Thursday, March 1, 2012

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 12

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. I'm still reveling in the release of Her Devoted Vampire and you can always click on the cover to get your own copy! ;) But now it's Thursday, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week Twelve of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. 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 Twelve:

The ever gorgeous, color coordinated, Sci-Fi Sensualist, Cara Michaels.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

"He stared in horror at the body."

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


  1. He stared in horror at the body. A lot of strange things had come through the emergency room door. He’d seen children with toys of unbelievable size stuck in ears or noses. He’d seen grown men and women who nearly died of embarrassment when their sexual mishaps required outside assistance. He’d seen gunshots, vehicle accidents, bodies broken and torn. People had come through the door that he would have never expected to walk out again, but they did.

    On the other hand, he’d also seen people come in who looked like they would walk away die on his table. A chest pain that everyone was sure was indigestion proved to be a coronary, a case of food poisoning that turned out to be appendicitis. And this.

    He looked at the body again. It would have to go to the coroner to ferret out what had happened. The woman had come in with a notepad and pen. She still sat upright, but her eyes were glazed and her hands gnarled in rigor mortis. The book lay open to what she had been scrawling, the tip of the pen still touching the page. It was the most bizarre death he had ever seen. She’d been able to come into the room and get onto the bed Then somehow she had died without anyone in the ward knowing. He twisted his neck to read her final words:

    “Kill the darlings”
    237 words

  2. The Morning After
    By Wakefield Mahon

    The first thing George noticed was the stench. "Hey Doug, you need to get in here."

    "What'd you find?"

    He stared in horror at the body, lying in the pool of red.

    George rubbed his temples. "That's disgusting. This kind of mess is not what I want to see first thing in the morning."

    "Oh I don't know, I kind of like it."

    George shot his rookie partner a glare. "You're a sick man."

    "I'm just saying; there are worse things. Who do you think could have caused this?"

    "It had to be some of the frat boys. I wouldn't be surprised if they were all involved."

    "Are you just going to leave her there?"

    "You're inexperience is showing Doug. Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get into for touching her?"

    The body twitched. A growl rumbled from her throat as the girl sat up.

    "It's alive."

    "Oh man," she said. "What happened? Why are you guys here?"

    "This is the student union," George said. We could ask you the same thing."

    The young woman ran her fingers through the clots of red in her usually blonde hair. "I remember beer, then tequila Jell-O shots, and then somebody suggested Jell-O wrestling." She looked around. "Wow what a mess."

    "We ought to make you stay and clean it up," Doug said.

    "Go on, get out of here, ma'am." George sighed and shook his head. "Remind me never to take a janitorial job at a party school again."

    250 Words

  3. He stared in horror at the body. What had happened? He remembered going to bed taking an Ambien waking up to blood on his hands, a dead body next to him. He jumped out of the bed and stood beside the body. What if he had been responsible for this? He noted they were dressed in nice silk pajamas like his. No they were his. So he must know this person. He starred long and hard at the face. He knew that face but who was it? He gasped ran to a mirror .Looking back at himself he cried. Why?
    100 words

  4. He stared in horror at the body. It wasn't anyone he knew, but that didn't make it any better. There were no marks. There was nothing broken. There was no blood. All he could guess from such a lack of other clues and from the unusual odour that permeated the area was that this was a case of poisoning. As he looked around, he saw nothing to indicate that the killer was still nearby but he knew that didn't mean the danger had passed.

    He took a few cautious steps, venturing forth from where he had taken shelter from a brief shower. As he came out into the open, the rain started again. This time he got wet, but something was wrong: this wasn't rain.

    As soon as he felt the moisture make contact, he knew he was in trouble. Within seconds, he became disoriented. His thoughts were confused. He made a break for it, attempting to reach the cover where he had hidden earlier. Another shower struck him and his brain felt scrambled. He ran back out into the open but could barely control his legs any more. Soon, he fell down onto his back with his entire body in spasms.

    Before long, a broom came along to sweep him and the other dead cockroach into a dustpan and the killer returned the can of insecticide to its storage place under the sink.

