Thursday, February 2, 2012

#ThursThreads - The Challenge that Ties Tales Together - Week Eight

Happy Groundhog's Day! And it's Thursday, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week Eight of #ThursThreads. It's the beginning of February, the month of love, and there's been a lot of editing going on. Thank goodness for this challenge.

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 Eight:

The tropical-island girl author of edgy romance and Six Sentence Sunday siren, Zee Monodee.
And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“No doubt it’s a murder.”

Away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThread. Good luck! :)


  1. “No doubt it’s a murder.”

    CSI Chayse Wolffe looked up from his notes at the owner of the voice and tried to dampen down his disgust. What was your first clue, genius? The uniform grimaced at the dead body and crossed himself.

    “We’ll know after we study the forensic evidence.” Chayse turned back to his work.

    The body of the rotund man sat slumped in a chair on the second floor of Eve’s Paradise, an exclusive Gentleman’s Club north of the Strip in Las Vegas. At first glance, he looked like he’d fallen asleep after too much alcohol during a strip tease. But upon closer inspection, Chayse could see marks on his wrists below his shirt cuffs and an odd set of bruises on either side of his mouth. Looks like you’ve been gagged, my dead friend.

    “What’ve we got, Wolffe?” His boss, Selene Peterson, tossed her fiery red mane over one shoulder as she stopped behind him.

    “One dead white male, I’d say mid-forties, and smells like he took a bath in coconut suntan oil.”


    “Richard William Johnson, according to his Nebraska driver’s license. And all his money and credit cards are there.”

    “So, not a robbery, then.” Peterson tilted her head to get a better look at the vic’s face. “Are those bruises on his mouth?”

    “Looks like.”

    She crouched and lifted a cuff with her gloved finger, exposing the marks on one wrist. “Looks like Mr. Johnson got himself all tied up with nowhere to go.”

    250 ineligible #WIP500 words

  2. I had just added a little Tabasco to my morning coffee when Elliott interrupted. At work, we were the epitome of professional. Well, that was until I went to his office, locked the door and closed the blinds. Had to love soundproofed walls. Anyway.

    “Come on, we have a problem.”

    “No doubt it’s a murder,” I quipped. It was always a murder. They only ever called out the chick who can talk to the dead when it’s a murder. It was taxing on the nerves, to say the least.

    I twisted the cap back on the bottle and took the styrofoam mug with me as I followed him back to his office. The blinds were already drawn. Okay, maybe not a murder. I closed the door behind us, my naughty grin fading away as soon as Elliott locked the door.

    “Cara, apparently this is your daughter.” Elliott’s tone was deadpan as he adopted a rigid stance, hands clasped behind him, giving a chin buck toward the diminutive version of me sitting in one of this chairs. She had a suitcase on the floor in front of her, glittering purple jelly-shoes on her feet, a dress of black velvet. Her brown eyes, the same deep chocolate as mine, were wide, set above a pair of rosy lips destined to get her in trouble when she got older.

    “El, I can explain,” I began, feeling nauseous. This was going to end badly. The past can be a bitch… with dimples.

    Nancy Porter / Corgzilla
    248 Words

  3. “No doubt it’s a murder.” the cop said starring at the scene.
    “All I see is a woman, who had some kind of seizure, fell down the stairs right on a groundhog.Then collapsed and died.”
    “Someone was out to get the groundhog. They pushed this woman; she hit her head as she fell on the groundhog.”
    “You make it sound so simple.”
    “Hardly the twist is I’ve traced it back magic.”
    “To bad I’ve liked you as a partner.” I said raising my hand. My partner seized and died. I’d collect my money for killing that groundhog after all.
    100 words

  4. “I wish I knew what happened,” Mrs. Vega said.

    “What do you mean? No doubt, it’s a murder,” Chief Flannigan said.

    “Why are you so sure?”

    “Look at the evidence.”

    “I’m looking, but I don’t see anything about it that points to murder. My husband simply tripped and fell.”

    “What did he trip over?”

    “Probably our cat Fluffy. She likes to sit on the top step. He must not have seen her.”

    Chief Flannigan cocked his eyebrow. “Where did you say you were when this happened?”

    “I was taking a shower. I had the radio on. I wish I hadn’t now, maybe I would’ve heard him fall. I could’ve gotten to him sooner.”

    She wiped her eyes. Chief Flannigan noticed her hand didn’t come away wet.

