Thursday, March 6, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 111

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday today, so what should you be doing? Writing #FlashFiction, that's what! Welcome to Week 111 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? You're welcome to join the FB #ThursThreads group where we'll do events and make announcements. 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 111:

Artist, bold kick-ass heroine, and erotic romance author, Katalina Leon.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“You sure this is the one?”

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. “You sure this is the one?” She stared over the collection carefully laid out before her.

    Her partner in crime nodded; a solemn look on her face. “I’m sure. My research was too thorough for mistakes.”

    “Okay then.” She took a deep breath and picked up the shiniest artifact in the collection. A silver blade with delicate scribe work running the length of the metal—flowers. Of all things they’d decorated it with flowers. “Let’s get to work.”

    The tomb was built of cold granite. An imposing structure meant to close in the dead and keep out the living. It appeared sealed off from the world, but she knew its builders had left an escape tunnel somewhere, and of course they’d found it. Of course. She frowned. A hole in the ground several yards away led to an underground tunnel connected to the inner tomb. A hole most likely crawling with bugs. God she hated bugs, dark places never contained anything pleasant.

    She peered down to the blade, feeling its weight in her palm. It shimmered in the moonlight as if it cast its own unearthly radiance. Perhaps it did, who knew what kind of people had forged it, and they had known what its eventual use would be. Centuries old, yet still brand new, with an edge that could still split a hair in two.

    What had been sealed inside the tomb wouldn’t stay locked inside forever. Time had a way of wearing down even the sturdiest of locks.

  2. Cynthia moved like a layer of dust along the ceiling, observing the scene below her. Observing the pictures spread on the table. The male at the head of the table patiently ask, “Which one?”

    The man seated at the table studied the pictures. Two nasty looking men stood beside him. They tried to look relaxed, but Cynthia knew from their heart and respiration rates, they were anything but.

    She ordered a stream of herself to jam shut the door behind the patient man, then sent separate streams down the wall behind the nasty men where they silently climbed up their clothing, and slipped into their lungs through their noses.

    The seated man picked up a picture of her.

    The patient man asked, “You sure this is the one?”


    The patient man nodded, and the nasty men drew guns from beneath their jackets, and pointed them at the seated man.

    “What?” The seated man’s started sweating profusely, his pulse rate exploded, and Cynthia noticed he’d wet himself.

    The nasty men fell over, unable to breathe. They twitched in agony before losing consciousness. The patient man leaped to his feet. “It’s here!” He yanked on the door behind himself but it wouldn’t open. He clutched his chest, “Arr!” He fell to the ground. Cynthia let his heart resume beating. She called all parts of herself back.

    All that was left to do was figure out what to do about her male friend, Jerry, now that he’d figured out she wasn’t human.

    250 words

    1. I really like this. At first, I thought she was a ghost, but I like the concept of another creature that has the power to protect her friends.

  3. The yellowish gray sky peeks through overcast trees
    lean trunks curved upward toward the missing sun
    The rain streams in concentrated paths, an on-again, off-again water pathway in the air
    I crack open the window to let the breeze in
    Strong, gusty cold that catches at my throat
    Whirr swish pit pat ploot.
    So far away from the sea, and yet I swear I can taste salt
    I huddle in my comforter, wrapping my arms around the encased down feathers
    Today I should’ve gone with Natalie to fill out paperwork for our homestudy
    Should’ve answered the social worker’s interminable questions
    Do we have enough money?
    How will we feel about raising a child not our own?
    Why a joint adoption?
    Is Natalie my lover?
    Why do we sleep in separate beds?
    The social worker will inspect and interrogate, and she may judge us acceptable.
    Most likely not.
    It doesn’t take a social worker to find my two suicide attempts, hospitalization, the long months when Dr. Mitchell forbade me from working
    Natalie reassures me that was years ago and getting therapy shows I’ve taken charge of my life
    I picture the social worker staring at me, silently accusing
    Prospective adoptive parents? You sure *this* is the one?
    She’ll phrase denial in bureaucrat-speak:
    We cannot entrust Kat with someone else’s child.
    How can I prove myself worthy?
    I close my eyes and listen to the rain trying to wash away the sins I can never remove.

