The two rather dishevelled men walked up the street. They weren’t very big, they weren’t very handsome. They certainly weren’t very clever. Normally fate would decide that due to these short-comings they would have been given very interesting characters or gracious manners. But no! Not these two, they were both arseholes.
Continue reading “Blood And Bigotry by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
‘I was found with a waitress in a cocktail bar… That much is true.’
Continue reading “Phil’s Lament by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
Mary closed the door behind her, the third chime from the grandfather clock was just a memory from her hall. She walked down the front path into the darkness. It was cold, so cold. Her gloved hand held them tightly; the reason for her torment.
Continue reading “An Easy Choice to Make by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
I know that there will be tears all round as you begin to realise that Mr West is tied up and not able to do this week’s round-up. There will be even more tears when you read this and realise that it is me who is filling in! Adam is excellent at tying up the weeks and giving us some excellent meaningful meanderings relating to the said week so I thought I would do the same.
“Please! Please!!”
“I’ll get the pliers.”
“You really are the type of individual who goes home of a night and masturbates over the bodies in your basement, aren’t you?”
“Of course.”
“… Please, don’t hurt me!”
“Shut your hole!!”
Continue reading “All About the Truth by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
Ian threw Michael a can of Dragon Soup.
“Are ye still getting kit from Jinky?”
“He’s the only one I go to, well unless any emergencies come up… How?”
Michael swallowed a few mouthfuls and rifted.
Well here it is, week 52. That must be a good twelve months but not if you multiply the four weeks that we have in a month with the twelve months that, was it, the Roman’s gave us? Oh and don’t start me about five week months. For anyone who is paid monthly then every four weeks ends up with thirteen pays a year. That will always sound good until you realise that there is no difference to your annual salary.
I suppose that week 52 should maybe be called week 54 as our anniversary on the 17th was mentioned two weeks ago on week 50 as the said anniversary was coming up the following week, which is of course a week behind as week one is at the end of the first week which is therefore read into week 2.
Now if anyone is left reading we come to a wee review of our stories this week. Before I go on I will swallow some Prozac. I can’t say for definite but I think dm gillis has given us our only Christmas story. Now don’t take that as an invitation to send any sentimental or sugary family friendly beigeness!! (A challenge folks… Come on give us something different. Give us something that makes us feel weird and uncomfortable. Let’s bomb out Christmas stories. Be inspired by those old black and white unsettling films that were so out of place on Christmas night but made us all feel alive.)
It is a privilege to continue publishing Tom Sheehan’s writing. Nik and myself have put ourselves out there again and we have a new person. A writer with a very different structure to his story. We welcome Adam Kluger.
We are working hard through the submissions this week and it is excellent to have so much interest but please don’t let up, keep submitting.
A last mention about the anthology. We are so happy to see some reviews being posted. Come on… You are all writers, send Amazon a review!
…It was the beginning of a new term. There was a volatile mix of the noisy, frantic new starts, in amongst the typical surly teenagers. A man stood staring at his new charges. If you didn’t know otherwise you‘d never have taken him for a teacher, he looked like a yeti. He eyed them up and down and tried to spot the ‘Wee fudds.’ He had tolerance and intolerance in compassion with sarcasm. There was also a mix of shyness with confidence but this would never be shown to the kids. His intelligence was well-known amongst his work-mates and friends. He kept it hidden though, his brains were covert. He was a person of opposites. He was by no means atypical, more unique.
Continue reading “United Forever by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
Before we begin I am sure that all of us here at Literally Stories wish to convey our deepest sympathies to the people of Paris. The unfolding story was more of a horror than anyone could ever write.
Our thoughts are with you all.
I sent for a copy of the anthology and was very happy to receive it this week. There is nothing better than the look, feel and smell of a new book, especially one that you have been involved with. I hope that all our writers, their families and friends ask the old boy with the white beard to bring them one in a few weeks time. (I refuse to mention that time of year without Prozac.) It is a privilege to champion the short story not only on a daily basis but now with something more concrete.
Our stories this week were another mixed bag. We had sadness from both our new writers, Sarah Walker and Ronald Friedman. Tom Sheehan put together a tale with a twist. Nik gave us a bit of future-thinking satire and I questioned acceptance.
We have had quite a few submissions from new writers this week and we are in the process of reading and deciding. So if you are reading this and thinking ‘Mmm, I wonder?’ Stop wondering and send! It is a pure delight for us to find someone who has that new writer enthusiasm!
Last two comments are reiterations… Happy Anniversary to the site in the past week. And of course a huge thanks to all of you for the past year!!
I look at my scars and I know why I am the way that I am. You stood by me more than you ever should and I will always love you for giving me that chance. I blew it. Lifting my hands was the biggest mistake of my life and I am eternally sorry. I am glad that you left and are out of harm’s way. You are out of my way. The medication I am on I am not proud of. The therapy sessions that I have been ordered to take don’t help. I know why I am the way I am. I know that I can’t handle the things that I saw. I have night terrors. I don’t understand why I can’t look at the wounds as I would an operation scar and only be thankful that I am still here. The mark on my neck especially scares me. I am paranoid. Hateful. I am terrified. I wish I could resent as that would be a more understandable thought but I can’t. I don’t know how to focus anymore. I only feel anger and terror and hate. I can’t control any emotion and more importantly, I can’t focus my hate on who deserves it. I am dangerous and I am only too aware what I am capable of. I look at the world as a rabid dog. Head down, eyes up and then I snap.
literally stories 