Thursday, November 6, 2014

#ThursThreads - The Challenge That Ties Tales Together - Week 143

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 143 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 143:

Your hostess, the Scottish Word Slinger, Siobhan Muir.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

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. Henry frowned at the tall man as he shoved the hooded captive forward. He bit back the sharp retort that bubbled up from his conscience.

    "Here she is, sir." The man handed him the chain connected to the shackles around her wrists.

    "I pray you haven't damaged the merchandise," Henry said with an air of authority.

    "Oi, she's still in good condition. That I guarantee." The man's wide smile revealed a hole where his two front teeth should have been.

    Henry reached up to draw back the hood when the man interjected.

    "Not until I've had my money, guv."

    "I'd like to see what I'm buying." He took an intimidating step forward.

    The man shrank back. "Alright, alright, have a look then."

    He flipped the hood back. Her dark eyes met his through her matted black hair. A flicker of recognition dawned in their inky depths. As his fingers tipped her chin up, her hair fell back from her face revealing a large purple bruise along her cheek and consuming her eye. Henry sighed and dropped his hand.

    "She fought us. Twas nothing I could do about that shiner." The man backed up as Henry approached him. He gave him a coin and then turned to walk away, leading the woman with the chain.

    "Thank you kindly, guv. Nice doing business with you."

    Henry reached his carriage and turned to the man standing beside it holding a cane. "Take care of him."

    A scream split the silent night. Henry grinned.

  2. "She is indeed beautiful."

    "You see the dark brown eyes, the sculpted 19 year old body, the power in her thighs."

    "She has an impressive physique, but I'd like to see what i am buying."

    "I assure you sir, she will turn when she's excited. Can you excite her?"

    "Will those restraints hold her?"

    "Stay behind her my friend, even though retrained, her claws and teeth would tear you in half."

    "Okay, ill pay."


  3. Warren Bennett (@warrencbennett on twitter.)

    250 words

    “It isn't that I don't trust you.” A voice behind the lights. I'm blinded by them. I lash out and hit something soft. Something hard hits me back.

    “Like I said, it isn't that I don't trust you. I've known you for years. You don't know me but that doesn't matter.” Something hard hits me and I’m forced over on my stomach. “You don't know the real me at any rate.”

    “I'm here now because I told them I’d like to see what I’m buying. I didn't realize it was you.”

    My limbs were yanked up and I feel something rough being wound around my wrists and ankles. The light bleeds in from the side but my face is down in my bed.

    “I could tell you all this and I suppose you'd go with me. It isn't that I don't trust you but this is the best way for all of us.”

    Someone pulled my hair back and slipped a bag over my head. I hear my window opening and feel free fall for as I’m tossed out. I hit something soft. No one bothers me for minutes as I hear steps come up to me. The bag is yanked back and darkness is all I see. Suddenly a small light bursts in the darkness and I gasp. “Mom?”

    “It isn't that I trust you but we had to get you out of the house.”

    Someone tosses me in the back of a truck and the world goes dark.

    1. ...Should be "It isn't that I don't trust you" in the second to last paragraph.

      I missed a don't. Hah.

  4. ~~~~~

    That goddamn, good-for-nothing dragon-from-Hell wouldn’t budge.

    “I’d like to see what I’m buying, first,” he said, with a rumble and a lick of fire.

    “How can I show you that, if I’m not free? It kind of goes without saying, that I first need to get out of here, don’t you think?”

    “Sure. And once you’re out, you’re going to run like the little silly rabbit that you are. And where does that leave me? Dragons always get the shit-end of the stick.”

    Grumpy dragon was grumpy.

    All right.

    “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine…”

    Dragon smiles are cute.


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

  5. The bum stepped out of the mouth of the alley. Her very human nose cringed while her lips curled in distaste. The man reeked of sweat, piss, and rotting garbage. The man hacked up a lung and spat it at her feet.


    “Don’t get uppity, bitch. You called me.”

    “Do you have it?”

    “Damn right I do.”

    “I’d like to see what I’m buying.” The request was reasonable, especially given the importance of the information, and the price she was paying.

    The guy scratched his chest and she swore something creepy and crawly ran across his fingers. She needed what he had and then she could get the hell out of here and back to her hotel. Where she would shower. In bleach. For the rest of the day. Right after she burned these clothes.