    234 Words

    1. All hail the king of anthropomorphic flash fiction. ;)

    2. Hehe. This is great! I was not expecting a cockroach, or any bug for that matter!!

  5. He stared in horror at the body. She lay on the grass at his feet, sent sprawling by the violence that had felled her. She had once been so tall, so strong. She had been the one he fled to when he needed someone to talk to. She had cajoled his temper down from the heights when he had let it fly. They had spent more than a few nights together; he had witnessed the splendor of autumn’s progression with her. She had been the nurturing, stable influence his wild years had needed, turning him into the man he was. Now she was dead.

    Fyfe knelt in the mangled ivy, laying a hand on the tree’s rough bark. He couldn’t bring himself to look at the grievous wounds marring her. Her sisters and brothers had been slain as well, some of them hideously disfigured. Their limbs had been stripped from their bodies, the soft hues of their trunks scarred and torn.

    Nearby, one of the demons’ machines crouched, waiting for the light of day, when its master would return and wake it from its slumber. Fyfe straightened and approached it, coming to stand before its metal face. “I am not afraid. Not afraid of you, not afraid of those you obey. I swear to you this: you will destroy no more.”

    He waited for the sun to rise and bring the demons with it. They desired war. He would fight.

    240 words
    Nancy P

  6. Damon couldn’t believe he scored so big at his first frat party. The long-legged blonde had begged to see his room. She devoured him with strawberry kisses, her tongue and hands tantalizing his skin. Moaning for more, she guided his hand up under her skirt where he found a surprising lack of cotton.

    He teased her with clumsy fingers until she shoved him to the bed. She slipped out of her tee, releasing perky breasts with taut nipples, the sensual curves illuminated in the nightlight’s meager glow. She smiled then, and undid his jeans, releasing the growing tension there. Then, she lowered her face to his crotch, dragging her long nails down his chest. The faint reddish trails raised more than goose-flesh. He gasped as her mouth descended on him in a very personal way. He was enthralled, completely at the mercy of her midnight ministrations.

    The sun woke him, still half-undressed and eager for another round. Turning, he stared in horror at the body that lay next to him. To call it octogenarian would be a compliment.

    “Morning.” Her craggy voice drew his eyes to her wrinkled face.

    “But, you …”

    “I know. But I can be young again, if you want to play.”


    “Just hold still.” Pinning him with a viselike grip, she leaned over and fastened her mouth to his neck. Her ferocious sucking was strangely erotic, making him moan with pleasure as his mind faded to nothingness. The young woman licked her lips and laughed.

    250 words

    1. I knew there was a twist coming, but I didn't see that one. Great job!

    2. Nice work. I expected her to be dead, but old and wrinkled!? Hehe. Coyote ugly with a twist!

  7. On The Job

    Gino had been on the job more years than he liked to remember and seen his fair share of downright ugly stuff.

    At the scene, he nodded to some familiar faces then got busy. Running the corrugated steel door up on its tracks, he stared in horror at the body. No matter how long you did this kind of work, it never prepared you for something like…this. That someone could wreak this kind of havoc on an innocent made him question his belief in any sort of Higher Power. He swallowed down bile and began to make notes.

    The bumper was twisted like a steel pretzel. The left quarter panel was crushed. Glass was broken…paint scoured away…the list of damages went on and on, seemingly without end.

    Yeah, days like this made him regret being the sole owner and proprietor of Gino’s Quality Automotive Repairs. He just hoped the hump who’d dropped it off was good for the $500 insurance deductible!

    160 words @klingorengi

  8. John’s heart was pounding in his chest like humming bird’s wings at full speed. She was just as he remembered her. Pink lips smiled up at him as she made her way through the foliage of the trees. Those blue eyes were piercing into him and it all seemed a bit too good to be true.
    “Joy?” He called out to her. Memories flooded his mind and of course he fell from Heaven to be with her but she didn’t know him except for in her dreams. Why would she be here now as if waiting for him?
    “It’s been a long time, John.” The voice was huskier than usual and it clicked in unlocking his perception of the whole situation.
    He stared in horror at the body and he could smell the ashes lingering on her skin.
    “Damien…” John’s eyes became dark and damning, “How could you do this to her?”
    “I thought you’d be pleased? I rather like this form.”
    It was too late, John knew, the only way to release his love’s soul was to destroy the host. A single tear fell down his cheek as he plunged his fingers into the soft tissue. The liquid ran down his arm and he breathed in deeply.
    “Goodbye my love.” He prayed that one day he would earn the right to join her once again in the place he had just left.
    “This isn’t over,” Damien’s last words sputtered over overflowing lungs.
    243 words

  9. She had been perfect. Plump, red lips and smoky eyes that held just the right amount of innocence. When Ryan had suggested leaving the club, going someplace quieter, she’d giggled like a schoolgirl. Those smoky eyes held the promise of the thrills she could offer, and he was ready for it all.

