Thursday, February 12, 2015

#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 155

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 155 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. If you're able to join us, we're here. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook.

And be sure to tune in next week because we have our Third Anniversary Celebration! That's right, #ThursThreads turns THREE!! There will be prizes so you should definitely visit the blog next week.

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 155:

  Chocoholic, Web Geek, and erotic romance author, Lucy Felthouse.

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

"That makes us even.”

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. Gemma looked so damn lost it almost cracked his stony facade. Luc couldn’t go to her, couldn’t touch her. Club business first, bloody business. Once finished, he’d touch her. Explain. There’d be blood on his hands but hell, his hands had been red his entire life. He lived, his mother died, and his old man never let him forget it. What was the bloodstain of one more life—a guilty one—on his soul?

    Luc tilted his head toward the room where the Nightriders held church. Dancer and Tinker dragged the unconscious Hell Dog through the doors. The rest of the brothers followed them. He paused, turned to study Gemma. “Go home, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”


    He didn’t expect her rebellion. “You need to leave, Gemma.”

    “I’m staying.”

    Now it was his turn. “No.”

    She marched up and poked his chest. “Do you think I’d cut and run? I know what will happen in that room.”

    Not that room. Judgment only there. Downstairs, in the basement. They’d execute the asshole there. Church wouldn’t be defiled by enemy blood. “Go home, Gemma.”

    Waving a negligent hand at the other women, she snarled at him. “Are you sending them home?” She read his answer in his expression. “If they stay, I stay.”

    Fuck. Which is what the Riders would want to do after this night’s work was done. He couldn’t send them away. “Suit yourself. There’ll be blood on my hands when I come.”

    “That makes us even.”
    248 words

    1. Tense and spine-tingling, a great tale 😎x

    2. Makes me wonder about Gemma's story. Nicely done!

  2. Suzi slammed each pile of clothes into their places before angrily glancing about her! Clothing spilled back out of their drawers at such rough handling. With a sigh Suzi began collecting them back up thinking it would be no good anyway.

    Then she spotted their travelling bags.

    Quickly she took out her iPad and searched last-minute before she lost her nerve. "This will make us even" She giggled to herself before searching her clothing piles for some saucy apparel.

    After what seemed like an age and a huge compromise in clothing Suzi placed the cases by the door and waited for Tim to arrive home. They should have about twenty minutes by then.

    Sipping her favourite pink hot chocolate Suzi became agitated as she convinced herself it wouldn't work. She would never have the bottle to begin seduction. She just wasn't that type of girl!

    Sat in a self induced gaze Suzi jumped when her phone bleeped with Tim's message tone. With almost relief she flipped her text messages in surprise!
    Quick as a flash she grabbed their bags and locked up before leaping into the car. Her heart was singing with pleasure. This didn't make them even but perhaps next time. For now she'd bask in his seductive thoughtfulness.


  3. I have this thing about people not being in my bubble. My husband is always in my bubble at the worst times. It’s time for revenge.

    “I should get supper going,” Jacoby says. He stands from the couch and stretches, his back popping. “What do you want tonight?”

    I shrug. “Don’t care.”

    “You’re no help.” He walks into the kitchen. “Frozen pizza or taverns?”

    Taverns are more involved than pizza, and that will allow me to put my plan into motion. “Taverns.”

    He gets ground beef from the freezer and starts thawing it in the microwave while he gathers the rest of the ingredients. I wait for the perfect moment to strike. Finally, he starts browning the meat and I walk into the kitchen.

    “We’ve got buns, right?” I ask.

    “I think so.”

    I walk to the stove and wrap my arms around him, nuzzling his neck.

    “This really isn’t the time. I’m trying to cook here,” he says. I ran my hands up and down his stomach. “Jimmy, really. Personal space.”

    I kiss his neck, tweaking his nipples. “I thought this would be a great time.”

    He turns, spatula still in hand and a shit-eating grin on his face. “Fine, that makes us even. Now let me cook.”

