Thursday, April 26, 2012

#ThursThreads - The Challenge that Ties Tales Together - Week 20

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Right now it's Thursday, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 20 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 20:

The sexy, sensualist of erotica and sexual enlightenment, Emerald.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

"Vines climbed over and through the wrecks."

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


  1. She reaches out, stretching long slender limbs to caress the body at her feet. She wriggles her toes, hoping to feel the strangeness of him on her lower limbs as well.

    Where did he come from? She has never seen anything like him, straight lines, as straight as the suns rays are foreign to her, exotic and alluring. He shines, reflecting like water though he is solid. He is beautiful and she must have him, must know him.

    Her leafy limbs are whip-like, snapping against his skin, trying to find a way through. He’s found a way through her. Her heart’s sap is leaking from the wound in her trunk, the place he has entered her. She wants the same, to feel him, be a part of him.

    A crashing accompanies her thrust. Success! She wraps herself around him, enveloping him, melding him into her.

    Her vines climbed over and through the wreck until no one would know where one began and the other ended.

    165 words

  2. The moist ground beckoned her to dig her fingers in as far as she could push them. Clawing her way out of the mangled steel, she grabbed handfuls, pulling until her nails bled. While struggling, she thought about what had happened.

    Lights sped at her with no time to swerve. Remembering the sound of the impact made her flinch.

    Looking at her surroundings, her brain tried to register what it was seeing. Hulls of crunched vehicles littered the ravine. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks, indicating that their deaths had occurred long ago. Skeletal remains in various postures grinned at her with morbid smiles, some with long hair that framed their eyeless orbits.

    How long ago was her accident? A day, two? She looked for the other car. Would there be survivors?

    Crawling an inch at a time, she made her way around what remained of her own car. Blood dripped off her chin leaving polka dots in the dirt--a trail of her ebbing life. Finding no other car, she sat with her back up against her upside down bumper and looked up the tall hill toward the road. Where they’d crashed through the trees wasn’t visible, as if it had never happened.

    Feeling life leave her body, she curled into a ball and closed her eyes, wanting to rest for just a moment.


    “That’s how we found her,” the man told the officer. “I’d say she’s been here for at least fifty years.”

    247 Words

  3. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks. Broken, bleeding bodies cried out for his help, but he ignored them. His mind was set on finding one thing.

    “George Vines! You are under arrest!”

    He ignored the bullhorn. Their threats were meaningless. The smoke was too thick, and even though they claimed bravery as one of their skill sets, none of them would venture this far into the mass of twisted metal and death until they were certain the tanker would not catch fire.

    Had they not been chasing him, he never would have had to cause this accident. Accelerating and swerving in front of the tanker had been his only option, and when it jack-knifed, he actually felt a moment of remorse. The car that he’d been following, the foreign black sedan, had wrecked as well. It took several minutes of coughing and blindly feeling his way through the chaos, but he finally found his target.

    He opened the door, and she fell out, staring at him through fixed, dead eyes. Louise, the bitch, was gone.

    In the back seat, Emily meekly cried out, “Father!” He turned and saw her battered and scared, but otherwise unharmed. Lucky for her. She would live.

    Ignoring her cries, he popped the trunk and grabbed the briefcase. If only Louise hadn’t tried to take all their money, she may still be alive.

    He suddenly felt the sharp pain of a bullet rip into his leg. A brave cop. Who would have thought?

    248 words

  4. Mike held up a fist and Kayla froze in her tracks. He took a single step towards the entrance and scanned the street for activity. The view was disheartening.
    Fifteen years after the first wave of attacks, the street resembled an effigy to city life. Burned-out shells of automobiles lined the boulevard. The few remaining buildings over two stories high threatened to collapse at the brush of a stiff wind.
    Mike's heart pounded when he heard a sound and detected movement. A rat scurried out of the knee-high grass grown up through cracks in the asphalt and cement where vines climbed over and through the wrecks. After three excruciating minutes, he relaxed and motioned Kayla forward.
    "You're not going to like it," he whispered.
    "It can't be any worse than the damage I've already seen."
    They methodically moved through each car looking for salvageable pieces to help build the weapon. When they reached a small station wagon, Kayla stopped.
    "Did you find something useful?"
    "No, I found out I was wrong." A tear slid down Kayla's face.
    In the back of the car, the remains of two car seats had melted together. The bright pink and blue plastic stood out against the charred black of the back seat and the seat covers.
    Mike put a hand on Kayla's shoulder.
    She wiped her own eyes and then looked into his. "Your weapon had better work. We need to start winning this war. Not just for us, but for them as well."

