Thursday, February 28, 2013

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 60

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked, and a second year of #ThursThreads flash fiction. So let's get started. It's Thursday again, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 60 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 as written 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 60:

The exacting word mistress and military erotic romance author, Bella Juarez.

So now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“We should fix that.”

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. Word count: 249
    Twitter: @blackinkpinkdsk
    The reclaimed barn wood beneath my bare feet grounds me as I pour a glass of bourbon. Alone in my living room, I allow my mind to drift as I sip the nightcap. Thoughts of her and my lips grazing every curve of her body swirl inside my head.

    The chime at my door is unexpected.

    Nina’s eyes greet mine carefully, and I study her face, every minuscule expression.

    “Can … can I come in?” she whispers.

    I nudge the door open further with my arm but don’t speak. Another measured sip from my glass calms my nerves before I close the door. She’s perched on my weathered leather couch. The leather almost the exact shade of her hair. She’s beautiful but broken. I only wish I could repair her pieces—one by one. She’s too young for so much knowing sadness to reign in her eyes.

    “Nina, you shouldn’t be here.”

    “Why not, Evan?”

    “Because, I’m not that guy.” I want to love her, not borrow her.

    “Maybe I’m that girl,” she counters.

    “I know. That’s why I can’t. If I touch you, it would drive me crazy.”

    “We should fix that,” she whispers.

    I surrender, though I know we will only share this night. I savor every second of our exposed flesh meeting. Her mangled moans mingle with my own as I enter her for the first time. Making love on worn leather, our excursion is of touch, taste, sight, and sound. Our connection is delicious but fleeting.

  2. Waiting

    I go to the gazebo where we sat so often, hands entwined, whispering our dreams to one another. The paint has faded and leaves litter the floor. The woods have crept closer to the structure. I hear a crow cawing in the tops of the tall pines, and hear another answer. Perhaps this place is best forgotten, but I promised to be here. A chill wind plays with the edges of my coat, and I wrap it tighter about me.

    The bench that had our initials carved deeply in its back is missing. Tears prick my eyes, and I swipe at them angrily. It’s not fair. One of the few reminders I had left of our times has been stolen.

    Suddenly, I am running down the path through the woods, feeling branches lash my face as I move. I come out at the cemetery gate, gasping for breath and make my way where I don’t want to be. Sitting next to the headstone is our bench. Startled, I pause, then make my way over and sit down. I run my fingers over the initials in the wood and then over the name on tombstone.

    A light breeze touches my cheek and whispered words come on the wind.

    “We should fix this. It won’t be long.”

    Tears prick my eyes again, this time for a different reason. Soon the bench is back where it’s supposed to be and I sit down to wait, my heart fluttering with anticipation.

    248 words {with title}

  3. The dimly lit passageway reeked of mold and decay. Samantha longed to turn on her flashlight. Mumbled voices up ahead kept her easing forward through inch deep water. Each step taken was placed slowly to avoid the splashing that would draw unwanted attention.

    At a fork in the tunnel, a ray of muffled sunlight shone through a crack in the stone. Following its path, she held her breath as the outlines of a crude drawing carved into the stone came into view.

    Taking a deep breath, she peeked around the corner and moved swiftly across the opening. Once in front of the drawing, she took a piece of paper and a charcoal stick from her pocket. Placing the paper carefully, she made a tracing.

    Folding the paper, she placed it carefully into her pocket. She had a decision to make. She’d found what she came for, but if she went back now, she would never know the truth. Who were these people? A secret society, yes, but how and why was her family connected.
    The words of her father came back to her, “Legacy, Samantha. You must protect it. Doing so will ensure the future of all generations to come.” He’d died with this last request, not having time to explain.

    She’d followed the clues and wound up here. Footsteps racing toward her stopped her heart. Slipping into the shadows, she watched three men run past.

    “The gate is open. We should fix that,” one shouted.

    Damn! I’ll be trapped.

    250 Words

  4. "How long will you be gone?"

    The rain taps on my windowsill, an impatient beat. It matches my frantic pulse, with you sitting so close, but I've long given up on that.

    I shrug. I don't meet your eyes. "A few months, maybe more. I need to get out of here."

    Thunder rumbles. Nature is answering my haunted thoughts.

    He doesn’t love you.

    Get out while you still can.

    While my heart is still in tact.