    “Gonna be kinda hard, sugar tits.” He held up the flash card between his index and middle fingers.

    “I’ve got it covered.” She whipped out a mini-tablet, snatched the card and inserted it. A moment later, information filled the screen—text and pictures. Yeah. The guy had the right stuff. She pulled a wad of bills out of her pocket and tossed it to the guy as she backed away.

    The guy stepped toward her. “Where ya goin’, sugar tits. Let’s party.”

    “Fuck off. I’ve got better things to do.”

    “Yeah? Like what?”

    “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you..”

    Like she would kill someone else. Murder—such an easy solution.
    250 words

  6. Aiden sighed and shrugged. "Take out works for me. Do you have a menu?"

    "Yes. Why?"

    "I'd like to see what I'm buying." He waited for her to pull out the menu from her catch-all drawer in the kitchen. "I'm kinda particular about food from take-out places. Are there any good ones around here?"

    Moira nodded as she handed him the menu. "I like Linn's Noodle House. They serve different kinds of a pasta from all over the world. Madelinn has hired different chefs from Italy, India, China, Vietnam, Greece, and France to cook for her little restaurant. There's a nice variety."

    "Sounds good." Aiden pretended to look over the menu, but his attention wandered after he'd seen the vegetable chow mein. "What are you going to order?"

    "I usually get some chicken alfredo, but tonight I'm feeling more like some paneer and nan."

    "I didn't know you liked Indian food."

    Moira leveled him with a dry look. "Now there's a surprise. You've been gone how long? Oh, that's right, eighteen years."

    He gritted his teeth against saying something stupid. She has a right to be angry. I just wish it would mellow sooner.

    "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry, Moira. Let's move on from me being gone and start with here I am to get to know you again."

    She shook her head and gestured to the menu. "Do you know what you want?"

    "I know I want you and I to be friends, and more."

    246 ineligible #WIP500 words

  7. “Listen, Ben. I ordered something for us but I can’t get to the shop before it closes.”

    My wife blew money better than she blew me, and that was saying something. I watched through narrowed eyes while Kira opened her wallet—fuck me, more Louis Vuitton?—and pulled out three one-hundred-dollar bills and a business card.

    “What is it?” I demanded. When she pulled this shit, I ended up working overtime for weeks.

    She made sure I got a good look down her scoop-necked top before she leaned in to kiss me. I pulled back, to demand whether she’d still have her half of the house payment next week, but the damn minx slid her palm across my junk.

    I pressed into her hand. “Sex toy,” she whispered. “See you by nine. Oh, and we need lube.”

    After a hard day’s labor, I growled Kira’s name at the clerk. “I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

    He ripped the brown paper wrapping and I lifted the box lid. The thing inside looked like a gigantic fishing weight, right down to the dull silver color. I picked it up and it chimed. The vibration ran through the aluminum and into my palm. I cocked a brow.

    “Butt plug. Solid aluminum. The hollow walls hold copper beads.” He smirked. “Need instructions with that?”

    I forked over Kira’s cash and stuffed the toy in my pocket. Back in my truck, I grabbed my cell and dialed my foreman. “Got any extra work, boss?”
    250 words

  8. "I don't know," Elisha said to the odd-looking shopkeeper who merely shrugged, appearing indifferent.

    "I'd like to see what I'm buying," Elisha said, hiding her excitement.

    The shopkeeper turned his back to her as he removed a small glass bottle from a cabinet behind the counter.

    "You may have a look... As you can see it's nothing remarkable. Its powers make it worth the price."

    Elisha fumbled with her purse as she looked at the opaque bottle in the shopkeeper's hands.

    "And what is the price?"

    "I think you know," he said.

    Elisha opened her purse and removed several gold coins which she placed on the counter in front of him.

    "I thought you knew," said the shopkeeper. "It isn't gold I ask for. It's a trade."

    "I don't understand," said Elisha.

    "Everything has its price," the shopkeeper said. "You want to be transported in time... This bottle holds that power. But you must do something for me first."

    "I will do anything."

    The shopkeeper secretly smiled.

    "I want you to kill somebody."

