Week 625 of #ThursThreads was a success, and y’all never disappoint. Thank you to everyone who writes each week. You are why we’re still doing this, and why we’ve made it more than 12 YEARS!
If you’ve just found us, welcome to the crew! May you come back again and write more great flash. A thousand thanks to Ben Bisbee for judging this week. Follow Siobhan Muir on Bluesky or check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook or the #ThursThreads Group on MeWe to keep up with news, etc.
Entries:
- Bill Engleson
- Sheilagh Lee
- Silver James
- David A. Ludwig
- Mark Ethridge
- K.R. Van Horn
- Siobhan Muir
- Kelly Heinen
Honorable Mentions
David A. Ludwig | Website
Ben says: Often, flash fiction will smartly dump you in the middle of the narratorial road, unsure if you should be flagging a nearby car or seeking shelter in the bramble along the berm, until you get to the final sentence. This was very much the case with David’s flashbang of a story. From its scene-ripping opening sentence to its surprising final moment of unexpected transformation, this was very fun to read. Do I have any clue what on earth is actually happening in this world or to these characters? No, but in a way that will sweetly linger in my mind for a while like a pop song I’m hearing for the first time, and not like an annoying itch I cannot reach to scratch.
winner announcement
Week 665 Winner
Ben says: I loved the rhythm of this piece, its certain lack of punctuation until the end, the really punchy, specific, and narratively progressive ride it takes you on in just a few paragraphs. I don’t have kids, but I’m close to my nieces and nephews, who are now in their 20’s, and I’m watching my sister struggle—as I lightly do too—with these themes. This little story is like the music box it describes: beautiful and ornate, seemingly delicate, but oddly robust in both its lifetime and how strongly its bittersweet song gets stuck in your head. I also liked that this week’s prompt felt tucked in like an intended widget and not something forced or awkwardly centered in the piece. This whole tiny story from K.R. was a veritable world of lovely relatability, simultaneously centered on very thoughtful imagery.
– the music box –
a faint blue line, a tremor in the fabric of my life, and I panicked and laughed and bought six more just in case and talked to the bump like it already knew me and cried when I heard the heartbeat and held them at birth like stardust incarnate
and dreamed in 17-minute cycles for months and worried about fevers and choking and scraped knees and bullies and I framed crayon stick figures like stolen Da Vincis and watched them grow big feet with loud shoes
and when they got moody and taller than me and didn’t want hugs, I still stood in doorways like a ghost of comfort muttering love spells they barely heard and sometimes I can’t get through to them would echo in my skull like thunder and I’d lie awake replaying every mistake but then they’d laugh at my dumb jokes or steal my sweatshirt and I’d think maybe I’m not so bad
and now they’ve moved on with lives of their own and I still check their weather and send them headlines like messages in bottles they never open and worry like I did when they were teething because no one tells you it never stops, not when they’re grown, not when they’re gone and living with their own kids, not when you’ve thinned out with time and spend your todays living in yesterdays, because the ride doesn’t end, and the music box they wound inside you keeps playing long after they’ve left the room.
~~~~~~~
Congratulations Eight Time Winner K.R., and Honorable Mention David! Don’t forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
Pass on the great news on Facebook, MeWe, Bluesky, Mastodon, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! 🙂
