Thursday, March 27, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 114

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 114 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 114:

Botanist, full time federal bureaucrat, part time gardener, paranormal romance fan, and Luddite, Fred Edwards.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Go get the man.”

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. DJ threaded frustrated fingers through her short hair. Her boss’ order sounded so simple.

    Go get the man.

    Only the man was a freaking ghost. After the debacle in New Orleans, she was lucky to still have her badge. Deputy US Marshal. She was a manhunter, right?

    Go get the man. So much easier said than done. Especially after crashing her car and stumbling around for hours. Something growled nearby. She froze.

    Crouched in the cypress knees, Antoine filled his lungs with the woman’s scent. He’d followed her as she wandered lost. Another scent intruded. Sweat, sour and full of testosterone. His woman was being hunted.

    He stilled. His woman? His snarling wolf ranged just beneath his skin. Yes. His. He would kill any man who touched her. His prey tensed, wary, sensing the hunt. He sniffed. Three intruders—but human. In a boat. He smiled. Laissez les bons temps rouler.

    Slipping into the water, he submerged, coming up behind them like a wily ol’ gator. Surging up, he grabbed a man, hauled him into the water, and broke his neck. The others quickly followed.

    DJ stood frozen on the bank, all sense of self-preservation deserting her. The wet man rose from the turgid water, stalking her.

    “You should be more careful.”

    She’d hit system overload. Her eyes rolled back in her head but he caught her before she hit mud.

    “I will take care of you, chère.”

    Oh, hell. She was caught in a real-life “Deliverance.”


    249 words (for BLUE MOON, new Moonstruck novella WIP)


    1. SQUEEEE! Antoine gets his tale with DJ no less! I KNEW she'd get her HEA. *happy dance*

  2. The club was too loud with throbbing, pulsing music. A faceless mass of people worshipped the rabid tempo. Feeding off the beat, letting it drive them into a wild groping heat. Disgusting.

    She scowled; not ideal circumstances. Not at all the way she’d imagined it. Then she spotted him. Tall, attractive, yet not quite enough to really stand out amongst all the others.

    “Well? What are you waiting for?” her partner shouted in her ear.

    Her feet wouldn’t budge.

    “For God’s sake.” Her partner shoved her shoulder. “This is why you’re here, right?”

    Yes, yes it was. She’d watched him for weeks, learning his habits, had plotted every second of this moment out in her mind. Yet, with him so close, courage faltered even as excitement thrilled through her.

    Another rough shove sent her staggering forward. She felt the small knife slip where she had it hidden beneath her dress, and she clutched it to keep it from tumbling to the floor.

    “Go get the man. Your first is always the hardest.”

    She peered over her shoulder, one last look to find the bravery she needed. Her partner’s eyes shone bright with nearly manic energy.

    She turned and caught sight of him once more. Oblivious to what the rest of this night would mean to him. And to her—a simple accountant who’d never stepped beyond lawful boundaries.

    She touched the knife again and grinned as his gaze met hers. She didn’t look away.

    Her very first kill.

    248 words

  3. Elise arrived with a huge cosmetic bag and a red low cut dress.
    This was a mistake, I thought.
    “Virginia, Andrew would want you to be celibate the rest of your life.”
    “I wish I had a sign.”
    “How do you know you haven’t missed Andrew’s signs?”
    “Fine, but if I feel uncomfortable, I’m leaving,” I reluctantly agreed.
    We arrived at the party to pulsating music on the dance floor and I almost turned around to leave when I saw him. It couldn’t be, but it was; there was Paul my first love, the boy that got away.
    “You knew that Paul would be here, didn’t you?”
    Elise answered, “You wanted a sign and you got one. Just go get the man.”
    I boldly walked over to him and asked, “Is this dance taken?”
    “Yes,” I answered.
    We danced the night away. A few months later even though I felt guilty, we planned a wedding. I wished once again that Andrew would send me a sign that he didn’t mind me moving on. As I walked down the aisle I looked down and just for a moment beside Paul, I saw Andrew wink at me, blow a kiss and push Paul towards me. I had my sign, time to move forward and be happy. We’ve been married fifty years now, six children and ten grandchildren later I’m reuniting with Andrew. He’s holds his hand out to me, as Paul says goodbye. Life has come full circle.
    247 words

  4. Truck-trailer travel had exacerbated the voices. The mental health facility – located in a Calais suburb – had been his home for weeks.

    He had limited English, no French. He hadn’t heard Azerbaijani spoken for months, since his arrest and subsequent isolation, before his move to the asylum. Seeking asylum. The pun would likely have amused him if his English was as good as his wife Goga’s.

    The ghost of Elvis Presley whispered from the air conditioner:
    “Stay strong”.

    Hitler’s ghost, under his bed, made darker suggestions:
    “Kill the male nurse.”

    Elvis spoke English, Hitler – the many-tongued devil – Austrian-tinged Azerbaijani.

    Twice daily, a male nurse arrived with a cart of serotonin inhibitors and dopamine blockers.

