Weird, Wild, & Wicked

#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 206

3/3/2016

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing! This is Week 206 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook.

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.
The prompt must be used as is. It can be split, but no intervening words can be inserted or tenses changed.

Rules to the Game:

This is a Flash Fiction challenge, which means your story must be a minimum of 100 words, maximum of 250.
The story must be new writing, not a snippet from something published elsewhere with the prompt added.
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, etc.

Our Judge for Week 206:

Erotic romance author and editor, Paige Prince.

Paige on Facebook
Paige on Twitter
Paige on Goodreads
Paige on Pinterest

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

"I have to go back."

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!

Steve Lodge link

3/3/2016 08:01:56 am

250 words.

The manufacture of Ongar-Bonga Cheese goes on in these difficult times. March has just ridden into town and Ongar-Bonga Cheese (the home of lorry loads of interesting cheeses) have just launched an exciting new product. A finely perfected, immature cheese, blending cow and goat’s milk (vigorously stirred, obviously). These cows and goats are all bred or found loitering on the Essex and London borders close to the M25 Motorway.
Some say the tinny aftertaste of the cheese owes much to this environment.
The label claims eating sufficient Ongar-Bonga Cheese may cause amazingly high levels of arousal and will, no doubt, prove popular with customers.
General Manager, Seth Lightfoot has moved back into Threadbare Hall determined to find proof of the innocence of the Factory Manager, Doris Karloff in the avian flu scare of 2025. “I have to go back,” he wailed. “She is everything to me and this company. No cheese would leave these premises if it wasn’t for her.”

Mrs Eldridge has posted a reward for the return of the church bell and the local council has closed the village hall after unpleasantness between members of the Friendless Losers Outreach Programme (FLOP) which led to Ted Eagle's concussion, memory loss and subsequent assertion that he won the hand in marriage of the village postwoman, Andrea Goodbody, at a quiz night in The Haunted Poacher in the neighbouring village of Lower Backache. This places Ted at odds with his lifelong friend, Dennis Topping, who is Andrea's fiance.

Siobhan

3/3/2016 08:13:25 am

Please post your twitter handle or email address so we can contact you if you win. :)

Siobhan Muir

3/3/2016 08:12:23 am

Ember’s floppy ears perked as if waiting to see if she was truly back.

“Thank you, Ember. I love you.” The mantra, her own reentry code brought a gentle tail wag and a doggy grin, but the blue heeler mix didn’t move away.

Sometimes Autumn wondered how her dog could be so patient with her when these events happened all too often. But Ember never hesitated or shirked her job. She held her place, and Autumn’s heart, with a steadfastness belying the usual happy dog she was.
Autumn raised her head and took another deep breath before turning her gaze to the west. Lights flashed from their neighbors’ property and she knew the firefighters fought the blaze. She wanted to help, to support the men who owned the ranch, but she couldn’t afford another episode. Then she’d be no help to anyone.

*But I need to help. I have to go.* Back into the clutches of fear? No, but she could do support services. She’d heard about the teams of people supporting and supplying the men and women fighting the fires. *I could do that.* She could bring water and food and blankets and supplies. She wouldn’t have to face the fire, just help those who did.

“Come on, Ember.” Autumn rose and headed for her closet. “We’re going to help, even if it’s only to support Ransom, Tansy, and Dane.” The Knights had always been nice to her and welcome her despite her fire PTSD. It was time to give back.

@SiobhanMuir
250 ineligible sekrit #WIP500 words

Bill Engleson link

3/3/2016 10:30:34 am

The Merry Gangster

“Are we planning to drive all night?” I asked Buddy. I was starting to feel increasingly road weary.

“’Bout an hour down the pike,” he gestured, “turn off to Walkersville Gorge. The Family owns a small Auto Court just off the freeway. We have a few of these hidey-holes potted around the country. You never know when you might need to hibernate.”

No, you never know, do you, I thought. Especially if you belong to a massive criminal enterprise.

Fifty minutes later, the convoy made the move off the highway.

“They know the way,” Buddy reassured.

I had many worries but the direction to my bed for the night wasn’t one of them.

Still curious about Buddy’s earlier wistful counter culture allusion, I wanted more detail.

“What was that about San Francisco?” I asked, hoping the mercurial gangster might care to expand.

His steely façade started to melt. “Oli, I’m being ripped up inside. I was born into this life. It ain’t easy being a hood. People don’t appreciate how tough it is. And lately, I don’t know, I’ve had these…butterflies, I guess you could say, in my gut.”

Snacking on the ground up flesh of your enemies could be the cause of your delicate tummy, I silently thought.

“I’ve been meditating lately. Seeking some inner peace. One conclusion I’ve come to, I have to go back to a simpler way of living. This gangster shtick is way too hard.”

“So?” I asked.

“I’m gonna drop out.”

