All Stories, General Fiction

Analogue by Richard Ardus


Analogy, an-al’e-ji, n. an agreement or correspondence in certain respects between things otherwise different. [Gr. analogia – ana, according to, and logos, ratio.]


We all wonder whether our dreams have anything to tell us. At the same time there’s nothing so dull as hearing about someone else’s dreams. We all frequently wake up perplexed or even distressed by what has been going on in our minds whilst in the realm of Hypnos. My friend Harrison told me the strangest story, that concerns dreaming, saying that it was the most disturbing case he had come across in his profession, yet at the same time the most up-lifting.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Mum’s the Word by Jacqueline Grima


The room felt cold, the curtains around each bed swaying slightly in a draft that seemed to come from nowhere. Dennis walked down the centre aisle, the soles of his work boots sucking at the floor. He stopped at his mother’s bed, stood at the end of it, waiting.

His mother eventually opened her eyes, the act seeming to take some effort. The skin of her face was slack and grey, seeming to have shrunk since the last time he visited. ‘Dennis…’

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All Stories, Historical, Horror

Eye Witness by Frederick K.Foote



He come in like dat. A black man on a black mare, seventeen hands, with three white socks. No saddle, no blanket, no shoes, bald head, no hat. Dat mare dancing and turning, kicking up the dust in the bright sun light.

I saw dat. Dat is what I saw.

Shadrach A. Williams

Recorded March 3, 1868


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Latest News

Literally Stories – Week 43


Scouting locations for the 2015 Literally Stories Editors team-building weekend — or jolly as the vernacular would have it, is as you would imagine a thankless task, especially when the phrase ‘shoestring budget’ overstates the resources at your disposal.

A three-man ridge tent (for five) with en-suite latrine in the second week in December is hardly Glamping but should at least concentrate the literary mind.

Abii. Vidi. Unde digressus sum.

I went. I saw. I digressed.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Plane That Flew Forever by GJ Hart


In order to ascend vertically and eliminate the need for a runway, the plane was designed to mimic a helicopter on take-off. Then, once airborne, its propeller would shift through 90 degrees, transforming it neatly into a plane.

Neat on paper perhaps.

Due to low funds the whole operation must be effected entirely by hand. The propeller wound into place, the wings extended quickly, creating sufficient drag to lift the fuselage into place. Then the whole structure bolted tight. If they messed up, if they took too long, there was a chance the propellers force would tear the plane clean in half.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Switching Allegiance by Madeline McEwen


“I apologize,” Professor Plotnik said, a compact man with thinning hair and patience. “You’re not an imbecile but naive.”

Jane Birk bit her lip and clutched her tablet to her chest. The professor might fire her for insubordination. She couldn’t imagine life outside the Clusterings Institute and never completing her research. With her thesis two and a half years overdue, Birk knew she’d crossed the line, again.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Peppermint Fresh by Chris Milam


Living in a mouth is precisely what you’d think living in a mouth would be: wet, aromatic, and exhilarating. It’s cozy and rent-free in here. She’s not a big talker, so it stays as dark as Anchorage, Alaska during a typical winter. I sleep well. I bathe in her saliva. I nibble on specks of food that dangle from the roof like edible stalactites. When she’s wrecked and raging on a Friday night, getting blitzed on gas station wine, blaring Linda Ronstadt, we both stumble into el diablo’s embrace. When she peeks at the mirror while applying lipstick, or washing her face, I pop out and wave hello.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Mount Carmel Raid by Tom Sheehan


Mount Carmel Road was a quiet dead-end in the north of town. In the middle of the night when the war in the Far East was over and the radios blared the news, all lights went on in all the houses on that blind street, except where the card game was played. Many of the neighbors were solidly indignant about that turn of events on VJ Night, two Mount Carmel boys would not be coming back from the mad Pacific, which most of us only saw in Saturday newsreels at the theater.

This house was a dark house on a dark street in my town that, with some lesions and scars, hangs on to a place in my memory and will not let go. Tenants and landlords hardly leave scribed notations of a dwelling, thinking all things will ferment, dissipate, and eventually pass on. Fifty years or more of recall usually get dulled, terribly pockmarked, or fade into the twilight the way one ages, dimming of the eyes, bending of the knees, slow turns at mortality. But this one rides endlessly in place, a benchmark, a mooring place. It resides as a point of time, a small moment of history colored up by characterization of one incident.

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All Stories, In conversation with...

Literally Stories In Conversation with each other by Tobias Haglund


Tobias: Welcome fellow editors to the Literally Stories Autumn summit.

Diane: Where is my drink?

Tobias: Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t bring any alcohol.

Hugh: PISH!

Diane: Oh deary… I thought for sure there would be a few bottles of wine. And some for you guys as well.

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