    250 words from WIP "Rise of the Dragons"

  5. Rachel Morrigan listened to the terrified screams of the people in the ravaged streets. A cruel smile crossed her lips as she started on her six pack of bottled beer. In an already over-green Pacific Northwest, the plants were taking civilization back with a vengeance. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks of cars, even the buildings weren’t going to last long under this onslaught.

    The chaos and terror gave Rachel a delicious tingly feeling that would only grow once she reached her beer buzz. So nice to see those worthless humans scared out of their minds without having to lift a finger herself. Still, she wasn’t sure why she was being treated to such a spectacle today.

    Jason was an immaculate strategist, and this sort of wild shot didn’t seem like his style. He was all about precision. If Rachel didn’t know better she’d even go so far as to say he valued human life. If he was going to hold the city to ransom again he’d need to get his demands out while there was still a city to save.

    Finishing her first beer, Rachel chucked the bottle at an over-ambitious vine snaking toward her. How was this plant thing supposed to capture the reincarnated Princess? Rachel pressed her lips as she opened her next beer. Actually, plants seemed more like the Princess’s thing.

    226 words

  6. “Sword, what is this place?” Rose asked, as we stepped from the trees, into the ruins. I took her hand. Relishing the way it felt in mine. The softness of her skin. The warmth of her palm. The way her graceful fingers laced through mine.

    I walked forward, and she walked with me. I’d always come to this place alone.But I wanted her to see it. I would have no secrets from her.

    There were strange things there, I know she’d never seen. The ruins were like some kind of grid. Made of big squares, separated by big walkways. There were the remains of huge castles everywhere. But they were not like any castles I knew of. The biggest castles were no more than four stories tall. But there were castles here that had more than 20 stories.

    The walkways had once been clear of vines, and trees. Wrecks of four wheeled carriages were scattered everywhere. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks.

    I lead Rose to to a building I knew of, stopping to look at her. Her strawberry blond hair. Her blue eyes. The curve of her neck. I reached up, and brushed her hair out of her face, back behind an ear. My fingers had never felt so alive. I wanted to stand there forever.

    “We’re here.” I spoke. “What’s inside will change everything you know about the world that we live in.”

    It was time to show her the machines.

    249 Words

  7. Epsilon Black

    All contact with the Advance Colonial Reconnaissance contingent on Frelaka Prime had been lost three standard days earlier. Commander Elias Threlk, Republic Space Marines, had seen fit to make a bigger deal of it than protocol dictated. His son was somewhere down there.

    “Anything yet, Lieutenant?” he snapped at the sensor officer.

    “Yeah, I got ‘em, sir. I mean…sort of. I’m getting nothing but an auto-beacon set on loop. Uhh, sir? The feed is coded Epsilon Black.”

    Threlk swore. Epsilon Black was the ACR equivalent of the Marine acronym SCUBA (Situation Considered Untenable By All). “Patch it to my command terminal in five.” In his quarters, he sat for a moment in silence before keying in his access.

    Mathias appeared onscreen. The boy looked like hell, with one eye swollen shut and his face bloody.

    “…Xenobiology Officer, transmitting Epsilon Black emergency. All personnel other than me believed dead. Fauna exhibits both extreme aggression and rapid adaptation. Capable of compromising armor of all but command module. Simulations indicate fauna will breach within hour. Switching to vid feed for documentation.”

    Threlk watched, in stunned horror, as the camera panned. Monstrous thorned vines climbed over and through the wrecks of vehicles considered impenetrable to concentrated artillery fire. As he watched, the wreckage was slowly being pulled deeper into the writhing undergrowth.

    With a trembling hand, he terminated the link. Fighting back tears, he signaled the bridge.

    “Plot course for nearest Republic base. Notify me when set for jump. Nothing more to see here.”

  8. I awoke. My eyes were dry and the pale green hue of the room caused halos to dance at the edge of my vision. I looked around at my things covered in layers of dust and insect corpses. A buzzing came from beyond the walls.

