Weird, Wild, & Wicked

#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 332

9/27/2018

Welcome back to the Weird, the Wild, & the Wicked. Today is Thursday and that means it’s time to start flashing. We’ve reached our Sixth year of weekly prompts! This is Week 332 of #ThursThreads, the challenge that ties tales together. Want to keep up each week? Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook and the Community on Google Plus.

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 in the post (or be excluded from judging)
Include your Twitter handle or email in the post (so we don’t have to look for 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 332:

Typo Sniper, author, and #flashfiction queen, Cara Michaels.

Cara on Facebook
Cara on Twitter
Cara on Goodreads
Cara on Google Plus

And now your #ThursThreads Challenge, tying tales together.

The Prompt:

“Well, that went well.”

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!

Miranda Kate

9/27/2018 07:40:17 am

“We know it was you.”

“No comment.”

“You may as well just fess up now, before all the legal stuff kicks in.”

“No comment.”

“We might be able to make you a nice deal.”

“No comment.”

Franklin looked at the kid. His stonewall expression. He wasn’t going to budge. He’d thought he’d crack easier than this – they’d been at it for over eight hours. He hadn’t even flinched when they’d showed him the pictures of her cut up body.

He sighed and left the interview room, joining Jakes in the side room that looked over the interview room. They watched the boy slowly sit back. Everything he did was controlled, but then he knew they were still watching him.

“Well, that went well,” said Jakes

“You’re funny.” Franklin ran a hand down his face and sighed.

“What now?”

“Gonna have to let the feds have a go.”

“But it’s our collar.”

“There won’t be a collar unless he talks. You know that as well as me. It’s all circumstantial.”

“But his DNA’s all over her.”

“Yep.” Franklin hitched up his trousers.

“He’ll play the boyfriend card, won’t he?”

“He ain’t playing any cards at the moment.”

They looked at him. “He’s so controlled,” Jakes said. “Too control. It’s not normal.”

“Nothing about this is normal. Not the murder, not the way we were set up to find it, or how easy it was to finger him.”

“Lamb to the slaughter?”

“Definitely.”

Words: 241
@PurpleQueenNL

Mark A. Morris

9/27/2018 09:25:09 am

“Well, that went well,” Belle said. “I was expecting the summoning to be more difficult.”

“You did, did you? And who’s to say it went as you’d hoped?” The creature in the middle of the pentagram seemed more urbane than demonic, but he was most definitely red. And he did have a pair of horns on his head.

Belle sat back on her heels, checking the integrity of her chalk lines. None of them were broken or scuffed and she was still well clear of the outer warding circle. All was in order, she believed.

“I command thee, foul Barbas,” she intoned. “Render unto me one service, lest I dispatch you back into Damnation…”

“Stop. Stop that right there.” The demon smiled, his upper canines poking out mischievously below his lower lip. “Isn’t that where you’ve just brought me from? What would be the use of that, other than you just annoying me? Think of the goat you’ve slain, for example. Have you no conscience? Surely you feel some regret in having taken its life?” He clasped his hands and Belle drew away again, seeing the dried blood on his claws.

“I…I’ve a request,” she stammered. “I wish to be transfigured. Elevated into a higher being. Like Beyoncé. I know you can do that.”

Barbas grinned, reaching easily through the wards with an ethereal hand. He took hold of her chin, turning her face appraisingly.
“You think so?” he said. “Maybe we can negotiate – do you know the Kardashians?”

250 ethereal devices ~ twothirdsrasta.blogspot.com

Bill Engleson link

9/27/2018 09:27:46 am

Extracts from the Mind of an Anthropomorphic Republican on the Day of the Kavanaugh/Ford Hearing

In my day, and a fine day it was, this would never be allowed. Never even conceived of. How can a man, particularly a man of quality, be expected to live his life with some measure of care when suddenly, out of the deep blue murky sea, a monster can so easily arise…a monster in the form of an invasion of your private past, talking about things no decent person would say.

It’s just plain wrong. They must see that.

I was young once. I may have done things that now I would regret if they were made public.

You could never convince me that I’m the only one.

Any man with salt in his shaker knows this.

There’s a reason for the saying, ‘boys will be boys.’

