Thursday, November 8, 2012

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 46

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday again, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 46 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 46:

The lean, mean, queen of romantic suspense and Six Sentence Sunday, Sarah Ballance.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Sorry, that job’s taken.”

All stories written herein are the property (both intellectual and physical) of the authors. Now, away with you, Flash Fiction Fanatics, and show us your #ThursThreads. Good luck! :)


  1. It's hard to get good victims at the best of times, especially when you've got a very particular set of criteria.

    I was looking for someone to torture and torment, long-term, not some quick slash-and-stash, stump-and-dump, or "turn into a swan for some kinky sexytimes" romp.

    Endurance and, more importantly, the ability to suffer are keys. Not being too bright is also an excellent quality for a torture subject, because you don't want them thinking they can escape, or figuring out that they're being gaslighted or boiled like a frog.

    So, when I found the guy, I may have rubbed my hands together and cackled with quiet glee, until my homeboy Yaweh said, "Sorry, that Job's taken."


  2. The Man of Her Dreams

    “Mary!” Frank’s voice boomed across the half empty church. His voice echoed off the high ceilings as he called her again. “Mary! Please!”
    Mary finally emerged from the office behind the altar. Frank’s breath caught. She was radiant and more beautiful than ever. He had to make his case now.

    “Honey I’m sorry that I wasn’t there for you. Please give me another chance!” Frank got on his knees ignoring the shocked whispers around him. He reached for her hands and kissed them both. “I promise from this day forward, in front of God and everyone here, that I will be the man you want. I will love you forever and never leave you.”

    Mary stood speechless. She looked desperately around the crowd and behind her. Frank saw confusion in her face then relief. Frank smiled. ‘I’ve got her back,’ he thought.

    “Sorry, that job’s taken.” The bass voice didn’t come from Mary. It came from a man exiting the same office. Dressed in a tuxedo, the big man reached a hand to Frank to help him up. The big man patted him on the shoulder. “Nice try, though.”

    “Mr. and Mrs. McDever?” A smiling chauffeur stood at the church doors. “Your limousine’s’ ready!”

    Frank stumbled back and sat heavily on the floor of the church. Tears falling, he watched the love of his life walk away with the man of her dreams.

    238 words with title

  3. Desire

    I stand in the long line, waiting impatiently. I’ve wanted this for longer than I can even remember, and I’m not surprised in the least that so many others want it as well. The perks are fabulous. I watch people enter and leave the office, some looking dejected and others hopeful. I feel my heart pound wildly as the line moves forward, step by agonizingly slow step. It’s so damned hot in here too. I pull at my collar, to loosen it, wishing desperately for a breath of fresh air that will never come. To pass the time, I try to think of just the right thing to say that will put me at the top of the list, so that the Boss will come out of the office and say to all the rest “Sorry, that job’s taken.”

    My turn is coming up soon now. I straighten my spine, take a deep breath, and walk into the Big Man’s office.

    “Well?” He scowls at me, waiting.

    I find myself unable to speak suddenly. All thought seems to have left me in His presence. I can only stare at Him with wide eyes. His scowl turns to a venomous glare and He gestures.

    “Get out!”

    “Sir,” I manage to blurt “I did NaNoWriMo on Earth.” He tilts his head and a small smile crosses His full lips. He scratches behind one horn and nods.

    “Then you truly do know about torture. Congratulations, you’re the new Head Demon of that department!”

    250 words {without title}

  4. “Sorry, that job’s taken.”

    “How can it be taken? I just watched you post it on the board and followed you back here.”

    “Any job posted on the board is instantly cross-linked to the net. It was picked off almost instantly. Job hunters with access do much better.”

    “I can’t afford ether access without a job.”

    “I understand. Best of luck. Keep trying.”

    “Please. You must have something.”


    “But it’s my deadline. You know the law…please, I’ll do anything.”

    “I’m sorry to hear that.”

    Tanesha nodded and hugged herself as she turned away. It took every ounce of willpower she had to fend off the tears. “Time’s up,” she whispered to herself.