    I stood. The fabric of my clothes broke in places from my movements. My joints resisted, attempting to keep me from leaving my resting position. A slight breeze rolled through the partially open windows.

    I moved. By the time I reached the threshold, the joints and muscles of my legs loosened. My bare feet navigated the rubble in the hall. Cobwebs shimmied as I passed. At the door, I stopped and looked back at my footprints etched in the pools of dirt on the floor. The dry algae that covered the once chrome doorknob turned to dust when I put my hand on it. It turned easily and I pulled the door open. Foliage crowded the entry but easily gave way as I walked through it.

    I squinted. The brightness of the day attacked my eyes. As my vision cleared, I was astonished at the sights. How long had I been asleep? All around me everything was destroyed, the neighbors’ houses were ruins. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks. Squirrels bounced from the tree limbs above me. Where was everyone? The buzzing sound was louder outside, it seemed to come from everywhere.

    I walked. At the end of the street I stopped and cried.

    250 words

  9. Hannah stood to my right, Sam just to our rear with the horses. Littering the valley in front of us lay a graveyard of old machines, deteriorated hulks half-buried in the grass. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks, throwing forth sprays of creamy honeysuckle blossoms. Dhwani made her way amongst them, arms held slightly from her body as if brushing something none of us could see.

    “She’s a bar singer,” I added. “You found her in a tavern.”

    “She’s not just a singer, Gabe,” Hannah answered. “She’s a Minstrel.”


    “A true Minstrel, darling, sees the heartbeat of the world. She hears the song of the universe and she can play it like the magnificent instrument it is. Music is in everything, living or not.” Funny, Hannah had that tone like she was speaking to a naughty child. I didn’t like it one bit.

    Deep in my brain, a drumbeat began to pound, reverberating down through my spine. Every bit of ‘Smithed metal in me responded to the sound, vibrating. I flinched as the alloys within seemed to almost sing, responding to Dhwani’s call.

    The rusting war monsters begin to rise out of the ground, shaking off their flowery drapes. Others, buried deeper in the soil, also rose, regardless of their damaged states. Guns wheeled about, swiveling according to Dhwani’s will. “You have your army, Gabriel, now what will you do with it?” Hannah mused, pleased.

    For the first time in his life, Sam was dumbstruck. So was I.

    250 words
    Nance P

  10. We got the call late, late enough that prep was minimal. The order was simple.

    “Get to the bayou, another plane went down. This one had our guys on it.”

    That was all the instruction we needed. Four men, all specialists, left the Humvee at the spot where the distress beacon originated. We’d thought we’d seen it all, but no one was ready for what greeted us.

    There were three planes, all hung up in the trees and hanging like marionettes. That wasn’t all. The crash was barely four hours old but vines climbed over and through the wrecks.

    “This ain’t normal, Chief.” Devin’s looked up at the display. “How did they grow so damned fast?”

    “And where the hell are our guys? I got no tracks. This place is a tomb.” Jones pointed out after a quick recon.

    “Maybe they’re still in the plane. You and Harris, scale the tree with the Beechcraft. That’s ours.” I pointed upward.

    They dropped their knapsack and removed gear, but before they could suit up, a sound caught our attention.

    The vines, the goddamn moss covered vines. They’d reached out and were dragging our vehicle across the soft soil, pulling it up into the trees like it was a plastic toy.

    “Fall back, head to the main road!” I shouted. The men are good, their instincts sharp.

    Too late. Before we could leave the vines had woven a twenty foot wall surrounding us.

    Then the vines turned to us and showed their teeth.

    250 words

  11. "Hubris"

    I remember the first time that I saw them.
    After months of pestering my dad he’d finally agreed to take me out on a hunt. He’d long fought against letting me go.
    “Hunts are dangerous,” he’d say. “We can’t afford to lose young men like you.”
    He was right too. Just last week we lost two experienced men to the wild things, but that’s why he finally said yes. Our village is a small one and a hunt must have eight men. Their deaths meant I was needed.
    Our small party headed out into the wild. Through the tall trees that dominated the landscape, until we came to the edge of rocky escarpment. We scurried along its edge until we came to wide plains. “This is where the herds roamed,” my father explained.
    But there was something else visible amid the grass and vine choked flatlands.
    Piles of rubble and twisted metal rose from the earth. They looked like ruined buildings, ancient beyond imagining, left to decay in the wind and the rain. Some were little more than squat mounds of jagged stone while others rose above the land taller than the tallest tree. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks.
    “What are they, father?” I asked, unable to tear my eyes away from the incredible vista before me.
    “They are a lesson, son.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “A man must know his place in the world,” my father explained. “These remind us that we should never reach too far.”

