Thursday, July 24, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 129

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday today, so get your flash ready. Writing a #flashfiction thread! Welcome to Week 129 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 8 PM Mountain 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 129:

Spanking queen, wooden spoon collector, and F/F sweet romance author, Anastasia Vitsky.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“No, that didn’t work.”

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. Forty three freaking hours of labor. A drip of Pitocin, finally, from that horse’s ass of a doctor, which was what she asked for in the first place. Red lights and beeps and fetal distress and he lost the baby.

    "Your husband says to tell you he's ready to take you home anytime you're ready." The unsmiling nurse waited. Cass only stared with eyes too tired to blink.

    "Mrs. Yubnik, did you hear what I said? Mr. Yubnik..."

    "He's not my husband. Or my boyfriend. He's definitely not a Yubnik, I don't know what his real name is. He’s a stalker, for all I can tell. Tell him to leave me alone. Would you please?"

    “Isn’t this the same man who checked you in?” Her eyebrows up: Wouldn’t he have been the daddy?

    “I know who brought me here, bitch. Up in my business.”

    The nurse stiffened and glared.

    “Shall we call you a cab then, Mrs., sorry, Ms. Yubnik?”

    The stink of this place. Alcohol, ammonia. She checked her cell phone. No word back from Mitch yet about that loan.

    “Will the hospital pay for the cab?”


    R. C. was in the waiting room, having identified himself as the person who would drive her home no matter what she had to say about it.

    When she saw him, she said: “I thought I put you on time out.”

    “No, that didn’t work.”

    He commandeered the chair from the nurse, and wheeled Cass out to the red Ford pickup.

    twitter: @literaryjihadi

    250 words

  2. Gritting my teeth, I focused on my husband. It takes a lot to bring him down but the pain of a broken leg was enough. He'd been in the hospital for two days on strong pain medication because nothing else had worked. In preparation for sending him home, the doctor had eased him off the big stuff and onto something I could give him. The first dose had been given an hour ago and hadn't touched his pain.

    "Are you getting any relief?" I asked, as my finger tips turned purple.

    "No, that didn't work," he gasped. "I'm gonna puke."

    I cringed and dropped his hand. Every paramedic has things they can't handle and mine was puke. I scanned the corridor around Jimmy's room, then flagged down his nurse.

    "He's puking. Whatever the doctor gave him, it's not working."

    The nurse hurried into the room, me following cautiously behind. The bed was a mess but I forced myself to ignore that and hold Jimmy's hand. If he was angry that I'd left, he was in too much pain to care.

    "Jimmy, hon, rate your pain for me."

    He sucked in a breath. "It's about a 15."

    "I'll call the doctor. In the mean time, I'll get you somethin'."

    The nurse marched out of the room and I momentarily felt bad for Jimmy's doctor. Then, I looked at my husband. On second thought, I'd have paid to be a fly on the wall when she yelled at the doctor.

    248 words

  3. Beatrice stared at the burnt rubble of her house. Seeing Vincent, her husband, she asked, “What happened here?”
    “Things got out of hand.”
    “Did you do what I asked?”
    “No, that didn’t work.”
    “Nonsense the plan was perfect.”
    “Bea, he got away... sort of.”
    “He either got away, or he didn’t. Why do I see a burnt shell of our house?”
    “I told you the plan didn’t work.”
    “I don’t understand, my plan didn’t involve burning anything,” Beatrice commented.
    “The darn thing scurried into a dark corner. I tried to follow your plan, but it got away.”
    “So then you decided to burn the house down?”
    “It wasn’t that simple. You make it seem like I planned to.”
    “No one plans to burn down a house and yet you did.”
    “That thing scampered and it was really scary.”
    “Did it have big teeth?”
    “You know it didn’t. Besides it came out from behind the refrigerator and up the wall to the ceiling and into the laundry room wall.”
    “Were you afraid for your life?”
    “It would have jumped on me when it came out. I got out the spray paint and a lighter and made a blowtorch and nuked the sucker. Only the house went up too. ”
    “What kind was it?” asked Bea.
    “A black widow spider. A really big one,” Vincent protested.
    “You’re lucky you’re cute. From now on I kill the spiders.”
    “Fine,” Vincent answered, “I hate those things anyway.”
    249 words

  4. Bree and Tara leaned over the body.

    “What are we going to do?” Bree asked.

    “How do I know?” Tara kicked the man with the toe of her hiking boot.

    “One minute, Mr. Creepy here is chasing us through the woods, and the next, he crashes to the ground holding his chest. Now, he’s freakin’ dead.”

    Going to her hands and knees, Bree inched closer to his chest and held her ear above his heart.

    “He’s dead. No doubt about it.”

    Tara kicked him again and a cellphone rolled out of a pocket in his jacket. She picked it up and tried to turn it on.

    “No, that didn’t work. Battery is dead, just like its owner.”

    Bree stood. “I guess we’re going to have to leave him here and go and get help.”

    “Well, this ruins our entire day. What do you think he would’ve done if he’d caught us?”

    “I don’t even want to think about it.”