The reason is obvious to me.

Boys need to cut loose.

They NEED to.

It’s just the nature of men.

You don’t often hear that ‘girls will be girls.’ If you do, its because, in my day, and a fine day it was, girls knew how to be girls…and were satisfied with that.
Men!

Women!

Boys!

Girls!

The rules were clear. At the end of the day, and a fine day it was, you could go to bed, reflect on days events, state with vigor, ‘well, that went well,’ for whatever the day had delivered and sleep like a baby.

These days, I no longer sleep well.

250 breaking news flashes
@billmelaterplea

Aightball link

9/27/2018 10:26:28 am

Never let it be said that I’m artistic. I try, but then I end up drawing kitties with titties because my paws are too pointy and I put them on the chest. My stick figures are abysmal and my circles are less circular and more lumpy. Painting boards is easy; I grew up around my dad’s shop, messing around with wood scraps and painting them fantastical colors, which now look sort of like poop.

Painting a house should be relatively simple.

“What color are you looking for, ma’am?”

The pimply-faced kid at the paint desk blinks at me behind coke-bottle glasses. The local hardware store is a popular place to work for the high school crowd, second only to John’s Food Mart. I spread color swatches out on the counter and jab a finger at something called Fluorescent Chartreuse.

“That.”

A grimace passes over his face.

“All right.”

Ten minutes later I’m out the door with a sample can. Dad’s waiting for me and has the ladder out, against the south side of the house, away from the road. Picking a low corner, we swipe the paint on and I bite my lip. The sun hits the strip and my eyes snap shut. God that’s bright.

“Well, that went well,” Dad says, laughter bubbling out of him. “Better hope we can cover that.”

I double over laughing, dropping the brush into the can. “I wonder if the space station can see that.”

I guess I’m going back for more paint.

@Aightball
250 words (WIP)

Siobhan Muir

9/27/2018 11:57:35 am

I’d been keeping track of all the members of the Concrete Angels, but when a small group of the junior members headed out, I scrambled to tag along. I kept my distance, driving like a tourist enjoying the winding mountain roads. They pulled into a small hole-in-the-wall liquor store, giving me the chance to make my move.

“Fuck, man, how the fuck are we gonna get all the beer and shit back?” The lanky kid with peach fuzz on his face in mangy bits scowled at the cases and his bike. “It’s not like I can carry it one-handed.”

The other punks seemed to be at a loss. I hid my grin as I came out the door with a fifth of Captain Morgan.

“Everything okay, guys?” I asked as I headed to my Caddy.

The crew turned suspicious eyes on me until they got a look at my car. Say what you want about those old Cadillacs, but just about everyone likes to look at them.

“Is that your car?”

I ignored the stupidity in the question and nodded. “Yup."

“Wow, that’s cool.” Mangy grinned and sauntered closer. “How big’s the trunk?”

“Fifty-one point three square feet.” I put the rum in the aforementioned trunk. “Why?”

“You wanna come to a party? You could bring your girlfriend as well.”

*That went well.* But I narrowed my eyes. “What do I gotta do?”

“Just let us borrow your trunk. You bring the beer and you’re good to go.”

248 ineligible #CockyBiker words
@SiobhanMuir

Cara Michaels link

9/27/2018 12:19:40 pm

“Hello, Red.”

Kelly looked up over her shoulder at me, the oil slick rainbow of her otherworldly eyes reflecting back the circus of light coming from the party.

“Detective,” she said. “I didn’t expect to see you in Miami.”

“Did you expect to see me at all?” I asked. “You did an excellent job of disappearing after Southwark.”

I’d worked with the London Iris for three years and never once wanted to fall into her eyes. Something about Kelly, though—the closer I got, the closer I wanted to be. I swallowed hard, trying to shake off the cocktail of conflicting emotions she evoked before I started dogging her heels like some love struck bodyguard.

But she kept staring at me.

And I kept falling deeper into her.

I needed to go home and forget about this flame haired barbarian queen. Some sound escaped me at that thought.

“Did I just—growl?”

“It’s gotten stronger since I saw you last.” Kelly stood up on her toes, eyes locked on mine. Her index finger brushed the corner of my eye and I forgot to breathe. “Do you even know what you are?”