    250 Words

  12. Memorial

    Mae stepped off the road and onto a barely discernible path of weedy groundcover edged by tough grasses and wild strawberries. They were no good for eating, which suited her just fine. After six weeks restoring the first bit of the family farm to some functionality, Mae needed a reminder of why she’d once loved the old place.

    She turned the corner and came to her favorite place. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks of old machinery, covered stacks of rusted blades and bits of wood torn from buildings that had fallen years ago, snaked their way to the top of the heap, then bloomed entwined with rolls of barbed wire.

    Grandpa Jack had loved the chaotic heap. Mae’s father considered it garbage. Mae had seen art waiting to be created from found objects with bits of memory attached. Even now, with the bulldozer pushing last of the decrepit outbuildings into a pit, she could not bring herself to destroy this little pile of history.

    She pulled out a piece of barn board and wiped off the dirt, then freed a bit of rusted metal. Fifteen minutes later, she had a very basic block carving. This one would not be used to make prints for her next show. With wire snips, she twisted a bit of barbed wire, then hung it on the tree that had somehow managed to survive being surrounded by decay. It was a much better monument than a cold stone in a manicured cemetery.

    249 words

  13. Cassie remembered standing on the front steps and watching Jack Pierce stride away, tears coating her cheeks while she clutched the fuzzy red robe around her. It had been his Valentine’s Day gift to her and she’d loved it. That day it had hung on her shoulders like a smothering cloak of pain.

    He’d walked out when she’d told him she’d wanted him as her man, her lover, and her husband.

    Yeah, she’d asked him to marry her. What was so wrong with a woman asking for what she wanted? This was the twenty first century, after all.

    He’d looked at her as if she’d been joking, then with dawning horror when he realized she was serious. Then he’d walked out.

    Jack had broken her heart that day, taking with him many of her hopes and dreams. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks of them, vines of anger, betrayal, loss, and sorrow, slowly choking the life from her.

    She’d packed up everything of him in her home and life, boxing it away both literally and figuratively, and she’d moved on.

    Until now, when he sat in her kitchen, teasing her about cooking eggs.

    “You came here to marry me?”

    “That’s right.”

    “That’s rich.” She barked a humorless laugh. “You’re seven years too late, Jack. The offer has been rescinded.”

    “Come now, lassie, what better offers have you had in meantime?”

    Fury lit her gut on fire and she grasped another egg, winging it at him.

    “Fuck you, Jack!”

    249 ineligible #WIP500 words

  14. I hadn't been here since the Wongari first landed. The walls of the house were crumbling and the alien vegetation was taking over. On the street the vines climbed over and through the wrecks like scenes from a bad sci fi movie. In a few more months you'd probably never know this had once been my neighborhood. That said I wondered how long it would take for the rest of us to be consumed and forgotten as well. Oh sure, the vines moved slowly, but you had to sleep sometime.

    As I expected, there was no sign of Emily or the kids. If there had ever been a note it was gone now and the way these plants eventually ate everything they touched who knows if she had time to leave one.

    When the Wongari first made landed we thought they came here to attack us but the truth was much worse, we weren’t even worth noticing., We were just raw material to be processed like everything else here. Then the vines came, slowly consuming everything in their path before they were harvested by the Wongari themselves. Hell, we wouldn’t even have known what was happening if some MIT grad hadn’t stumbled onto their communications grid and deciphered some of their language.

    Nothing for me here, time to move on. It had taken me months to get back here from the coast and the city was all but deserted, I doubted I’d ever find them but I’d never stop searching.

    @dryadsgarden 250 words

  15. Traffic sounds faded away as we drove. Well—he drove. I tagged along for the ride, my hands trembling with the barely restrained urge to rip off the blindfold he’d insisted on. He’d known I wouldn’t behave though, and tethered my hands to the car door. I tugged at the bonds, shivering as his fingers cruised up my thigh, lightly snapping the garter holding my stocking in place.

