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  Paranormal & Dauntless Romance from Siobhan Muir

#ThursThreads - Week 322 - Winners

7/20/2018

 
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Week 322 of #ThursThreads had many fantastic tales. I'm honored to see all the writers come to tie a tale in our sixth year. If you’ve been doing it a while, thank you. If you’ve just found us, welcome! May you come back again and write more great flash. Thousand thanks to Bill Engleson for judging this week. Check out the #ThursThreads #flashfiction group on Facebook or the #ThursThreads Community on Google Plus to keep up with news, etc.

Entries:
  • Mark A. Morris
  • Richard Gibney | @ragtaggiggagon
  • Anita Sabat | @anitaexplorer
  • Siobhan Muir | @SiobhanMuir
  • Mileva Anastasiadou | @happymil_
  • Kel J. Heinen | @Aightball
  • Patty Knowles | @pattydump1
  • Keturah Lamb | @KeturahAbigail
  • Barbe Crabtree
  • Cara Michaels | @caramichaels
  • Mark Ethridge | @mysoulstears
  • Mary Decker | @mishmhem
  • Alyssa Odom
Bill says: For some reason, I have never before offered my questionable judicial services to Siobhan and Thursday Threads. However, she asked, and I answered. Was that all it took? Anyways, its my first kick at the can in the Thursday Threads court room so bear with me. And thank you all for contributing this week. Without further ado, though I am tempted, here are my renderings…

Winners Announcement:

Honorable Mentions

Richard Gibney | @ragtaggiggagon

Bill says: I am a sucker for political satire and especially when it has a somewhat somberly chiselled poetic beat that harkens to Martin Niemöller’s famous poem, First they Came for the Socialists. Nicely done.

Patty Knowles | @pattydump1

Bill says: Amateur home renovators might relate to this tale of debacle and destruction. Having been through a few less tragic home alterations myself, and more an innocent witness to the dust and debris than an actual participant, my heart goes out. What will Santa do?

Mark A. Morris
Bill says: I enjoyed this flash and its attempt to personalize the muse and get her to actually do the work of the artist. Clearly it shows that this muse was only slightly amused.
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Week 322 Winner
Cara Michaels | @caramichaels

Bill says: Have you ever found yourself laughing at something, yet you were not quite sure why?  Well, this week’s winner had me yucking it up and it wasn’t even the reference to Bud Abbott and Lou Costello. I just found its generally awkward communication theme, if that’s what it was, supremely enjoyable. As for where the water went, I am at a loss. Perhaps California. They can always use it and there is likely a few aliens as well.

“It was up to—”

The train roaring through the tunnel devoured her words.

“Then?” Shit, that made no sense. Why did I say that? “Then, what?”

“No, it was up to—”

“Them?” I squeezed my eyes shut to better hear because, yes, of course it works that way. “Them, who?”

Yes, that was more logical. A shadowy them, behind some kind of equally shadowy conspiracy. In a subway tunnel. Only Hollywood was decades ahead of that idea. There wasn’t a monster, government, or underground society who hadn’t been the theoretical mastermind behind tunnel troubles.

“No, you jackass. There.” She stabbed her index finger against a demarcation in the concrete wall and made a show of enunciating.
“There. The water was up to there.”

“What water?”

She put her hands on her hips and squinted at me. To hear me better, no doubt.

“Am I Abbott here? Or Costello?”

I cross-referenced all known databases between one blink and the next, and came up with an oddball pair of men. A famous comedy duo, once upon a time. I held my hand to the top of her head.

“Um—whichever one is shorter, I think.”

That earned me a pointy knuckled fist in the stomach. I wouldn’t dare utter out loud that I deserved it.

“Stop being deliberately dense. Where did the water go?”

What could I say? Hm, how did the humans put it? Truth is stranger than fiction?

I held my hands out.

“Aliens,” I said.

Congratulations TWENTY-SIX TIME WINNER Cara, and Honorable Mentions Richard, Patty, and Mark! Don't forget to claim your badges and display them with pride. You certainly earned it!

Pass on the great news on Twitter, Facebook, Google Plus, shiny mirrors, Morse Code, and signal flags. Check out all the original tales HERE. Thanks for stopping by and happy reading! :)

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Patty Knowles
7/20/2018 02:58:44 pm

Where do I find the badge?

Siobhan Muir
7/20/2018 03:07:09 pm

It's at the bottom of this post and you click on the image for Honorable Mention - it will take you to dropbox where you download the one you want.

Patty Knowles
7/26/2018 12:20:16 pm

Thanks! I'm honored.

Patty KNowles link
7/26/2018 12:23:42 pm

“What Could I Say?”

The email from Greg Noalls popped into my digital mailbox. I felt a flutter in my chest. “After all these years…” I whispered. Tears pooled in the corner of my eyes. I had given him years of my life and love. Then one day, he was just gone. Vanished without a word to me. Other friends heard from him, but not me.
Before I opened the email, I wondered, “What could I say? I’m not that inexperienced teen anymore.”
Four decades ago, I thought I loved him. I can still picture his profile, with his corky smile and dark, wide eyes. My fingers lightly touched the screen, underlining his name.
The scent of Hershey’s Almond Joy bars wafted through my memory. He had shared a half of his with me at a freshman basketball game we attended together. I could feel the warm stickiness of the chocolate and the not quite crunchy, toasted coconut on my tongue. For years, I ate them in memory of him. My weight blossomed. Where had he been all this time? What excuses did he have to offer?
When we were sixteen, he went as an exchange student to Paris and had neglected to write for three months and twenty days. Then a letter came, saying he had broken both his hands in a judo competition. Naïve, I bought the excuse, though I didn’t believe it. My heart wanted to believe, but my mind played the lie over and over. I continued writing my letters of love, often quoting the great poets. I began writing my own sentimental love poetry.
“Hey, Grandma. What’s for supper? I’m hungry.” My granddaughter’s voice interrupted my thoughts.
I removed my finger from the screen as if it had been burned. I didn’t want her to see me wiping at tears caused by someone I had never mentioned to her.
Thinking quickly, I said, “Hi, Chrissy. If you go pick us a couple of ripe tomatoes from the garden, we can have BLTs.”
“’K, be right back.”
The back-screen slammed. I had a couple of minutes to decide what to do before my granddaughter returned.
I looked at the picture of my husband, whom I loved completely. He didn’t lie to me. He’d never deserted me. There was no comparison between him and the man in the email.
I should have deleted the email without reading it; instead, I opened it and was immediately sucked back to the last time I’d seen Greg. His dark hair surrounded his round face. His eyes looked away as he gave my hand a squeeze and turned away. I should have sensed he was leaving.
In dark blue Times New Roman font, he’d written, “Hello, Ally, I guess I should start with I’m sorry.”
I should have known at that moment he hadn’t changed.

461 words
PattyKnowles
@pattydump1


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    About Me

    Siobhan Muir lives in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and writes kick-ass adventure with hot sex for men and women to enjoy. She believes in happily-ever-after, redemption, and communication, all of which you'll find in her romance stories of all genres.

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