All Stories, Writing

How Podcasts Helped Save My Summer…and Life. by Paul Reilly

On the surface this may seem an odd story for publishing on Christmas Day. However, here in LS Towers we like to think that we are a thoughtful bunch and you’ve already had a couple of ‘almost’ traditional Christmas Tales.

This piece blew our minds when it arrived – We have always known what makes  ‘good’ writing is not comma placement and clever verbiage, what makes a good piece in our opinion, is passion.  This writing is so powerful we wanted to share it, as it shows that the degree of passion in a piece can override grammatical and constructional anomalies, it can be cathartic and it can be moving and leave you feeling as if you have been slapped in the face by it.

So, why this – now?

Well, we agreed that apart from anything else this piece of writing reminds us all that at this time of the year when we are all pressured into ‘jolliness’ there are many for whom it’s a struggle to simply exist from day to day. The bloke at the table next to you, wearing a Santa hat and reading Christmas cracker jokes could be falling apart inside. Maybe not the usual Christmas message but if it makes us just a bit kinder to each other – we reckon this story is probably a gift to us all.

*****.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Merry Christmas Charleston CLAWS by Leila Allison

You can touch Shax, but only by “appointment.” First you have to establish eye contact with the old tom and at the same time make a “scratchies” gesture with your index finger. If you correctly spy permission in his imperious gold eyes, then, and only then, may you apply a “scratchie” to the surprisingly short distance between his ears. Any failure to comply with this procedure will result in a personal math system based on the number nine.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Santa’s up Next by Tom Sheehan

Christmas was coming. Who’d be Santa Claus had suddenly gotten sticky.

There had to be forty or so kids living in the urban cul-de-sac, all of them in squashed-in apartments in a dozen three- and four-decker buildings, the pigeons on the roof often mingling with the kids at tall hide-‘n’-seek, romances in dark budding, now and then some contraband or stolen goods getting exposed, two or three gymnasts every generation that managed and used the roof tops for exercises, dares, escapes of one sort or another. Merton Place, from various points of view, was a city in itself.

And Christmas was coming. It was around the corner.

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All Stories, Literally Reruns, Writing

Literally Reruns – The Dreampurple Light by Leila Allison

Another of our regular contributors has chosen work to be ‘Rerun’ and it’s a beauty. L’Erin Ogle pulled The Dreampurple Light from under the floorboards and this is what she said:

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All Stories, Writing

Week 205 – Christmas Break, Christmas Messages And Super Sex.

Here we are at Week 205.

Anyone who has read our previous posts at this time will know that we all write a wee message, so I’ll do the reviews and such-like first.

We had three new writers, one on his second story and me.

The topics included; Limited customers, a surprising film buff, a bridge, a soul-mate and medication.

As always our initial comments follow.

Continue reading “Week 205 – Christmas Break, Christmas Messages And Super Sex.”

All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Switch Hitter by Suzanne Nielsen

Rita Sajevic lost her mind on home plate at 5:15 pm, two days after dual interviews at competing churches.  She’d work the night shift cleaning 11 blocks from home.  All this was in shorthand on her palm faded by cherry red ink.  On her other palm was a tattoo of a fetus whose life ended tragically.  After Rita relived the event, outside of confession mind you, I swore to several saints never to retell that story to anyone.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Coeur de Lion by Chris Cleary

Magnificently justified, she teeters on the parapet of her limestone tower. The herd lows below, and in the autumn air all stands still except for Tom, who has spied her from a distance and now is racing to her rescue. Her foot shifts and slips a bit, sending down a pebble cascade, but her heart is strong, and she refuses to be petrified. She stares straight ahead at the hillside, where leaves fall from their trees, drifting, dropping, like children’s valentines into makeshift paper-bag mailboxes taped to her classroom wall many years before. Cards of teddy bears with hearts, Hello Kitty with hearts, blooming flowers with hearts, circus lions proclaiming, “You’re purr-fect!” Suppressing squeals, children scurry. Others’ bags fill up. In hers, not one. Eyes anchored on the hillside, all she sees is disregard. That and the teacher frowning with pity for poor Samantha San Gabriel, so shy and so odd.

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All Stories, Fantasy, Horror, Humour, Short Fiction

Nature And Nurture – The Devil’s Mix by Hugh Cron – Adult Content.

He looked around. It was dark but there were a few lights on the bridge. He stood in the middle and peered over the side, down into the water. The night was still and the smell of the trees and moss made him smile. The countryside always had that effect on him, this was as good a place as any.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Bloodwork by Jamie Sheffield

The home-med stopped giving Alice her usual meds on Tuesday, and by Friday she was feeling unlike the person she’d been, unlike anyone she’d ever met or even heard about. The feelings were waves pushing a new tide ashore, erasing and redrawing the beach of her mind with each of a thousand pulses from an ocean she’d been unaware of until sometime on Thursday. She’d lain in bed Thursday night, drifting in a sweaty tangle of cotton, dangerous and terrifying thoughts banging noisily around inside her skull; Alice couldn’t decide if she was more scared that the new thoughts and feelings would continue or that they’d stop.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Humour

The Man Who Sold the World by Martyn Miller

The Almighty was taking a bath. It had been a long week with the creation of the universe and whatnot, and He felt he was due some respite. The water was perfect, the temperature set just so. The tub big enough that he could stretch out and rest his head on the rim while playing with the two ornate gold taps at the far end with his toes. And of course, the bubbles. The good lord could never have too many bubbles. A small rubber duck bobbed up and down, it’s bright yellow head briefly appearing above the waves of suds before vanishing once more. Closing his eyes, he soaked in the pleasure of a good bath and a hard weeks work, and slowly but surely, he drifted off…

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