    “You don’t have to go.”

    I hear you move, but I’m still staring at the rain. I don’t know why you keep me here, a droplet hanging from the glass, waiting, just waiting.

    “I can’t stay,” I whisper. “There’s nothing for me here.”

    You touch my cheek. The droplet quivers.

    “We should fix that.”

    And then, I fall.

    136 words

  5. The Siege

    There was a sound like the whoosh of a geyser, then, a few heartbeats later, the crash of a dozen stones striking ground.

    “Damned trebuchets,” Captain Figgans spat, as he walked the streets of his once fair city.

    A city reduced to a smoking ruin by weeks of siege.
    He looked beyond the walls over a sea of colour. The so-called army of the free. Campfires, tents, pennants, and a multitude of men, camped just outside bowshot stretched as far as the eye could see.

    “Cowards!” It irked him that they were so close, yet were unwilling to engage his forces.

    The enemy commander seemed content with raining stony death upon them, and wait for disease or starvation to weaken his men.

    It was a wise strategy, since Figgans knew his men would cut that rabble to pieces in open battle.

    A battle they’d so far been able to avoid.

    “We should fix that,” Figgans muttered. “Oh that’s right, we have.”

    His lips curled into a smile as he pictured the upcoming conflict. His engineers assured him that the tunnel would be finished within the week, and then those cowardly rebels would know the strength of imperial steel.

    198 Words

  6. He stopped beside them and studied each of them without moving. Maia did her best to keep still, but his perusal unsettled her. Who is this guy and why did they bring him in? The dryad guards looked as uncomfortable with the stranger as she felt.

    “Oh good, you didn’t kill anyone while waiting.” The Keeper chuckled as the guards tensed. “So here’s how this is going to work. You want safe passage across our lands and asylum from the rabble following you. I need you to search for someone with the same energy signature as me and I don’t have time to do it myself…dammit.” She grimaced as she glanced at the man standing to her right. “She’s my sister, I should be the one out looking for her.”


    “Yeah, I know. I’m needed here. We should fix that.”

    “Pardon, Keeper, but how am I to find this missing person?” The robed man spread his hands and the guards gripped their weapons tighter. Maia suspected they wouldn’t get them up fast enough if he chose to attack them.

    “That’s where she comes in.” Circe waved at Maia. “Quinn Tarlen, master assassin and overall sneak, meet Princess Maia Silvercloak, dryad babysitter and sometime Tiffany lamp.”

    Quinn’s chin rose and his icy green gaze slammed into Maia, surprise and animosity sparking in the depths.

    “I’m sorry, Keeper. I shall take my chances with the mob. I cannot do as you ask.”

    Cold fury laced his voice as he turned his gaze on the dryad leader, and Maia swallowed hard against the snub. Then her anger kicked in.

    What the hell have I ever done to you? I’ve been a lamp, for the gods’ sakes!

    “Why not?” Both she and the Keeper spoke at the same time, but Maia kept her gaze on Quinn.

    He didn’t meet her gaze, staring at the Keeper. “I cannot work with my brother’s murderer.”

    321 ineligible #WIP500 words

  7. Decisions

    The scene from the alley plagued Ezra. He should not have been able to remember it at all, nor anything about his life prior to the moment when he relinquished the last of his Grace. He’d saved the girl, simply because she reminded him of Leah, dead several millennia. He did not suffer from sentimentality, so there must be more at play than was apparent.

    She had known him for what he was, despite attempting to convince herself that Truth was a side-effect of madness. I have to safeguard the lost one had been her reason for wanting to live, though she had no idea what the words meant. The summoning curse she had believed to the center of her soul. Otherwise, Ezra would not have come to her aid at all.

    “She’s all alone and believes herself mentally ill,” he said. “This is what it means to be nephilim now. How terribly she suffers for my arrogance, my sin.”

    We should fix that.

    Ezra’s wings unfurled, shattering the window behind him. He’d not heard a voice in his head for so very long. Too long. He could not identify the speaker.

    She is meant for me.

    And then he knew, without a doubt. Lucifer yet slept, but his mind reached out, and he’d found Ezra, careless, inattentive, lax.

    The presence retreated, leaving Ezra to ponder whether anyone else had heard the Light-Bringer’s command. Lucifer yet slept, but not for much longer.

