Under the light of a punchy, yellow moon, Pops jammed a cigarette in my mouth and put his thumb to work on our flip-top lighter. After a while, the flint wheel peeled up his scab and showed me his insides, which were bright and clean (and A-negative, Pops says). He sucked the blood like barbecue sauce, then flick, flick, flick, nothing, flick, flick—
Continue reading “Worm Cheeks and the Search for Lunar Secrets by Brandon McWeeney”
Okay – I’ll hold my hands up and admit that I’ve screwed up and missed out today when setting up the reruns. So, because I do like to give rerunners the chance to consider and answer the questions I will – if you will indulge me use one that Leila chose and I set up for some way down the line. I’m not so much jumping the queue as plugging the gap.
***
Leila has very kindly chosen one of my older pieces to be Rerun – It does give one a warm glow to know that a reader has enjoyed a piece. Thank you Ms Allison:
Continue reading “Literally Rerun – Through the Curtain by Diane M. Dickson”
Here we are as promised Week 300.
I think that needs a special mention!
We are just a couple of weeks by our anniversary which was on the 17th. So let’s get the couple of budgies with a brick!
Continue reading “300”
Not long after Mike and Katherine moved into their spacious St. Louis county house with pillars and brick facade, its value plummeted. But it was a nice house, woods in the back, nice deck.
“What will we do when they’re gone?” Katherine asked, brushing a tangle of brown thinning hair.
“Who?” he responded. She was talking about their kids. Two more years and both would be in college.
“All this space,” she said. “Empty.”
Continue reading “The Scary Lady by Jeffrey Penn May”
He is shaking. His skin is sticky and pale like the underside of a frog. I feel nothing. I move my hand, try pry it between us. I want to touch myself, but a cramp has started between my fingers and my wrist. I think this is a waste of time. Then, he goes deeper. Something inside me feels jagged. I see curves of red flesh behind my eyes. It’s a dull pain, a building pain and I think if I’d have just touched myself I’d have forgotten it. When he stabs me again, it bursts, wells up, floods over. I put my hands on his shoulders and I push.
Continue reading “Endometrium by Katie Ellen Lamb”
Let me tell you the procedure. We will never meet. Everything is anonymous. We are The Parachute Art Installation Company against Deformity and Disfigurement. You won’t find us on any search engine, but we span the globe. We invade flats, skyscrapers, parks, beaches, motorways, stadiums, places of worship and pounce on unsuspecting Victims who we have painstakingly monitored. We strike against individuals from all strata of society that are deemed physically repugnant.
Continue reading “Parachutes at Night by Tim Frank”
A Cookie and A Glass of Milk
(A version of this story was first published in the Santa Barbara Literary Review)
Continue reading “A Cookie and a Glass of Milk by Shira Musicant”
Leila knows that you can’t go far wrong with a story from Hugh Cron. I reckon she spends much time rooting through his drawers – the ones in his cabinet down in the bowels of LS Towers – Okay I’ll go now and leave you with the lovely Leila – this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Swans by Hugh Cron”
“Men are gold, and women are white cloth. Gold, once sullied, can be cleaned and polished, while white cloth, once soiled and torn, can never be clean again.”
Khmer proverb
Continue reading “Haunt Me Like You Hate Me by Alex Sinclair”
Maggie slogged through the murky gloom of Water Street, her boots squelching in the muck. Gas streetlamps threw wavering silver cones into the darkness. The feeble light only accentuated the inky Manhattan night. Piles of manure and offal cast eerie shadows across the black mire.
Continue reading “Hell Cat Laid Low by Marco Etheridge”
literally stories 