    246 words

    1. Oooh, Ana. I love, love, love simply the alignment of the text. (And the content, but the alignment!)

  4. The truck barreled down at us; at the last minute I was able to swerve out of the way. We were all safe and since the transport truck had disappeared we continued travelling to my hometown. Seeing a shop, I knew we were there.
    “You sure this is the one?” my husband asked.
    “Yes, this is my long, lost Aunt Gina’s antique shop,” I answered parking the car, then entering the store.
    “She doesn’t even know we’re coming,” my husband complained.
    “She’ll be happy to see us,” I reassured.
    Gina invited my family and me to stay the night. Browsing the store, a young blonde girl, in a long old fashion dress, spun a tale of the store being an old meeting house for Quakers and they haunt. My husband and I try hard not to laugh at the child’s story. I turned around and the child was gone.
    Later preparing for bed, in a closed store, I heard noises. I grabbed a bat as I ran upstairs and saw Quakers in black caps and black dresses motioning to me to join them. I ran downstairs as they chased me.
    I yelled “Go back where you came from”, they tell me they can’t I’ve joined them. I don’t understand. I looked down and noticed I’m see through, we all are. My husband slipped his arm around me, grabbed my daughter’s hand and smiled.
    “We’re together that’s enough,” he declared.
    I smiled too, if you can’t beat them join them.
    249 words

  5. ~~~~~

    “You sure this is the one?”

    Her question hung in the air like an Albatros—beautiful and fierce. He couldn’t defend himself against it, and as he started stuttering, she took his hand and looked deep into his eyes.

    This time he managed to nod, and give her hand a light squeeze.

    This was the one.

    The huge, purple dragon on the left—the one with soft and shiny orange eyes—left his Clan, and scooped them up, to take them home, his voice rumbling deep in his chest.


    His very first dragon.

    He was the dragon’s first person.


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

  6. Are you sure this is the one
    The weakest one you find
    That the barbs of words
    Will burrow and twist
    Deep inside the soul
    That should be the motto
    Of those who use words
    Weapons in their armoury
    But most don’t think
    About the things they say
    They say that words don’t hurt
    But we know that for deceit
    For words can charm
    The loneliest person
    And make their day
    But they also destroy
    With swift arrow
    Hitting targets
    Tunneling inside
    The heart
    And memories
    Forever waiting
    To be pulled out,
    Mulled over
    Causing further harm
    Each and every day
    101 words

  7. Magnificent was an understatement. The bath smelled like the jasmine flowers his mother had planted in her garden the last summer Mack lived in California, soothing some of his tension before he’d even set a foot in the steaming water. But all of his earlier excitement returned as Bethany pulled off her shirt.

    “What are you doing?” What am I doing?

    “Taking a bath. You know, hot water, soap? Any of this ringing a bell?” She arched a brow as she stripped her jeans from her legs. Legs that went on for miles covered in smooth skin.

    “You sure?”

    “This is the one chance you have to get clean before the centaurs come back to take us to the hearing. What are you quibbling about?” Bethany turned away to unclip her bra and Mack damn near swallowed his tongue.

    “There are no changing rooms.”

    “Wow, you’re quick, Major. You’ve been in the military how long?” Bethany pulled her underwear off her sleek buttocks and stepped into the water. “Think of this as a campaign where you don’t get to stay in a five star hotel where your delicate sensibilities are considered. And please don’t tell me you’ve never seen a naked woman. I’d be terribly disappointed.” She turned to face him, the tops of her breasts bobbing in the water. “Or are you afraid of showing your body to a woman? Worried you won’t compare to the big burly centaur males who wear no shirts?”

    245 ineligible #WIP500 words

  8. She was a special girl, his Charis. Well, not his. Not in any bond of blood or bone. But yet, his. He had brought her into the world from her mother’s womb. So solemn for two turnings of the seasons. So careful. A gift from the Otherworld, he sometimes felt, for she was unlike any of the girls he knew.

    “Well, caílin? Which of these will we choose for pain?”

    She held up a strip of fresh alder bark. “This one, Achan.”

    Without changing his expression, for he wanted her to learn to act solely on her own knowledge, he asked, “You’re sure this is the one?” He reached for it as if to take it to make the tea. Now, if he actually made the tea with the bark, one of the two of them would be made greatly uncomfortable. Still, he pretended to heed her.

    Before he could begin preparations, Charis stopped him with a pale hand on his arm. Wide gray eyes studied his face. “Not that one. No.”

    “Which is this from, then, child?”

    “That’s alder.”

    “Which does what?”

    Closing her eyes, she held very still for a moment. “Oh! It is used when one has eaten something bad.”

    He smiled broadly, proud of her. “Right. So which one is for pain?”
    Shoulders straight, she turned again to the loose branches. “This one.”