    He had to find Sarah. And run.

    250 words

  8. A new project

    “I’m not going out with you two tonight just so you can set me up again. My lack of a love life is not your responsibility. Night guys.” She hung up the phone and muttered, “No sex in six months and suddenly I’m everybody’s new pity project.”

    “We should fix that.”

    The voice had come from behind her. At this time of night she should’ve been the only one in the office, alone while the rest of the world was out celebrating. Who the hell was still here on a Friday night?

    She turned around slowly and the answer to her question came into view. Rafe Masters, of course. Who else but the drop-dead gorgeous star of all her erotic daydreams would be here late just so he could overhear how pathetic she was.

    “Sir? I’m sorry, I didn’t hear what you said.”

    His green eyes narrowed and he stepped in close, placing a manicured hand on either side of her shoulders, caging her in. “I think you heard me just fine. You mentioned a new project and I’m interested in signing on.”

    “It’s not that kind of project, sir. It’s uh…personal.”

    “That’s the only kind I’m interested in, at least when it comes to you.” Rafe’s lips brushed her mouth and the spicy scent of his cologne filled her senses. “I’ve been working on a personal proposal of my own. I think I’m ready to start negotiations.”


    “Item number one on the agenda, sweetheart. You’ll call me Rafe.”

    250 words

  9. “Will you at least tell me where we’re going?”

    He turn toward her, his eyes dark and mysterious. “You’ll find out soon enough. It’s still a surprise I’m going to keep a while longer. I was half considering blindfolding you but that may upset the other passengers and possibly get us kicked off the flight. So I’ll hold on to the blindfold for later.”

    Asher held their boarding passes out of Mia’s line of vision while he checked them in curbside, passing the attendant a fifty dollar bill to keep their destination a secret.

    Intertwining his fingers with hers, they strolled up the corridor lined with terminal gates. He teased Mia by pretending to guide her toward a few on the way to their real destination.

    “Barcelona!” She pointed ahead. “I’ve never been there.” She stuck her bottom lip out as they walked by the passengers boarding the flight to Spain.

    Asher chuckled. “We should fix that.” He hooked his arm around her waist. “Here we are.”

    Mia squinted at the sign on the wall and smiled. “We’re going to Vegas? I thought the club’s grand opening isn’t until next month.”

    “It is, but I need to check on a couple of things. Plus, I have a surprise for you I’ve been working on for quite a while.”

    Mia wrapped her arms around Asher’s neck and sighed. “You’re too good for me, Sir.”

    “I like the way that sounds, love,” he said and kissed her softly.

    246 WIP words

  10. P.U.R.E Frustration

    Colonel Marissa Sanchez, Third Brigade, Peoples’ Undead Resistance Army (P.U.R.E.) was enjoying some much-needed down time when she heard the explosion. One of the perimeter mines had just gone off.

    Snatching up her weapons and her comms link, she was nearly out the doorway when she ran into a solid wall of immovable meat. To be more precise, she’d collided with the massive form of her field adjutant, Horatio “Tiny” Masters.

    “Dammit, Tiny! Watch where the hell you’re going, you lummox. Get out on the line and get me a sitrep of where the breach is. We could be up to our asses in deadheads any minute.”

    Tiny looked down with chagrin. “Oh…uh…yeah Rissa…about that. Seems we got the proximity sensors set a little too twitchy again. That detonation was Sandoval goin’ up in smoke. For what it’s worth, bastard probably never knew what hit him. Guess maybe we should fix that, huh?”

    “If you have to ask me that, Tiny…” Marissa growled, “Dammit! Sandoval was one of the few guys left around here I could trust to not sleep through most of his guard shift.” She slumped back down into her chair.

    “Aww hell, Rissa. Whaddya expect? After three years of Zombie Apocalypse, we ain’t exactly pullin’ from the best and brightest anymore. But ya know what? We will get through this cause…well…we ain’t got no other choice right?” He squeezed her shoulder with his meaty paw.

    Glancing up at him, she smiled wanly, “No, I guess we don’t.”

    250 words @klingorengi


    Beneath a sky gone dark and glittery, like black velvet sprinkled with crushed diamonds, Camille creeps across the tiled roof, feet silent, movements nimble, mind focused.

    A figure emerges from behind the chimney. “Havana evenings are so delightfully balmy this time of year. Wouldn’t you agree?”