    Hamid had not seen his wife since his apprehension, found wandering alone, catatonic, along an autoroute near the Chunnel.
    At sundown, the pouting doctor’s clattering shoes roused him.
    The nurse wheeled in his trolley, attending other patients.

    “Your wife Goga comes tomorrow!” the doctor told him. “Here. Oui? Goga demain.”

    GO GET THE MAN. She smiled her encouragement, echoing: “Goga demain.”

    With officialdom’s blessing, Hamid hadn’t needed to be told twice.


    He pulled a knife from under his mattress, leapt from bed, slashing the nurse’s throat as he prepped his dose. The nurse collapsed, life leaving him as he bled out on the floor.

    The doctor hit an alarm button. Her eyes met Hamid’s over the other patients’ screams. His smile faded. He knew he had misheard.

    246 words


  5. "I can't believe we're doing this," Rachel whispered as they entered her office.

    Ben closed the door and turned the lock. "Turn the lamp on next to your desk. That should be enough light." He strode to the windows and pulled string on one of the shades until it slapped the top of the casing.

    Rachel leaned against the corner of her desk. "Don't pull them up all the way."

    "He said the windows must be unobstructed." Ben moved to the next set of blinds and pulled the string.

    Rachel's eyes flicked to the window and crossed her arms. "It's a no go. Get the man on the phone and tell him the deal's off."

    Ben closed the space between them and pulled Rachel into his arms. "You were turned on by the thought of someone watching us. What happened?" he whispered into her ear.

    "It became real. What if someone recognizes us? Or worse, records it and we're all over the Internet. What then?" Rachel rested her cheek against Ben's chest listening to the thump of his heart.

    "I have an idea," he said, guiding her to the window. Rachel scanned the glass building across the street. He was there, somewhere. Watching. Waiting. Ben's body warmed her back as he reached for the string. The shade lowered to her chin. "See? No faces."

    Rachel leaned into his body. His warmth stoked the fire growing in her core. "Okay?" he asked huskily.

    She nodded as he unzipped her dress.

    249 words from short story WIP

  6. When Ben and me got stiffed on drug deals, the suicide rate increased. 'Go get the man', we always said. Get the man that stiffed us. The one that didn't pay. The one that thought what we made was free.

    Staring at the body by my feet, I walked away, leaving the gun in his hand. It was an old trick, Ben told me, but effective. Make it look like a suicide and we won't get caught. Jail was the last place any of us wanted to be, least of all for murder.

    With a curt nod of my head, I walked past Ben. He fell into step behind me. When we walked into our apartment, I went for a shower. I always felt dirty after killing someone.

    Ben was waiting with a list for me when I came back out. I knew what I'd be doing tomorrow. Another murder. Another unusual rise in the suicide rate. But we had to get the man. I took the clean gun, loaded with just one bullet. Another suicide.

    176 words

  7. “Go get the man.” Rang in my ears as loudly as the blast the Tunguska meteorite must have rang in the ears of the locals. I felt that ringing fighting with my cosmic vibration and wining; I was so far out of whack that even the ball bat I was hit with looked to be shaking with the same excitement of a retard reaching their first orgasm when I opened my eyes however many hours later, and saw it lying on the ground in a pool of blood, “Shouldn’t sneak up on people.” I told it.
    Rolling onto my side, I lied to myself, “Never again will I ever monkey with another monkey’s monkey.” Continuing my mumbling as I stumbled to my feet watching blood drip from my skull, slowly and wiggling, that would, if I were not in such shape, most likely be a stream, I corrected my lie.
    “Unless it was her;” Staggering back towards the party I found my hat, then my beer, then my bravado, it was beat up too. I blew the blood from the lip of my beer can for a drink and realized that my common sense hadn’t gotten up with me.
    I was going back for her, but I was also going to, “Go get the man; Paybacks are hell my friend.”
    If only I could find my pants.
    227 words

    1. David, do you have an email address or twitter handle for us to contact you if you win? Please post it.

    2. Happy to have you join us, David :)

  8. The loose handcuffs teased him with freedom. Cole contorted his hand and slipped it through the metal loop, leaving it dangle from his other wrist. Blood trickled from a scrape—he watched it for a moment before standing. His new goal was clear; go get the man that locked him up.

    Cole scrambled to the door and pulled it open. The sun burned his eyes, causing him to squint. Quickly, he surveyed his location. Where, oh where are you hiding Mandrick? He thought. Movement in the trees across the clearing caught Cole’s attention. Mandrick stood defiantly with his arms crossed at his chest and stared with a taunting smirk.

    “Really, dude?” Cole mumbled and ran toward his target.

    He leapt and collided with the Mandrick. They wrestled on the ground, trying to dominate the other. The struggle continued for several minutes before Cole pulled away. There was no point in continuing, physically they were equals. The difference, between Cole and his twin, Mandrick, was the paths they chose.

    168 words

  9. "What do you call the places on either side of the portal?"


    Bethany shook her head. "Right, of course."

    "If you know of these dimensions and portals, why did you step through one and not stay in your own world?"

