Thursday, July 10, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 127

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 127 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 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 127:

Gardener, Chauffeur, and romance author, AJ Nuest.

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

“What do you fly, darling?”

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. “What do you fly, darling?”
    Joanna almost choked on her sip of coffee, and regarded the man sat at the opposite table from under her eyelashes. He was rather cute, if you liked them this young.
    Whoever he had addressed that question to, clearly had no sense of humour, because his expression darkened, and he ran a hand through his ash blond hair, completely ruining the carefully styled haircut. Young, droolyworthy businessman of the hour threw his phone on the table in seeming disgust. It skittered across the shiny surface and landed in Joanna’s oversized handbag, and this time she did giggle.
    “Damn it. Sorry I’ll need that back. The witch will ring me back in a minute, no doubt.” He ran another hand through his hair and smiled at her.
    Yes, he was definitely cute, and troubled, and, well, Joanna couldn’t have that. It would be downright rude not to help him.
    She smiled back at him and his eyes widened when his phone slowly started to rise out of her bag, and Joanna deposited it in front of him.
    “Be careful who you’re calling a witch, son. A woman could take offence.”
    She downed the last of her coffee, popped his open mouth shut with one long red tipped fingernail and grinned.
    “And it’s a broom stick, of course.” She chuckled at his strangled cough. “As for your particular witch… she just needs a good seeing to, and that contract is yours.”
    244 words



  2. I went into the office to report my missing ship and took a number to wait. At the counter I demanded, “My spaceship has been stolen on your watch. What will you do about it?
    “What do you fly, darling? It’s probably just hidden amongst all those bigger ships,” he responded, patronizingly.
    “Listen, Clark Kent, I pilot a 735 Cassowary Airstream.”
    “Proof of ownership and receipt for payment of parking fees.”
    I produced the papers.
    “Sorry, I used a cleaning spell and it disappeared. Fill these papers in for reimbursement,” Clark said.
    Six weeks later in the market for a new ship, my anti- cleaning spell had worked. I undid the spell and my old ship appeared in its new space. Feeling proud, imagine my surprise when Clark Kent appeared onboard arresting me for fraud. Now I’m doing six years in Rodan and I lost my ships. Crime doesn’t pay!
    250 words

  3. "Ejan... No!" Sorin screamed too late.

    Ejan stepped into the ward and was overcome by a black haze even darker than the obsidian cave which had imprisoned them until Sorin rediscovered her magic and neutralized the prism of light which was their cell.

    "Be very still, Ejan. I can take down the ward, but you mustn't move or you will suffocate."

    She could barely make out his red hair in the darkness. Sorin focused and recited a spell of four words, but nothing was happening. Ejan remained still, but his apprehension was increasing.

    "What do you fly, darling?" The strangely accented shrill voice of a Gyere echoed in the cave and Sorin froze.

    "Surely you have some mechanism of escape, witch."

    "I'm not a witch," Sorin said.

    The Gyere seemed surprised, but said nothing. Pointing a long finger at Ejan, she laughed as he screamed in pain.

    "Stop!" Sorin stretched out her arm and a thin thread of magical fire struck the Gyere, but had no apparent effect.

    "You're really not very good with magic, are you?" The Gyere pointed again and this time she aimed her magic at Sorin.

    "Well, perhaps I misjudged your powers," the Gyere said when Sorin conjured a barrier between them with no more than a thought.

    "We will be going now," Sorin said calmly, removing the ward that held Ejan as the Gyere stood immobile and powerless

    Cate Derham
    233 Words

  4. “You’re not a real doctor. If you were, you wouldn’t call me darling.” I shifted in my chair. I’d have stood and paced if I could, but cuffs and shackles really keep a man down.

    Her smile was unadulterated evil. “I think your delusions are so darling.”

    “Open the door! Help. Let me out of here!” I tried to stand, but with the chair stuck to my ass, I took a tumble.

    She stood over me, spike heels as intimidating as the taser she held.
    “Calm down, Aloysius. Acting that way just makes you look… crazy.” Maniacal laughter filled the room.

    “Laugh, go ahead. I’ll get out of here and I’ll tell the whole world about you and your alien insect pals. Bloodsucking ETs!”