250 flowers in his hair
@billmelaterplea

Silver James link

3/3/2016 10:45:01 am

Glowring, Frank spit into the red cup in his hand. “Rhys, you’re beat all to hell and back. You can barely stand up, fer chrissakes.”

“You know what I am, old man.”

“Yeah, I know. And I know what’ll be waitin’ for ya on that mountain. Damn, boy, it’s the Blood Moon. You ain’t in no shape for an alpha fight.”

Rhys stood, hiding a wince as pain robbed him of breath. “Colm took Celie. I have to go back.”

“You’re a dang fool, son.”

“She’s my mate, Frank. I don’t have a choice.” He stretched and rotated his shoulders then pulled on a shirt before facing the man he considered a second father. “Even if she wasn’t, you think I could leave a woman in the hands of the Fleetwood Pack?” The scent of damp, moldy earth washed over Rhys.

“You’re gonna challenge him.” Frank exhaled, shoulders slumped in resignation.

“Yeah.”

“And if you win?”

“No *if*, Frank. I’ll win.”

“Dammit, son! Colm Chatham is a killer.” Frank sucked in air and stepped back.

From the older man’s actions, Rhys was pretty sure his eyes had gone feral. “You think I don’t know that? I was fifteen when the Chathams took down my father.” He snarled. “I’m not that kid any more.” He shoved his feet into boots. “He has my mate. I’m getting her back.”

“He won’t let you live.”

“He’s gotta kill me first.”

And that wasn’t happening. Not with Celie’s life on the line.
****
248 words
@SilverJames_

Sheilagh Lee link

3/3/2016 11:21:43 am

My mom had always been someone to talk to, someone to cry to, to laugh and celebrate with; so when she said she had lung cancer I cried; but I also grew angry when she said the doctor blamed her (even though she quit smoking 13 years before) and wouldn’t refer her for any help. I told her as she sobbed, that I would find a specialist for her and I did; but it was too late they couldn’t help her. My mom and dad were married fifty-three years but had been together since they were nine and she worried most of all about my dad as death neared.
“I love you all; but I have to go back to heaven," mom said.
“We know,” we admitted as we all traipsed in one after another to her bedroom.
My mother whispered in my sister and my ear just one thing besides I love you and take care of yourself; she whispered, “Take care of your father and tell him I’ll wait for him.”

We tried to, but my father pined; ragged and beaten, once a robust man lost weight. My father claimed he could hear strange noises and lights flicker and knew she still waited for him.

A year and half later the last words on my dad’s lips, “My darling, at last; I’m here with you.”

Though we mourned; we knew they’d be together for eternity; true love had prevailed. May we all be so blessed.
248 words
@SweetSheil

Katheryn J. Avila link

3/3/2016 12:14:55 pm

Before I know it, we’re at the edge of the forest. Behind us, a few miles away, the castle stands out against the night sky. My stomach turns in uncomfortable knots.

I have to go back.

The thought bubbles up without me realizing it, my nerves attempting to get the better of me.

“You sure you want to do this?” Niklaus turns to look at me, his eyes practically glowing. It’s like he can read my sudden reluctance. He can probably hear the spike in my heartbeat.

“Yes.” At least my voice is steady. I unhook my crossbow from my shoulder and hold it in front of me, my grip on it like a vice.

“If at any point you’re scared or-”

“I told you I’m not scared of vampires.” I glare at him, though it’s only half-hearted. “Especially not you.”

For a second he simply looks at me, his expression pensive. Niklaus offers me a small smile, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “If you say so.”

He closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them again, they’re not that familiar emerald, but a solid onyx. I fight the urge to take a step back, but I know he notices how my grip on the crossbow tightens.

“Stay close, and try not to make too much noise.” His canines glint in the light of the full moon, but I try not to focus on that.

“Okay.” I follow him into the forest, adrenaline pumping through my veins.

250 WIP words
@katheryn_avila

Lizzie Koch link

3/3/2016 03:28:39 pm

Stacey’s suitcase nestled securely between her legs. A thin film sat on top of her coffee. She gnawed at her fingernails, turning her head every time the door signalled another customer walking in. Checking her watch again, Stacey shuffled in her seat and doubt stole her confidence.
“Hey.” Michael sat, grabbing Stacey’s coffee. “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re having second thoughts. You can’t, not now. Please don’t.”
“I have to.”
“Go back? If you go back now, it’ll be the end. You’ve done the hard part.”
“How can I move forward when I feel so guilty?”
“Because your life will be over if you go back. Is that what you want?”
“No.” She lowered her eyes.
He took her hand, giving it a squeeze. “We should go.”