“Half in love.”

“What?”

“What?” I blinked. What did I say? Oh, shit. “I meant—well—”

“That went—”

“Well—” I stammered for a coherent explanation. Neither of us finished our thoughts. So I deflected. “That went—?”

“Off the rails.” Her wry smile cut deep.

“Oh.”

“For what it’s worth though, I won’t disappear this time.”

@caramichaels
250 ineligible judgy WIP words

LT Dalin

9/27/2018 01:28:22 pm

“Cayla, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

She hadn’t even knocked when a woman, standing sideways without looking at them, opened the door. She wore several shawls wrapped around her head and body, with big tassels hanging from the sleeves of an oddly assembled robe. Her nose was very sharp, in profile and her upper-lip non-existent.

“I’ve been waiting for you!” she exclaimed, sounding beyond dramatic.

Cayla thought she looked exactly like the kind of person who lived in the woods surrounded by her own set of crazy.

“I knew something was wrong, you see.” The woman ushered them inside the house, switching on various odd-looking miss-matched lamps as they ventured further down the hallway. “I’ve been feeling an increase of brainwaves floating through my woods. And with all the warnings…”

The woman walked sideways, like a crab, her right side facing them.

“Ah, well…” Bren said.
“We’re very grateful,” Cayla interjected and held her hand out to the woman.
“Can I get you anything? Cookies? A hot beverage perhaps, yes…Yes, you’ll need a hot drink, you’ll be freezing.”
The woman looked at the outstretched hand as if it was the ghastliest thing she had ever seen, then bent at the knees, jumped high into the air and rotated so she landed facing the doorway behind her – still turned to the side. “Don’t move!” she said, and then scuttled through the doorway and down the narrow corridor.

“Well, that went well.” Bren stared at the door, eyes wide.

250 oddly assembled words of the sideways-witch-in-the-woods
@LTDalin

Robin K Abess

9/27/2018 01:40:20 pm

Into the Night

“Well, that went well.” His tone is cool, his voice calm.

“Did it?” My tone, on the other hand, is completely opposite, and my hands tremble violently.

“For your first time? Yes.”

“Glad you think so.” I bark out a laugh that carries more sob than humor, feeling a tear slither down my cheek.

“It gets easier, you know. Each time. Finally, one day, you’ll wake up and find yourself immune.”

I doubt that. I don’t see how I could ever get used to the noise…or the smell. It overwhelms me now, and I retch, feeling nauseous. Nothing comes up. I glance down at the still form on the ground before me. “I thought…it’d be different.”

“Everyone does. It’s nothing like what you’ve read about. But that’s on purpose, I’ve found.” He pauses. “If the Normals ever knew the whole story, it would be dangerous. For us and for them.”

I nod, scrubbing at my cheek with cold fingers. “So, what do we do now? Just leave him?”

He shakes his head. “No. We get rid of the…leftovers. I’ll show you where.” He waits for me to pick up the corpse, now drained of its life fluids. I easily lift the tall man, hoisting him onto my shoulders, feeling no strain.

“Perfect. Come this way, Child.” His form shifts, and a large bat now flutters before me. This way, echoes through my mind, and I follow into the night.

dulcet.tones@gmail.com
242 dark words, including title

Dr. Anita Sabat link

9/27/2018 02:09:49 pm

"How was your silver jubilee marriage anniversary celebration?"

“Well, that went well.”

"What all did you do at the hill-station?"

"We stayed in the resort mostly."

"Hmm!" :)

"Rani took rest and slept, while I clicked photographs."

"Looks like Rani is tired of you! Imagine sleeping on the marriage anniversary!"

"No issue. That's her idea of celebration."

"What did you gift her?"

"Apart from the holiday, I gifted Rani a photograph of a cloud that I clicked there. I asked her to feel free like the cloud and explore and celebrate on the sky of my life! I promised to forever be the silver-lining of her cloud."

"How romantic!"

"Did I tell you that this photograph of mine has won the top prize in a photography competition?”

"What is the prize?"

"A holiday at a beach-resort. In other words, yet another special marriage anniversary gift!"

