass. The guy who was not Sam Malone came over. I got a refill.

    “Tell me,” I asked. “The guy with that woman in the suit. You know his name?”

    He smiled. “I’m sure it ain’t ‘Norm’ but otherwise, no idea.”

    I gave him a can’t-blame-a-girl-for-trying smile and again he was gone.

    I’d find out. I walked towards the table. She saw me first. Her head gestured my way. He stood. Probably peed in his pants.

    “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I told him. I turned to his boss. “But I’ll gone anywhere you want to take me.”

    She looked me up and down.

    “Anywhere?”

    I nodded.

    “Honey,” my last words to him. “Take care of my tab.”

    This ain’t Cheers, by Joseph P. Garland, @JPGarlandAuthor. 249 words.

  5. Jagger always wore sunglasses. They made him look mysterious. They also made it more difficult for people to gauge his mood.

    “What’s it to you,” he said. “I’m only browsing. I need to buy a camera for a friend of mine.” He took a Canon from the display cabinet he’d just opened using one of the lockpicks he carried, enjoying seeing the alarm develop on the shopgirl’s face.

    “You’re not supposed to help yourself,” the woman said, taking the camera from him. “And these cabinets are meant to be locked, with you on the other side of the counter.”

    Jagger shrugged but stood his ground. The woman was too small, too weak, to be a problem.

    “You’re mighty ornery for a little lady,” he said, helping himself to another camera. This one was a Nikon with a zoom lens attached.

    The woman snatched it away, sliding between Jagger and the cabinet. She’d become hostile; a trait that always made him smile.

    “I could get me another one. You’ve a whole shop filled with them.” He stepped back and surveyed the store. There was a whole bunch of more expensive cameras in a display case next to the till.

    Then he was on his back, with the woman straddling his chest. There were alarm bells and a cable tie around his wrists. His sunglasses were gone – probably on the floor somewhere.

    “Okay,” he said. “Time for me to go. But on my own – I’m not going anywhere with you.”

    250 words ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

  6. The yellow sports car flashed past. She made note of the plate. Over the past week, she’d seen the same car or one similar three times. Enough to make her wary.

    She’d learned to watch over her shoulder after she left the compound. Someday, someone was going to catch up with her, and she wanted to see them coming.

    Maybe she should duck into one of the small stores up ahead, but safety – her first solo apartment – was only a few blocks away.

    Screech. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a blur as the car flipped a U-turn at the first open street, and headed toward her.

    Fuck. Someday might have turned into today.

    The walk sign flashed “STOP,” and turned to red. Traffic in this area of Hollywood didn’t give much of a chance of jaywalking without being hit.

    A large semi rumbled past, and on the other side of the street she caught sight of a bulky guy smirking—too happy with himself. He looked like one of her dad’s enforcers.

    Double fuck.

    The yellow car jumped the curb, cutting off one exit path. The back passenger door popped open and there was Frankie. Her heart dropped. He was the only person she missed. His asshole brother Mickey drove.

    “Come on baby, get in the car.” Frankie stretched his arms.

    “No fucking way! I’m not going anywhere with you.”

    He flicked his gaze to the approaching enforcer. “It’s me or him. Time to choose.”

    @LouisaBacio
    249 words

  7. The sharp clack of boots told me Malvin had let the cat out of the bag. I sighed in annoyance. My concentration already suffered from the day’s news, the cold floor and the knots in my chest, but an irate Phoebe was more than I could handle right now.

    “Get your cloak, Sari.” she commanded.

    I sat as if still meditating while tendrils of her panic wafted into my bogus serenity.

    “No.”

    “But Jason’s been—“

    “I know.” I tried not to think about my last contact with him, full of blood, pain and fae magic.

    “Then you know we have to hurry.” Her boots clacked closer.

    I opened my eyes to her desperate tears barely clinging to long lashes, but said nothing.

    “You know what they’ll do to him,” she hissed, “…are doing to him.”

    I did. More intimately that she could imagine. She didn’t know about the bond and now I was determined she’d never find out. I choked down bile and gestured to the pentacle around me. “I’m not going anywhere.”

    “With you,” Phoebe whispered urgently, “we might stand a chance. You’re his only chance.” Her voice broke.