    “I’m going to have to ask you to come downtown, Mrs. Vega.”

    “Why? Can’t we finish everything here?”

    “I don’t think so.”

    “Why not?”

    “Well, number one—the cat you call Fluffy is wearing a charm on her collar that says ‘Muffin.’ And, number two—my men have searched, and there’s no indoor litter box.”

    “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but I found that collar at a garage sale. And, if it’s any of your business, Fluffy goes potty outside.”

    “Number three, Fluffy aka Muffin has been declawed.”

    “What’s that have to do with anything?”

    “Whoever pushed Mr. Vega left a few red painted nails in his back.”

    Mrs. Vega put her hands behind her.

    “Too late, Mrs. Vega.”

    248 Words

  5. The Wings Of War

    General Nigel T. Twitchwhisker concluded his inspection of
    the perimeter with a growing sense of displeasure. The
    situation was even worse than the reports from his
    field commanders suggested.

    He found the troops soft and unmotivated. The defensive
    emplacements and heavy weaponry were shoddy and in
    need of significant repairs. It was preposterous to think
    they could stand against the threat that drew closer
    with every passing hour. The Council must be told while
    there was still time!

    Twitchwhisker had been unsure what the precise
    reaction of the council would be, but they had left him
    feeling both angry and stunned.

    Councillor Crumbsnatch's sneer of contempt was ill-
    disguised as he offered his remarks.

    "My dear General, had we known you were such a blatant
    alarmist, I can assure you we would have declined your
    posting here. The odd sighting of a crow or two is hardly
    cause for such concern."

    Twitchwhisker had struggled to contain himself. "These
    are NOT isolated incidents, sir! We stand to face a very
    large, determined force. There can be no doubt. It's a
    murder of crows on a direct course towards our colony!"

    The rest seemed every bit as willing as Crumbsnatch to
    ignore and downplay the inevitable. Even Lord Cecil
    Cheesesniff, his family's staunchest ally, was unwilling to
    accept the possibility of invasion.

    Twitchwhisker left them and went to wait on the
    sagging battlements for the telltale flap of wings he
    knew was sure to come. He would meet HIS end not
    debating but fighting.

    250 words @klingorengi

  6. "No doubt it's a murder," Frank said as he lowered his binoculars.

    "Oh, my! How gruesome! You can see that from here?" responded Gloria. "How can you even bear to watch?"

    "You misunderstood. Take a look," he said, offering the binoculars to her.

    "No thanks! I don't want to see that! Shouldn't you call the police or something, or don't you want to get involved?"

    "What is there to be involved in?" he asked. "This isn't anything that requires the police. Haven't they got better things to do?"

    "Okay, now you're scaring me, Frank. Do YOU have a hand in this somehow? Is that why you're even watching it in the first place?"

    "Trust me, Gloria, I'm not mixed up in anything illegal, if that's what you think. If you'd just take a look out there, you'd know what I'm talking about."

    "All right," she sighed, accepting the binoculars and peering through them. "I don't see any dead body or anything. How could you say it's a murder? All I see is a flock of crows."

    "That's what I've been trying to tell you, Gloria: it's a murder. That's what you call a flock of crows!"

    196 Words

  7. Euthanasia

    “No doubt it’s a murder.” The lead investigator said as he scribbled notes on the pages on his clipboard.
    Dirk choked and spit his coffee onto the ground between his feet. “What the hell are you talking about, John?! The gun that killed him is in the palm of his hand. The doors and windows were locked, the alarm was still set and three German Sheppard were asleep in the yard. This man killed himself.”
    John shook his head. “Did you see his wife?”
    “Yes, I saw his wife. She just got off the plane from Bermuda with her aide, Brent. Who can verify her whereabouts for the last two weeks, along with about twenty security cameras in both airports.”
    John looked up for a moment. “Look at them, Dirk. That man is no more her assistant than ‘The Hoff’ is a talented singer. She’s crying, but his hand is on her ass. And, if her tits were hanging out any further, we’d all owe her a dollar. Make no mistake. This was a murder, and I’m sure it was her that killed him.”

    184 Words - @acenance

  8. The foliage burst with shades of spring: crimson, gold, cerulean and more a veritable rainbow of flora while the forest floor teemed with evidence of new life. Tiny bunnies frolicked under the watchful eye of their mother. They scattered as the three approached sparking a raucous chain reaction. A family of deer the trio hadn't even noticed darted away inciting a wave of black birds to surge into the sky.