    She freezes against the bouganvilla laced balcony, heart beating frenetically as a cottontail’s in a snare.

    He approaches, moving with a lissome grace that belies his imposing bulk. “Hand over my share and I’ll be on my way, chiquita.”

    Her feet skim the ledge of the portico as she puts distance between them.

    His calves brush the balcony as he slides past in pursuit.

    Her hips press cool granite as she reaches the edge of the roof.

    His shoulders square as he prepares to take hold of her.

    “You are right, senor," she says, voice sweet and beguiling as night blooming jasmine. "These evenings, when the trade winds bring the ocean’s kiss to the rooftops, are enchanting,”

    He looks out across the star speckled horizon, a smile blossoming across his generous mouth.

    She drops to the rose covered lattice.

    He reaches down and grasps her wrist. “I fear you will injure yourself simply because we have not properly met, hermosa. We should fix that.”

    “Next time, perhaps,” she says, slipping free of his grip and tumbling onto the grass below.

    His chuckle follows her down the bricked drive like the caress of a satin cloak.

    - - - - -
    241 words (excluding title) / @bullishink

  12. The last place I want to have a flat tire is on interstate-29…the speed limit says 70…trust me, no one out here is going less than 80. And here my husband and I stand pondering a flat tire on his truck.

    “We should fix that.”

    I glanced up at him, as a semi whizzed past us. “No shit, Sherlock. Do you know how to change a flat tire?”

    He shrugged. “In theory. Let me get the jack and the spare and we’ll get to work.”

    I reached for my cell phone so fast I think I almost set a speed record. Neither of us knows what we’re doing and did I mention the 80 mile per hour traffic?

    “Jacoby, I’m calling a tow truck.”

    “Jimmy, that’s expensive. Why would we do that when we can do it ourselves?”

    By now, he had the jack under the truck and was pumping away to lift the truck. Shaking my head, I looked up a towing company and called them.

    “Insurance pays for it. And you’re jacking up the wrong side of the truck.”

    I almost laughed as he scratched his head; the flat was on the driver’s side. “Well. Fuck. Okay, call a tow truck.”

    Nodding, I indicated my phone. A tow truck was on the way and we’d get out of this alive and with minimal embarrassment. I hugged my husband and finally burst out laughing.

    “I love you…but there are days…”

    “Oh piss off,” he mumbled, flipping me off.

    249 Words

  13. It was 10:15 Monday night. It was also cold, and snowing. “Welcome to Buffalo,” I muttered as I sat at my computer, reading Slashdot.

    My doorbell rang. I sat there a moment, not sure I’d heard it. It happened again. I looked at the time on my computer. “Someone better have a good reason for this.”

    I got up, and headed to my front door. As I did, I heard Lilly’s voice, “Tommy! Let me in!” I quickly turned on the porch light, unlocked the dead bolt, and the lock, and pulled the door chain, and let her in.

    He had on a hat, and big faux fur coat and high heels. “It’s a nasty night out there!” she shivered and stomped her feet.

    “What are you doing here?”

    “I came to visit you.” She turned her back to me, pulled off her hat, and started to unbutton her coat. I stared at my feet. “Here. Put these up.” Without looking up, I took her had ,and coat, and hung them on the coat rack. Then I looked back at her to ask what she was doing visiting that late at night.

    Lilly was standing there, in my foyer, wearing nothing but high heels. My jaw bounced off the floor. “You’re...”

    “Naked,” she finished my sentence for me. “And you’re not.” She stepped forward, and started unbuttoning my shirt. “We should fix that.”

    I’ll never forget that night, even after I’m dead.

    250 Words


    A frigid wind shrieked through the broken wall, sapping our warmth right through the blankets we’d scavenged in the monastery. Holey blankets.

    “We should fix that.”

    It was my turn to make the observation about our point of entry. After weary hours on wretched mountain trails, phantoms breathing down our necks every treacherous step of the way, such ready access to sanctified ground seem a blessing from on high.

    We weren’t the first party to think so. There had been at least two other groups ahead of us, though strangely no sign of monks. Didn’t really matter, the other two parties were dead and frozen by the time we clawed our way out of the night.

