Week 401 of #ThursThreads had many fantastic tales. I’m honored to see all the writers come to tie a tale as we start our eighth year. If you’ve been doing it a while, thank you. If you’ve just found us, welcome! May you come back again and write more great flash. Thousand thanks to Eric Martell for judging this week. Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook or the #ThursThreads Group on MeWe to keep up with news, etc.
Entries:
- Bill Engleson | @billmelaterplea
- Mark A. Morris
- Silver James | @SilverJames_
- Sheilagh Lee | @SweetSheil
- Siobhan Muir | @SiobhanMuir
- Atticus Stryker | @TAFORU
- Kel J. Heinen | @Aightball
- Mark Ethridge | @mysoulstears
- David A. Ludwig | @DavidALudwig
- Catherine Derham | @cathencl_
- M.T. Decker | @mishmhem
Honorable Mentions
Silver James | @SilverJames_
Eric says: Someday I’ll read one of her longer works. This one certainly drew me in.
Mark Ethridge | @mysoulstears
Eric says: How painful to be haunted by the dead who need you so badly and be unable to do a darned thing.
winner announcement
Week 401 Winner
Eric says: As we get closer to dying, if we live long enough, we lose everything more often than not. Mark painted this beautifully and painfully.
The nurse came to see me half an hour ago. Her name is Jill, or Jayne, or something else with a ‘J’. She’s a lovely girl, and she smells of honeysuckle, just like Julia did.
“Mr Swanson? It’s Jackie. It’s time for your meds. You know you need to take them every day.”
I look up and see her. It’s the nurse. I knew I recognised her. She’s the one who came earlier. She’s a new girl, someone I have only seen one time. She seems patient enough, although I doubt that she’ll last. The nurses never do here, always changing, none of them here more than a day. I don’t know what it is with them. No-one seems to care much these days.
“Mr Swanson? Open up. Please, do it for me?”
The nurse pulls me upright, slipping a pillow behind my back. She smells of honeysuckle like Julia did. She’s a strong girl, and she’s large, with hands the size of a ditch-digger’s, her fingers boring in so I can’t not open my mouth. She gives me a mouthful of horse tablets and a drink to make me swallow. They taste like ash or flint or some other impalatable muck.
She reminds me of someone; somebody I loved. I think she was smaller though – or is it me? Have I changed?
It seems so long ago now.
I know she used to smell like honeysuckle. And I’m sure she was called Julia – either Julia or Joan.
~~~~~~~
Congratulations Sixteen Time Winner Mark, and Honorable Mentions Silver and Mark! Don’t forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
Pass on the great news on Twitter, Facebook, MeWe, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! 🙂