    “What is it called?”

    “Willow. Willow bark is for pain.”

    “Well done. One day, you will earn your tatú

    = = =
    Word count: 250

  9. “Your lips are incredible,” I murmured, Mick’s mouth traveling down my chest and over my stomach, his kisses searing my skin.

    My breath hitched as he brushed his rough cheek against my hip bone. He slid a finger slowly down the crease of my groin and my cock pulsed, waiting anxiously for his touch.

    “You sure this is the one?” He asked, tracing lazy circles on the inside of my thigh with his callused thumb, making it difficult to think. I raised my head to find him staring at my hip.

    I should have known he would see it, even in the dim light of the bedroom.

    When we had met, Mick had told me he didn't like tattoos. And though all of mine are hidden from public view (and he was so hot), I hadn't lied. Apparently, he'd found that refreshing and asked me out anyway. We've been on nearly five dates now and I’m falling for him.

    He didn't seem to mind the other tattoos, but I worried about the design on my hip. It’s a pink lotus flower and I got it to represent the joy of expressing myself as a gay man. I told Mick as much, but he’s so big and burly and hard that I figured he’d hate it.

    I finally nodded, resigning myself to his forth-coming disapproval.

    “You made it sound like I would burst into pink flames if I saw it.” He snorted. “This is…sweet, sexy, and beautiful. Just like you.”

    Hunter Frost
    249 Words

  10. The house hung over the porch, casting an ominous shadow. Right outside the boundaries of the gate, sun shown on the sidewalk. Sven glanced with a longing toward the warmth, and gulped.

    When he took the apprenticeship with Madame M., he understood there’d be certain built-in dangers. But breaking into a haunted house? What could she possibly want to steal from there?

    He shut his eyes, and took a deep breath, imagining a cleansing white light filling his lungs and spreading out through his body and extremities. His fingertips tingled.

    “You sure this is the one?” he asked Madeline, without turning to look at her.

    He knew the answer, deep in his gut, and if he questioned her too much, he’d pay for it later at the end of her flogger.

    She placed her hand on his shoulder, and despite knowing she stood directly behind him, he jumped.

    “Your job isn’t to ask me questions. You job is to get inside, and get me what I want.”

    A sultry soothing washed over him, as if Madeline’s words coated him in a protective layer. He reached out to touch the knocker, and noticed his hand remained steady. The metal beneath his fingertips felt warm and welcoming.

    One. Two. Three times, he knocked.

    No answer.

    “Well, now what?” she asked.

    He tried the door handle. It was unlocked. Who would leave the door open? He looked back toward the street, making sure no on was watching them, and decision made, he entered.

    Word Count: 250

    1. It sounds like there will be more to this....I'm hooked. You had me at haunted house! :-)

  11. My boyfriend turns down a gravel road, the roads as desperate for rain as the fields. I fidget, wonder where we're going. There are no houses, no way to call for help. My over-active brain, still reeling from drug detox, thinks I'm about to be murdered. I grip the door handle, my knuckles sallow.

    By the time he pulls up a dry, cracked lane, my anxiety is through the stratosphere. I bail out of the truck, dry heaving. Rocking back on my heels, a tuft of brown grass crunching under my feet, I close my eyes.

    "You okay?"

    Standing on shaky legs, I take Jacoby's hand and nod. I look up at the house that sits on the property. How it's still standing is beyond me.

    "You sure this is the one?" I ask, glancing around. I see a grove of lush, green trees in the distance, the peak of a roof just visible.

    "Yep. I'm going to remodel it and someday, maybe we can live here together."

    Releasing his hand, I walk closer, climbing the crumbling concrete steps.

    "Don't walk on the porch; it isn't stable."

    I gawk at Jacoby. "Dude…you're off your damn rocker!"

    He hugs me, kissing my cheek. "No, I'm being smart. It's not much now, but it's going to be amazing when I'm done. You'll see."

    We walk back to the truck, hand in hand. He ought to tear it down and start over. Crawling back into the truck, I shake my head. Crazy idiot.

    250 words

  12. Finally, he had made it to the Shaver Hotel—his corner room looked at the street and a small park. He let his cat out of her carrier and she sat on his lap while they waited for nightfall. Once sunset came, he pulled open the drapes allowing soft light to illuminate the room. His cat chattered at him and rubbed his leg. Across the street, a man watched with mischief. He turned from the window and noticed a row of light switches, each with a unique wall plate. Their temptation was irresistible.