    "Ooh, look at that onyx flock of birds go!" Margot squealed.

    “No doubt it’s a murder," Carrie commented blankly.

    Luke raised an eyebrow.

    "A murder of crows," she explained. "They're called that because of the tendency of the flock to kill a dying member."

    "That's kind of harsh," Luke said. "Let me guess, Wikipedia?"

    "PBS actually," Carrie replied. "Sacrifice for the greater good and all that."

    Margot shook her head. "Carebear, can't you ever just enjoy the beauty of nature instead of analyzing it?"

    Carrie shrugged then nodded to a clearing. "Speaking of analyzing things, look to the right."

    "I don't see anything."

    "Sorry, I meant my right, your left."

    "No worries!" Margot turned the other way. "Oh that's priceless!" A fiery red reynard and two vixens eyed the group of humans curiously.

    "So, Madame Encyclopedia, would you call that a pack?" Luke asked.

    Carrie bit her lip. "Actually foxes don't always travel in packs. I'd call that a family."

    "I guess family is what you make it." Margot grabbed Luke and Carrie's hands. "Either way, I think it's beautiful."

    250 words

  9. “No doubt it’s a murder.”

    “Really? You think?” I glower at my new trainee. “What gave you the first clue? Was it the slashed throat. Maybe, the bullet wound in the chest or even the disembowelment?”

    I am tired of the noobs coming in, thinking they know everything and saying things that are just plain stupid. This one seems to be the worst one of them all. I put my box of forensic tools down inside the doorway and study the body with intestines circling it. I notice from my vantage that this victim put up one hell of a fight; the fingers have dark blood shoved under the nails. I forget the trainee is here until his insipid voice shatters my train of thought.

    “No, boss, h…”

    The sound of gunshot echoing in the room cuts him off. I glance up. A man stands in the doorway opposite us, aiming his gun at me. I notice a bloody knife stuck between his belt and pants at his side. He is covered in blood and other human excretions.

    I began to say something like, I thought the police cleared the scene, but I did not have a chance as a bullet pierced my left frontal lobe.

    206 words

  10. Hunters

    “No doubt it’s a murder.”
    “How you come by that?” Deputy Martin asked.
    “Well…” Sheriff Long’s Kentucky drawl pulled the word out into four syllables. “You don’t see many accidental chainsaw beheadings. Do you, now?”
    “S’pose not. Still, coulda been self-defense.”
    Martin knelt down by the body, the chainsaw still protruding from it’s chest cavity. The male victim wore an old-timey grey suit. Fancy collars and fine linens that must have cost most of Martin’s monthly salary.
    “Self-defense of a chainsaw? If’ta been a lumberjack, he’d still be here in the woods. Or come to us first with the story.” Sheriff Long said.
    “What do you make of them beads on the handle?” Martin gave the small black beads a swing.
    “Rosary. Catholics all use ‘em.”
    “Sheriff!” Deputy Stamper shouted from up the trail. “I found the head.”
    The Sheriff and Martin left the cold white body and jogged up to inspect the find. As soon as he saw it, Sheriff Long’s stomach knotted up, not for the sheer gruesomeness of it, but the awful truth that set in.
    “Lord almighty, that’s Dr. Taulbee from Shelbyville,” Martin said. “I’d recognize him anywhere. But what’s in his mouth? Look like crackers.”
    Sheriff Long examined the disembodied head, face up in the ferns, it’s forehead smeared with ash in the shape of a cross and it’s mouth stuffed with wafers.
    “They ain’t crackers, boy. That’s the Host.”
    After forty long years, the vampires were back.

    246 words

  11. “No doubt, it’s a murder. Just like you said. ‘A murder in the field.’”

    Harvey looked across the way, binoculars obscuring most of his chubby face. The leathery black wings of the birds beat together as they took off in flight. There were so many of them, ten or fifteen, and the sight stirred something inside of Erin.

    “We’d better have a look then. See what they’re eating for dinner.”

    They marched through the waist-high weeds, scanning ahead for whatever the crows had been feasting upon. They began to smell the stench of death, but navigating the field took some effort and was a bit disorienting, and they nearly tripped over the carcass.

    “It’s just a deer, Erin. I told you. No need to worry. There’s nothing else dead back here.”

    He twisted around, looking for any other evidence of dead animals, but he saw nothing. Turning back to Erin, he saw her smiling cruelly at him.