    Out on the street she considered her choices. Go home and wait for the inevitable? Or walk the other way and make them come find her. Deciding to take the easier path, she turned for home and bounced off the man who stood there so quiet and still she hadn’t noticed him.

    “I’m sorry,” she said.

    “No worries. I was watching you, and I wonder. Do you need a job?” he said.

    “A…real job? You have a registered job?” This was too good to be true.

    “Oh it’s registered. It’s real. But it’s a little…different.”

    “Anything’s better than passing the deadline,” she said, putting out her hand, but when he took it the shock of his hand’s coldness on this hot, muggy night was her first clue that maybe anything wasn’t.

    248 words

  5. Crying, my friend Carol told me of a job interview she had been on. She told me the interviewer quizzed her and then told her there was no job. Carol had continued crying and I had grown angry.
    I applied for the same job preparing for the interview, back and forth, going over all the questions the interviewer might answer. I picked out my best blouse and skirt and ran out the door. I was there in record time in fact fifteen minutes early.
    I answered all the questions the interviewer asked and smiled. I aced this, I knew it.
    The interviewer, a human resources manager hummed, hawed, and then said “Sorry, that job is taken. In fact Genie, there isn’t a job at this time but if one comes up in the future we’ll consider you for a position.”
    How dare they play with the unemployed this way? I turned him into a jackass and left the room, happier than I had been in weeks. As for Carol, I had someone call her and grant her job. So everyone’s happier now especially me. I had my first job on weeks.As for the interviewer I heard they took him to a farm. He’s happier there and much more productive.
    209 words

  6. sorry that's supposed to be first job in weeks.

  7. Together
    By Lisa McCourt Hollar

    Andrew woke with a start, the sound of his own screams dying against the otherwise silence of the night. As Jerry’s face faded, he saw Lori standing in the doorway, eyes wide. She wasn’t afraid, just concerned.

    “Are you alright, baby?” She approached cautiously, he’d hit her once… not on purpose, just still living in the past.

    “Wrapping his arms around her, the tears came. In his head he could still hear the sound of gunfire. It was night in his memory, but the sky was lit from the explosives that filled the night air. Around him his friends were dying. A sharp pain in his leg told him he’d been hit too, but he couldn’t stop moving. This was war… you stopped and you died.

    “Go on,” his best friend was saying. “Leave me. Take care of Lori… tell her I love her.”

    There was a chopper landing not far. They could make it… together. “Sorry, that job’s taken; you tell her.”
    Lifting Jerry onto his back, he made his way towards the Medevac. He’d made a promise to Jerry’s wife… he would bring him home.

    Climbing into bed she lay next to him, holding him close. Jerry’s death had been hard on him… hard on them both. They had gotten through it… together.

    “He would approve,” she whispered.

    Two months after Andrew received his new leg she’d married him… for better and for worst, that included the guilt he felt over taking his best friend’s wife.

    Word Count: 248

  8. The Bachelor

    She hated these parties, the insincerity and false smiles. Not even the body parts were real. She’d been in the business too long, she should retire. But she didn't, because of him. She loved him, even if he didn't know it.

    She made her way back, noticing he had yet another starlet draped on his arm. She was giggling at something he’d said and Tabitha wanted to smack the smile off her silicone-plumped lips. Instead she lifted two flutes of champagne from a passing tray and handed one to him, trying to ignore the shiver of pleasure that ran through her as his fingers brushed over hers.

    “What are we celebrating?”

    “I just got word. You’re the show’s next bachelor. Congratulations.”

    She couldn't help but notice his smile didn't reach his eyes. “You’re sure this is a good idea, Tabby?”

    “Why not? Every woman in the world would like a chance to be Mrs. Brandon Taylor. It’ll be great for your career. And who knows, maybe you’ll meet your soulmate.” The thought made her heart ice over.

    His eyes locked on hers and she saw something new gleaming in their blue-green depths. “What if I already have?” A smile curved over his lips “I think you’re going to have to tell them I’m not on the market anymore. Tell them I’m sorry. That job’s taken.”

    Brandon shrugged off the clutching hands of his companion and reached for Tabitha. “That is, If you want the job, Tabby.”

