Thursday, January 30, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 106

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked for the start of the third year of our challenge. It's Thursday today, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 106 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Be on the on the lookout for the Month of Love Event coming in February. Each Thursday will be themed. Stay Tuned! 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 106:

Social radical, weekend writing warrior, and science-fiction author, Teresa Cypher.

 And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”

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. ~~~~~

    Bullied, running wildly, it was nothing that you did to make it happen. It just did.

    And there they were, waiting for you. No other way out.

    Nobody was coming to your help either, you were all alone.

    So you sat down. Called that special person within.

    Well done. When you are very small you need to choose your friends wisely.

    You crashed into strong arms that held you tight. You felt the air as the protective wings spread out.

    It was just as they said, “You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”

    You brought your dragon.


    Word count: 100 on the nose
    Twitter handle: @AnnaLund2011

  2. "But you treat Moira like she’s your sole focus and that will win you more points with the Callahan groupies. Moira has stood her ground and made her mark. The community likes her.”

    “Good. I like her, too, Mom.” Aiden snorted.

    “I wish you luck.” Mazie settled herself behind the counter. “At least you’re staying with her. That’s a step in the right direction.”

    You have no idea. Getting into her home had been the first step in winning her back to him. He’d fucked up by staying away so long, but he had the present and that’s where the magic happened, anyway. You have to have the right tool for the kill.

    “Yeah, it is.” He paused and eyed his mother, debating before he said more. “She’s the one worth all my time, Mom. She always has been.”

    Mazie’s face creased into a compassionate smile. “Then make her, and the town, believe it. It’s gonna take work.”

    “She’s worth it.”

    “Okay, then.” Mazie nodded. “So how you gonna start winning her over?”

    “Uh-uh. I’m not giving you my plans. I don’t need a mama-matchmaker.” He smiled at her scowl. “Don’t worry, Mom. It’ll be fine. Do you need any help around the shop while I’m here?”

    Mazie gasped and threw her hand over her chest in theatrical amazement. “Are you offering to help around the store?” She narrowed her eyes and pointed at him in suspicion. “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”

    248 ineligible #WIP500 words

    1. Cute! I can only imagine my shock if my son were to help around the place :)

    2. As always, Siobhan, your writing is visual and smooth as silk. You should teach.


  3. “January thirtieth, two thousand fourteen, five- forty- five a.m. Interview with John Papadopoulos. Detective Inspector Angela Christie, and Sergeant Robert Gallopous, present. You’ve been read your rights, sir?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Now explain to me why I found you in the apartment, over the dead body of Eric Seltzer.
    “We were doing an exorcism.”
    “An exorcism? You thought Eric was possessed?”
    “No, we knew he was. He babbled Latin in a deep unnatural voice and glided up the wall and walked on the ceiling. Then he floated through the air.”
    “Are you on any medication, sir?” asked Sergeant Robert Gallopous.
    “”Look I have proof, see the ghostly image in the window of the house?”
    “Ah ha..., was a priest present then?”
    “He was until the demon drove him out.”
    “That would be Father Gallos who reported you to the police?”
    “Like I said, the demon chased him away.”
    “Why then did you bring a sword?”
    “You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”
    “So you planned to kill Eric Seltzer.”
    “No, only the demon. Eric is at peace now.”
    “Interview concluded at six a.m.”
    Detective Inspector Angela Christie, and Sergeant Robert Gallopous then exited the interview. Inspector Angela Christie received a piece of paper from another officer and read it crying, “What?”
    “It’s true they found two hundred skeletons under the house. The place is haunted. The Vatican sends a priest to bless the place.”
    “This will make an interesting report,” cried Inspector Angela Christie.
    246 words

    1. Sheilagh, this is an interesting, staccato interrogation. It felt brusque and professional. Nice job of taking the MC from plausible deniability, to guilty by (likely) insanity. Also--I like the props to Agatha Christie. Nice touch!

  4. "Are you trying to seduce me, Mr. Robinson?"

    I watched Mason's face twist slightly as if he were trying to figure out what the hell I was talking about. Seriously? What man over the age of fifty hadn't seen "The Graduate"? Had he been living under a rock?

    I shook my head as the joke shot above his handsome head and disappeared into the darkness of the night sky. At six foot, thick black hair with just a smidgen of gray, and eyes like clear gray pools you could easily drown in, the man was definitely good-looking but not too quick on the uptake.

    "Just a joke, Mason. Don't look so panicky."

    His gaze softened a little and I caught a flash of pearly whites for the first time that evening. Wow, what bright teeth you have, Grandma...I thought it, but didn't say it. One joke bomb this evening was quite enough, thank you.

