Welcome back to the home of #ThursThreads for Week 615.
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 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 social media handle or email in the post (so we easily notify 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, Bluesky, MeWe, and Mastodon, etc.
Our Judge for Week 615:
Cat wrangler, master violinist, and Tea connoisseur, Muirlette #1.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:
“Why are you here?”
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!
The Auto Court
Danny turned off the Island Highway. Immediately on his left was the True-Best Auto Court. The property was open to the street, a stretch of clipped lawn reaching back to the rear. The hefty patch of lawn and signage was encircled by an oval driveway with attached cabins on both sides and a small cabin and utility buildings buffering where the driveway circled round.
He drove in and parked next to a cabin with a managers sign hanging slightly off kilter on a nail. As he got out he noticed a boy and a girl, each about twelve or thirteen, playing with a small blue plastic airplane, possibly a Cessna, though that was a guess.
“Hi guys,” he asked, “I’m looking for Mr. Scott’s cabin. Could you point me in the right direction?”
Ignoring him, they continued on with their plans for the plastic model airplane. The boy stuffed a fistful of firecrackers in the tiny fuselage, lit the mini explosives, waited a couple of seconds, and then tossed the toy, fuse burning, into the air. The blast was noisy, and the plastic airplane blew to bits.
The girl ran to the wreckage, retrieved it, handed it to the boy, asking “Can we do it again, Billy?”
The boy scowled at her, said, “Nah, Shirl. What’s the point!” He then tossed it towards a nearby trash can.
Looking at Danny, he asked, “Why are you here, Mister?”
“Mr. Scott?”
“Hey Ma,” he yelled. “Some bozo’s here. Snoopin’!”
250 WIP
@billmelaterplea
“Why are you here?”
She didn’t answer. Her reflection just stared at back at her with the same sad expression. Her head dropped forward as she stared into the sink. How long could she get away with hiding in here? Would they care if she snuck out and didn’t go back to the table?
Rowan would come looking for her before long. She knew the other woman felt some kind of obligation. The same obligation that made her invite her tonight despite knowing she didn’t want to come and they weren’t too fussed about her being there either.
She looked back up at the mirror. That was a mistake. That outfit had looked okay at the time, well the best of a bad bunch anyway. She looked ridiculous. And her hair. Shaking her head, she pulled the hairband out of her pocket and pulled it back into a ponytail. There much more functional, and invisible.
The door started to open so she turned on a tap, pretending to wash her hands. The other woman was in and out in a mere moments. She shuddered as she watched her leave without washing her hands. That was it. Parties. Gatherings. She was not made for this. She steeled herself and turned to the door.
But it started swinging towards her. “You shouldn’t be in here.” She hissed at Thos.
“And you have been in here twenty minutes.” He raised an eyebrow. “Come on, the others are dancing. Let’s get out of here.”
250 words @Lexikonical
The pigeon wasn’t here again. I’d grown used to hearing it, hidden away in the tree, its cooing call having become a part of my summer. It was one of a pair I’d grown used to seeing over the last couple of years: Mildred and George, I’d christened them, not knowing which was which for the first few months.
And after that, they quickly became an item. I’d seen Mildred once or twice, eyeing the tree that had grown up close to our house. It was a maturing hazelnut sapling that I’d nurtured from when it was a nut, ignorant of what I was doing at first. I’d planted hundreds of seeds and pips over the years, naïvely keen but ignorant of what I should do for the best, jamming anything that might grow into a hole I’d dug.
But the young tree had been ambitious and persisted under my care. It grew tall and began to shade the rear of our home. The window with a blind received a little less sunlight each year, the hazelnut tree’s leaves spreading further, blocking more of it out.
And then it caught the attention of my neighbourhood pigeon pair, becoming a place where they could sit together, discussing whatever courting birds coo about.
The following week, Winston, our local tomcat spotted them both. “Why are you here?” he might have said, had he been inclined that way, questioning their persistence and ardour.
But Winston was more inclined toward direct action.
248 words – twothirdzrasta.blogspot.com
Maura skipped down the steps of the swanky Beacon Hill townhouse but pulled up short when she recognized the hulking shadow that stepped out in front of her. Surprised, she spoke without thinking. “Why are you here?”
“I might be askin’ ya the same t’ing.”
She studied the man, tilting her head side to side, both bemused and amused. “I’m doing my job. What are you doing? Stalking me?”
Ronan glowered, his gaze pinning her like a bug to a piece of Styrofoam. She didn’t back down, despite her instincts. She knew him well enough now to understand what it meant when the Irish thickened in his voice.
“Yer job? An’ what business would ya be havin’ with the likes of Danny Boy?”
