Thursday, June 5, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 122

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 122 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. One new thing: We now start at 7 am MOUNTAIN TIME. 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 8 PM Mountain 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 122:

Rock nerd, paleo-geek, mining geologist, and comic book aficionado, George Varhalmi.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Let’s do this.”

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!


  1. We often say
    Let’s do this
    Let’s change our ways
    But do we really
    Alter our behaviour?
    Let’s do this instead
    Let’s be kinder
    Let’s be more compassionate
    Let’s find the bright side of things
    Let’s smile a little more
    And complain a little less
    Let’s give a helping hand
    When one is needed
    Without being asked
    Let’s be there
    When someone cries
    Not to judge but to
    Offer a shoulder
    Let’s show our gentleness
    As proudly as we can
    Let’s touch people with our hearts
    For life is short
    And full of trials
    Let’s be better people
    We can only try
    So the world can be
    A better place
    111 words

  2. Leaping flames surrounded Sergeant Major Ian McIntire. The Wolves faced him in a loose semi-circle. Each man met his scrutiny with a subtle nod of his head. Mac resisted rubbing the ache in his chest. The Wolves had been in deadly, no-win situations before. It was the nature of their mission. But this time, they had more to lose than their lives.

    Every last one of them was mated. Some had children—rare within the world of Wolves. A log shifted, fell, sent up shooting sparks into the midnight sky. His studied gaze landed on each man in his unit.

    “We know the odds, Mac.” Michael Lightfoot, crack sniper and his second in command, always quiet and deliberative, spoke with authority.

    “S’not like we have choice.” Danny Keegan, the kid in the group. He’d already almost died in this war.

    Nate Connor didn’t blink as he added, “I’m tired of running.” Yeah, Marines didn’t. Run. Nate would fight to the bitter end.

    Standing next to Nate, Rudek Tornjak offered an chilly smile. He, too, almost died, back in the beginning. “I have a debt to repay, with or without you.”

    “Dude, you know I’m in. I get to blow up shit.” Sean Donaldson looked like a kid headed to a birthday party.

    Hannah McIntire stepped into the firelight, racked the magazine in her automatic rifle, action speaking louder than words. His mate wouldn’t stay behind or be denied her revenge.

    Mac nodded. “Let’s do this.”

    249 words

  3. “Soooo, I think the cherry juice ground into the carpet over here is going to be a problem.” Jack’s oversized t-shirt slipped off my shoulder as I created a bigger, redder, blob with my sponge. “How did it even get over here? The cherries are on the night stand.”

    “Well,” Jack said, topless and precariously balanced on the headboard. “Maybe they stuck to one of us on that tumble to the shower. Dammit!” I looked up to see him rubbing his head and the ornery curtain rod still hanging diagonally across the window.

    “Serves you right. It was your bright idea to use the curtains for restraints.

    “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

    “So did an afternoon romp in my parent’s bed, and look how that turned out. I’m not sure that wood glue is really going to hold that bedpost together like we hoped.”

    Jack looked around the room, stopping on the drywall tape, spackle, and putty knife I’d hauled up from the basement. “Yeah, let’s do this - you get online and search for affordable plane tickets to Alaska. I’ll see how much room I have on my credit card.”

    “Deal.” I tossed the sponge in the wastebasket on my way out. “If we’re lucky, we’ll be halfway over Montana before they’re home.”

    217 words

  4. The old man stood on the beach tears in his eyes, as he thought of the past it rolled back in his mind like he was there again.
    “I don’t want to do this,” he cried as a young soldier.
    “Look around you what do you see? Bodies of good men who gave their lives; so we could continue the fight. We need to take this beach the whole world counts on it. Besides they’d never think we’d come across in this weather.”
    “Those paratroopers missed their targets, as did our R-boats. This is a disaster.”
    “It’s not for you to say. We’re the 9th Canadian infantry brigade, we can take them. Join me, jump into the water and start swimming to the shore. Let’s do this,” Sarge answered.
    The boy soldier jumped into the choppy cold sea, swimming past dead soldiers, cannon fire and explosions exploding around him in the water. He marched on past more bodies past exploding shells until late in the afternoon when they advanced on Carpiquet Airport where low on ammunition they dug in for a night that lasted a month while bodies fell around him.
    The old man pulled himself back from the memories wiping his eyes, he looked towards the memorial. Seventy years ago passed since that fifteen year old boy fought and Sarge had died. Those dying boys, men and survivors were owed a duty; he would be there for the memorial every year to honour them, until he couldn’t anymore.
    249 words

  5. A thread of magic was all Sorin could manage, but it was enough to shatter the prism of light which had been her prison for the past ten months.

