Thursday, November 7, 2013

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 95

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Are you ready for November? No? Well, it's Thursday today, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 95 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 95:

The Absinthe cocktail drinker, Wonder Woman in disguise, and erotic romance author, Courtney Sheets.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“This place is mine.”

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. Hank stood on his back doorstep. It was his first weekend home from the stupidity of everything. He was fire breathing angry about having been arrested for child abuse. He’d never laid a hand on Jessica. He’d just tried to get her to behave properly. He’d just locked her in her room to stop her from wandering around the neighborhood in the middle of the night.

    He’d done that for her safety!

    And it hadn’t been his fault she wouldn’t eat. She’d had the opportunity every morning, and every evening. He made sure she knew she could eat any time she wanted to.

    The whole thing had gone to court. He’d been found guilty, of course, and sent to therapy. They took him from his home. Made him spend weeks in a hospital enduring treatment for no reason! He’d done what they told him to. And they let him out. And he was home.

    He stood on his back doorstep, and looked at the back yard. Everything needed cutting, and edging, and his gardens needed weeding. He started toward his tool shed. “This place is mine!” He pulled out his lawn mower. “And I’m going to make it into what I want!”

    As he worked, he felt his life returning to normal. He was happy his daughter, Jessica, wasn’t around to get ill, and cry, and get her headaches like she did every time he took care of his yard. Without her there, he could finally be normal.

  2. Oops. Forgot.

    248 Words

    (It's been a long week...)

  3. Jason threw a shielding arm in front of me and faced the wolves. Werewolves. My brain felt a little melty around the edges. Did I believe in werewolves? The leader tipped his distinctly muzzled face to the sky and howled.

    My knees turned watery. Yep. I believed.

    “Jason.” I grabbed his arm. I may as well try moving Everest. “We need to get out of here. Run. Fly. Figure out how to spontaneously teleport.” I put my weight into it, leaning back hard.

    He bared a set of teeth to make a girl seriously reconsider her playful biting fetish. It’s all fun and games until you’re getting stitches in the ER.

    “Oh my—shit. You’re—” I let go of him and backpedaled, making frantic Monty Python-style hand gestures for very sharp teeth.

    He rolled his eyes, such a Jason gesture. Especially around me. Familiarity warred with straight up what-the-fuckery. The wolves pressed forward and Jason whirled, letting loose the whip-crack growl of a Florida panther.

    Oh, you have got to be kidding me. Werewolves weren’t enough of a revelation for one day, right?

    “This place is mine.” Jason growled the words and my semi-hysterical brain wondered how he managed without lisping. His eyes, now a brilliant yellow gold, locked on me. “She is mine.”

    My heart fluttered. My lady parts might have cheered. But my brain?

    “Now what in seven hells is that supposed to mean, Jason Winslow?”

    “Seems she disputes your claim, kitten.” The lead wolf sneered.


    250 words

  4. Perfect Circle

    I quietly gazed out the window across the hazy shades of the garden that we once cared for as one. Flowers once bloomed brilliant blues and reds and heavenly white from nothing more than our love and care, but the lilies are all faded, the ‘bells are dead and the roses weep crimson upon the walking stones.

    The birds no longer sing happy melodies from the trellis gate, but now hop quietly across the ground preying on the innocent and ignorant. Our sanctuary is a grey shade of death, maligned with hate. I killed the flowers. Their beautiful blooms were my casualties as their stems stand as a legion of corpses from my uncaring and disregard.

    The bottle tastes good. It always does, now. A smile twists its way upon my face, but not everything to smile about is nice. The keys in my pocket carry me away. I see the ironic headline in tomorrow’s paper in my head, “Drinking Driver Kills Drunk Driver Who Killed His Wife.”

    Clanging keys against my bars wake me from my dream. My past. “Get up, prisoner. It’s moving day.”

    Glaring through groggy eyes, I ask, “Moving where? This place is mine.”

    Without a word, the guard opened the door and dragged me toward death row. Finally, an end I could live with.

    Greg Nance - @acenance
    217 Words

  5. Mine

    In what seemed like one single and astonishing moment, everyone was gone.

    There was no flash of lightening, no roll of thunder. No zombies, no vampires. No heavens opening up in a foretold rapture. Just one moment moving to the next and changing the whole thing.

    Caren found herself surrounded by all the same-looking things; cars in driveways, flags waving from porches and mailboxes perched expectantly in front of trees and bushes and grass needing to be cut.

    The objects remained but the others – the ones that would breathe and eat and argue and complain and love and kick; they were gone.

    Knocking on doors, calling on phones – nothing. Emails, texts and
    tweets – no one.