She almost smiled. “Hrm. Let me think. Danny Boy is a scumbag criminal mastermind. I’m an assistant district attorney. Perhaps I was questioning him about a case.” She widened her eyes and batted her lashes. “Ooh, or maybe we were having a clandestine—”
He grabbed her and gave her a little shake, effectively cutting off her words. “”Don’t be goin’ there, cailín.”
She jerked away and fisted her hands on her hips. “Is that a threat?”
“I don’t make threats.”
“An ultimatum then.” At his puzzled expression, she patted his cheek, ignoring the way his lips curled into a silent snarl. “I do what I please. Learn that lesson quick.”
“If he ever lays a hand on ya, I’ll kill ’im.”
And then he was gone.
****
249 Boston Wolves WIP words
Silver James https://silverjames.com
Nervous? Who’s nervous? Not me, having surgery for the first time ever in my entire life. My blood pressure isn’t sky high. The nurse said she’d be right back; maybe I can sneak away before they start. I mean, my knee isn’t that bad.
Right?
“There we go.”
The nurse pushes something into my IV and seconds later, I have not a care in the world. Amputate my leg, I don’t care. Is that an elephant? On the ceiling? Wow. He’s so agile.
“Carla.”
Oh shit. That’s my boss. Wait, what did that nurse give me?!
“Why are you here?”
He grins, his skeletal face morphing into his version of a human male. Plump face, ruddy cheeks, friendly wide grin.
“I am always present at surgeries. Just in case.”
I sigh, rubbing my face. “I’m already scared to death; I didn’t think you’d show up to make it worse.”
His smile widens. “You are already in surgery and things are going fine. I am here for moral support. After all, this will take a couple of hours, yes? You may as well have someone to talk to.”
Fair enough. “Promise I’ll be fine?”
“Promise.”
“Then you can stay.”
In true Iowa fashion, he sets up a card table.
“500?”
“Sure.”
He waves a hand and some of my departed relatives join us. I’m going to get my ass whooped at this game by Uncle Rodney, who can play 500 in his sleep. But it will at least pass the time.
@Aightball
250 words
It took three days, but Sunshine did find a human village along the shore of the ocean. It had several piers, and boats attached to them. The village was a fishing village, she knew that much.
Given the reaction the fishermen on the boat had had, she decided to stay hidden as long as she could and watch the humans. To see what they did. How they lived.
On the fourth day, the boat with the men returned to the village. Sunshine watched as men returned to their families and began the process of unloading the boat. She watched as more men came out of the village, with their bows and arrows, after speaking with the men from the boat.
They were on guard against a witch.
“Why are they on guard?” she wondered.
The machines answered her with a question, “Why are you here?”
“To learn about them.”
“Is that all?” the machines asked. A video began to play out on the ground in front of Sunshine. It showed a dead child. A fairy child, with wings. It showed Sunshine walking through the village, with a terrible storm that wrecked the piers, and flooded everything.
“I won’t do that.”
“They kill special children here.”
“Why?”
“They fear that which isn’t like them.”
“I should go around them, unseen.”
“Yes. You should.” The machines paused. “But you are too late. They know you are out here. Somewhere. Waiting. They will come after you.”
243 Words
@mysoulstears.bsky.social
Josten was so surprised to see Allira in the company of another human that he forgot to make himself visible. She damn near walked through him as she let her gaze slide around the throne room glowing softly in Lumeworm light. She looked tired but resigned as she scanned the space, but froze when her gaze landed on the throne and the skeleton.
“Oh my glory. Is that the Dreadstone King?” She pointed to the throne. “Has he been here the whole time?”
“I thought you’ve been inside the Tombs. Surely you’ve seen him.”
“I told you. I’ve only been in the entrance. I had no idea this was here. But it sounds like you knew.” She rounded on the knight. “Speaking of which, why are you here, Windsore? If you’ve searched this part of the Tombs, why did you bring me here?”
“We had to start somewhere. Besides, you’re lying.” The man didn’t raise his voice, but fury burned in the words. “You’ve been in the Tombs more than just the entrance, and I know you’ve conspired with those monsters to hide the treasure, including the Relic.”
She threw her hands up. “I haven’t conspired with anyone! I did what I said I would—I watched your stupid horses while you made war on peaceful people. I don’t know about the treasure or the Relic. And I really didn’t know the Dreadstone King’s skeleton was here.” She peered at the throne. “Wait, is that a sword behind the chair?”
250 ineligible #WIP words
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
“I hate this place!”
“Why are you here?”
“I hate these people!”
“This dress didn’t cost me a week’s salary,” Anna commented.
“I might have to talk speak, very sternly to all those guys staring.”