    “That’s what you think,” she whispered with wicked delight as she fired the tiny pistol.

    As he clutched at the hole in his chest, his face having turned pale white, Erin laughed. “You didn’t see that one coming, did you, you cheating bastard? A murder in the field.”

    205 words

  12. “Exactly what are we dealing with here?” We passed the airlock and boarded the Zennova, greeted by unsettling silence. “And where the hell is everyone?”

    “There’s been a bit of a ruckus,” Gemma said, tugging her helmet off once the atmo reached breathing norms. “Fifteen crew dead, including the captain. Three survivors. A lot of panicked accusations.”


    “The kind where one of these three survivors offed the fifteen dead.”

    A muscle near the corner of my eye twitched. “Offed?”

    “No doubt it’s murder.”

    “You say that like it’s no big deal.”

    She looked at me fully and I saw my mistake immediately. Her placid expression and tone nearly hid the determination in her icy eyes, the caution in each careful movement.

    “It’s a big deal,” she said.

    “Did the Zennova A.I. talk to you? Tell you who—?”

    She cut me off with a sharp, “Yes.”

    “Well then?”

    “We need proof.”

    She motioned me to stay behind her as we moved forward.

    “The ship’s logs—”

    “Don’t exist,” she said. “The Zennova is set to observation only. She’s seen everything but been unable to record anything.”

    “So all we have is the word of an artificial intelligence?”


    I swallowed hard. “Okay. This is great. I’ve never played ‘Catch the Homicidal Maniac’ before. But three of them and two of us, Gem? I don’t like the odds.”

    “It’s six-to-one, Marcus.” She shot a grin over her shoulder. “We’ve got three weapons, two people, and one prayer. We can’t lose.”

    250 #WIP500 words

  13. The hush was palpable, thick as tobacco smoke in the crowded room. Two men huddled around a simple wooden table, in front of the audience. A chair scraped on the back row, a throat cleared. Before their naked eyes, the autopsy had been completed.

    Benedict Marlowe PhD coughed. “And thus, I argue that the death of the Amazonian Chulipoteridae represents an unusual form of self sacrifice. This is voluntary act and the horned males compete to win the opportunity to die in what appears to be the throes of ecstasy.” He lowered his head, modest. Never did to appear cocky in front of the Most Learned Society of Coleopterists.

    Leaning over the microscope, Cranbourne Roberts laughed. At least he uttered a kind of elongated wheeze, rusty at the edges. Enough to make Ben stiffen, press his lips together. The old bastard had never liked him.

    “A pretty argument, lad. But there’s no doubt it’s a murder, no doubt at all.” He wheezed again, looked at the faces on the front row. Hungry. Ready to see blood on the floor. “Throes of ecstasy did y’say? Ah well, I was young once.” One wrinkled eye squeezed slowly shut. A wink. A titter ran round the crowd, a communal sigh of satisfaction. Professor Roberts never disappointed.

    Ben clenched his teeth. Five years in the jungle, three on this thesis. This was his moment, his!

    His fingers curled, as if they were already round the old bastard’s throat. Murder. Oh yes, there’d be murder.


    250 words

  14. The council gathered in silence. Two places were empty. The humans never attended—they found the meetings took far too long—and one of the gryphons.

    “Are we waiting for your third?” Scathylontasha asked, the usual hiss absent from these words.

    “Yes,” Dracopendalat asked. “Where is Cytersaurcanther?”

    “Missing,” Bifuraerontil replied. “His disappearance is of concern to this council. Searching his last known whereabouts, his spouse, Twigentradendron, could only find this.” The purple crest of the gryphon stood on end as he dropped one taloned for leg onto the council chamber’s stone floor. “We hoped our hoofed friends might be able to make something of it.”

    One of the unicorns stepped forward, bowing low over the remnant. His magic flared white for a moment and then dissipated.

    “He is dead,” Hyphapanthar said in horror. “Killed. We don’t simply die,” the stallion said, swinging his mane and looking to the other creatures of the hall. “No doubt it’s a murder.”

    Silence hung for a full minute before pandemonium broke out.

    166 words

  15. The Adoption
    by Lisa McCourt Hollar

    "No doubt it's a murder."

    "Are you sure?" I leaned over, inspecting the body.

    "Unless you can come up with another explanation to Anne's insides being strung across the room."”

    I couldn't. Sighing, I straightened up. I knew Tanya hadn't liked Anne, but this went beyond anything I imagined my daughter capable of.