- 145 Words
- @anitaexplorer

[NOTE- 27 September is #WorldTourismDay. Hope you liked the travel-gift story :)

Eric Martell link

9/27/2018 02:30:55 pm

Bernie gently lowered the lid on the dumpster, enclosing himself next to, as far as he could tell, a two-year old diaper filled with rotting meat and dime-store perfume. He was alone, or at least he hoped. He didn’t even want to imagine what kinds of creatures lived in a place like this. In the foul blackness he could hear his breath rasping and heart pounding, and he imagined his pursuer standing outside with a grin on her face, knowing she had him trapped – and that he himself had chosen the means of his imprisonment.

And to think the night started off so well. Out with friends, a single malt in his belly and another in his hands, beautiful women everywhere – some even smiling at him. Then the liquid courage took hold (somewhere around the time they switched to tequila), and karaoke started, and he sang and sang and then *she* joined him for “The One That You Want” and then she kissed him when they got applause and then he grinned, “Well that went well. Want another?” and she did and then he went back to her place and it was glorious and then her girlfriend came home and her girlfriend turned out to be a werewolf and then he ran and ran but he’d left his ID at her place and now he was naked in a dumpster being chased by a werewolf.

Next time (if there was a next time), he was sticking to whiskey.

248 words
@drmag00

Daelyn Morgana link

9/27/2018 03:18:45 pm

The door slammed shut with a resounding heavy thud, iron bolt sliding into place with a finality that made her cringe. She slowly pushed herself upright, dusting off her clothes from the unmerciful shove inside.

"Well, that went well, could have been worse."

"Could have been worse?" His voice choked in disbelief, grey eyes flickering over her before softening. A hand extended to help her. "How do you consider this going well?"

"They could have just killed me on the spot," she pointed out bluntly with a sigh, glancing toward the small barred window. The only thing shedding a fraction of light into the cold, damp prison. "And then killed you. I told you not to come."

Matt huffed. "And leave you to walk into a hornet's nest alone? You're crazy. They WOULD have killed you if you came alone, hands up in surrender or not."

Kailyn shrugged it off, reaching to the walls to walk the tiny perimeter. Cold shivers wound down through her bones from fingertip, to spine, all the way to her toes. A pit the size of a soccer ball nestled in her gut. Matt was right. She was crazy for doing this: giving herself up to the Council to try to right her overwhelming list of wrongs to this realm. They'd never show her, the Dark Widower, any mercy. Villains didn't get mercy. Her face and hand dropped when they brushed against cold steel, causing a low rattle.

"Maybe it's better they do kill me."

~*~*~*~*~

250 reasons for death #WIP
dae.m.darkwriter@gmail.com

Tina Glasneck link

9/27/2018 03:30:07 pm

“Well, that went well,” I announced to mom as she stood in the kitchen stirring the last bit of sugar into the whole wheat flour. Those ingredients were rationed out, and too expensive to buy. Funny how we could buy crap to eat, but nothing nutritional.

“I think they are trying to stuff us like birds for the slaughter,” I said and reached into the bag of potato chips. “Think about it. They shove unhealthy foods our way so we can’t run. I can’t remember the last time we’ve eaten spinach.”

Mom continued to create her whole wheat cupcake with agave icing.

I placed the parcel onto the table and watched her wipe her hands on her threadbare pink apron. There was something different about my mom, and although she thought I didn’t know her secret, I did. She was a slayer, and responsible for keeping us all safe.

I once heard that the slayer skills were genetic. Maybe one day I could be called on to be like her. My dad always had his head in a book, but mom, when she wasn’t pretending to be Mrs. Homemaker, I knew she practiced in the abandoned barn not far from our house.

“Mrs. Abernathy said there was a culling last night.” Mom stopped stirring.

“You know, you shouldn’t be worrying about adult talk. That’s not for you.”

“Mom, you can’t protect me from everything. I’m 18 now, and that means I need to know how to live, survive even.”

249 words
@TinaGlasneck

Silver James link

9/27/2018 03:59:29 pm

(Warning: NSFW due to language)

The front door slammed hard enough the windows rattled.

“Well, that went well.”

Ariel stared at Caleb like the werewolf had two heads. “Seriously?”