    How to react? How to make sense? She would not panic. There would be plenty of time for theories and investigations. What she wanted to do now was to eat unhealthy foods and accumulate designer bags and take a look around.

    “Well I guess this place is mine,” Caren said out loud, startled at the sound of her own voice. Without the hum of others, those echoes and vibrations she never noticed before, she did not recognize the commotion.

    by Cari Oleskewicz - @carilynn72
    195 words

  6. The house was a little weather worn, a beautiful old mansion full of wood panelling and charm. Hoisting the first box into the foyer Teresa heard her children, Angela and Greg scream. Running into the dining room she saw a man about six feet tall very thin and dressed in period clothes from the turn of the century who shouted at her, “This place is mine.”
    “Nonsense, I don’t know who you are, but this is my house,” Teresa shouted back. “Now get away from my children.”
    “We have a quandary here. You see I don’t plan on leaving,” the man said.
    “I’m calling the police,” Teresa insisted.

    The man laughed then dematerialized behind Teresa exclaiming, “I’ve chased all the other perspective buyers away, why won’t you go away?”
    “You better get used to us because we live here now,” Angela cried.
    “Can’t we all live here?” asked Greg, “It would be cool to know a ghost.”
    “Since you won’t leave, I guess we could try.” the man answered, “You stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.
    “What’s your name?” Angela enquired.
    “Andrew. By the way I know all yours, Teresa, Angela and Greg. Now let’s get something straight the attic is mine. You won’t trespass.”
    “Fine, you’ve got a deal Andrew,” Teresa cried, “Right kids?”
    “Okay,” the kids agreed.
    “This might work out after all. It will be nice to have a boisterous family in the house again.” Andrew whispered to himself smiling, then disappeared.

    250 words

  7. "This place is mine. And this place is yours. You sit here and you sit here. Now we're ready."

    I watched as my four year old daughter inspected the little table in her room, set with four white wooden chairs. She got out her little tea set, a gift from my parents, and carefully set the tiny ceramic cups and saucers around the table. Finally, she fluffed her white dress with the pink ruffles and sat down.

    "Who wants sugar in their tea?"

    She put pretend sugar into tiny cups, then carefully poured pretend tea for all. Her guests were a small grey teddy bear, a rag doll, a baby doll with a blue hat, and our cat Ma. Ma looked like she'd rather be anywhere else, but sat patiently on the small chair anyway.

    "There. Now, we must all drink carefully; we don't want to ruin our clothes."

    Every guest was dressed in a white dress. Yes, even Ma. Priscilla had managed to get the cat's front legs into the sleeves of a doll dress and managed to zip it up the back. Lucky for me, the cats around here are good with kids and very tolerant.

    "Thank you all for coming today. I hope you like the tea. I also made cookies."

    She set plastic chocolate chip cookies at each place smiling at each guest in turn. I love her imagination. Smiling, I put the video camera aside. I'm going to miss these days once she grows up.

    250 words

  8. You all are making my judging job difficult...and I like it!

    1. *thought that was our job* ;)

  9. He stared at the intruder. “This place is mine.”

    His tongue teased the sharp points of his canines. They’d elongated as soon as he caught a whiff of her scent.

    The creatures’s eyes flashed feral red beneath the flickering sodium lights overhead, but Sade didn’t react. Her right hand already rested on the butt of her Beretta, its clip filled with silver bullets. They wouldn’t kill the vampire but would slow him down enough she could get away. He watched her, a trapped animal prepared to defend his lair. Her heart broke just a little.

    “What have they done to you?”

    Her voice ignited his rage and he lurched to his full height, looming over her as she groveled at his feet. She should fear him but nothing in her expression indicated she did.

    She rose, a fluid movement so filled with grace he was distracted. She searched his face and for a brief moment, he wanted to hide from her gaze, suddenly ashamed of his monstrosity. He faded back into the shadows but she followed him. Her fault then, whatever happened next.

    Grabbing her, he yanked her to him and threaded his fingers through her long hair, dragging her head back to expose her throat. His fangs gleamed in the uncertain light. “You are mine.”

    “Yes,” she agreed. “Always.” Her gaze sought his, collided. “What happened to you, Sinjen?”

    Sinjen. He knew that name, had been that man. Once. But no more and never again. He bit.

    248 words but not on the deadline project *headdesk*

  10. They found his truck where he’d left it, covered with an inch of snow and the tire frozen in the mud. Moira snorted with rueful humor. Why had she offered to get him out of this again? “Forgot what spring’s like around here, haven’t you?”

    Aiden gave her a half smile, warming her inside her jacket. “Yeah. I expected it to be frozen still.”

    “Not this late in the year.” Moira glanced around for something to use for purchase. “You got a shovel in that old thing?”

