Thursday, October 16, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 140

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. It's Thursday today so get your flash ready to celebrate and write a #flashfiction thread! Welcome to Week 140 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 140:

Traveler, new food sampler, and romance author, Alex Shippe.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“It’s what they deserve.”

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. They found The Remnant on an island that had been ignored in prior searches due to its seeming inability to sustain life.

    The Searchers sent word Home that survivors had been found. It would have been cause for a celebration save one thing.

    “Are they multiplying?” their Leader inquired.

    “They did just have a war,” one of their number remarked. “They are likely recovering.”

    “And look, they cling to one another so tightly; there is no room for further intimacy. You know their kind require privacy.”

    “Usually, yes.”

    The small satellite continued in its orbit for a few more cycles until something changed.

    “Look,” the Searcher whispered, delight and awe in his tone. “Those two. The dominant male and scarred female, look at them.”

    “Ahhhh,” the others chorused. Curious, they focused on those who had not gone off by themselves. “No one protests or calls after. This bodes well.”

    The Remnant seemed to celebrate in the pair’s absence and one of the Searchers always minded the male and female, to make sure they were indeed seeking to multiply.

    They were. “It is awkward, the way they go about it,” one observed, making notes to send back to Him.

    “Look two others are now following their example.”

    “We should get them off the island.”

    “No. They need to regain their own balance, now that they have taken this step.”

    “No, we cannot just leave them there alone. It’s not right. Remember what He said? It’s what—“

    “They deserve peace.”
    = = =
    Word count: 248
    Sandi Layne

    1. The pea soup fog slithered in devouring buildings roads and people alike. Mom and dad forbid me from going out, but it called to me. Teens shouldn’t be kept in because of a little fog besides I had a party to go to. Sneaking out the back door I entered the fog thinking of all the stories of evil my parents had told me. I took to my heels and ran towards my destination, hitting something hard. My body rolled end over end. Something pinned me down and tried to harm me. I fought back tearing them limb from limb and eating the liver and kidneys I craved. When it was all over six men lay dead in front of me and I heard sirens and I ran home. I tried to open the front door, but my hands wouldn’t work. Grandfather opened the door and I went in.
      “So it’s happened,” he said, “Don’t feel bad granddaughter, it’s what they deserve.”
      “I killed them. They didn’t deserve that.”
      “There is one rule for all, my child, survival of the fittest.”
      “But what will happen now that they know what I am?”
      “They are dead. They’ve never found me, Jack the ripper” grandfather answered.
      With this I felt my body calm and felt myself return to normal.
      “How long has our family had this affliction?”
      “It’s not an affliction, but a calling we become one with the fog and must feed. Now rest child until the next red mist calls.”
      250 words

  2. I stood at the tower window watching the crowd below. They’d long given up trying to break through the barricade, but had refused to leave. Hundreds of them huddled together to stave off the cold, bound together by an undying hope that they would be allowed to enter the safe zone.

    “Darling, come away from there. I don’t know how you can stand to look at them.”

    When I don’t respond, he joins me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I let him hold me, but I can’t stop looking, can’t stop my mind from recalling the images from yesterday’s meeting. A young woman in the crowd reminds me of my sister and I wonder how long it will be before she wears the same agonizing expression of those caught in the first wave of the infection.

    It had taken us months to discover the virus traveled in rainclouds; each drop a tiny biological weapon. Water. The one thing we could not survive without had become the one thing guaranteed to kill us.

    “We have to do something. They’ll die.” I whispered and rested my forehead on the cool glass.

    “We’ve been through this. They had their chance; they should have gotten the inoculation sooner. You snooze, you lose. It’s what they deserve for not listening to the warnings.”

    He shook his head and stormed off. The door slammed and I was alone.

    He belonged here, separated, content in his eliteness. But me? I belonged out there with them.

    250 words

  3. ~~~~~

    The Lammergayer saw them fall—didn’t move a feather.

    We drove them off the end of the plateau, straight down Hell’s Gate, the burning hot, scorched pieces of rocks between Lake Naivasha and the now desert-like savannah.

    The sunshine hit its hard rays on their broken bodies, drying out all semblance of actual life in mere hours.

    Years earlier, these three men had followed us, rounded us up, and thrown us to the lions.

    That we walked out of it all both alive and victorious tells the whole world of our fiber.

    Sweet revenge.

    It was simply what they deserved.


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

  4. "We should be able to get home. We'll just have to see."

    "And when we get home, what then?"

    Mack knew Bethany referred to her father and Coolidge, and their designs on her life and money.

    "Let's cross that bridge when it's time."

    He nodded to her and headed for his own wagon as Yarren gave the order to move out. Mack hadn't really considered what would happen if they were successful this late in the game. And then there's the question of love. Yeah, that. If what Yarren had said was true, Mack had gone and fallen in love with the woman he meant to rescue. A woman who'd pretty much changed the social structure of another species and managed to survive without his rescue. Did he really want to sentence her to her father's manipulations and embezzlement? What if Bethany never made it back home?

    It's what they deserve.

    The centaurs entered the trees and the wheels on the wagon rumbled a counterpoint to Mack's thoughts as they headed on toward Cedarfell. Could he turn her over to her father when she clearly didn't want to go back to him? Mack's gut tightened. He didn't want to send her back. It made him sick to his stomach.