    Cate Derham
    174 Words

  9. Here's a scene from my NaNo book. I didn't want to leave you hanging again this week.
    250 words @jandsmtt
    “I’m so sorry, Paul,” Susan said coming into the kitchen. “Mr. Newton said the house isn’t available any longer. He promised to one of the new teachers at the school.”
    Paul frowned. He’d lost too damn much already. He wasn’t giving up this part of his dream. This was his house, and he wasn’t going to give it up to a teacher that’s for sure. They’d never been high on his list of favorite people. They tended to look the other way when they should be protecting the kids in their care.
    “What’s Newton asking for it?”
    “Twelve hundred a month,” she answered, clearly confused, “but what difference does that make?”
    “Not to rent it, to buy it. What’s his asking price?”
    She shuffled through the folder she carried. “One hundred and eighty-five thousand.”
    “I’ll give him two hundred grand if I can have it today.”
    Susan’s eyebrows disappeared under her dark brown bangs and her chocolate-colored eyes grew the size of quarters. “Are you serious?” She looked at him as if he’d grown another head, but he could see the wheels turning as she calculated her commission. Ten thousand dollars wasn’t a bad pay for ten minutes’ work.
    “Yes, I am. Call Mr. Newton and see if we have a deal. Now, I’d like to see what I’m buying.”
    “Of course.” She reentered the house, and Paul followed her, closing the kitchen door and locking it. The lock was a flimsy handle one. He’d have that changed right away.

  10. It was going to be one of those nights. Biting back a sigh, I plastered on a warm smile and took a position on the other side of her. “There you are.” I flashed her a pointed look. “Mister Stevenson was just looking for you. Something about you owing him a dance?”

    Minnie chuckled and waved her empty cigarette holder at me. “Butt me, will ya?”

    “You know I don’t smoke.” While the practice of women smoking had suddenly become more acceptable after we earned the vote, and we all seemed set on proving we could make just as many stupid decisions as men in the name of equality, it just made me gag.

    She swung her attention back to the sailors. “How about you blokes? Got a ciggy for me?”

    Before either could answer, Shorty was beside her, stuffing a cigarette into the empty holder. He struck a match and lit the end before tossing it to the floor and stomping on it. “Now quit your slacking and get to work already. You don’t get paid for sitting around, you know.” He glanced my way. “And, your setting a bad example for the other girls. Their room and board is expensive, and if they ain’t dancin’, they ain’t earnin’. I’d like to see what I’m buying. What sort of business they can drum up.”

    Minnie must have heard the bite in his tone because she meekly slipped from the stool and murmured, “You’re right. Sorry, baby.”

    248 WIP words

  11. “I’d like to see what I’m buying.” The man’s gruff statement made
    Claire flinch, and she focused on her bare toes threaded through the damp spring grass. A breeze stirred her skirt around her calves. She wouldn’t cry, she couldn’t because it’d do absolutely no good. At fifteen she was no longer a child, and tears wouldn’t sway her family’s decision.

    “This is the best you’re goin’ to get around here,” her papa replied. “The best so take it or leave it.”

    The man harrumphed and took another tour around the paddock, stroking his graying mustache. The filly snorted and shook her head, unhappy with the stranger’s presence. Claire reached up and patted the horse’s neck, doing her best to settle both of their nerves. The Depression had left them desperate to sell even the unimaginable. Inside their ramshackle home Claire’s six younger brothers and sisters were gaunt, and today’s sale would buy seed enough for the year’s planting.

    Claire stepped closer to the yearling horse, inhaling the sweet fragrance of grass and sunshine, storing it away to memory. She’d need it soon.

    Finally the man nodded and extended his hand. Her papa took it and they shook on the agreed price. Claire’s heart dropped. No, I can’t…. She spun to the filly and buried her face against the animal’s neck. A choked sob escaped her throat.

    “All right now, ‘nough of that.” The man grabbed Claire’s arm, tugging her along—his new purchase, a fertile young bride.

    248 words

  12. The old dumptruck pulled onto the street with a seeming reluctance. It stopped before the redbrick, moss-covered apartments.

    Her pimp got out. She had been causing him trouble since a recent drug-related arrest, insisting on using his lawyer, but she appeared to have done something right for once.

    "I'd like to see what I'm buying," he insisted.

    "We've wrapped it. Look once it's opened, not here.”

    “I need to see what I’m buying. It’s my ass – not yours – if there’s a mistake.”