    “There’s more at stake here than just Jason,” I bit out, hating myself for the betrayal.

    “I don’t care,” she shouted, “He’s all that matters to me.” She looked like she’d drag me to the Dark Glade herself.

    But if they took me too, they’d use Jason and our bond to usurp my power. Then we’d all be dead.

    @SBennettWrites
    250 fantasy words

  8. Grandma tell me the story of you and Grandpa, my granddaughter Sheryl begged.
    “Your grandfather and I met and fell on love at but our families hated each he said to me, Come with me?”
    “I’m not going anywhere with you,” I had protested.
    “Darlene you are my heart, would you deny me yours? Marry me. We can go away and never seen any of them ever again. I agreed I would pack my things and meet your grandfather. My brother, Henry overheard and when Jeff left, locked me in my room. There was a tree outside my room and I threw my bag down to the ground and shimmied down the trunk. I almost fell but someone was watching over me; because I managed to get down safe. I was worried that Henry would hear but he didn’t. I got to the marriage licence bureau and your grandfather wasn’t there. I was late and I worried he’d changed his mind but he arrived bedraggled a few minutes later. His brother had beaten him and locked him in the basement but he’d escaped. We were married a few minutes after we got our special licence. We left town that very day and we never saw any of them again until the funerals. They died in an earthquake and we inherited everything; as we were the sole survivors.”
    “You’re rich?”
    “Money will never part family again. We spread the love and money around.”
    “I love you grandma.”
    “Love you, too.”
    249 words
    @SweetSheil

  9. “All right, boss. We’ll check it out.”

    “Aw shit, whatda we hafta do now?” Rosy Palm’s boyfriend growled.

    “Boss says there may be a bunch of eggheads comin’ through the tunnels from Building Two.” They started moving toward the tunnel door.

    “How does he know that?”

    Hermione slid around the work table. Or would this be considered an island? She’d have to do something about the two goons threatening her charges or things would get ugly fast.

    “His inside man told him. Apparently went after them but hasn’t contacted again.”

    Hermione scowled at the news of an inside man. Fuckin’ fantastic. She’d just have to deal with ferreting them out when she was done with these two. And she was running out of time.

    Sliding out of the lab, she kept her movements quiet as she closed on them. They’d shifted to bitching about how long this siege would take and what they were going to do after.

    “Fuck, if Pinkett’s there, I’m not going.”

    “Anywhere with you there, whinin’ and bitchin’, wouldn’t be that fun anyway, so I’m sure you’ll get your wish.”

    She settled into her cold hunter persona and leapt at the younger guy. He turned just at the last second and tried to raise his weapon, but she landed on his back, grabbed his head and twisted sharply to the left. He went boneless under her and she dropped to the floor to face the older, grizzled tango.

    “Who the fuck are you, bitch?”

    248 ineligible #Sirens words
    @SiobhanMuir

  10. Following the stranger out into Maelstrom wasn’t Kid’s cleverest course of action in his 11 years. To be fair, he was rightfully upset. With many warriors taking their time returning from the war, this should have been Kid’s year to win the martial arts tournament. Instead, he lost to an outsider who happened into town and exercised the right of challenge. A girl, even shorter than Kid.

    She took the braided belt, rushed a meal, and left for the Rim without enjoying even a fraction of the festivities. Kid followed her. Seasoned warriors did not enter Maelstrom lightly. The weather alone would be threat enough for an outsider, but not all of the roaring was wind.

    The junior warrior was drawn inexorably forward to a dark stone cave and a sight confirming his worst fears. Over the mutilated corpse of a fully grown dragon loomed The Rim Beast, the unstoppable terror of Maelstrom. The stranger faced the Beast with the same cocksure grin as when she fought Kid, but this time with her massive sword in hand.

    The battle that followed defied description, and at its conclusion the triumphant stranger took the sole egg from the dragon’s nest and tucked it into her coat. Then she turned confidently to Kid.

    “Ye followed me this far. Care to see the world?”

    “You’re not going back to the village?”

    Kid’s icy awe thawed toward admiration.

    “I’m not.”

    “Going anywhere with you beats waiting here for my life to begin; count me in!”

    250 Cat’s The Pajamas words
    @DavidALudwig

  11. #ThursThreads Week 453 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week.

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