    "Well, what took you so long?" Ejan's grin annoyed her, but she ignored him. She had learned to steel herself against the taunts of her captors and friends alike. Ejan was not really taunting her, Sorin realized. He was pushing her to do what she had despaired of doing. Using her magic again.

    "I'd forgotten how to call on my magic. It wasn't the prism's dampening effect, but my will or lack of focus. Call it what you like."

    "I would like to get out of here if you don't mind," Ejan said, looking for signs of their captors.

    "They're coming, Ejan."

    "Hadn't we best be going then?"


    "Sorin, let's do this. Let's get out of this God forsaken place."

    Sorin smiled, her lovely ice blue eyes filled with a determination Ejan had never seen in her.

    "Go, Ejan. Go now before I use my magic again, because when I do, we will die."

    Cate Derham
    184 words from WIP "Sorin's Dilemma" (tentative title)

  6. "I was studying to be a vet." Might as well cash in on her dream.

    The general blinked. "Studying to be a veteran? Have you fought many battles?"

    Bethany snorted. "No, not veteran, veterinarian. It means I care for and heal animals. Particularly horses."

    "So you planned to be a surgeon in your military?"

    "No. I've had enough of military men to last a lifetime." They were only slightly better than political groupies trying to get into her father's good graces. "My father owns a stable of racehorses. I'd hoped to become an expert in caring for them and their injuries."

    "But you are female." He frowned and shook his head. "Is that not more of a male trade?"

    Bite your tongue before you get speared, Beth. She lifted her chin. "My body shape and gender has nothing to with my abilities."

    "I see." Warrick crossed his arms over his chest and dropped his chin. "So you know military men, horses, and, being female, how to talk to other females, yes?"

    Warning bells went off in the back of her head, but she nodded slowly. "Yes, I guess."

    "Let's do this. You shall speak to my Lead Mare about her recent recalcitrance, and that of the other mares in my harem, and I shall allow you to live unfettered in the village with our people."

    "Wait. What?" Bethany gaped. "I don't understand. I have to talk to whom about what?"

    "My Lead Mare, Idrissa Plainsrunner, the mother of my son."

    250 ineligible #WIP500 words

  7. “I swear, I don't know which of you is worse,” Leah growled as she jammed on the brakes and turned to stare at Devon. “You, or your cousin.”

    “Me?” Devon sputtered. “What did I do?”

    “You covered for him,” Leah answered, her voice an odd combination of anger, fear, and something else Devon couldn't recognize. All he knew was that he had never heard such emotion in Leah's voice.

    “He said he was just going to research it...”

    “Research?” Leah asked in disbelief. “He's just going to 'research' this … thing... that has been hunting and haunting us all summer? How long have you known Nathan?”

    Devon frowned, his mind reeling from the backlash of the sudden change in topic. He tried to understand where she was leading, but finally just gave up and shrugged. “All my life...”

    “And in all that time,” Leah demanded. “Have you ever known Nathan to 'research' things in an intelligent, non-risky manner?”

    Devon looked out the window as images of his cousin sticking his hand into a hornet's nest to see if it was abandoned or not.

    “No...” He admitted slowly.

    “Alright then,” Leah said as she put the car back in gear. “Are you coming with me, or are you staying here?”

    Devon sighed. Leah was not in that intelligent, non-risky of a mood herself-- someone had to be the voice of reason.

    “Alright,” he said strapping in. “Let's do this.”

    238 words (excerpt from Bone White Tree)

  8. Eliza placed her hand on top of another's hand, completing the circuit, as her theater director would say. With their hands piled together, the cast of South Pacific smiled.

    "Let's do this!" they chorused.

    Eliza was one of the leads and hurried for the stage, ready to start her first scene. She hoped like hell her parents had made it; they'd been called into work at the last minute but had promised not to miss opening night yet again.

    When the final curtain went down and the cast went out for their bows, Eliza watched her cast mates go out for their bows, then ran out with her fellow lead. Waving to the crowd, she joined hands with everyone, bowed, then hurried backstage.

    Once she was changed, Eliza hurried out to her truck, the agreed upon meeting place with her parents and younger sister. She reached her truck and tossed her bag inside, then looked around the parking lot. It was nearly empty and her parents and sister were nowhere to be seen. Frowning, she took out her phone and sent her dad a text.