    I plant a kiss on his lips then stand back. “Serves ya right. Now, hurry with supper; I’m hungry.”

    He slaps my back as I dart away to set the table. With luck, part B will commence after supper.

    248 words

  4. Chayse’s rump hit the ground hard. What? How did that happen?

    How do you think it happened, jackass? You left, remember? You disappeared and cut yourself off from me. Your twin! Nik snarled and his ruff stood up. Did you think I wouldn’t notice? Did you think I wouldn’t try to find a way to fill the hole in my life, my world?

    Chayse dropped his head, glancing away from his angry brother. So, do you like hitting people and pain, and stuff?

    Nik growled. Not everyone in the lifestyle is a masochist, Chayse. Dominance isn’t always about pain.

    And you just sort of fell into this after…after I left?

    Yes and no. Nik’s ears came back up. I did kinda fall into it, but then I trained under another Dom before I took on a sub of my own.

    Wait, wait. You trained? They have classes for this sort of thing? Chayse shook his head.

    Of course they do. You have to learn how to do this right or people can get hurt or sued.

    And you have a submissive?

    Nik shook his head. No, I trained submissives for a while, but never collared anyone.

    Collared? As in “dog collar?” Chayse snorted and his tongue lolled in a canine grin. Even for Moon Singers, that’s kinda sick.

    No more sick than cutting yourself off from your twin for no other reason than your job couldn’t handle your sexual tastes. Nik bared his teeth. That makes us even.

    248 ineligible #WIP500 words

  5. “I’ve done so much for you. You’re lucky to have a roof over your head,” my husband said, his drunken voice going on and on.

    The blows fell blackening my eye, then breaking my arm and ribs then blessed silence as I passed out from all the hits. I woke up sometime later cold and naked on the floor, a note from him saying he was sorry and had gone to work.

    Why didn’t I go to the police you ask? Brother, Peter was the mayor, father Jeffery Beauregard, the police chief, and mom, Helen, a judge. Alan, my husband was a cop too; they painted me as crazy.

    I went to a skivvy bar downtown dressed in a baseball cap, an old pair of jeans of Alan’s and a pair of work boots. I had pasted on a mustache and wore a wig. I met the hitman and paid the money I had carefully saved.

    The hitman broke in shooting him while I slept beside Alan. The hitman shot me too, but not a killing shot; one that with help I’d survive. Waiting for Alan to breathe his last breath Alan looked over at me and asked, “Why? I gave you everything.”
    "That makes us even,” I coldly replied kissing him on the lips.
    He died sometime later and I called for help. His family knew I’d killed him but his murder is an unsolved. I’m happy now, living alone in another town. Life is good again.
    248 Words

  6. Shiloh ran through the puddle outside her tent in the drifter colony startling passers-by.

    "Michael, you're not actually thinking of going without me?"

    "It's a mission I've trained for, Shiloh. You're not ordering me not to go, are you?"

    "I can, you know." She thought better of finishing that thought, but the worried look on her face caused Michael to put his arms around her.

    "It's a rescue mission. We won't be engaging the Gyere. We're going to bring back Sorin and Ejan."

    "If it's not too late."

    Shiloh and Hannah cleared the dishes after their dinner, hardly speaking to each other, both thinking the same thoughts until Hannah dropped a pan into the sink water splashing soap suds all over her elder sister's face and arms.


    Hannah laughed. "Sorry, Sorin. It was an accident."

    Sorin moved so her back was to the sink and Hannah couldn't see her reach for the spray hose. Pressing on the handle, she soaked Hannah's hair, face and dress.

    "That makes us even," she said, stifling a laugh.

    "Oh, no, it doesn't," Hannah said, pouring a jar of tomato sauce over Sorin's head.


    "Now we're even," Hannah said, grinning.

    "Why you little..."

    "Sorin, come quick. It's Michael." Jaden's expression sent shudders through her.