    “Yep. Never leave home without it.”

    “And where’s that?” She scrounged around for a large piece of ponderosa bark still solid enough to stay together

    “Where’s what?” Aiden’s muffled voice came from the cab, his body hidden except for his ass flexing against the worn denim of his jeans. Moira forgot to breathe for a moment.

    “Moira, are you okay?” Aiden looked over his shoulder.

    “Uh, yeah. Sorry. So where’s home?” She ducked her head and bent to look at how much they’d need to dig the tire out.

    “Were you staring at my ass?”

    Moira snorted and hoped her blush didn’t translate. “You wish. You got that shovel yet?”

    “Here.” He handed it to her. “And home is any place I need it to be.”

    “This place is mine. Busy body family and all, it’s still the place that holds my heart.”

    “The place holds your heart? Not a person?”

    She met his gaze solemnly. “Not in a long time.”

    248 words from Cloudburst #3

    1. Sorry, still distracted. My tale is ineligible to win.

    2. Ha! I'd be distracted by Aiden's ass, too! ;) I can't wait for this one, Siobhan.


  11. Cupping her face, Miranda forced Michelle to meet her stare. “It’s time to spread your wings, little one. You’ve come too far to retreat back into your shell and watch life pass you by.”

    Michelle scanned the gallery. “But this place is mine. It’s where I belong.”

    “Not anymore.” Miranda whispered, dropping her hand from Michelle’s cheek.

    Searching her eyes, Michelle gazed at the only person who believed in her when no one else did. “You don’t want me here?”

    Miranda chuckled, taking Michelle into her arms. “You’re like a daughter to me. I wish I could keep you here forever, but it’s time you moved on. You have a promising career as an artist, not to mention someone who’s wickedly in love with you. Go hard and fast after both of them. You’ll regret it forever if you don’t.”

    Pulling out another sheet of packing paper, Michelle set the smallest painting in the middle and covered it. “Love is a strong word. If he loves me, why did he leave?”

    “Hunter needed a clean break from memories which continued to haunt him here. But I’d bet this gallery he’s hurting as much as you are right now. Go to him. What do you have to lose?”

    Michelle choked back a sob. “Everything. My job. My home. You.”
    Miranda reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Michelle’s ear. “You always have me, you can return anytime. But now it’s time to find out where you belong.”

    248 NaNoWriMo words


    Lara dreaded quiet moments like these with nothing better to do than hate herself. Kaitlyn slept innocently on the cot in the corner, but Lara couldn’t. Images of how she found Kaitlyn at Martel’s Institute of Reform tormented her, and fear that she might only be making things worse for the girl so completely dependent on her. The fire had dwindled to the point of near silence. Would it have been better for everyone if Lara had just frozen to death out in the blizzard?

    Lara wanted to believe Lady Martel was the villain Dr. Bancroft made her out to be. She wanted to hate her Lady for hurting Kaitlyn, and for taking away Lara’s father and grandmother. Yet she couldn’t do it; she couldn’t hate the rightful ruler of the world. So instead she ended up hating herself not just for questioning Lady Martel, but fighting against her.

    “You’ve almost let the fire go out. It’ll be a cold night without it.”

    Etienne had slipped back into the shelter without Lara noticing. This beautiful fair haired man had rescued Lara and Kaitlyn from the blizzard, and Lady Martel’s agents. The kindness in his eyes as he watched her and stoked the fire made Lara ill.

    “I shouldn’t have come here, if Lady Martel finds us with you…”

    Lara couldn’t stand. Etienne cupped her hands in his and she practically melted.

    “We are safe here, ma petite. The world may belong to Madam Martel, but this place is mine.”

    249 words

  13. “This place is mine!” I scream in to the room, as I spin around glaring at the ceiling. The damned ghost had been tormenting me for months, clearly trying to chase me out. I wasn’t having it. I had scraped and saved every penny for ten years to get this Bed & Breakfast.

    I ducked as the water pitcher on the night stand flew across the room. It exploded into dozens of pieces when it hit the wall. “You bitch! That was my grandmothers!”

    The curtains fluttered slightly, as though ruffled by a breeze. The picture hanging by the window began to move and I dove across the bed, ripping the quilt off in my wake. I managed to grab a corner of the frame before she could completely remove it.

    “Don’t you dare! My daughter painted this when she was 8.” Tears began now and I had to take several deep breaths to calm myself. The tugging stopped. The picture was carefully replaced. This confused me as all our encounters had been of a violent nature.

    “Thank you,” I said as I tapped the corner of the frame to finish straightening it. “My daughter isn’t with me anymore. This is all I have left.”
    205 words

  14. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thank you to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you next week. :)


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