“I am not amused.”
“I’m freaking out at all these posh people, .”
“Garen, you belong here. you’ve earned your place. I think he hates crowds as much as you do.”
“Smile politely if you’re not the winner, then you smile wider and applaud the winner.”
Sittig down at our table, it was then announced that my category was up.
“For the best new author in crime fiction, the winner is Lieutenant Garen Shariff has been on the police force in the Twin Cities, Minneapolis–Saint Paul for twenty years. He’s debut novel is chock full of thrilling action, drama and danger and has been on the best seller list for over a year. Come up and get your well-earned award Garen.
I stood up, shocked I’d won. That’s when Jack Scallwagger stood up( I thought to shake my hand) but instead pulled a gun. I pulled my service model from under my jacket and he went down dead from my first shot, so much for me getting to accept my award; we’d be crawling in cops in a few minutes. This night was never going to end! I turned my head and the MC handed me my award mouthing, ”Sorry.”
At least I had my award and some new fodder for my next book.
250 words
@SweetSheil
Gary found a 19th century map to the lost Ozarks Gold Mine. He and my roommate, Alice, quit their jobs to look for it.
At the end of the hot summer, Alice grew tired of Gary’s constant complaints and broke up with him. Spitefully, he left her sitting at a gas station on Route 66.
I drove down to get her. At home, she showed me her copied map. I scoffed that it would lead to treasure, but I was hooked. On Sunday afternoon, I went to the library to wade through old mining maps. I checked Alice’s map against mine locations and found a match: the Einstein Silver Mine on the St. Francis River.
The next Saturday, I invited Alice to hunt for silver in the St. Francis River. We gathered equipment and drove six hours to the Silver Mountain Recreational Area. Luck favored us with an open camping spot right beside the river and a panning permit.
Zipped in our tent, we examined the map and chose the trail to explore.
The next morning, when I unzipped the tent, Gary sat beside the campfire, holding a pistol.
“What are you doing here?”
“Alice called me. You’re going to explore the old silver mine.”
“No, that’s unsafe. Plus, it’s closed.”
“You’re going to break in.”
“No, I’m not.”
He aimed the gun.
I blinked. “Okay, shoot me. Dead or alive, I am not breaking in. I’m panning for silver. You can join us or not.”
246 words
pattydump1@embarqmail.com
“You do not look so good, my friend.”
Tankist did not turn from his view of the battlefield, but of course he had seen Jian coming from the rear. She had only seen him without his armor a few times and was still impressed that his Power allowed him to move in metal casing that easily doubled his size. It looked like he’d added a new gun too.
“Why are you here?”
Tankist continued. He was giving her time to catch her breath, which she gladly took before answering.
“I haven’t been able to save my country yet. But I will not allow the hate to spread any further.”
The one-man armored division turned to look down on the haggard folk hero.
“The cost of revolution is high, my friend. But it is necessary to minimize suffering overall.”
“No.” Jian grit her teeth. “I know you’ve seen what I have. The revolution only changed who was oppressing who.”
“My mission is to stop you by any means necessary. As your friend, I ask you to walk away.”
Jian sank into a fighting stance and pointed her namesake sword at a chink in Tankist’s armor.
“You cannot stop me.”
“And you cannot bleed.”
Tankist nodded meaningfully to Jian’s many open wounds.
210 The Unbreakable Jian words
@davidaludwig.bsky.social
The fog came thick and quick as the temperature dropped, rolling off the river in eddies until we were cut off from the rest of the world as cleanly as an amputation. There’d been a buzz of conversation in the coach car watching it happen, but now that we were enwombed, the few other passengers had gone silent.
I’d been quiet the entire time.
I shifted my head against the window. It didn’t make it any softer, but changing the pressure point on my head would feel better.
The cold leaching in through the glass was a comfort, singing a harmony with the ice that had settled upon me last night.
For years, I’d envisioned going Old Testament biblical on them before leaving. Just going out both guns blazing, scorching the earth and salting the ruin behind me. I laid in bed night after night, throat raw from crying, listening to their voices screaming in the past and the present, twisting their concordance of pain around me, into me, becoming me.
I don’t know what changed last night. I don’t know if I care. He was screaming. She was disappointed. I was, as usual, worthless.
Except that I wasn’t. And I couldn’t hear them anymore, not with this cold calm suffusing me.
I stood up, no longer crying. I think the lack of tears shocked them more than anything.
“Why …are you?”
“Here’s my house key.” I interrupted her. I didn’t care what she was going to ask.
248 words
@drmag00.bsky.sociali
#ThursThreads Week 615 is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to catch you next week on July 4th – we’ll be here.