    "It's my fault. Tanya told me she hated Anne, but I didn't listen."

    "It's not your fault." Tom placed an arm around my shoulder, trying to lead me away. He was whispering something along the lines of my being a good mother, this was Tanya's doing, not mine. I didn't hear him. Tanya's words to me echoed in my head.

    "I don't want her! Take her away!"

    "Tanya, the adoption papers have been signed. We can't take her back."

    "Then I will get rid of her!"

    I hadn't believed her. I thought that with time, she would grow to love Anne. Stepping further into the room, I felt my foot slip. Catching myself, I lifted my shoe. Anne's blue eye looked up at me. Tanya had cut it out.

    The front door slammed shut, followed by feet pounding up the steps. Startled to find us in her room, Tanya stopped short, staring at Anne's body and then back at me.

    "I don't understand you..." My voice choked.

    "Oh good grief mom, she's just a stupid doll. Maybe next time, you'll buy me a baseball bat for my birthday and I will get you a doll for your's"

    Word Count: 250

  16. Manny looked at the body and swore. "Stupid, dumb-ass kids! I swear they never leave anything alone. No doubt, it's a murder."

    "Kids?" Carrie asked. "You sure?"

    "What? You think it was a dog or something?"

    "Well, could be. Or a wolf."

    Manny circled the corpse and bent to look at something on the ground. He pointed. "Look...a popsicle stick. It was kids."

    He stood with a smug look on his face and then scanned the surrounding street. It was empty.

    "Just because there is a popsicle stick lying next to the body..."

    "It's fresh."


    "So...the kids ate the popsicle and then killed him. Probably lured him to them with the treat. God! This makes me sick!"

    "I'm not happy about it either," Carrie said, "but you're jumping to conclusions. I know you don't like the kids."

    "A wolf with a popsicle. Really? Come on!"

    "The wolf wouldn't have a popsicle, Manny. It's just trash that's lying around."

    "Kids probably threw it on the body," he grumbled. "Makes me sick."

    Suddenly the 'dead' squirrel jumped up and squeaked at them. It ran off.

    She looked at him and he shrugged. "Stupid kids."

    193 words


  17. The water ricocheting onto the shower curtain was like a persistently crashing wave. The sound however, wafted as heat into the room where Cleo lay anticipating his wife’s return. Even without refilling his Cialis prescription, the physical stirrings so naturally incited by his love were unmistakable. Thoughts of the most welcoming couplings of his lifetime were all associated with this woman. Despite the separate households, there would always, and only, be one bed. No infidelity could offer any greater prospect of virility than intercourse with the wife that he loved. By her, Cleo was reborn. He was a proud man, full of vitality.

    The opening of the bathroom door ended his reflections.

    “How can you say that you love me?” she was asking. “You only spend the night here when you want sex.”

    Wait a minute! Were we in the middle of a conversation? What the hell went on in the shower? She must have been masturbating.

    Moving closer, she said “Did you take a pill?”

    Why even ask that? I would never say that I took a pill. The shift in expectations would ruin everything. Besides, she’d never believe how many times I’d taken one, only to leave here and find myself at home, three in the morning, working at my computer, with a hard-on.

    No doubt, it’s a murder of any prospect of an erection.

    Aloud, Cleo said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Tomorrow’s a big day. I just wanted to be with you. Come on, let’s get some sleep.”

    250 words

  18. Title: The Truth of the Matter
    Alana sat back in the chair, stunned over the information she had unearthed. David was still pouring over his stack of letters and documents and hadn’t noticed she had stopped.

    The initial stack of letters she found from her grandmother were relatively harmless. They were just innocent stories about Alana’s and Cecilia’s childhoods, things that were the same about mother and daughter, and just things that Evelyn thought were memorable.

    These stack of letters she had in her hand were of a much different variety. They also disclosed history about Alana’s family, but a darker more mysterious history. It also revealed that her parents death was not a mere accident.

    “David, take a look at this,” Alana whispered, her hands shaking as she handed the page she was reading to him.

    He took the offered papers but looked at her intently “Jeez, Ali, are you okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

    Alana chuckled with a humorless laugh. “Perhaps not a ghost, but you’ll understand once you read it.”

    As David read, his jaw fell open in shock. He looked at her incredulously. “Alana, do you know what this means?”

    She nodded. “Yep. And those same people are after me.”

