Thursday, April 24, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 117


Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday today, so get your flash ready. Writing a #flashfiction thread! Welcome to Week 117 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? You're welcome to join the FB #ThursThreads group where we'll do events and make announcements. 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.
Rules to the Game:
  • This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
  • 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 (or be excluded from judging)
  • Include your Twitter handle or email (so we know how to find you)
  • The challenge is open 7 AM to 7 PM Pacific 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, Twitter, and Google Plus

Our Judge for Week 117:

Vampire wrangler, Supermom, and paranormal romance author, Katie Salidas.


And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.
The Prompt:

“Be right there.”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck!

17 comments:

  1. “Be right there,” Madeline called out. She rushed through the rest of her beauty routine—a coating of black mascara, a swipe of lip gloss, a quick flip of her hair—and she was set.

    She grabbed her purse, but paused by the bathroom window. The setting sun set fire to the sky, and despite the muting effect of city smog, the vivid reds and oranges took her breath away. Yes, tonight would be perfect, absolutely perfect.

    She strode into the living room, and came face to face with her date. Ten years evaporated in the span of a heart beat as her pulse rate kicked up. A painful decade of longing and suppressed emotions—a tumultuous mix of lust and love that had been terrible to endure. If I had but one wish, Madeline had often thought, but one wish, it’d be to open myself to these desires. Express every single one of them without shame.

    Then had come the moment, that wonderful and blessed moment, she’d found the courage. The whispered words had passed Madeline’s lips. They had been alone, a rare moment of solitude, and bolstered by bravery, she’d let out her deepest wish. “I want to know you. All of you, in every possible way.”

    Tonight it would happen, and as her date took her hand, happiness filled her to overflowing. God, she’s more beautiful than the setting sun. The most beautiful thing in all of creation. Tonight it would happen, and all thanks to courage.

    250 words
    @OliviaStarke

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  2. “Gwyneth!” Her mother’s demanding voice echoed up the stairwell. “Sumner is waiting.”

    Her shoulders hunched up to her ears. Gwyn didn’t want to see her fiancĂ©. How could she hide what she’d done?

    You did nothing he hasn’t, the hussy who’d taken up residence inside her head insisted. Just because he cheated didn’t make it right for her to do so. But last night had been glorious. Venn made her feel beautiful. Desired. He’d left her breathless with want and what had she done? Sneak out of his apartment like a common thief, leaving him asleep in the bed where he’d ravaged her heart and soul, laying her body bare to every desire before sating them.

    Furious knocking jerked her attention back to the present. She could never see Venn again. He was too tempting, too…perfect. Her feelings for him couldn’t be. Ever. She had to marry Sumner.

    “GWYNETH! What is the delay?”

    “Be right there.”

    She checked her appearance in the mirror. Plastering a smile on her face, Gwyn joined her mother and Sumner.

    Sumner held her coat, dropped it on her shoulders, and pushed her out the door. Music—an Irish lament—teased her ears as the scent of cloves and oranges tickled her nose.

    Venn. In the shadows, tempting her. She turned her back, a tear slipping from her lashes, mourning what could never be.

    The magic of the music caressed her cheek as she offered a final farewell. “Goodbye, my love.”
    ****
    246 words on WIP Faerie Faith

    @SilverJames_

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  3. “I’ll be home in an hour,” he said, tightening his tie and leaning in towards the mirror.

    “So?” she countered, trying to play it cool, cool, cool.

    He stood up straight and turned to her. “So,” he said slowly, pointing at the bed, “be right there.”

    “Yes, sir,” she replied, trying to hide her widening smile.

    This was new. Being told what to do and how to do it was a total switch, and it still gave her chills. Selma was a control freak. For most of her life, she admitted this freely; proud of the fact that she called the shots, made the plans, executed everything she wanted.

    Until Jeremy.

    Jeremy freed her from all that and Selma never knew – she never imagined – the joy and the raw power that could be found in being nudged over to the other side; the place where total obedience and submission were required and rewarded.

    Jeremy walked over to her and she helped him into his suit jacket, enjoying the proximity of his body to her own, already breathless with what would happen when he returned from his meeting. She ran a hand across the back of his shoulders, smoothing any creases and welcoming the tingle that started in her fingertips and moved on to explore the rest of her body.