    "Because they don't exist!" Bethany threw her hands out from her sides. "They only exist in the imaginations of science fiction authors and storytellers. Hell, all y'all are straight out of a fairytale. Next you're gonna tell me there are gryphons and goblins I should watch out for."

    The centaur shook his head. "The gryphons died out long ago and the gobins keep to themselves in their own kingdom."

    "Right. Of course. What about dragons, werewolves, or vampires? Am I gonna find some o' them?" Might as well go for broke.

    "No. The dragons chose to stay in the human world according to legend. And vampires are a human based species. Surely you've met a few?"

    Bethany barked a laugh. "Not even close. They don't exist." She shook her head again. "Like you."

    "I exist, I assure you."

    Bethany resisted the temptation to poke him in the side just to make sure. "Yeah, I got that part."

    "Perhaps you will then understand what danger you're in."

    She rolled her eyes. "Way to go. Get the man a kewpie doll. I got that part, too." She rubbed a hand over her face. "Do you have a name or should I just call you Big Centaur with a Spear One?"

    249 ineligible #WIP500 words

  10. ~~~~~

    The instructions were both simple and straight-forward.

    Go get the harness, fit it on the man in the rock-climbing astronaut outfit. Kick him out the hatchet. Make sure he does the job.

    “Go get the man.”

    How could you not manage something this basic? How could you possibly fuck it up?

    You would not listen to instructions.

    Suddenly we were ready, harnessed worker ready, hatchet levers moving.

    The thing is, it wasn’t going to be to let the worker out to do a job.

    It had turned into letting all of them inside.

    You’d gone and harnessed the wrong species.


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

  11. “You want a what?” I twisted my yellowing over-dyed hair into a knot and secured it with a pair of pencils.

    “Cupcake vodka, with Limoncello, and a twist of lemon for garnish.”

    “Here.” I passed her a slice of lemon poundcake and poured a splash of vodka over the top.

    “That’s disgusting, Lu.”

    “Well it’s the best you’re gonna get, because I don’t have all the rest of that crap.” I grabbed a cold beer for myself.

    Ella scrunched up her nose but shoved the cake in her mouth just the same. “Who is it tonight?”

    “Jogger. He runs alone. Passes in front around 10PM.”

    “So what’s the plan?”

    “He thinks he’s safe in the dark, what with being a man.” I knocked back a good half my beer and belched. “He heads to the park and runs off track into the wooded area. No idea why. But good cover for us.”

    “Simple and clean.” Ella picked up her duffle. “Got fresh empty blood bags. Small ice chest for the organs. Better organ preservation bags, since the last one leaked. Oh, and refills of Celsior solution.”

    “Excellent.” I strapped on my knives, downed the rest of the beer, and tossed the can across the room into recycling. “Two points! Now let’s go get the man.”

    215 words

  12. I walked toward my car as the voice in my head urged me on, ““Go get the man.” I got in, and drove. “Go get the man,” echoed in my head.

    I’d done everything right. Talked with him every day. Went to lunch with him and his friends. Dressed for him. I wore skirts that showed off my hips and legs. I wore as little beneath my clothes as I dared. I showed off my boobs. I knew he saw. I wanted him to see.

    I always joined him for lunch I knew all his favorite places to eat. I tried countless perfumes until I found ones he liked. I styled my hair different ways until I found the ways he liked. I even colored my hair red, because it was his favorite. I learned what kind of clothing he liked to see me in, and always wore his favorites.

    He knew I loved him.

    But he got engaged to her anyway! Another woman he would hold, kiss, sleep with. The thought of him fucking her was the last straw. “If I can’t have you, no one will!”

    “Go get the man.”

    I pulled my car to the curb outside his parking garage, motor running, and waited. When his car came down the ramp, I floored it.” Go get the man,” echoed in my head as my car tore into the driver’s side of his.

    I watched him die. I smiled. If I couldn’t have him, no one would.

    249 words

  13. “Venti coffee. Dark. No room, please.” His deep voice raced through my entire body, leaving tracks of gooseflesh in its wake. I imagined that same voice whispering a desperate and breathy “please…” in my ear as he bent me over the counter in carnal lust.

    I shook off the fantasy. Damn, I needed to get laid. How long had it been? Weeks? Months? A year, maybe? My dick had forgotten what it was like to be touched for Christ’s sake. And now I was getting hard from a customer’s voice? Just great.

    When I looked up to see what heavenly being could possibly be attached to that sexy baritone, sparkling green eyes met mine. And winked.

    I held onto the cash register for support as I input his order, my cheeks on fire. “Any…anything else, sir?” I asked, adjusting my apron nervously.

    The suggestive smile he returned and the gentle shrug of his shoulders – broad shoulders, might I add, told me all I needed to know. My mouth went dry.

    He gave me the exact change for his coffee and Terry, my co-worker, placed it on the counter in front of him. Before I could respond he had picked up his cup and walked out the door.

    “What are you waiting for? Go get the man!” she demanded, grabbing the money from me and shoving me hard.

    I took off after him.

    Hunter Frost
    232 Words

  14. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you in two weeks. :)


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