    In the predawn light I couldn’t distinguish my companions from the corpses that had preceded us. Everything was still except that damn howling wind. That would echo in my ears for the rest of my days. I figured I should move, rub my chest or something, keep blood pumping. But I’d become comfortably numb and was more than a little afraid of what I’d feel even if I managed to warm myself.

    Peace. Three days ago I would have defined it so differently. But right here, right now, this was peace. I wasn’t happy, but I wasn’t scared either. I wasn’t running, or really hiding, and I was surrounded by people I cared about.

    So let the fucking wind blow. Those things are out there but they can’t come in and that’s good enough.

    250 words

  15. Sexism

    "I hate Valentine's Day," I grumble.

    He looks at me in surprise. "Why?"

    I wave a hand at the rows of cards in front of us. "These...all of them. They're just sexist. Especially these so-called 'funny' ones. Look here." I pick up the first one. On the front, a cartoon of a leering man accompanies the words, If I said you had a beautiful body...

    "But baby, you do have a beautiful body," he says, dropping his voice seductively. He wraps his arms around my waist.

    I slap his hand. "Read the inside."

    He does, holding it in front of both of us. ...Would you hold it against me? Happy Valentine's Day, Sexy!

    "Hmm. You're right." He starts to put the card back, then pauses. I can feel him grinning against my cheek. "We should fix that."

    Twenty minutes later, we leave the store, trying to suppress our giggles. Once outside, he hands me the single card he bought. If I said you had a beautiful body...

    Inside, he has used a Sharpie to cross out the sexist words and replaced them with ones I like much better: ...Would you clobber me with a brick?

    "Happy Valentine's Day, Jake," I say.

    "Happy Valentine's Day, Robbie," he answers.

    From behind us, we hear the yell: "Hey! Who vandalized all the Valentine's Day cards?!"

    239 Words (including title) ((Bronwyn))

  16. “Such a tight hole,” he growled, voice raspy.

    Faith groaned as he filled her. Arching her back, she pushed her hips toward the invasion as the leash would allow.

    Richard wiggled the fingers buried in her pussy, and slowly drew his hand out of her. Two hard smacks made contact with her backside, setting her skin ablaze with another round of prickling fire. He followed the blows with a soft, circling two handed rub. “You redden nicely, Faith. Like two red, juicy apples.”

    She moaned her pleasure at his gentle ministrations.

    “Tell me, do you bruise easily?”

    It took her a few moments to fully comprehend his words. “Uh…I’m not sure. I don’t think so.” She didn’t think she wanted to know why he asked.

    “I’m surprised considering the paleness of your complexion.” Richard grabbed a handful of ass cheek in each hand and pulled them apart. “I could play with you for hours.” He released her. “I’m sure you don’t mind.”

    Before she could answer, he swirled a teasing finger around her brown eye, scattering her thoughts. He gathered up some of her creamy goodness and stuffed it into the hungry hole. “Have you ever had your ass fucked?”

    Faith recalled Sebastian’s fumbling efforts to take her ass and shook her head. “No, sir.”

    “Such a waste. We should fix that. Your little hole here.” He pushed more of her love juice into her backside. “Is just begging to be used until it spasms. Are you aware of that?”

  17. oops!! Forgot...

    250 WIP Words (exactly :P)

  18. I stepped out the back door and onto the creaky wooden deck. The once vibrant redwood had faded to a dismal gray.

    I made my way down the pebbled path to the pool. The walkway, once tended with such meticulous precision, now lay overgrown with crab grass and dandelions. The aroma of decaying leaves crawled up around me, so thick it tickled my nose and coated my tongue. I knelt near the pool’s edge and peered down. Several inches of water lay at the bottom, thick and green with algae.

    I listened as the gentle buzzing and humming of insects filled the air as they began their nightly concert. From the corner of my eye, I caught the fleeting neon light of a firefly, and then another.

    As I stood, the ruins around me transformed into the oasis of my childhood and the treasured memories of lazy summers spent in that place came into focus. From the bottom of the pool, the blue and white tiled mosaic stared up at me. Bright red Japanese lanterns Grandma and I made from construction paper hung from corner to corner of the house, stretching out across the deck. The sound of one of Grandpa’s scratchy jazz records floated through the air.

    “Something tells me the pool pump will need some work,” my husband said, coming up behind me.

    “We should fix that first, then.”

    He smiled. He knew what I really meant.

    There was no way I could sell this place.

    248 words

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


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