- Cara Michaels | @caramichaels
- Siobhan Muir | @SiobhanMuir
- Bill Engleson | @billmelaterplea
- Christine Ashworth | @CCAshworth
- Richard Gibney | @ragtaggiggagon
- Silver James | @SilverJames_
- Nellie Batz | @solimond
- Jo Hawk
- J. Thomas Ganzer | @J_Thomas_Ganzer
- Sheilagh Lee | @SweetSheil
- Mark A. Morris
- David A. Ludwig | @DavidALudwig
- Kel J. Heinen | @Aightball
- P.T. Wyant
- Mark Ethridge | @mysoulstears
David A. Ludwig | @DavidALudwig
Louisa says: Intrigued by the descriptions, and I want to know more about the double-personality of Violet and her magic. At the same time, the tale feels encapsulated, and it works as a mini story of its own.
Nellie Batz | @solimond
Louisa says: What are these ash roses? The piece combines a sense of hopelessness and hope, if that makes sense. Love the imagery of her creating these roses for something, but doesn’t get to see the message to fruition.
Silver James | @SilverJames_
Louisa says: I feel naughty liking this flash so much. What did Wizard and his brothers do to her? Inquiring minds, really want to know, in detail.
Cara Michaels | @caramichaels
Louisa says: Love that combination of “a dance of practical and medicinal magic,” and I want to see more of the elven aquamarine irises.
Christine Ashworth | @CCAshworth
Louisa says: There’s a mystery and conflict here between the “dead women” and the “free men,” and the climate elements ring so close to home (Yes, we both live in California so I can relate too much to the cold rain). Such rich, poignant details, in particular: “The scents of fire and blood, death and helplessness rise from the earth, mingle in the back of my throat as if I had licked an ashtray and bit my tongue bloody, all at the same time.”
We know so much, and yet what is her name?
The rain is relentless, steady, cold. So cold. Too late to cool off high tensions. The scents of fire and blood, death and helplessness rise from the earth, mingle in the back of my throat as if I had licked an ashtray and bit my tongue bloody, all at the same time.
I don’t know what to feel. Which emotion to choose. Loss? Agony? Terror? Rage? Regret? They are all right there, floating in front of me, daring me to pick one. Pick. One. Let the emotion sweep me away as it had, just prior to the devastation in front of me.
If I had held my tongue. If I had looked away as the crowd broke and bled the two women for daring to love each other. If I had turned aside, rather than unleash my rage, the block would still be standing. The women dead, the men free. No.
In my peripheral vision, I see the women. They come with flowers, with offerings, with murmurs. They lead me to safety, feed me.
They wipe soot from my cheeks, pull off my rags, wash and dress me in linens that do not absorb the rains.
Now their men will be more careful.
Congratulations Winner Christine, and Honorable Mentions David, Nellie, Silver, and Cara! Don't forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!
REMINDER: NO #THURSTHREADS NEXT WEEK as I'll be at a conference with Louisa Bacio.
Pass on the great news on Twitter, Facebook, MeWe, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! :)