    At the nearest checkpoint, they told their story to a park ranger. He yawned and twirled his pencil while staring out the window.

    “Aren’t you going to do something?” Bree asked.

    He swiveled his chair and stood, making his way around the desk. “Tell me, do you kids have too much time on your hands? Every year, without fail, you wander up here and report some crazy man chased you through the trails. I’ve got news. There is no man in the woods.”

    Tara held up the cellphone. “Whose is this?”

    250 Words

  5. Posting for Anna Lund

    There he went again, off on a long shot, but honestly? It all went straight out the window.

    Goes to show the importance of naming your son Icarus, which should totally be against the law.

    As they say, hubris is such a heavy-handed mistress. No, that didn’t work very well.

    About thirty-three stories, landed with a crash.

    A lovely young man, but so very predictable; thinking he had wings—where did he ever get that idea—feathers and a pot of wax do not a proper wing make.

    He sure did make the term “defenestrate” come alive, though, before dying.


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

  6. Dry leaves crunched beneath Shawna’s feet. She stooped, gathering twigs and pinecones, kindling for the fire. The wind kicked up, swirling with a whistle around her ankles, lifting her black skirt. With her free hand, she held onto her hat before it adventured off.

    Returning to the campsite, she placed the wood in the middle of the ring, under her cauldron. With her fingers, she rubbed the curved lip, infusing her aura into the cast iron. The vessel had been handed down via the women in her family, from mother to daughter, until it landed in Shawna’s hands.

    With a strike of the match, the pine needles sparked with a blue-orange flame.

    “Are you sure you want to do this?” Dru, her best friend since childhood, settled her scavengings in the pile and took the seat next to her. Long dark hair draped over her shoulders and ran in streams around the swells of her breasts.

    Shawna averted her eyes, and tended to the recipe. “I’m tired of being alone. This spell shows my one true love.”

    One by one, the ingredients went in, and Shawna chanted. Dru’s leg pressed against hers, causing a physical heat. She concentrated, her voice growing louder.

    She opened her eyes, and saw Dru. “No, that didn’t work.”

    “Maybe it did.” Dru slipped her hand through Shawna’s hair, knocking off her hat and brushed her lips against the other woman’s.

    Warmth infused Shawna’s body. The fire crackled, shooting up a flurry of sparkling embers. Magic.

    250 words

  7. "Hi, Moira. Can I come in?"

    She gaped at him, still not certain he was real. How many years had she hoped he'd show up at her door only to find it a fantasy?

    "I can't believe you really came."

    Aiden quirked an eyebrow. "Did you think I'd find somewhere else to stay after what I said at my truck this morning?"

    "No, not really. It's just..." She gestured helplessly and stood back. "Please, come in."

    He strode past her and scanned her apartment. She'd converted the top two floors of the building into a three bedroom apartment with three full baths and a luxurious kitchen and living space. Her brother Kallen had helped her remodel. Now the space seemed small with Aiden's presence.

    Moira took a deep breath and opened her senses, testing the energies of her home now that Aiden had arrived. Hot, sensual pleasure mixed with a sense of belonging and home swamped her and she staggered against the door.

    Aiden materialized at her side, his eyes blazing and his grip warm. "Are you all right?"

    "I think so."

    She met his gaze and before she could stop herself, she'd leaned forward. She brushed her lips across his, desperate to taste the energy for herself, but something stopped her from doing more and she pulled back. His expression hadn't changed, but his energy had cooled. She searched his gaze, hoping for...something. Anything. But nothing came to her.

    No, that didn't work like she'd hoped.

    247 ineligible #WIP500 words

  8. Dr. Rayburn turned to write on the chalkboard, the planes of his lean shoulders and back accentuated as he stretched upward.

    “Can anyone tell me how the British secured their colonies in India?” He turned back to survey the lecture hall, playing with the piece of chalk as he waited patiently for a volunteer.

    The movements of his hands drew my attention to the lightly tanned forearms underneath his rolled up sleeves.

    Why did he have to be so damn fine?

    I wouldn’t be this distracted if crotchety old Dr. Collins taught the class. Heck, I might even get an A. I really liked history, but Dr. Rayburn had my mind wandering to what was hiding in those worn jeans or how he might look on his knees, his mouth wrapped-- Shit! I had to get a grip. I exhaled and pulled out my collar.

    “Mr. Meyers?” His voice jolted me out of my daydream.

    “Um. Yes?” My face burned.

    “You okay up there?”

    “Yes professor.” I attempted a weak smile.

    “Good. Answer the question.”

    Crap. What was the question again? Colonies? India?
    “Uh…very carefully?” Jokes diffused the tension, right?

    A couple students chuckled, but Dr. Rayburn didn’t crack a smile. No, that didn’t work.

    “Care to elaborate?” He asked, ignoring the joke completely.

    I shook my head.

    “Stick around after class and we’ll discuss your lack of focus.” He said and quickly moved on.

    Fuck. Well, I guess that’s one way to spend time with the hot professor.

    249 words
    Hunter Frost

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


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