Week 493 of #ThursThreads had many fantastic tales. What an amazing feat we’ve pulled off. Nine years! If you’ve been doing it a while, thank you for coming back each week. If you’ve just found us, welcome! You’re in good company. May you come back again and write more great flash. Happiest holidays to all of you. Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook or the #ThursThreads Group on MeWe to keep up with news, etc.
- Bill Engleson | @billmelaterplea
- Silver James | @SilverJames_
- Siobhan Muir | @SiobhanMuir
- Mark A. Morris
- Nicola Cameron | @YesItsNicolaC
- Catherine Verdier | @CatheVerdier
- David A. Ludwig | @DavidALudwig
- Atticus Stryker | @TAFORU
- Sheilagh Lee | @SweetSheil
Mark. A. Morris
Siobhan says: My first thought was “cow tipping”, and it may well have gone that way if the new and fantastic delight of Santa’s dragons hadn’t arrived. I laughed aloud for that. Well done.
Week 493 Winner
Siobhan says: Two things grabbed me with this tale. 1 – That a big, Scottish dragon shifter could be so surprised as to fall on his ass. And 2 – the interaction between the Russian vampire and the thing in the box. The whole tale delighted me from start to finish and I laughed at both the “rude word” and the frustration of Fyodora at the end. Great tale.
Fyodora poked the box with one slippered toe. “What in the world is that?”
“Dinna ken,” Callum said, crouching down to peer at the package that had been delivered to the house that morning. About the size of a hatbox, it had lotus blossoms and Egyptian hieroglyphs engraved on each side.
There was also a sturdy lock keeping it closed. The note that came with it said, “Please deliver to the ministry office in Cairo. Do NOT open it.”
The vampiress growled. All she wanted to do was leave England with her new mate as soon as inhumanly possible. But no—we are now a delivery service for Lord Tate and his damned Ministry of Antiquaries. “What are we supposed to do?”
“Wait and see what it does.” Callum grinned when she growled again. “It’s all right, leannan. I think we can handle a wee box—”
The box leapt into the air. The dragon shifter lurched backwards, landing on his ass just as the box thumped back to the carpet. “Or not,” he added.
And blinked as a low, seductive voice came from the box. With dismay, Fyodora recognized what the voice was saying.
And by default, what was in the box. Tate, you bastard.
She snapped back in the same language. The voice said one very rude word, then fell silent.
Ignoring a surprised Callum, Fyodora grabbed the box and headed upstairs to bury it in her biggest, most soundproofed trunk. “Bozhe moi, I hate naiads,” she muttered.
Congratulations Two Time Winner Nicola, and Honorable Mention Mark! Don’t forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
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