    Word Count: 246


    "Sorry, that job is taken."
    "Damn," Iris cursed. "I knew I shouldn't have slept in. How about Johnny Depp's stylist?"
    "No." The man in the glasses behind the counter looked annoyed.
    "Ryan Gosling's dialogue partner?"
    "Channing Tatum's hot-oil masseuse?"
    "No!" The little man snapped. "Ma'am, those jobs are all taken. Publishing is all that's left, now I'm going to have to ask you to choose. You're holding up the line."
    "Wait, wait! I don't want to work in the book factories. The people there are so... dirty. There's go to be something. James Deen's stamina coach?"
    The man leaned forward and let his hand hover over the large red button. If there was any way Iris could have gotten through the glass separating her from destiny she would have dove for his hand.
    "No, no, no." She slapped the glass in desperation. "I was just joking. Come on, please. I wasn't serious. You can't..."
    "I can," The little man said, his finger caressed the button. "I've got the perfect job for you, Miss Funnybones. You'll be spending the rest of your life..."
    "No, God please no..."
    "...Fifty Shades..."
    A horrible wail errupted from Iris's mouth, borne from the horror filling her soul.
    "Noooooo...." Iris's scream filled the employment office as he pressed the red button and sent her hurting down the reject chute into the dark abyss of the writer's dungeon.
    "Welcome to HELL!"

    238 words

  10. Nothing had gone right so far. He’d been casing the old lady’s house for hours and hadn’t seen a single light turn on as dusk shifted to night. Thinking he was safe, he’d gone through the unlocked kitchen window. But when she’d come down the stairs, a cane in one hand and a weathered golf club in the other, he’d nearly freaked out. Who goes to bed at five in the evening?

    He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but she’d swung that club at him—missing—and tumbled down the remaining stairs, collapsing into a heap of broken bones.

    Not knowing what to do, he grabbed the loot and ran outside, only to discover his van with a flat tire. Tossing the bags into the back, he changed it as quickly as he could, slicing his hand open on the jack in the process. Then he sped away to hide his bounty and treat his wound. Disposing of her body was an afterthought, but it had to be done.

    He entered her house cautiously, carrying along a large sheet of plastic and a roll of duct tape. He’d never disposed of a body before, but he figured he’d roll her in the plastic, tape it, drag her out, and then find a place to bury her. Easy.

    “Sorry, that job’s taken. She was taken out of here ten minutes ago.”

    Startled, he turned to see a man standing there in the shadows. A man with a gun. And a badge.

    250 words

  11. Bea ran up the stairs, “What on earth is going on here?”
    Lachlan pointed a thumb at Alex’s door. “We’re wondering too. There’s a woman in there.”

    She looked toward Jenna’s opened door. Seeing the only possibility, she shoved her brothers aside, and said, “Jenna, are ye in there?”

    “Oh thank god. Bea, I’m stuck in here. The door latch fell into the wrong spot.”

    Bea frowned. “Oh, I’m so sorry Jenna. The doors are temperamental, they’re five hundred years old, ye see. A ladder is the best I can do until the locksmith comes.”

    “Ok, just please get me out of here.”

    Lachlan whispered at his sister’s ear. Bea whirled on him. “What do ye mean there’s no ladder? Sweet Jesus! How can I tell her tha’?”

    Jenna heard. “Then I’m stuck??”

    Bea next heard Alex laugh. She also heard Jenna’s sharp, “Shut up, you!” Though Bea suspected as much, it didn’t show in her voice when she asked, “Alex, you’re locked in there too?”

    Alex laughed harder. “Aye, I’m in here. I was just minding my own business when a nixie barged into my room and locked the door.”

    Eamon said, “Nixie eh? Are ye sure you’re not holed up with a bodach?”

    Jenna fairly growled at being called a banshee and pounded the door, “This is unacceptable!”

    Lachlan chuckled, “Should we stay at the door and keep your nixie company till morning?”

    Alex gave Jenna's back a slow perusal. “Sorry, that job’s taken.”

    1. Don't forget your twitter handle and word count, Rose. :)

    2. Oops..sorry
      248 words

  12. “Sorry, that job’s taken.”