Caleb lifted one shoulder in a shrug the fae couldn’t decide was negligent or arrogant. “You know what Sade is like when she’s pissed.”

“I fucking heard that!” The subject of their conversation stomped into the room. “Why the gawddamned fucking hell are the two of you still standing here? I told you to get the hell out.”

Both men chided her simultaneously. “Language.”

The werewolf caught the scent of her pain while the fae noticed the all but imperceptible wince. Sade glowered, her gaze so withering that had they been plants the two magicks would have shriveled up, died, and blown away like dust in the wind.

“Would you like us to stake him in the heart?” Ari sounded a little to happy too comply.

“Oh fucking to the hell no,” the furious woman yelled. “That doesn’t even come close to what I’ll do that that mother—”

“Sade,” Caleb cut her off, his voice cajoling. “You know you don’t mean that.”

“He *slept* with her!” The heartbreak in Sade’s voice rocked both magicks back on their heels. Her eyes narrowed and her mouth formed a hard slash across her face. “I am so fucking done with that gawddamned asshole.”

“He’s a vampire.” Ari stated the obvious.

Caleb added, “And now a dead one.”

Sade flung a cushion at Caleb’s head. “Vampires are already dead.”
****
249 next Penumbra Papers WIP words
@SilverJames_

9/27/2018 06:01:38 pm

Oh my glory. What the hell was Sinjen thinking? :-O

Isabel R. Buell

9/27/2018 06:10:35 pm

Shadra Balakwood and her Kindred left the High Council chamber in a silent fury. No one had opposed them, not even the sentries that stood guard before the grand doors, senators and clerks alike granting them a healthy berth.
“Well,” Orasym said, matching pace beside her. He spoke with the rich accent of his homeland to the south, “That went well. All things considered.”
She kept her gaze focused ahead, the sharpness of her stare cleaving a clean path through the halls before them.
“Perhaps,” she said.
A hot dizziness still radiated between her temples. In three days time, she’d be in the hands of the enemy, she hardly considered that a pleasant turn of events even if it did bring an end to the cold war.
“‘Tink of it as an opportunity,” he said. “You are the first to explore a new land, a new people.”
That warm, enthusiastic light behind his amber eyes offered her a certain comfort that had the tension in her shoulders easing despite her reservations of the day. She wished she shared his optimism.
“And if the Fae have no intention of peace?” She asked.
“You said it yourself. If the Fae wanted people to interrogate, they would have done so during the war. Such wouldn’t be a challenge to them.”
“True,” she sighed and paused to rub her temple. “But a year as ambassador in their lands? We know nothing about them or their damn country.”
“Soon, we will,” he said softly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~
250 WIP of death wordies

Isabel

9/27/2018 08:32:58 pm

Email! I sorry! i.r.buell.writer@gmail.com

M.T. Decker link

9/27/2018 07:44:46 pm

Prank War

David closed his eyes and counted to ten. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to calm himself down or hoping that by the time he opened his eyes, things would have gotten better.

They hadn’t.

He looked over at Mac and shook his head as the last of the feathers drifted to the ground.

Mac shrugged. All things considered their opposition had done everything they could to sabotage the dance without actually doing anything harmful.

The girls hadn’t been spiteful with their pranks. Instead of a bucket of water over the door, they’d opted for glitter- instead of rigging the sprinklers to drench everyone, they’d had them spew steamers.

Even the down feathers they released from the skylight hadn’t been bad. At least until the fans had been triggered.

They had been Mac’s idea, a gentle breeze to set the mood. It wasn’t his fault they were wired wrong. None of them had planned for the 150 mph glitterstorm.

The results were chaos and destruction.

It was no real surprise when the four of them were called into the office to explain themselves.

Facing the principal, the vice principal, the football coach and the president of the PTA the foursome realized there was nothing they could say that wouldn’t result in detention.

When asked to explain themselves David stammered, “well…”

“That went well,” Mac interrupted, his tone exuberant. If they were going to take the blame, he figured they might as well own it.

245 words (not including title)
@mishmhem

9/27/2018 08:24:57 pm

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

Comments are closed.

#ThursThreads - Tying Tales Together - Week 332

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