    “Bloodsucking insects? Oh, please. What about this body? We’ve been through this over and over, Mr. Icarious.

    “The body? An illusion to hide your bloodsucking ways.”

    Turning, she looked at the city sprawled beneath the high-rise fortress of a hospital. She made a wide sweep with her arm. “Quite a view from the 43rd floor, eh? What do you fly, darling—considering your plan to escape?”

    The air left my lungs in a defeated sigh. Orderlies arrived and righted my chair—and me along with it.

    With a dismissive wave, she sent me on my way, just before saying,“Oh, orderly, draw a pint of blood from Mr. Icarous. Bring it to me when you’re done. I’ll personally see that it’s taken care of.”

    Teresa Cypher
    247 words

  5. My father’s old bomber jacket reeked of stale cigarette smoke. But with uniforms in short supply, I was thankful for the warmth the soft leather provided against the late autumn chill and zipped it up to my neck as I made my way to the end of the flight line.

    As I wove through the crowd, I didn’t recognize a single face. Some were decked out in full combat uniforms; others looked like me, just regular folks in jeans and jackets like we were out for a morning stroll. The invasion had driven hundreds, if not thousands of refugees into Jessup County. Most were God-loving, law-abiding citizens, but experience had taught me that even good men will buck the law when supplies run short.

    A young lieutenant stood behind a shabby desk inside an old service shed that served as the militia reporting station. His name tape read ‘Stevens.' He looked the part of a seasoned soldier, from his buzz cut down to his polished boots.

    “I heard you were looking for pilots.” I said, pointing to the flyer pinned to the wall.

    He smirked and gave me the once over. “And just what do you fly, darling? There aren’t any pretty, pink Barbie planes in those hangars.”

    The soldier to his left looked up and I watched the recognition wash over his face. He jumped to his feet and called the small room to attention.

    “Perhaps we should start again, soldier.” I said. “Colonel Elizabeth Flaherty reporting for duty.”

    Veronica Jorden
    250 words

  6. ~~~~~

    The suit just wouldn’t stay away.

    I wasn’t there for a quickie with someone like him.
    I was there looking for someone like her.
    The dark beauty at the end of the bar.

    He continued. I told him off in no diffuse terms.

    He insisted, saying a woman like me wouldn’t be there unless I was needing.

    I looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Finally you are making sense!”

    He straightened up and asked to buy me a drink, with a sleazy, ”What do you fly, darling?”

    “Anything under 35. Darling.”

    Dark beauty on my arm, I left.


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

  7. "You need to figure out how you feel about Idrissa and that will help you repair the relationship you have."

    "I don't understand all this emotional female...stuff." General Warrick waved one hand with a frown.

    "It's not just female stuff, General." Bethany courted her patience with the reminder that he was at least talking about it. "All sentient beings have emotions, male or female. The trick here is for you to get beyond the fear of them."

    "Fear? I'm not afraid of anything." He raised his chin and shot her a baleful look.

    Yeah, right. Tell me another one.

    "Very well, General. You wanted my efforts on your behalf, and this is what I've given you. The problem here doesn't just lie with your Lead Mare. To get back her affections, you're going to have to make some adjustments to your campaign."

    He narrowed his eyes. "What campaign?"

    "The one to win back the heart of your Lead Mare and those of your harem. Let me know when you have a plan of action, and I'll bring your terms back to Idrissa." Bethany bowed. "Good day, general."

    "This is impossible, Mare Bethany."

    "No more impossible than flying to the moon. But it's been done."

    General Warrick snorted. "Do you fly?"


    "Do you fly?"

    "Darlin', if I could fly, I wouldn't still be here in your village. Why?"

    "Because it's more likely that I sprout wings and soar around the moon than it is I'll ever understand female emotions."

    249 ineligible #WIP500 words

  8. He walks from the shadows slow and quite. My breath catches when I see how handsome he is. He is now mere inches from me. I can feel the heat radiating off his body.

    “What do you fly, darling?” He says into my ear.

    Hatred pumps through me the instant he asks. I couldn’t quite believe my ears. Here I am thinking that this beast is here to kill me and all he does is insult me. Slowly, I regain my composure and am able to step away but only a step.