    He turned around and grabbed her chin, tilting her face up towards his.

    “Say it,” he said.

    She responded: “Anything.”


    239 words
    @carilynn72

    ReplyDelete
  4. “Hey Ellen,” Rita Jagoda said. “Does this outfit make me look edible or bland?”
    “It’s cute, Rita.”
    “Wow! It’s great having a cousin with telepathic abilities.”
    “What?”
    “Well, you hardly looked at me, so you must be using your ESP to check out my threads.”
    “I’m sorry, Rita. I just feel lousy about what happened with Madison.”
    “Ellen, you didn’t do anything. It’s not your fault that Madison has a cheesy ‘seduce the straight chick’ fantasy. I should have known that she was totally fake with her viscous sweet talk.”
    “You’ll find someone better, Rita.”
    “Yeah, I will. I’m adept with words. Some brainy babe will totally fall for me.”
    The phone rang. Rita answered. A smile spread across her face.
    “Be right there,” she said.
    Ellen looked at Rita questioningly.
    “Editing diva and brainy babe Quanah Weymouth wants to see me at the Evansbrook Informer office,” Rita said, grinning.
    “Can I assume that you’re over Madison?” Ellen asked.
    “Madison who?” Rita replied. “Let that drip try to seduce someone else’s straight cousin. I’m just sorry I subjected you to her. I don’t usually go for Marilyn Monroe wannabes or fake dolls with no personality playing dress-up, but there was something about her that caught me off guard.”
    “Maybe she’s a lamia,” Ellen speculated.
    “A who?”
    “Lamiae are seductive demons. There might be lesbian lamiae.”
    “Why not a succubus?”
    “Lesbian lamia has better alliteration. Now go and use your Lesbian Lamia powers on Quanah.”
    “Will do,” Rita laughed. “Later, Nutball!”

    250 words, on the money
    I'm Leslynne from @UndeadNether
    This story also appears here:
    http://dothedead.wordpress.com/2014/04/24/lesbian-lamia/
    I combined this prompt with the Three Word Wednesday prompt.

    ReplyDelete
  5. “Just because you haven’t seen Santa doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist.” Zach hauled the totes out the door to his truck. Driving took longer than his normal mode of transportation, but he meant to take his whole life with him. He’d even dismantled his ice cave retreat in the mountains above the resort. “Humans haven’t seen Ice Demons, but that doesn’t mean we don’t exist.”

    Sleet shook his head. “Come on, man. Why are you really leaving?” His eyes bulged. “Holy Freya, you met someone.”

    “What?” How in the Ninth Hell had Sleet made that jump?

    “You did.” Sleet threw a claw at Zach. “You totally met someone. What’s her name? What clan is she from? Does she live in the Rockies permanently or is that just her favorite stomping grounds?”

    Zach tried for cool as he loaded more boxes into the truck. “How do you know it’s a woman?”

    “Seriously? You’re gonna go with that line? ’Cause I’m not buying the super casual dude routine.” Sleet crossed his arms over his chest and tossed his dripping hair over his shoulder. “You’ve never done anything so drastic and you’ve never been with anyone other than Greta. Who is still interested in you, by the way.”

    Zach laughed. “No, she isn’t. You’re just hoping I’ll change my mind. But I won’t. Let it be.”

    “Right. There is no way I’m letting this go, and you can bet an avalanche your parents won’t, either, when they find out.”

    246 ineligible #WIP500 words
    @SiobhanMuir

    ReplyDelete
  6. ~~~~~

    Dancing, twirling, gliding smoothly over the floorboards, he came to a halt in front of her.

    Smiled. Reached out a hand, certain it was going to be welcomed.

    It was. She took it, held it, hung on to it, like a buoy in deep waters.

    And they danced, like there was no tomorrow. There was love and power—there were mighty feelings brewing in her chest.

    He went out to get his car, calling over his shoulder, letting her know he would be back in a couple of minutes.

    “Be right there,” he said.

    He never showed.

    He just vanished.