    Ryan drove like a maniac, slipping around tight curves as her manicured nails traced the inseam of his jeans. Innocent, she was not. That led to thoughts of the cheap motel and what she might do to him. He pressed the gas down harder.

    Once there, she’d taken the lead. Pushing him back on the bed and treating him to show before the main event. Ryan’s heart danced in anticipation of her trim legs wrapping around him, of her red lips trailing everywhere at once. He was frenzied, almost leaping off the bed to take her when she finally approached.

    But it wasn’t her legs that wrapped around him. The last thing Ryan remembered was her hand, too strong, wrapping like steel around his throat. He spluttered, the last of his lust dying out with the air that caught in his throat. Eyes bulging like a fish out of water, the blood began to thump in Ryan’s ears dully as her smoky eyes changed. They were wrong. Everything was wrong.

    When it was over, he stared in horror at the body – his body. She’d given him the thrill of his life, alright. And now it was over.

    249 words

  10. Jerald trudged through the mud, cringing as it clung thickly to his boots. Pulling his collar up around his neck, he struggled against the freezing wind. The unpredictable spring weather in the Rockies always kept him guessing. Pausing at the barn, he used it as a windbreak, lighting his worn pipe. This might be the longest walk of his day, but it was the most anticipated.

    Knocking his pipe on his boots, he entered the barn, savoring the warmth. Soft nickers greeted him. Inhaling the smell of horses, hay and manure, he sighed with contentment. Retirement couldn't come soon enough, then he could spend all his hours here on his ranch, Windtalker Appaloosas.

    He checked each stall, inspecting his prize winning horses. First was his pride and joy, the stallion that started it all, Windtalker. Then the two yearlings from last spring, Bright Morning and Bright Eyes. Finally his three mares, Sunspot, Dakota and Firefly. All three were with foal and due to birth sometime in the upcoming weeks. Two were the dams of his yearlings, the third, was a first timer.

    Everything was fine until the last stall, housing Firefly, the young mare expecting her first foal. She had given birth alone and the foal was stillborn. He stared in horror at the body. The baby never stood a chance, the cord was wrapped around its neck. The barn seemed to close in on him, no longer the comforting haven at the end of a long day.

    "End of the day"
    248 words

  11. There were times, his father had told him, that he was not allowed in the basement at all, and never ever in his father's private room. This of course instilled a great desire in Joseph who was all of five years old.

    He could hear sounds floating up from behind the closed door as he silently padded down the steps. A clink of metal on metal, the sound of something loud, it sounded like his mother's vacuum. Was she cleaning in the forbidden room? Were they preparing a surprise for him? His birthday was soon and maybe there were presents behind the door, a party?

    Joseph reached slowly for the doorknob, he'd become an expert at this maneuver while practicing to sneak up on Santa last Christmas. Holding his breath he turned the knob thankful that it didn't make noise like the door to the den where his father met with all the crying people.

    The vacuum noise was louder now and he could hear his father humming with the radio. Sticking his head through the opening Joseph looked around. There was a big metal table and his father, his back to the door. There was a machine making the loud sucking noise and there were tubes attached to something on the table. Joseph stretched up on tip toes to see better.

    He stared in horror at the body, just as his mother snatched the door shut from behind. Joseph looked up at the door blankly.

    Joseph Carnes Sr. Mortician.

    250 words

  12. Too Late

    The radiance of the moon defied the bitter darkness of the scene. Sweet flowers and tangy blood mixed in the air to create a surreal bouquet. Pressing a hand to his forehead he slowly shook his head. It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

    “I’m too late,” He stared in horror at the body.

    She looked like an angel in spite of caking blood. Golden locks only slightly disturbed, lunar robes still white in places, skin flawless except for the twisted iron nails piercing it. He’d only ever seen her in visions, but from the first one he’d known he was destined to protect her. And she was destined for something much greater than ignominious crucifixion. Tear tracks led up to large eyes that fluttered wearily open.