    Cate Derham
    215 Words

    1. Correction: please note an editing error. In several places in the scene with Hannah I used the character name Sorin when Shiloh was the character in that particular scene. Sorry for the mix-up.

  7. As the winter night darkens, the extreme lights come on. The loudspeaker, playing punishing Wagner, is cranked up by the clerk. It poisons the air. The stragglers, who had held out hope that the store owner would change his mind, cover their ears and run as far away as they can to escape the awful twin assaults of evil classical music and blinding illumination.
    In the shadow of a protective Hydrangea two blocks away, Skip and Locust huddle in tight embrace.
    “Fucking asshole! Thinks he owns the fucking world.”
    “Let’s burn the fucker down, Skip. Let’s roast his flabby ass.”
    Skip looks at Locust. Snot dribbles out of her nose, her ears are scabbed up from infection and she is trembling from cold. Wretchedly thin, living rough is killing her.
    “We could do that. I got no problem with torching that place. Problem is where do we go, then?”
    As he says it, Skip knows that they have come as far as they can go. The impenetrable Mountains of Rue are beyond them and here, in this small northern outpost, here where the good people of Sanctimony have driven them, they are trapped.
    “We got nowhere to go, Skippy, Nowhere.”
    With that, Skip helps Locust up. They walk down the back alley.
    After finding an old can of gas, they douse the back of the store, light the blaze and hustle inside.
    “That makes us even, sucker,” they scream at the startled clerk as the firestorm flashes in.

    Bill Engleson
    248 words

  8. Thea froze and slowly turned her head.

    She couldn’t remember the color of the man’s eyes but he looked like a lounging lion ready to pounce on juicy prey, otherwise known as her. The sheet had slide down and her gaze flicked towards the golden happy trail on the equally golden abs to the sheet that was barely affording some semblance of modesty to the conversation.

    “Uh. Hi. I’m going back to my room.” She cleared her throat. “I’ll get out of your hair.” She didn’t know why in the hell he said ‘wife’. He had to be yanking her chain.

    “You’re fine where you are. Come back to bed.”

    “No offense, but I don’t really know you and I want to get changed into my clothing and brush my teeth. I’m sure you’re a nice guy but I gotta go.”

    “What?” Pale brows furrowed together over the roman nose.

    “Yeah, I don’t really remember much about last night. So I’m going to go to my room and sober up.” Thea turned, reaching for the door handle.

    Fabric shifted and the bed squeaked as he moved. “You will be staying here. I’ll have someone get your things. You don’t remember?”

    She turned, staring at his chest. Damn he was quiet. “Yeah sor-“

    He yanked her against him, mashing his mouth against hers . He let her go as quickly as he grabbed her, giving her a view of an ass she could bounce quarters off of.

    “That makes us even.”

    250 words

  9. "Mommy?"

    The child looked around, his eyes wide and frantic. He lie on a white bed in a white room that smelled of antiseptic. Two men talked low to each other across the small room. The boy started to sit up but a hand stopped him, a woman, a nurse.

    "Just lie still Johnny," said the nurse.

    Johnny struggled against the hand and called out, louder this time.

    "Mommy! Where are you?"

    The two men continued talking, laughing now, laughing at him, laughing at his fear, his pain. Johnny tried to sit up again but the nurse held him down and the two men approached. Johnny struggled and screamed as one of the men placed a mask over his head. Johnny heard a hiss as the mask filled with an odd scent. He tried to fight back but instead lay back and fell asleep.

    Johnny awoke as a grown man, his hands tightened around another man's neck. The other man twitched and stopped breathing. Johnny remembered the men laughing, his mother abandoning him, how powerless he felt, unwanted, unworthy.

    He lowered the dead man to the floor.

    "That makes us even"

    191 words

  10. #ThursThreads is now CLOSED. Thanks to everyone who wrote this week and I hope to see you next week for the big Third Anniversary Celebration!


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