    "So, do you come into the city often?"

    His voice, deep and rich with a heavy Irish brogue that made my knees weak and other parts of my anatomy tingle, whispered into my ear, "Only when I'm hunting."

    What guy hunts in the city? What can they hunt?

    "How do you manage that"?

    Mason leaned in and at once I felt the delicious sensation of warmth as he tore into the delicate flesh of my neck.

    "It's easier than you would think, darling, you have to bring the right tool for the kill."

    249 Words

    1. Very fluid writing, Cynthia. I enjoyed the reference to "The Graduate". I couldn't help but see a little bit of Dustin Hoffman's face in Mason. :-)

  5. He sits at the far end of the table, staring back at me with grey-green eyes that reveal nothing of his thoughts, but distract mine. He seeks to break my resolve with food and drink, but I was born to a family of means, the richness of this kind of life abandoned by choice.

    I feel along my outer thigh for the small blade that waits for its intended purpose. “You have to bring the right tool for the kill when your goal is to kill a king.” Words that had come so easily as I prepared to attend his court. Words that testified to a hate that no longer burns as ardently.

    Servants lay trays of roasted meats and spiced fruit before us. The other guests, in their courtly garb, coo and chat amongst themselves, pecking at their food between rounds of discourse like a line of brightly colored songbirds.

    The longer he watches me the faster my heart beats. The memories of his lips on mine and his whispered proposal ignite a growing warmth at the base of my throat. I reach for my wine and pray its earthy sweetness will chase him from my mind.

    My brother arrives in the morning to take me from this place, but there are too many hours between now and then. Even at opposite ends of this great hall we are too close. I wonder if he knows that a small flock of songbirds is my only remaining defense.

    249 Words

    1. I've never thought of songbirds as being all that powerful. Nice story.

    2. Beautiful. Reads almost like poetry. :-)

  6. “I bought a little something for you,” Robert said, placing a small package on the table. “It’s only something little.” Sarah’s eyes brimmed with excitement at the beautiful silver paper secured tightly with purple ribbon. “Here, let me help,” he offered as the purple ribbon was being stubborn. He pulled out a penknife and with one snip, the purple ribbon fell away.”
    “Were you a cub scout by any chance, always prepared?” Sarah joked as she pulled away the silver wrapping.
    “You have to bring the right tools,” he said smiling.
    An emerald green, silk scarf revealed itself beneath the silver. “It’s beautiful,” she gasped, gently picking it up and twirling it through her fingers. The soft, sheer material slipped through her fingers like water before she placed it around her neck, matching her eyes perfectly as they sparkled under her auburn fringe.
    After only two weeks of dating and too many luxurious gifts to mention, Sarah was overwhelmed and knew he was a keeper. She kissed him, drunk on passion as well as wine, on their walk to the car park and Robert obliged. He stroked the green silk, loving the feel on his skin before taking both ends, pulling tight. For the second time that evening, she gasped as her lungs screamed. “I told you, you have to bring the right tool . . . for the kill,” he whispered, staring into her bulging, lifeless eyes, before reclaiming the scarf as his trophy.


  7. “Those are gorgeous, Alyse,” Mona gushed, avarice sparkling in her dark eyes. “I saw those on Pinterest, you know, and I knew they’d be just right for you.”

    Alyse preened, posing this way and that in front of the mirror. “Thank you, hon.”

    She put the shoes back in the box, positioning them carefully so as not to mar the sueded leather uppers with the heels. “Do you think Bryan will like them?” At Mona’s sudden start, Alyse smiled disarmingly. “I meant at your birthday dinner!”

    “Why would you even care?”

    Alyse shook her head, smiled at the cashier, and paid for the shoes. “Aw, Mona, now you’ve gone and ruined my surprise! I wanted to get these for you.”

    Mona’s suspicion fizzled, to be replaced by a simpering appreciation as they stepped quickly through the glass doors of the store. “Really? Oh, Alyse, you shouldn’t have.”

    Alyse said nothing as they reached her midnight blue BMW. At the passenger door, Mona giggled a little. “Can I see them now?”

    “Of course.”