    Parched lips parted, “Please, help me…”

    “I’m too late,” He collapsed to his knees.

    141 words

  13. Jerome’s breaths are harsh and rattling, dried blood is caked in his ears. His fingers and toes are black with necrotized tissue. Reynard cries out in despair. He does not see Fine in the baby’s room or the main room. He searches for her in the kitchen and larder, then the bedroom. Her crumpled body lay on the floor near the bed, like a discarded doll. He stared in horror at the body.

    He does not move. Tears blight his vision. His breathing is labored; he sucks in air but it does not quench the burning in his chest. The Darkness whispers to him, but he cannot comprehend its words. Finally, he can loosen himself from the threshold and slowly approach her. He falls to his knees beside her, tears burning his cheeks. His hand recoils back at his first attempt to touch her. He does not want to confirm his greatest fears. He forces himself to see her face and rolls her from her side; wisps of hair laced in the lashes of her open unseeing eyes.

    The putrid smell of her rotting flesh causes his stomach to upturn bile into his mouth. His screams and wails surely alerted the neighbors, though no one came to check on him. He left their flat. He curses the Darkness for not keeping them safe as it had him. It did not respond, but sits in the deep recesses of his mind waiting and knowing it would soon have him completely.

    249 Words

  14. Bryce rubbed at his face, sticking out his tongue. It felt like he had been sucking on cotton all night. And his head had a party of pick wielding gremlins bouncing and spelunking around. He didn’t know what he had done the night before but he hoped he had some fun. He only remembered going to a co-worker’s bachelor party that he hadn’t really wanted to but he had nothing else to do. Why not spend some dollar bills to shove them into a stripper’s g-string. The drinks were paid for.

    It had started out a much better night than nuking another tv dinner. After that, things got fuzzy. One of the women had talked him into a private dance and he had gone back after getting egged on and then… He blinked as he stared up at the darkened ceiling.

    Nothing. It was all blank. He couldn’t ever remember the woman’s name. And thinking to hard caused the gremlins to go to down like his brain was a bouncy house.

    A groan and he sat up, reaching out to turn on the light and cursed when the brightness caused an explosion of stars. A flop back and he knocked against the person next to him.

    He turned his head. Maybe it wsa the stripper or someone and they could tell him what was going on. He stared in horror at the body. There were pieces. An arm that laid atop the head. And blood, lots of blood.

    “Fuck me.”

    250 words

  15. The sound of her heels echoed all around him. He would catch her this time. This tunnel dead-ended; they hadn’t use these trains tracks in over a decade. And she couldn’t have known it, the way she was barreling toward it. He heard the skitter of her sliding in rock as she shrieked and saw the dance of her shadow against the concrete walls. It all crashed together in a cacophony of the sweetest cadence. When he rounded he corner she had her knife out. It shook her hand. Her eyes ate up her face, blacker than the shadows behind her. She was scared.

    “Look, I’m not going to hurt,” he said.

    “I’ll never go back,” she said calmly before gouging the knife into her eye. The burst of color and sound deafened him. He stared in horror at the body. He hadn’t caught her at all.


  16. Joey had seen a lot of atrocities during the course of his career. Not just the in the month he had been working for the department, but during his freelance years. And at school before then. In fact, the seedy underbelly of his chosen profession had caught his attention long before he ever gave thought to taking it personally. Others passed by, unknowing and uncaring, but not Joey.

    These days when he saw a crime, he called upon the hosts of heaven and hell to avenge the wrong, not caring which arrived first, so long as someone had his back. And then grumbling, he’d set about sorting out the mess.

    He stared in horror at the body. She looked like she had been stretched on a rack. Thinking that a girl’s legs went on for miles was one thing…but this sicko tried to see if they could. Arms, too. And neck.

    What a mess, Joey thought, rubbing his face with his hands, wondering where he should start first. The unnatural limbs? The emaciated frame? The malnourished, jaundiced skin?

    Looking close, he found artifacts in her hair and on her skin. The culprit was cocky, to be sure, but he was getting sloppy.

    "Joey, can you fix that image, man?" He swiveled his chair around and pretended his eyes could shoot laser beams. His art director didn't notice. "We're due at the imagesetter after lunch."