    “Who are you?” I manage to get out in at least a whisper. I’ve been told many things about vampires but never has anybody told me that it was hard to focus around them.

    “You already know me, but I guess a refresher is in order.” He is already reaching for the scar on my cheek. Before I can stop him, his hand has found it and I am suddenly pulled into a world that I feel I should remember but don’t.

    Word Count: 174

  9. He couldn’t believe he had one of these between his thighs. A Ducati 1098s. He didn’t even check the speedometer; he’d blown through the speed limit long ago.

    The wind buffeted him through the leather of his jacket and he could feel it pressing chilly fingers through the weave of his jeans. It was like nothing he’d ever done.

    Better than sex.

    Surely someone had that on an ad somewhere.

    “Save a hooker, ride a Ducati!”

    Perhaps his laughter was still behind him, being blown by breezes into the trees that lined this deserted stretch of—

    “Ah, hell.”

    He didn’t brake when he saw the white swatches on the black cycles. There were two.

    “Dammit!” Slow down? Try to outrun them?

    With a sigh, he went with option one. He slowed, coming to an eventual halt on the gravel that lined the highway. He didn’t take off his helmet, but left his hands on his thighs and maintained his seat, looking forward.

    The cycles stopped behind him but only one of the officers came to his side. “So, pilot,” the officer said. “Take off your helmet.”

    He jerked his head at her directive. That voice was pure sex. “Yes, ma’am.”

    She eyed him with a grim smile but dancing blue eyes under reddish eyebrows. “What’s your name and what do you fly, darling?”

    Had to be code for “Give me your license and registration.”

    So he did.

    But when he had the ticket safely in hand? He got her number.
    = = =
    250 words
    Sandi Layne

  10. I watched as a svelte blonde slid onto the barstool next to me, her tight blue dress hugging her curves and boosting her bosom. I signaled for the bartender.

    She smiled. "I'll have what he's having."

    Tough girl. Scotch on the rocks isn't for the faint of heart. The bartender nodded. The lady's hand slid up my thigh and I smiled.

    "Wanna stay here and drink all night or--?"

    I licked my lips. "I'll take an order of or--. Wanna take a ride with me?"

    We clinked glasses and slammed back our drinks. They were quickly refilled and the lady wiped her mouth with her hand. Her other hand moved closer to my crotch and my excitement grew.

    "What do you fly, darling?"

    I finished my drink and put the sweating glass on the wooden bar. "Why don't you come with me and find out?"

    Her slender hand grasped mine as I gently pulled her from the barstool. She giggled when I twirled her around and dipped her over my arm. I was the best dancer in Mondamin, Iowa.

    "Let's get him into bed. I want that leg elevated. The pain medication could be wearing off, so I want him sedated tonight."

    I frowned when the lady disappeared from my arms. Licking dry lips, I begged her to come back; we had a flight to catch. Instead, pain shot up my right leg and I nearly screamed. Guess I'll be grounded for the night. Damn.

    247 words

  11. Streaks of sunlight stuttered on the sidewalk as clouds obstructed its shine. Charlene danced, hopping from one square of light to the next. Laughter rang upon the air, as she chased the rainbow.

    “Don’t go too far,” her mom called from where she read on the park bench. “Stay in my sight.”

    Waving a hand in reply, she continued. A vibrant burst of orange and black – a brilliant monarch – caught the young girl’s eye, and she changed course. A bed of freshly turned earth and planted flowers enticed both. She stooped down, inhaling the burst of summer scent.

    The butterfly alighted on an adjacent bud, its thin long tongue – Pro-bos-cis Mama says –entwining with the stem to drink nectar. She reached out to touch – You’ll hurt their wings – and decided not.

    “What do you fly, darling?” An older man stood just off the path, in the shadow of the wooded area, where Mama had forbid her to play.

    “What?” she asked, taking a step back, and glancing to where her mom sat.

    “Do you fly like a butterfly?”

    The sky darkened as another cloud covered the sun, and a chill ran up Charlene’s back. The roots of her hair felt like they were standing up.

    Trust your instincts, Mama says.

    He reached out, beckoning. “Do you want to see?”

    “Mom!” Charlene ran as fast as she could, her heart beating in her chest. When she reached the bench, she looked back, and the man was gone.

    Louisa Bacio

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


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