    Colicky and cliff-bound.

    Yarren's words came back to him as Mack shifted his gaze toward the women. Hell, he didn't even know if they could get back. But he knew one thing for sure. He wanted more time with Bethany.

    249 ineligible #WIP500 words

  5. With a sigh, lieutenant Michealson closed the manila folder on his desk. For the second time in his thirty years on the force, he lost a plea bargain. Despite the fact that the kid helped Michealson catch one of the biggest drug gangs in Omaha, Jimmy Mortensen was still on his way to federal prison.

    "It's what they deserve."

    He looked up at Sergeant Abbot. The man was about to retire after forty-five years as head of the drug crimes unit.

    "Is it? The kid is barely twenty one and he's in federal prison. His husband was sick at the trial. I've never seen a man cry like that."

    Abbot shrugged, one hip on the gun-metal grey desk. "The kid was a felon in possession of a firearm, ratted you out to his little street gang, and had drugs on him upon arrest. Not to mention the warrants we satisfied in two states. He didn't stand a chance."

    Michealson shook his head. "He had a good job, a good family. Not sure why he'd give that all up for drugs."

    Abbot stretched his shoulders. "It's the pull of the streets, that promise of a split second high, the danger—it's intoxicating. Federal prison will either scare him straight or make him meaner. You did the right thing."

    Michealson shook his head. He stood, put on his coat and looked at the file on his desk. Shaking his head, he shut the door, wondering if he could appeal.

    247 words

  6. It’d been a rough several days stuffed inside an overloaded vintage VW Beetle that lacked air conditioning. From the outside she imagined she looked like she lived out of her car since her packing had been last minute. Then again she hadn’t even known she’d be retreating clear across the country until the night she’d left her old home.

    The New Mexico desert stretched on and on into the distance. The yellowed color of sun-bleached dirt made it difficult to judge distances. Not that it mattered since there was nothing out there. Mirages danced over the interstate, shimmering like cool water, leaving her to daydream about a cold Atlantic swim. Sweat plastered her hair to her face, her clothes to her body, and her thighs felt glued to the seat. Her piles of crap left only the driver side window open, but the hot air blasting her face offered little relief.

    “What a fuck up I’ve made of it,” she grumbled after swiping her sweaty forearm over her sweaty forehead. “I did it this time.”

    She glanced down to the gold band encircling her left ring finger and frowned. The damn thing would’ve been pitched out the window long ago if water retention hadn’t left her knuckle too large to remove it. Once it’d meant love, now it only meant betrayal.

    But that’s okay, she thought. In the end they’d gotten what was coming to them. She grinned, thinking of the pistol tucked under her seat. “It’s what they deserve.”

    250 words

  7. I toed the nearest body with my boot, glancing toward the Russian. Noni was wrapped around his thigh like a little monkey. He just stared at the dead Hell Dogs, ignoring the toddler peeking around his leg.

    Jonah shook loose of his aunt and came over. He spit on the other body. “It’s what they deserve.”

    “Not hardly.” These two fuckers helped torture and murder Jonah and Noni’s mom. Assholes deserved a much harder death than they got.

    “The next one will die slow.” The Russian made that a promise.

    “Fuckin’ A.” I dropped my hand to Jonah’s shoulder, squeezed. The kid’d make a hellava Nightrider when he grew up. Sam’s face blanched when she realized the same thing. As tough as she acted, she still wasn’t thrilled with the whole MC thing, especially where her sister’s kids were concerned. Fuck that. She’d been spoutin’ off about justice and an eye for an eye. Was all fuckin’ gung ho until faced with the cold reality of dead bodies from our rival club. Digger, Hardy, and I would dump the remains at the Hell Dogs’ club house, sending the message.

    I watched her, knowing pretty much what she was thinking. As soon as I was gone, she’d snatch the kids and run. She wouldn’t get far but it still hurt. Sam needed to fuckin’ figure out she was mine and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Course, she didn’t know exactly what I was, either. She’d learn.

    250 words


  8. “This forest is filled with life again. For the first time in centuries, if I believe the stories.”

    “Yes. It’s been peaceful these past two hundred years.” He shuffled my way, his feet never quite leaving the worn stone as he traveled closer. “I find I did not miss them. Always growing and celebrating.”

    “They do enjoy their parties.”

    “Indeed.” The archdruid eyed me strangely. “Admittedly, they have something genuine to celebrate for once. Did you awaken them?”

    “They seem to think so.” I shrugged. “Not sure I’m buying my role in this show.”


    He reached for me, but I pretended not to notice. I couldn’t put my finger on his creep factor, but the guy freaked me out.

    I stared into eyes that knew despair like mine. “You’d really kill them all?”

    “It’s what they deserve. No more or less.”


    “They stole my children. Left my wife a soulless husk of dead flesh. Locked me in here to rot.” He smashed his fist into stone. “Gods damn you all!”

    “You’re pissed. I get it.” The archdruid’s rage shook the entire structure. “I lost my family, too. That kinda thing eats at you.”



    “Ah.” His eyes gleamed, the edges crinkling with a smile that didn’t make it to his mouth. “My blood returns to me at last, but knows me not. No, dear girl. I’m not angry.”

    His voice grew calmer with each word. Icy fear shivered through me. Fever-bright eyes locked on me.

    “I’m mad.”

    250 WIP words

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


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