    “Are we almost there?”

    “Just about, baby,” he chuckled. “In a hurry?”

    “Maybe,” I said, but the breathless, porn operator sound of my voice gave me away.

    Fingers slipped beneath the edge of my skirt, a teasing promise of what he planned. I caught my breath as he finally, finally stopped the car. He exited and came round, opening my door carefully and undoing the silken rope wound around my wrists.

    Freedom didn’t last.

    He drew me free of the car and swiftly bound my hands behind me. The position left me open to whatever he chose to do. Liquid heat pooled between my thighs as he pressed his erection into the cup of my hands. I massage the hard length of him.

    The blindfold slipped away and I blinked at the sudden light. We stood in the husk of an old warehouse. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks of broken windows and doors. Sunshine filtered through here and there, creating pockets of warmth and shadow.

    “So beautiful,” I whispered.


    His hands cupped my breasts and I surrendered to fantasy.

    250 words

  16. Omnia Vanitas

    A small blind woman told a story of myth and legend that only believers might understand. Her tale led them to the highest mountain on the smallest island of Bermuda to a place few could find, even on an isle of such small expanse.

    At the peak of the highest summit, Aeron and Sheiron finally peered into the Valley of Death’s Delight, but to their dismay the valley was filled to their feet with a thick, swirling fog that buried everything below.

    Down the path of jagged stones and thorny scrubs their words carried dull, as if the Reaper himself were demanding respect. Quiet voices whispered warnings so close that the vapor itself seemed to be speaking into their ears.

    A painful path to a painful past slowly became evident as a boneyard of airliners pressed their faces from the mist. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks lapped one over the other, each giving evidence of their violent and fiery landings. The ruins revealed no answer easily including the screaming mystery of where the remains of the hundreds of passengers had gone that should have been strewn throughout the mangled debris.

    The trail became more pronounced as it approached a shallow cave with a smooth wall in the back baring a simple seal. Etched in stone was the image of a man holding his own skull in his hands, with the words “Omnia Vanitas” scribed underneath, meaning “All Is Emptiness.”

    Sheiron gasped. “We’re here Aeron, the gates of Hell.”

    @acenance - 248 Words

  17. Bernie pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to push the images from her mind. That didn’t help as bursts of white light formed the shadows of birds and there was an explosion of black and purple. They followed the of the two colors and disappeared into a black hole of something. The back of her head pulsed, a surge of bile coming up her throat to coat her tongue. She yanked on the cord to get the bus to stop, stumbling out and not looking where she was. The only thing she cared about was getting the foul taste out of her mouth. The contents of her lunch spewed out into the gravel and grass.

    She braced a hand against the wood fencing. She panted, wiping the sweat off her brow. She didn’t know what she was seeing but it was with more frequency. She thought she was going crazy, locked up and throw away the key crazy.

    Bernie rubbed the back of her mouth and pushed herself up. She had gotten out at a junkyard. She could see the piles of cars on top of each other over the fence. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks. Even the place looked like it wasn’t in use anymore.

    The blinding pain felt like it was going to splint her skull open. She fell to her knees even as she felt the warm dribble of blood run down over her lip.

    You are the gate between worlds. Come to me.

    250 words

  18. A Pirate's "Ozymandias"

    (The following is a tribute - with many apologies - to one of my favourite poems: "Ozymandias," by Percy Bysshe Shelley. This was what the prompt inspired for me immediately, although fitting the prompt into it was a bit tricky, due to the metre.)

    A tourist visited a distant isle
    and said: "Two ships lay broken on that shore,
    their hulls and timbers rotting in a pile
    as wind and waves cause them to crumble more.

    For many years they were a deadly team
    that terrorised the merchants on the main.
    One blocked the bow, one fired upon the beam
    with cannonballs that split the masts in twain.

    They bore their names on dulling, brazen plaques,
    proclaiming that they ruled the seven seas
    and all should live in fear of their attacks,
    but what I saw looked more like gutted trees.

    While sand and seaweed covered once-proud decks,
    gulls and vines climbed over and through the wrecks."