    Sorry, honey, just got off work. We'll be sure to come tomorrow night.

    Don't bother =(. I'm on my way home and you missed the most important night.

    Biting her lower lip, she drove home, wondering why she bothered going out for theater. This was the eighth opening night her parents had missed. And it was her final opening night.

    245 words

  9. ***

    “Let’s do this."

    "Okay. Where to?"

    "Over in the corner. Just sit down and relax. Take a moment."

    "Okay. I'll do my best."

    She went over to the corner of the room, and sat down on the gritty floor, promising herself that this was going to be the last time she'd do as he said.

    He nodded and flashed her a wicked smile. The wink that followed made her skin crawl.

    "Yeah. Let's do this," she drawled, with a delirious happiness flooding her mind. Finally, after ten years, she truly smiled.

    He never saw her gun. Never heard the shot.


    100 words, on the nose

  10. There are certain times in your life when you genuinely believe you will die. Most people only experience this a few times in their life--that freezing of the blood, the jittery electric shock to the temples.

    It's really quite hard to describe the black hole that grows in your stomach as adrenaline poisons your senses, forcing the world into a clarity that is violent.

    In that shining haze of pinprick existence, you think about a lot of things. It's almost always a mosaic of images, a light show of seemingly acid-washed memories. People you loved. Your favorite places and the rare peace they brought you. Things you wish you hadn't done. Like the thing that has you doubting the length of your mortality. You'll think: if I survive this, I'll never do anything like it again.

    And if you're most people--you'll mean it.

    But if you're anything like the people I hang out with, you'll barely give it another thought.

    So, as I stood on the rail of a bridge above rushing water, I thought, I'll never do this again.

    Then, Black Claw agents went streaming overhead, stolen objects in hand. And my friends dove from the bridge. Two of them shot straight back into the air, flying their first nature on the planet their from. Another friend sliced into the water and was a rocket beneath the surface. I, on the other hand, had help from a friend. Well, a suit.

    "Let's do this." The suit flared to life.

    W/c 250

  11. I never took time to appreciate the dead. Not, that I went to cemeteries as a job or anything, but still…walking around reading headstone after headstone, I wondered about the people under them. For example did Rick Elders ever marry? Or have children? I leaned on Rick’s large headstone because the world tilted a bit.
    “Jessy, come on.”
    “Oh, sorry,” I yelled back at my friend Anders. I sprinted over to him and wondered how in the world he managed to talk me into some questionable “archeological” dig in the middle of an abandoned cemetery.
    “Anders how much further?”
    “Not much? Thirsty?”
    “No, I already had too much wine,” I answered. Sprinting over to him was making me dizzier. Or maybe it was the amount of wine I’d imbibe. I felt my feet turn to mush and my world went dark. I must have passed out because I opened my eyes and found Anders staring down at me.
    “I think you drank too much.”
    I tried to stand up but I couldn’t, I was tied down. I could not move. I tried to look around but my head was tied as well.
    “Let’s do this!”
    “Do what?” I screamed.

    197 words

  12. Marcus and Jean faced each other in the small windowless room. On the other side of the door set in the dull grey wall they heard a long moan repeated from multiple sources. Marcus smiled.

    “We can do it baby,” said Marcus, squeezing her hand. “There's nothing to be afraid of.”

    “I don't want to stay here,” said Jean, “but I'm not sure I want to go.”

    Marcus pulled Jean close and they shared a gentle kiss.

    “Let's do this,” said Marcus, and he kicked the door open.

    Moaning seemed to come from all around them and they caught glimpses of tall pale creatures behind some of the abandoned houses as they ran towards a hilltop at the edge of the city.

    Halfway to the hilltop the creatures began pouring out of empty buildings. The creatures shambled towards them, focusing on the pair with blank dull eyes while dragging long thin arms.

    The lovers fought side by side with scavenged clubs they found as they ran up the slope, dispatching the monsters with ease. At the top Marcus stood silent while Jeana stood next to him and held his hand.

    The hill stretched away from them and rose to a tower standing on the peak about a mile away. The valley between crawled with the faceless, pitiful creatures. Jean and Marcus glanced at each other.

    “What are you afraid of?” Jean asked.

    “With you,” said Marcus, “nothing.”

    Together they ran towards the tower.

    248 words

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


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