Week 722 of #ThursThreads was a success, a remarkable feat for 13 solid years. Thank you to everyone who writes each week. You are why we’re still doing this. I’m truly grateful for all y’all!
If you’ve just found us, welcome to the crew! May you come back again and write more great flash. A thousand thanks to Miranda Kate for judging this week. Follow Siobhan Muir on Bluesky or check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction server on Discord or the #ThursThreads group on Facebook to keep up with news, etc.
Entries:
- Bill Engleson
- Sheilagh Lee
- Silver James
- Kelly Heinen
- David A. Ludwig
- Siobhan Muir
- Eric Martell
Honorable Mention
Bill Engleson | Website
Miranda says: A nice piece with a sense of humour, on a sort of noir investigator feel to it. A lot of fun.
winner announcement
Week 722 Winner
Miranda says: This story gave me Terry Pratchett Death feels. I really loved the hinted at world building in this short piece. And I also like the twist when it is just a raccoon rampaging. Very well done.
My boss, Horace, gives me the side eye; skeletons shouldn’t be able to give me the side eye, but he does. And it’s frankly a little creepy.
“What?” I ask, smoothing a hand down the mane of my horse, Destiny.
“I do not recommend this course of action. It is revenge, which is not allowed on the Dark Plane. Revenge ranks up there with reincarnation and ghosts; those are not allowed either.”
Floating next to him over a small town in Iowa, I look down as the streetlights pop on, the late summer sun sinking slowly under the horizon.
“Do you have a better idea?” I ask. “We’re doing this town a favor. A favor no one else will do. We can make it look natural.”
Horace sighs, skeletal hands gripping the reigns of his horse, Zarathustra. “You do not think this is revenge?”
“No. Let’s go.”
I gently nudge Destiny’s flanks and she lands gently on Main St. Our target glares at us from behind a trashcan. He’s not sick; he’s a menace. He chases kids, pillages trashcans, and fights with the neighborhood cats.
“He does not look nice. Go ahead.”
My hands reach toward the racoon, lifting his soul from his body. Horace, unaffected by any diseases he might carry, carefully poses him in the street, an unfortunate victim of running in front of a car. His soul floats away to the caretakers on the Dark Plane. Thankfully, he never bit anyone. And the trashcans are safe, too.
~~~~~~~
Congratulations TWENTY-EIGHT TIME WINNER Kelly, and Honorable Mention Bill! Don’t forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
Pass on the great news on Facebook, Discord, Bluesky, Mastodon, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! 🙂