    "This ain't an image, Rick," he growled. "It's an effing crime scene."

    246 words

  17. Dead. All dead. I’d made the argument to see the scene—to see what my sister had done—before the violence was cleaned and polished into memory. The sheriff and his team stepped silently behind me as I entered the living room.

    Mom and Dad slumped from their sides of the couch toward each other—like they’d had time to embrace before she’d slaughtered them. I doubted they’d even had time to react before she’d ended them. Careful of the evidentiary trail, I assessed the entrance and exit wounds.

    “Small caliber,” I murmured. “Point blank. She used a .22?”

    “That’s correct, Sergeant.”

    The sheriff and his deputy traded glances. I didn’t have to ask what they were thinking. They expected a showy emotional breakdown. But this was a battlefield and tears had no place here.

    I’d cry. Later. In private. When and where no one could see how my own sister had destroyed me.

    “Where is she?”

    “The dining room,” the sheriff said. “With the—Christmas dinner. You were expected?”

    “No. But they hoped.”

    I moved into the dining room. The stench of blood and waste overwhelmed the perfectly roasted turkey. Dad hadn’t carved it. They were waiting those few extra minutes as always.

    I turned at the sound of weeping and felt the first crack in my stoic façade.

    Her boyfriend.

    He stared in horror at the body of my sister, his eyes finding me.

    “I’m sorry,” he whispered brokenly. “I—I ended things. This is my fault.”

    249 ineligible #WIP500 words

  18. The Truth

    I watch the two creatures dance through the pure white, their enigmatic movements entrancing me. They spin, leap and frolic through this realm where happiness and harmony do not exist. Where they should not exist. They are two shadows in a world of only light. I decide to investigate, moving closer.

    The four-legged wavering clouds of darkness ignore my approach and continue to dance. As I draw nearer to them, everything becomes increasingly lucifugous. The furiously white pillar next to the pair of shadows becomes a deep slate-gray by the time I slink behind it. I peek around the edge to find one of the creatures leering at me, mere inches away. I panic and turn to flee, but the other shadow has cut off my escape route.

    The darkness filling their eye sockets arcs like electricity as my back presses tightly against the pillar. I now recognize these creatures, for they match stories I have heard. They are called Fedsa and Jikol and they are rumored to be merciless killers of all life. My death is imminent. I squeeze my eyes shut.

    I hear a bell. Then, a deep thunderous rumble booms. But… there is no pain. I slowly open my eyes. They communicate with each other using the same bell and rumble sounds I heard before. Between them, rests a window into another place. When I look through, I understand. I stare in horror at the body. My body. They haven’t killed me, I’m already dead.

    250 words

  19. Marriage Vows
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    He stared in horror at the body. His chest tightening, Mark shifted his attention to Regina, who now was pointing the gun at him. Where the hell did she get a gun, he thought, then, how the hell did she end up here?

    Only a few minutes before, he and Kate had been tangled together on the couch. Then the doorbell rang and his girlfriend had excused herself, saying something about her neighbor checking up on her. A loud blast had sent him running for the door.

    “Regina…” Mark stammered, trying to piece together what had happened.

    “Interesting poker game you have going here,” his wife said, shutting the door behind her.

    “What…” He wondered if he was going into shock. His mind was thick with fog.

    “You’re wondering how I found you.” It wasn’t a question. “Tom told me.”

    His brother? Mark shook his head. “Tom wouldn’t have told you…”

    “Not at first,” Regina agreed, tossing a white handkerchief at him. It was stained with something red. “Eventually he saw things my way.”

    Unwrapping the material, Mark gagged, bile coating his throat and mouth. Two of his brother’s fingers were wrapped in the cloth.

    “What did I tell you when we married?”


    “What did I tell you?”

    “That you didn’t believe in divorce.”


    “That if I ever cheated, you would make sure it would never happen again.”

    “Not would, could never happen again.” Lowering the gun, Regina smiled.” If you don’t have it, you can’t use it.”

    Word Count: 250

    1. Wowzers! That's one woman you don't wanna mess with. Nice work!

  20. Every Waking was the same. Adrenaline forced through his veins woke him from enforced sleep. Enu's lungs spasmed; the first gasp after a year was always the sweetest. He vaulted from his cryochamber, shaking off dreams dark and restless.