    Mona unwrapped the right shoe from the tissue paper. The suede was gunmetal gray, paired with the matte black of the steel heel. “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

    Alyse merely took the other shoe from the box and, in a smooth sweep of her arm, impaled Mona’s skull right through the temple. “Yes, yes I did,” she murmured as Mona collapsed without a sound on the asphalt. “You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”

    ~ ~ ~
    250 words

    1. Ah, I like where you went with this one. Very good.

    2. Really wasn't expecting that - good job with the surprise.

    3. Those shoes are killer!

      Couldn't resist. :-) You did an amazing job of building Mona's character. Very dark, in an oddly lighthearted way wrapped around women's competitiveness. I think the shoe shopping lends an air of Mean Girls grown up. Entertaining read. :-)

  8. "You need to bring the right tool for the kill. I have everything you need."

    I put coffee cup down and leaned back in my chair.

    "The hell are you talkin' about, Tony? You killin' someone?"

    His deep belly laugh rang through the coffee shop. "I'm talkin' about hunting, you doof."

    I snorted. "You? Hunting? You only get off your couch for work or that Honey Do list Annie is always dangling over your head."

    Tony shot me the bird. "Fuck off, Coby. I'm going hunting with my dad later this week. He's even got me some clothes to wear, in bright orange."

    Sputtering out laughter, I tried to pull in a deep breath. Tony is 6'7" and 250 pounds; let's just say that bright colors aren't his friend. Finally pulling in a breath, I wiped my eyes.

    "Bright orange? Oh fuck."

    Anthony nodded as his eyes widened. "I asked for camo. Holy shit, look at this!"

    He turned his phone to me, and my eyes widened. His dad really was preparing for a hunting weekend. Tents, dogs, guns, bows and arrows and the ugliest orange vest and hat I'd ever had the displeasure of seeing.

    "Now would be an excellent time to break your leg again."

    He nodded, putting his phone away. "Can Jimmy breathe on me? Doesn't he have some horrible plague?"

    I laughed. "He's past contagious. Good luck, Tony. And tell your dad I want pictures."

    239 words

  9. Adele watched Caleb jab a syringe into a shotgun shell. “Uhm…do I want to ask?”

    He glanced up briefly before returning his attention to the task at hand. “Probably not.”

    “Are you going after it?”



    “You probably don’t want to ask that question either, Addie.”

    She folded her arms over her chest and pinched her face into a scowl. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want the answer, Caleb. Why does it have to be you?”

    The breath he huffed out ruffled the dark thatch of hair falling over his forehead. Adele curled her fingers into her palms to resist the urge to brush it back.

    “It’s my job, hon.”

    “Your job? Your job is to hunt demons from hell?”

    “It’s not actually a demon.”

    “Don’t change the subject. Dammit, Caleb. That thing could kill you.”

    “It’s still my job.”

    She wanted to hit him. Or scream. Or hug him so tightly he wouldn’t leave her. Ever. She’d never pegged herself as one of those overly dramatic chicks who swore they’d die if their man left them, but she just might—emotionally and physically.

    Wrinkling her nose, she stepped closer. “What is that stuff?”

    “You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”

    “Okay. I understand that. But what is that stuff?”

    He held the shell for a long moment, making sure it didn’t leak. “Holy water.”

    “Will it work?”


    “You better come back to me, buster.”

    “Always, sweetheart. Always.”
    249 words from The Devil's Cut WIP

    1. I wonder if she really wants him to come back - I mean, if it didn't work?

  10. “You have to bring the right tool for the kill.”
    "Yes, ok but are you sure this is the way to go?"
    "Of course, I've done this literally a million times. It'll be fun."

    Suzi rolled her eyes, as she climbed in to the car, clearly they had different ideas of fun. She wanted things to go well, really she did.
    Sitting there, with the gun in her lap, she surveyed the other three. They were as calm and placid as a koi pond. Thinking, as she smiled to herself honestly, she'd would rather like to be back beside her koi garden with her book and a cool lemonade. She had just installed it and she was very proud of her efforts.

    A sudden jolt bought her back to the here and now. Tim had slammed on the brakes to miss a deer who'd decided to try a different lunch and she'd lost her grip momentarily. The rest if the journey was uneventful and in arrival with the others in their team Suzi began to get into the spirit.

    Two hours later and covered in paint, a jubilant Suzi and her friends trooped back to their car.
    Weary but triumphant they began their journey homeward bound. Three of the occupants wondered but glad about their peaceful quiet Suzi being such a warrior on the paintball field.

    As for Suzi herself she was fast asleep in the passenger side dreaming happily of her very special koi.


    1. Charlee S, you really got me. You did a great job of leading the reader down the wrong trail until the end. Nicely done!

  11. "You have to bring the right tool for the kill." Not the inscription I would have chosen for the inside of a wedding ring, but indulging Emily was now my weakness.