    The woman’s face curled into a snarl.

    “It’s prison for me! You’re taking the goods as they are and leaving.”

    A huge green plastic sack awaited him in the ground floor flat hallway. He pulled at one end with gloved hands, inwardly discussing its portability. Grabbing it midsection, bending at the knees, he hauled it to his shoulder, barging past.

    “Asshole!” she squealed, raising foot to hand to rub it.

    “Open toes are so last year, sweetie.” He heaved the bag into the back of the truck, between the open grinding teeth. He winked at the two men inside the truck. Getting in the cabin, he sped away.

    She lit a cigarette, eyes on bruised toenails. She only noticed the truck reappearing – after traveling around the block – when it mounted the kerb alongside her.

    “You dumb bitch!” he shouted. “You poisoned his cousin!”

    The unwrapped body was tossed onto her doorstep.

    He put the truck in gear again and sped off shouting:

    “Open toes are so last year!”

    250 words

  13. Title - Trading.

    Padrov pulled the car into the secluded parking lot, and spotted the battered brown Datsun straight away. He thought they’d drive something better than that with what they made.

    He parked on the opposite side, wanting to keep his distance, and glanced in the rear view mirror at the round, terrified eyes looking back at him. He felt the sweat on his palms prickle.

    Then he glanced at the woman squashed into the footwell behind the passenger seat, and she glanced back, her hands never leaving the knees of the two little boys.

    Padrov killed the engine and waited. Someone got out of the Datsun. When they turned to face him, Padrov’s fear turned to rage. He knew this man. He was a teacher. His stomach churned at the thought of how many children he’d come into contact with.

    Padrov breathed, opening his door slowly, and resisted the urge to scratch the wire under his shirt.

    When they had both forward, the man jerked his head at the two small faces in the back of Padrov’s car.

    “I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

    “Not yet. Show me the money first.” Padrov was firm.

    The man took out a buddle of notes and fanned them.

    Padrov nodded. “Good, you have enough.”

    With the key words triggered, sirens blared and blue lights lit up the car park, not giving the man time to turn round. Padrov didn’t say any more, only spat as his feet as he was taken away.

    249 Words

  14. No Warranty

    “Ms. Lucy is my lover. We’re lovers,” Clarissa said. “I’m living here, with her.”

    Mario shoved back the curtains and stared outside. He stood like that, one hand against the cool glass, for a few beats of her heart. She ached to go to him, hold him, take the pain away, except for this time, she caused of all that hurt.

    “What’s this mean for us?” His voice was harsh, ragged.

    “I don’t know.” It was the truth. “I haven’t contacted you because I’ve been trying to figure out what I wanted.”

    “Does she know about us? Did she seduce you away from me?”

    She took another sip of wine, letting it rest on her tongue, before shaking her head. “I didn’t tell her. Not that I didn’t end our relationship. I wanted to tell you.”

    “Tell me what? That we’re over,” he said. “I came here for the truth, and that’s what I got.”

    “Wait, don’t go.” She grabbed at his shirt. “I didn’t tell you because I wasn’t ready to let go.”

    “It’s not fair,” Mario said. “You’re either with me, or you’re with her. You can’t have both.”

    “But, I can’t. I haven’t been able to decide.”

    His top lip turned up in a sneer. “Then I’m glad I found out. Before I commit to spending my life with someone, I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

    The front door slammed shut sending shockwaves reverberating through the windows and her life.

    244 words

  15. I met the seller in one of the run down taverns deep in the heart of the dome, one of those places surrounded by sadness and despair. I approached him calm outside and seething inside.

    "You're Watu."

    "I am he, yes.”

    "Good. Now, let's get right to the point. I'm looking for a girl."

    "Of course. Watu has many girls."

    "Before I make any kind of deal with you, I’d like to see what I’m buying.”

    "Of course."

    Watu pulled a set of pictures from his inside coat pocket and spread them out. I flipped through and set my finger on one.


    Watu snapped and a young slave appeared. Watu sent him to the back room where he emerged with the young woman. I looked at her and shook my head as her eyes widened in recognition. She understood and lowered her gaze.

    "She very expensive," Watu said. "15,000 credits."

    I walked close and examined the woman, her eyes, her hair, her body. The hidden knife slipped from my hand to hers with ease. I returned to Watu.