    The chronometer read ‘Next Sleep: 29 days, 23 hours’.

    He hummed as he crossed to Elaida’s cryochamber, entering the code. The unbreakable crystalline cover slid back with a soft phoosh. He stared in horror at the body. Her pale hair fanned out on the pillowslip. Her features were almost identical – snub nose, pointy chin. Could this be Elaida? He’d heard of the Sleep corrupting memory.

    Her eyelids fluttered and opened. Brown eyes. Elaida's were blue. Her eyes were cornflower blue, though they had only ever seen pictures of cornflowers in books.

    He stared down at this woman, this stranger who was his wife.

    She sat up, “Enu, darling. I missed you so much.”

    She smelled false. His bare toes dug into the soft dust. Non-Elaida clambered out easily and wrapped her arms
    around him. This woman’s muscles were not cramped from long disuse. She had not Slept; she had been placed
    in Elaida’s box.

    The woman sensed stillness, “Enu?”

    “Just tired from Quietus.”

    “Sleeping a year will do that,” she said, patting his bottom.

    Far above him, on a plateau overlooking the blasted landscape, the Keepers stood silhouetted against the harvest moon.

    “He knows,” said one, glasses glinting.

    “He only has 29 days left. What can he do?” said the other.

    250 words

  21. The Grenich house was the so-called haunted mansion on the hill. Some claim to have seen the ghostly figures through the dust ridden windows, but to be honest, Brett didn’t believe in all that hooky bullshit. To put his non-belief to the test, his girlfriend and idiot friends dared him to stay the night.

    “Where’s dumb and dumber?” Amber asked, over the glow of the candle.
    “Chasing noises in the attic.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck.
    She pushed him away and flopped onto the sofa. “I’m not in the mood for a midnight romp.”
    ”Fine,” Brett growled. “Gonna go look for the guys.”
    “Have fun.” She replied, opening her kindle as he disappeared down the dark hallway.

    He cursed his friends for playing tricks and climbed the rickety steps to the attic. Floor boards above him creaked and groaned. What the hell were they doing up there? As he popped his head through the opening, he found a smoky silhouette staring back at him. It was Grenich, wielding a razor sharp machete, dripping with blood.

    He stared in horror at the body. His brain refused to put the image together properly. He wasn’t sure who it was under Grenich’s knife.

    Swallowing back the bile that had made its way up, he returned his gaze to Grenich and watched his lips turn up into a devilish grin.

    'Grenich Mansion'
    232 words

  22. He stared at the body in horror. It was just for a moment, after he had spoken, and somehow she knew that it was not the crime scene that brought the reaction; it was continuing on with their farce of a date. It was too bad her plans were being derailed almost before they had even started.

    Finally, he turned away from the body and the growing crows to continue down the sidewalk, not even waiting to see if she were following or could even catch up. Once upon a time, the view of him walking away from her would have had her enchanted; now she almost wished he would keep walking and never come back.

    118 words

  23. Sorin stepped into the workshop, dropped his keys in the tray, and ran his hands over his face in a tired scrubbing. God, that had gone worse than he’d thought it would. Lavinia was definitely a bitch and a half. Who knew she’d demand the house she’d hated and the car she despised? She could have both. The only thing he’d wanted from the divorce was the workshop with the mother-in-law apartment over it. She’d signed the papers with a disdainful smile.

    Sorin should’ve gotten the warning from that smile. He should’ve known she’d never let anything go without a fight.

    Flipping on the lights, he froze as the breath whooshed out of him in despair. He stared in horror at the body and bile rose in his throat.

    Large sledge-hammer sized holes perforated her hull and bright yellow spray paint graffiti decorated her decks, repeating the hideous word “BITCH”. Lavinia had often claimed he’d spent more time on his boat than with her, but when she threw tantrums like a four year old, his boat had been his only consolation.

    Now she’d taken that as well.

    “God dammit, Lavinia!” His fists balled at his sides. “That’s it!”

    Sorin grabbed his cell phone and punched a few numbers. “Mario, please.”

    Nobody fucked with Sorin Mussolini and got away with it. Not even his bitch of an ex-wife.

    “This’s Mario.”

    “Hey bro. I gotta job for you.”

    236 ineligible words

  24. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED! Thanks to all who wrote and see you next week! :)


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