    The first he flicked, added a wing to his room, which disappeared when he turned it off. Another caused a silver light to ignite the trees in the park for the second that it was on. The next he did not bother turning off because, like the others, he did not see any effects. The two buttons of the following switch had mother-of-pearl inlays. He reached out to push the top button.

    “You sure this is the one?” a playful voice said from the floor. He glanced down at his cat sitting at his feet. “You don’t know what they do,” she continued. “You’ve already summonsed the man from outside to kill you.”

    The floorboards outside his room creaked and groaned. The doorknob rattled. He pushed the button, engulfing the room in white light.

    “Now you’ve gone and killed us both,” the cat complained. “If you would’ve just turned the last one off, everything would be fine.”

    250 Words

  13. “Why do you keep following me to these things?”

    “I’m worried about you.” Bret wrapped his arm around Luke’s wide shoulders. “After that girl disappeared—

    “Do not talk of her.”

    “That.” Bret pulled away. “It’s that anger in you that worries me. It’s not natural. You saw her for only a couple minutes and she fled from you.”

    “She did not run from me.” Luke crossed his arms tightly over his chest. “There‘s no proof the Nexis can teleport. She was taken. I know it’s true.”

    “Why do you keep coming to these claimings?” A new group of bachelors entered and filled the few empty seats in the back of the arena.

    “One day you’ll understand and when you do, I’m going to enjoy watching you bumble like a fool.”

    “I will not bumble over a woman, especially a Nexis woman.” Bret shook from the shiver coursing through his limbs.

    “That’s not how the prophecy reads.”

    “Don’t remind me of that ridiculous prediction. I’ll be choosing my bride.”

    “We’ll see.”

    Their attention turned to the bright stage and the simple contraption that would present the Nexian and allow his brethren to select their bride.

    “Tonight, we’ll watch the proceedings and look for answers. Here comes the first woman.”

    “I can’t see.” Bret’s vision hazed over except for the bright light illuminating the woman. “I’m going for a closer look.” He stumbled his way to the stage and reached for her. “This one.”

    “You sure this is the one?”

    “This one.”

    250 words

  14. Rescue Party

    Calliope music echoes in my mind as we move through the darkness of the fairgrounds. A breath of stale air blows dust up from beneath our feet into our faces, and Helix smothers a cough. I glance at him sharply and he shrugs. We pause, but no sounds touch our ears.

    I sense Her even before we reach the row of cages where She is kept. In the pale moonlight I can just make out the lettering on the billboard at the beginning. “See the Wonders of Nature!” it proclaims. “All the Myths and Legends you could ever want – here in one place – almost close enough to touch!” Helix shakes his head in disgust. “People…” he mutters under his breath.

    We make our way carefully through the shadows. I don’t bother to glance at any of the cages until I am standing before the one that holds Her.

    “You sure this is the one?”

    I give him a look and he holds up both hands, palms facing toward me, as if to say ‘Hey don’t blame me, I had to ask’. Taking a deep breath, I concentrate, pulling aside the dirty canvas covering the iron bars. Her deep green eyes fasten on me immediately and a low growl slips from my throat, unbidden. Catlike, in one fluid motion, She sits up.

    You should not have come. The words echo in my mind.

    And what else was I to do?

    If they find you here…

    Then they shall die.

    250 words {including title}

  15. “You sure this is the one?” Amelia glanced at the card in her hand and the faded address on the house front. The neighborhood wasn’t that great either. She wanted to make sure she left with both her kidneys.

    “Oh yeah. This really is the place. Don’t worry, it’s better inside.” Sebastian gave a wide smile, standing behind her. “Just go on in.”

    She looked over her shoulder, feeling her skin crawl as she saw him in the shadows of the building. His eyes glowed in the light. There was something off about him. She couldn’t figure what it was. Her other friends had already hooked up and didn’t want to go any further. It was her twenty-first and she got ditched. Sebastian had been at the club and offered to go with to other parties. There was something in the back of her head screaming that she should turn around and go home.

    “You know, I’m feeling more tired than I thought. Thanks for the fun though.” Amelia put a fake smile on her face and turned to face him only to stumble back as he was closer than he had been before and gave her a shove into the door. It opened without much resistance and she fell back into another body.

    “Good, a fresh one.”

    Amelia glanced up and saw another man. Well what could have passed for a man if it wasn’t for the glowing eyes and sharp teeth.

    “Welcome, precious.”

    245 words

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


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