    ~~~~~


    Word count: 100 on the nose
    Twitter handle: @AnnaLund2011

    ReplyDelete
  7. = = =

    “You could call 9-1-1,” Shawn reminded her sensibly. His tone reassured her that his centrally located booster seat—he was four and a half years old and still needed one—had kept him pretty safe during the accident.

    She tried to chuckle, but the effort hurt. “I could, but I don’t know where my phone is.”

    “Oh.”

    Her mind tried to untangle itself, to prioritize.

    “Mom?”

    “Can you get out of your booster?”

    Two clicks. “Hey! I can!” Then, “Ow! Mommy! That hurt!”

    She tried desperately to turn to smile at him. “Good job! Okay, you need to be very careful and—“

    “What’s that smell?”

    Her heart stopped. Gas. Ruptured fuel line? “Honey?” Her voice was strained. “Do your best to get out through that window, there.”

    “Broken glass, Mommy,” he complained, crying and perhaps realizing more than a little boy should ever have to know.

    “I know. Try, baby. I know there’s a fire truck on the way and you can watch for it, okay?” The car creaked and scrunched a little. “Hurry!”

    “But what about you, Mommy?”

    “I’m coming, honey. You go.” The smell of gas was really strong, now, and she was trying to undo her seatbelt to get free. “Go on.”

    He slid, crying about his hand on the glass. “Mommy!”

    “Go on. Find the other driver!”

    He ran, but she could still hear him. “Mommy!”

    “Be right there.”

    “Mommy!”

    Metal sparked against metal.

    “Mommy!”
    = = =

    Word count: 241
    Sandi Layne
    @sandyquill

    ReplyDelete
  8. Situated on a concrete statue base, Jimmy Rickliefs tried to regain feeling in his legs. A car accident had left the drummer with constant pain and near immobility in his right leg. Walking nearly four blocks had weakened his legs and there was no way in hell he could stand up.

    "When you can be a grown up, we can talk," his friend Aldon said, walking away.

    “Fuck you!” Jimmy shouted.

    Aldon turned and Jimmy shook, his breath catching in his throat. Aldon was intimidating enough when he wasn't angry. Aldon's eyes darkened, his nostrils flared, his fists clenched. He loomed over the drummer, his breath heaving in his chest.

    “I’m sick of hearing that!” he shouted. “You’ve done nothing this tour but pout, cry, and expect to be waited on hand and foot. Every time something hurts you expect us to be right there to walk you places or do something for you. I am fucking sick of it and since no one else will say it, I have to. You are not an invalid, Jimmy! You are not as dependent as you like to think! I know you have problems but you’re taking it too far.”

    Aldon yanked him to his feet without warning. Pain shot down Jimmy's legs. His knees buckled and if it hadn’t been for Aldon, he’d have fallen. The singer glared at him, suspending him a few inches from the ground. Silently, Aldon dropped him on the sidewalk and walked away.

    @Aightball
    247 words
    WIP

    ReplyDelete
  9. One more thing…

    Keith listened as the phone rang and smiled at Emily as she danced proactively in front of him to music only she could hear. When his wife picked up he held up a hand—he had to stay focused.

    “Hey hon,” he greeted her, trying not to sound needy. “Wanted to know if you were going to make it home for dinner…”

    When she returned the greeting and promised she’d ‘be right there’ he tensed. When she added that she had ‘one more thing to fix’ before she left, he smiled.

    “I’ll wait for you then,” he said before he hung up and pulled Emily close.

    “She working late again?” Emily asked.

    Keith laughed. “She said she’ll see me soon.”

    When Emily tensed, he kissed her hand. “Relax… she said she had one more thing to do—she’ll be there for hours.”

    He took a deep breath and ran his hands across her shoulders. If he was lucky, that one more thing would lead to three more and it would eleven before Erica even realized she’d been lost in her work.

    “What is she working on anyway?” Emily asked.

    “Temporal-Spatial-Transference,” Erica answered from the door.

    Keith looked up in a combination of surprise and fear when he saw the gun in his wife’s hand.

    “I told you: Be right there...” Erica reminded him. It was the last thing she ever said to him.

    234 words (not including the title)
    @mishmhem

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  10. Sandy rushed into the house and slammed the door shut behind her. Her breath came in shorts gasps as she fought to regain control.