    "15,000? Hardly seems enough for such a fine specimen."

    Watu turned to look at the woman.

    "Not enough?"

    I pulled his head back and sliced through his flabby neck with a quick motion. Watu's slave ran towards us, screaming. The girl tripped him and slit his throat as well.

    We looked across the bodies at each other and she smiled.

    "It's about time you got here big brother."

    I laughed.

    250 words

  16. Sidhe loves me, Sidhe loves me not
    235 words

    Ian idly strummed the guitar, breathing in the resonance as if it were a fragrance. He smiled and nodded. It would do. It seemed a shame to buy a guitar for one gig, but he knew what was at stake and he was not going to risk his best instruments to make good on his manager’s bad decisions.

    He hated the idea of abandoning a guitar of any sort, but better he leave one not linked to him by more than the time of the performance. He knew audience well enough to know that when his set ended, he was going to have to drop everything and run. That was the way things were when you played for the elves.

    The Sidhe knew how to throw a party, but they were very lax when it came to paying and very… creative when it came to interpreting the contract used to hire their musicians.

    When a friend asked him why he had to go to the bazaar in person he’s been quick to answer ‘I’d like to see what I’m buying’ but now, as he thought about the conversation the Sidhe had with his manager, he was fairly certain he’d heard them say the same thing.
    Yeah… elves were kinda loose and free when it came to hiring practices, but it was never dull playing for them .

    Ian prayed he was up to the challenge.

  17. Sweat trickled down my back as coal-black eyes studied me. When he stepped back, I pulled in a trembling breath.

    "I'd like to see what I'm buying."

    My feet dragged behind me, catching on holes in the flattened green shag carpet. Brown paneled walls closed in on me as I approached the man. His hands rested on his round belly and a smile split his chubby face.

    I tried not to be sick when thick, calloused hands grabbed my waist. My jeans fell to my ankles, my boxers piling inside them.

    "And you promise he's worth the price?"

    Aaron nodded, his long brown hair framing his pointed face. "I promise. He makes the best LSD in Omaha and you'll get the best night of your life in bed."

    "He's kind of skinny."

    "He's yours for ten grand."

    Jolly's eyes squinted, his double chin jiggling against his chest. "Eight grand. I have to feed him and that costs extra."

    "You're buying the best LSD maker in Omaha and you want him for a discount? No deal."


    "Fine. Nine grand and that's final."

    Aaron tapped a long finger against his chin. Then, with a snap of his head, the deal was done. Gathering the few belongings I had, I followed Jolly to his car. His thick hand squeezed my thigh and I swallowed the bile rising up my throat. I never should've made that deal behind Aaron's back.

    237 words

  18. “I’m interested in this.” Parmack laid a drawing out across the oak counter. Lines on the parchment were rough, curves subtle, but the smithy could tell what was drawn there. The Greatsword of Ahm-En-Suul.
    And though the old merchant wanted no part of this affair at all, the fierce warrior’s reputation had preceded him.
    Endil Wackan, blacksmith of kings, looked his rough customer dead in the eye.
    “Aye.” Endil replied. “I’ve heard of it, but it’s lost. Gone for all time, it’s said, melted in dragon-fire.”
    Parmack’s eyebrow rose, in an elusive way that gave no hint of his disposition at all.
    “I have many other fine blades.” Endil continued. “Sil-Blades, Mystaran Hammers. I think I may have an old Baran greatsword left over from the War.”
    The stoic warrior’s face still offered no expression.
    Anxiety turned to fear in Endil’s stomach as the seconds ticked by. This, Parmack, was known to cut out the tongues of liars.
    “Very well.” Parmack’s gray eyes pierced the smith through to the back of his skull. Endil was certain he felt something in that instant.
    “Lead the way.” The warrior uttered. “I’d like to see what I’m buying.”
    Parmack’s words cut Endil to the bone. What he was buying? As if he’d already made the purchase. What did that mean?
    Icy terror replaced the marrow in Endil’s bones as he realized exactly what Parmack meant.
    The immense warrior already knew Endil did indeed have the sword he was after.

    246 Words

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


Comments are on moderation, so they'll become visible once I've read them. Words, words, words. I love them. Have you a few to lend?

Note: Only a member of this blog may post a comment.