    114 Words

  19. They came moments after he woke – entering his cell with an explosion of light, yanking him to his feet and dragging him outside. He tried to ask them what they wanted, where they were taking him, but he felt like he’d run a marathon – the scream had taken too much out of him – so all he could do was try and keep up.

    When his eyes adjusted to the bright summer sun, they were in the middle of a junk yard. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks; crows circled overhead.

    It was the perfect place to dump a body.

    100 Words

  20. His shuttle gave one last rumble before fading into silence. Jakren jumped from it and kicked the raggedy tire beside him. “Who needs her? Queen of Roam…she ain’t queen of anything.”

    He grabbed his gun and surveyed the debris before him. Vines climbed over and through the wrecks. It would be harder to find the power cell without the extra set of eyes, but he could still do it. He would.

    “And she don’t know nuthin,’ either. Not half of nuthin.’” He stomped through the wreck and held the lantern he brought higher. He spotted the shining silver sphere amongst the tree roots, gnarled vines and dying leaves. He pushed aside what he could and began tearing at the vines with his short blade. He thought he heard a sound and paused, tilting his head. He heard noting else, so he continued with vigor. “Show…her…”

    He heard the sound again and stopped, but this time before he could resume his ravaging, one of the bleeding vines at his foot snapped around his ankle, hissed. He jumped back as the tree in front of him grumbled and whined, the sound of bark cracking reminded him of bones. It would soon be.

    He kicked and stabbed but the creature that turned on him, rising from the broken cobblestone, was nothing he could fend off. Its back was made of the tree he’d torn into and now he would be just as part of the earth as it was.


  21. The ancient Sequoiadendron Giganteum and Adansonia Grandidieri meet for the first time in several millennia. They had been sleeping, like their kin, when the trembling of Mother roused them from Dream. The quakes were unnatural, Mother was in pain.


    “Gran.” They greet each other in wooden voices as they take root again. Traveling is slow and awkward for treants. Long ago they decided, should the need arise, they would send an ancient from each side of Mother to observe and discuss.

    “Gran, please.
    I insist you go first.
    I’ve need to quench,
    My incredible thirst.”

    “Giga, it’s strange.
    Across the land,
    The eaters were missing,
    Anywhere I scanned.
    The flat was barren.
    The hills of sand vacant.
    Not even a vagabond,
    Nomad or vagrant.”

    “Gran, my journey,
    Was largely similar.
    Until I happened,
    Upon a traveler.
    It was a sand-kin, though,
    Awakened like us.
    He spoke to me,
    Of a water surplus.
    So I headed toward the shimmer,
    Found sky-touchers in a complex,
    Toppled over and broken apart,
    Vines climbed over and through the wrecks.
    I got to the beach,
    And found some eaters,
    Snails, crabs and frogs,
    Spoke of waves many meters.
    Then came a shimmer creature,
    From deep in the water,
    He came up to see,
    The human error.
    Deep in the trench,
    They deployed a machine,
    It was supposed to help,
    But made Mother scream.”

    “Giga, so then,
    The humans are gone?”

    “Gran, fled to the sky,
    Beyond the Dawn.”

    246 words

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

  23. It was his place. His secret place. His sacred circle.
    A clearing. The husks of long dead cars arrayed in a ring. A small bonfire in the middle.
    Vines climbed over and through the wrecks. It was feral. Beautiful. His.
    The woman was also his.
    The night stillness was stirred by her soft cries as she pleasured herself. For him. Because he told her to.
    She was in the ancient back seat of a Mustang, legs splayed open, resting her bare feet on rotted out headrests.
    He knelt by the bonfire and watched her.
    He loved to watch her. The play of her fingers between her legs. The way she bit her lip when she hit the right spot. The shine of her juices on her fingers in the firelight.
    He stood and leaned into the Mustang to caress her toes while he watched.
    She smiled and opened her eyes.
    Voices sounded in the near distance.
    She gasped and sat up.
    “Did I tell you to stop?” he asked.
    “No. You didn't.”
    Two men entered the clearing and approached the Mustang.
    Her face burned with shame.
    “You have it?” asked her master of the two men.
    “We do,” replied one of them.
    “Leave it here and she's all yours.”
    The two men chortled and began to get undressed.
    Her master turned away as they climbed into the Mustang.
    He walked out of the clearing as they began to scream.

    247 words


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