    This is all I hear anymore from jobs I’ve applied for; I don’t know what’s turning them off. Sighing, I tucked the snakes behind my ears, calmed their discontented hissing, and walked into the daycare.

    “May I help you?” a timid voice asked, gawking at my head. Do I have a hair out of place?

    “Yes, I have an interview at three with Dean Houston,” I said, making sure the extra-dark sunglasses were in place.

    “Thi-this way.”

    I followed the young lady to a back office, smiling. I would be perfect for this job: I’m calm, patient, and always get along with kids. I think they like my hair.

    “Dean? A Miss…uh, what’s your name?”

    Smiling, I stuck out my hand. “Janet.”

    “Uhm, Janet for you.”

    The skinny, pale man with a bad toupee behind the desk nodded, standing to shake my hand. “Please, sit, Janet.”

    At the end, I waited patiently as he looked over my resume, then looked back at me. His eyes were on my hair and I resisted the urge to sigh. I had to maintain my composure; the last bad interview, I accidently took my shades off…it didn’t end well.

    “Well, Janet, it appears we’ve filled the position. But I encourage you to re-apply when we have another opening.”

    Standing, I put on my most charming smile, wiping the lenses of my glasses with my shirt. “I sure will.”

    I left wondering what the staff would think of their newest statue.

    250 words

  13. Tershel shifted on her heels, hooking her thumbs into the heavy gun belt hanging low around her hips. A purse of her lips as she stared at the Wanted poster hanging up on the wall outside of the jail. It was a good amount of money too, a couple thousand. Of course she had to wonder how many people were after the great train thief Barton and his merry men.

    She snorted at the name. They only listed the name of the men but the poster had the full face of Barton. She turned and went inside the building, glancing around for the Sheriff. “So, does Barton need to be alive or dead when he’s brought in?”

    The old man shifted on his chair, glancing up with a start, caught napping. Watery grey eyes looked her up and down. “Sorry, that job’s taken?”

    A dark brown brow quirked up. “Excuse me? Last I checked, it was open for anyone to catch him.”

    “It’s a man’s job, little lady. Why don’t you just leave it be.”

    Tershel worked her jaw, turning on her heel and sauntered over to him, leaning over and resting her weight on her knuckles. She rolled her hips, pushing the coat back from the pair of six shooters. “I didn’t ask if the job was taken, I asked if it mattered how he was brought in?”

    The sheriff blinked a few times, leaning back. “Umm…doesn’t matter. Long as you bring him in.”

    A razor toothed smile. “Perfect.”

  14. The man looked sheepish and defeated as he waited in line at the unemployment office. Things moved slowly, but he finally reached the front.

    “Hello,” he said, handing his application to the woman behind the desk.

    “Hello,” replied the interviewer, “please take a seat and tell me about the kind of job you’re looking for.”

    “Right now, I’m not so sure,” he hesitated. “I didn’t do very well with my last job application.”

    “What kind of job was that?”

    “Well, it came with a phenomenal office, provided nearly unlimited world travel, would have allowed me to take time off to play golf at least twenty times a year and paid a $400,000 salary.”

    “Mr. Romney,” said the interviewer, “I’m sorry, that job’s taken.”

    123 words

  15. It’s a game he liked to play. To send me out on dates, to see how well his little pet could spin her web, seducing prey she had no interest in.

    “So what do you do?”

    My date looked at me with hopeful eyes from across the table. I found him on Match. I’d already forgotten his name.

    “I’m in publishing.” I kept my answers as broad as possible. It was easier that way. When I left. “Assistant to a VP.”

    “Sounds exciting.”

    I look up to tell him that, no, really, it isn’t, but his grin is eclipsed. Over his shoulder, lurking by the windows, I see Him. Hands on his hips. Eyes blazing. He’s sin personified. And tonight he looks so happy with me.

    “So,” the date begins, leaning closer to me. He’s a bug who needs to be squashed. “Any chance you have an opening for a boyfriend?”

    My gaze flickers back to the window. He’s already left. But I know where He’s waiting for me.

    “Sorry, that job’s taken.”

    173 Words

  16. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thank you to everyone who wrote and I hope to see you next week. Good luck on #NaNo! :)


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