    David frowned, his face becoming fierce. “No doubt it’s a murder in the case of your parents, but I’ll be damned if I let them do the same to you.”

    231 Words of #WIP500 goodness

  19. (almost forgot to post this and I had it written)

    The crowd whispered amongst themselves as Percy perched above them on the building, tapping one booted foot against the stone. She would have tried to get down there but there were too many people. She lost her chance and now she had to go lurk in the morgue.

    Her nose wrinkled a bit. She hated going to the morgue.

    “I don’t know why you dislike it so much. It isn’t like death should bother you.” The smooth voice intoned next to her as the suited man sat down, platinum blonde hair smoothed back from an impassive face. Ice blue eyes glanced down at the crowd. “You deal with the dead all the time.”

    “I’m used to just going to the place where they live. There, it’s like a gathering. And the last time I went to a morgue, there were three of them and they kept arguing with each other until I threatened to send them on another path. You try dealing with a Jewish mother and an extreme Catholic. They expected to find their own personal nirvana.” Percy snorted, pushing hot pink bangs out of her face. “Anyway, down there, it’s going to be a while. No doubt, it’s a murder.”

    “Hmm…no doubt. You still have a job to do and I want your reports sent in before the end of the week or I’ll have to speak to Management about it again.”

    She stuck out her tongue as he faded away to air. “Yeah, yeah.”

    247 words

  20. “No doubt it’s a murder,” The patrolman said as O’Malley walked up to him in the dry riverbed. O’Malley, the lieutenant of Homicide stuffed the chewed cigar stub in his mouth. He knelt down and looked at the wounds on the dead man. He stood up and turned to the patrolman.
    “A murder, you called me all the frigging way out here for this?” He barked out an order. “Pack it up boys, this is a bust.” The patrolman looked shocked as the other Homicide detectives acknowledged and got back into the SUV.
    “Umm, sir?” The officer blurted out. “I don’t mean to be insubordinate but there’s a reason I called you out here.”
    “Is there?” The Lieutenant barked. He pointed to the wounds. “Excuse me, dipshit, but see these wounds. Those are from a lightning strike. This is an accident.”
    “I don’t think that’s possible sir, at least not that it happened here. I checked and this area has had no rain in over two months. No rain means no light…” The Lieutenant cut him off.
    “Earth to Captain Kirk, I’ve got a man down with phaser burns, get Dr. McCoy….Judas Priest! I’ve got this scene and I’m telling you to clear out.”
    “Politics, sheesh,” the officer said as he walked away. When he was out of earshot O’Malley dialed a number on his phone.
    “We’ve got another dead Fae. Yep, looks like we’ve got a rogue wizard or maybe even a dragon, get a team out here.”

    @dryadsgarden 249 words

  21. The couple slowed as they approached a line of yellow tape blocking the sidewalk.

    “No doubt it’s a murder,” she heard someone say, causing a shiver to run down her spine.

    “Well, this is a different kinda action than I was expecting tonight,” her husband said, and any other time the comment would have disgusted her.

    Instead, part of her was disgusted at herself because, looking at the body lying just a few feet away, she wasn’t thinking about the victim or her family.

    Her only thought was: this has to be some kind of bad omen for my marriage.

    100 words

  22. Dave Alvarado’s got a special tree.  The tree is a Ficus at the very edge of the school parking lot and far enough from anything sports-related that none of the jocks are around to hassle him when he goes there to read his fantasy novels at lunch.  There’s a perfect nook at the bottom of the trunk big enough for his giant ass to squeeze into and then he can rest his legs on the roots sticking out of the ground.  He really likes how the roots jack up the pavement, maybe because he imagines them growing so big they pop through the floor in Gym engulfing the sadistic Coach Kring and all those douchebag seniors who never seem to sweat while Dave’s got permanent pit-stains and guy-boobs on top of that.  Sometimes he’s between books and he uses the time to draw dragons or Sheila Sutter, who sits next to him in American Lit. and Trig. and is somehow able to be nice without making him feel like a moron and smells like cucumber-melon nearly all the time.  If he’s feeling really ambitious he draws Sheila Sutter riding on the back of a dragon. It’s some of his best work.
    One Monday morning Dave heads to the tree at break, only to see that the Ficus is gone; there’s just a huge hole in the ground with yellow tape around it like it’s a crime scene, which is just about right because, no doubt, it’s a murder.

    248 words

  23. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thank you to everyone who wrote today and see you next week! :)


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