    “It didn't happen,” she said. “It didn't happen.”

    Her glance fell to the bloodied knife in her hand and she threw the blade against the far wall. Sandy looked down at the cuts on her hands, the dirt under her nails. She touched a yellowing bruise on her neck, wincing at the pain.

    “You sonofabitch!”

    Sobs shook her body and she slumped to the floor. Her rain soaked body left a shape against the wall where she leaned, like a ghost watching over her. Sandy crumpled and held herself for a few minutes until a loud clap of thunder woke her from her comfort. She sat up.

    “What am I going to do? I can't just leave him there.”

    Sandy imagined someone finding him behind the old cabin, lying in a pool of blood, blank eyes staring. She shook her head back and forth.

    “Nobody ever goes out there. Nobody but us at least. Well, me now.”

    She sighed and relaxed, smiling, knowing the nightmare was over.

    The phone rang.

    Sandy watched it vibrate against the wall. On the seventh ring she answered it, eyes wide, lips tight.

    “Hello?”

    No one answered, she only heard the sound of dripping water. Then she heard a voice that sounded like wet leaves blowing across a yard of bones.

    “Sandy...don't...leave. I'll...be...right...there.”

    Sandy screamed.

    250 words
    @joshbgosh

    ReplyDelete
  11. “Honey! I’m waiting!”

    “Be right there!”

    I didn’t want to lie to her, but I didn’t really have a choice. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’d have loved to zipped up the stairs, slipped into our room, got naked, and hopped into bed with her. It was what I wanted to do. It was what I couldn’t do.

    I turned off the downstairs lights, ending at the front door. I quietly opened it, stepped outside, and pulled the door too behind me, making sure it locked before getting in my car, and driving away.

    She’d figure out I didn’t have my phone with me. She’d hear it ring on the sofa. I knew she’d get upset. I imagined she’d scream. Then she'd get angry. Eventually she'd cry, then call her friends. She’d stay awake, waiting for me. Waiting to ask me where I’d gone.

    “I’m sorry, my love. I’m sorry.”

    I drove to the Great Dismal Swamp wildlife refuge, parked at the Washington Ditch, and walked the 4.5 miles to Lake Drummond. I pointed my penlight at the north star and waited for the ship to pick me up.

    It was time for me to return to my people. My 15 year mission was complete. My people would live. The antibodies in my blood guaranteed that. Human antibodies she’d passed to me. Antibodies my people needed to survive the deadliest virus we'd ever been infected with. The human influenza.

    237 words
    @LurchMunster

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Ha! Yours is quite funny in relation to mine.

      Delete
  12. Posting for Louisa Bacio because my stupid phone erased her tale.

    “How many times do I have to tell you? I will … Be. Right. There.”

    Gritting her teeth, she kept herself from a snarky reply. Nothing like a sharp tongue to escalate the argument. The line between anger and sadness is a fine one, and tears seeped from the corners of her eyes. She wiped them away, cursing herself for trying again, for putting herself out there.

    Jasmine lay in bed covered with only the lavender sheet. When he entered, she’d tada! lift it off, highlighting the black lace nightie she’d bought.

    She didn’t expect him to remember the anniversary of their first date. He rarely took notice of special events. Their marriage had plummeted from courtship and picnics in the park to weekends spent in front of the TV watching football. Well, that’s at least where he sat his sorry ass.

    Tonight should have been different. Regret bloomed in her chest, chasing out the love. Mike in marketing flirted with her again this afternoon, and she refused to bite. Instead, she poured all her desire into a quick stop at Victoria’s Secret.

    When there was five minutes left in the game, she’d left the living room. It should have been over by now. The clock showed another twenty minutes had past since his last outburst. She kicked off the covers, anger fueling her rant, and stomped inside.

    Her husband reclined in his leather chair, feet up and mouth open. Snoring.

    She poured a glass of wine. Another night alone.

    250 words
    @LouisaBacio

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Nasty phone! Sheesh. Was thinking the comments REALLY hated me today! ((hugs)) and thank you.

      Delete
  13. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you next week. :)

    ReplyDelete

Comments are on moderation, so they'll become visible once I've read them. Words, words, words. I love them. Have you a few to lend?

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