Stacey picked up the suitcase and followed Michael to the car. A police siren caused her to freeze momentarily then she hustled into the passenger seat, the suitcase clutched in her lap.
“By the time the police are arresting your husband for fraud, we’ll be sunning ourselves on a beach with the money and no money trail other than to your husband. It’s perfect.”
It was perfect. Apart from the guilt spreading its roots within Stacey every time money was spent.

214

@Lizzie_Koch

Barbe Crabtree

3/3/2016 05:00:44 pm

Merciless sun. Mosquitoes. Thirst. Exhaustion. So many reasons to stop, to turn around, to cease the chasing of this improbable dream presented themselves as she trudged through the thick undergrowth. Her legs, scratched and aching, seemed to have a mind of their own, and begged her to turn around.

“I have to go back; I can’t go on” sounding like a rhythmic chant in her head, with every step she took.

She knew that she only had about an hour before her presence would be missed at the camp, and then the hunt would be on. As the isolated campsite was situated on the bank of a meandering river, surrounded by dense brush, she knew they would assume she had escaped by boat. To this end, she had taken one of the moored rowboats, but had abandoned it at the first obscured inlet, deciding to strike out overland, regardless of the perils of the terrain.

Her captors would be returning from their regular hunting foray, and would be furious about her escape. She knew too much, was too useful and would be punished brutally if caught. They had treated her inhumanely for the past five years since kidnapping her for an unpaid, astronomical ransom. She then became their camp bitch.

Memories of a much better life sometimes came to her in her dreams, and flooded her heartbroken and terrified brain as she looked up at the unrelenting stretch of an unknown path.

“I won’t go back … I’ll die!”

249 Words
barbara.crabtree@shaw.ca

Aightball link

3/3/2016 05:38:18 pm

The old formica table was cold under my bare arms. A steaming cup of chamomile tea sat in front of me, bitter lemon assaulting my nose. My husband's adoptive parents sat across the table. My head throbbed and my left eye was swollen shut.

I sipped my tea, the heat stinging the cuts on my fat lower lip. I put the cup down with trembling hands.

"What are you going to do?" Eleanor asked. Her voice was soft, laced with concern. "They won't hold him for long."

"I have to go back," I said. I finished my tea. "He'll post bond soon and be home in a little while."

I stood up on shaky knees. Hank steadied me then gently sat me back down. The old vinyl chair was cold and I shivered.

"No. You'll stay here tonight," he said. "You can have Jimmy's old room."

I shook my head, then clutched my aching temples. "I'll be—"

The back door burst open and my husband stumbled through, clutching the door to stay up right. I didn't want to know where he got bail money.

"Jack, I'm so fucking sorry," he slurred. He gazed at my face. "It won't happen again."

I stood up. "No, it won't." I put my cup in the sink. Then, I slapped him as hard as I could across the face. "Because it if goes, you'll be single."

With that, I walked through the living room and upstairs to bed.

@Aightball
245 words

MT Decker link

3/3/2016 07:51:19 pm

The Journey is Worth the Price

Life is a journey. I’d heard it often enough growing up—but I also heard that the world was my oyster, and my ship will come in. They were never clear whether or not my oyster would be on the ship or take me to it—but I was open to possibilities.

My ship turned out to be a 1970 Hemi Challenger Convertible that needed to be driven from Baltimore, Maryland to Flagstaff, Arizona.

Yeah, I know—and I was getting paid. This car was a thing of beauty and her owners weren’t going to let this beast be a trailer queen that only came out for shows. They wanted her to serve her original purpose and this trip was the shakedown cruise.

I was not to take any chances and yet put her through her paces… oh what a tragic job to have. The only sad part… I have to go back.

@mishmhem
#FlashDogs
153 words

3/3/2016 08:04:52 pm

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

imagenn793 link

3/4/2016 03:33:12 am

(247 words)
Email: imagenn793@gmail.com

A rush of motion.
The wind roars in my ears.
I pull back my hand and wince at the knife stabbing in my head.
I look around myself and curse. I am surrounded by 1920s culture. It’s twilight and a full moon. Women bustle past me with short and curly hair, dressed in flapper dresses and laughing as they puff cigarettes.
They don’t notice me, I am as thin as vapour. As solid as air.
I have to go back. I travelled to the wrong place in the wrong timeline.
I extend my arm again, still wincing from my unbearable headache. For 9 hours I have been stuck between different timelines, unable to find the present day. But now I am close, less than a century away.
My power of time travel came from a young age. Back then, it was uncontrollable. I would sneeze and travel back ten minutes, and ongoing cycle that made me feel insane.
There isn’t time to reminisce, I need to find my way back before time destroyed me.
I focus on the year 2016 with all of my control.
“AHHH!” I unconsciously scream as I am ripped apart from my soul and put in place again.
The aftermath is worse this time, my head has doubled in pain and my face is covered in blood. I numbly hear the sound of people talking on phones and the large ads in Times Square, NY.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Finally home.

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#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 206

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