    She’d told me, weeks ago and in deference to my loathing of the outdoors, that it was all a metaphor, that engraving. The saying probably had some intricate family history, deriving from their various free-from survivalist competitions. Emily’s late father had made quite a name for himself in this field.

    "A metaphor for what, exactly, dear?" I was whispering in her ear on the night of our rehearsal dinner. I felt a little embarrassed at not having pressed the point earlier. Our courtship had been brief.

    "WHAT's a metaphor for WHAT, Bookworm?" Emily’s green eyes gleamed. Her lean face was flushed, her tight red former-jockette-curls shorn nearly to baldness in anticipation of our journey to the banks of the Amazon. Insects or something.

    "The engraving," I whispered.

    "I said that was a METAPHOR?" Shouting over the music.


    She laughed, again too loud.

    "WHATEVER, BOOKWORM" she bellowed, and downed a half-glass of deep red wine.

    Never seen her inebriated.

    I took a deep breath, steadied the sudden trembling in my hands

    "What's the name of the hotel we'll be staying in, down in Colombia, dear?"

    "WHAT hotel? Mm. Wait. I remember what it was a metaphor for. Sex. It was a metaphor for sex."

    Her laugh rang out again, the laugh of a woman comfortable beneath the moon.

    @bytoropov 249 words

  12. I gape at my unfamiliar reflection. I can already feel the reality of the night ahead choking me.

    This wasn’t like me. I don’t do things like this; especially not with Cohen.

    Whit pulls my long hair over my shoulder, grinning proudly, her chin resting on my bare shoulder. She reaches under my arms and yanks my dress down. “There we go, gorgeous,” she vaunts, prodding my boobs.

    “Whit, I don’t think I want to do this.”

    “I know,” she dismissed.

    I sigh. I definitely want Cohen. I’ve wanted him since we were kids and would spend all night side-by-side, pecking at our controllers, submerged in Super Mario for hours.

    “You deserve this,” she smiled at my reflection fondly. “You deserve him.”
    I sighed and slumped knowing I’d been defeated, and she adjusted my cleavage again.

    “See, you have to bring the right tool for the kill,” she winked. “And you, you’ve definitely brought it!”

    “I don’t feel like it,” I said, doubt dripping from my tone.

    “You know Cohen loves you. He knows it too. You just have to make him realize what kind of love it is.”

    I nod, a smidge of hope tumbling in my stomach.

    “Go, he’s waiting for you.”

    I made my way to the front room where he’s waiting, my nerves jittering.

    His eyes find mine as I walk into the room with a false confidence. He scans my figure and drags his eyes back to mine nervously.

    Suddenly, my confidence isn’t so forced.

    Words: 250

  13. "Before we take that step," she shrank away and put her fingers to his lips, not showing any surprise at all about his elongated fangs and shocked expression. "Just what are my options here?"

    It was all Jaime could do to keep from laughing at Matt's confusion. It didn't help that Sam was also struggling to hold back. They weren't supposed to be there but only Matt would have sharp enough hearing to notice them.

    Of course, it was Matt they were hiding from. The little firecracker he was with probably wouldn't care. She was too busy twisting their master around her little finger.

    "Options?" Jaime and Sam almost lost it again over how quickly she'd reduced Matt to a single word.

    Matt stiffened in response to them and they knew it was time to beat it.

    They weren't too surprised, though, to see the girl again, weeks later and only a bit changed, as she and Matt entered their regular bar. Matt was still so distracted by her he didn't even notice Sam and Jaime sitting at a nearby table.

    "And just like that, we're free to play," Sam said, tipping his glass to Jaime. "How did you manage it?"

    “You just have to bring the right tool for the kill.”

    212 words

    1. Nice character development in a very short piece. This was a fun read. :-)

    2. Thank you so much :) Very kind of you!!

  14. "I would use this if I were you. It worked quite well in my youth."

    Angelica gave her a startled look. "What am I supposed to do with that, Phoebe?"

    "You just have to bring the right tool for the kill.."

    "I'm trying to get him to notice me. I don't want to kill him."

    The old witch grinned and put the odd-looking object on the stone where the two women stood.

    "Trust me, child. It will work."

    Angelica shook her head, her doubts and her diffidence taking a firm grip. Still, Phoebe knew what spells worked in such situations.

    Angelica lifted the silver orb and examined it before reciting the spell.

    "This had better be the right tool, Phoebe." She knew it was her one chance.

    Cate Derham
    128 words

    1. Nice job of writing a scene that's magical, yet infused with down-to-earth, girl must get guy, desperation.

  15. #ThursThreads is CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you next week. :)


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