Matty wasn’t a very good friend. We’d sit up late and watch these old movies in black and white and sometimes all-new colour and even though I sat right in front of him, he’d throw popcorn and pillows at my head and the feathers would fly everywhere. My mother couldn’t deal with the mess and I always took the blame for him.
I’ve been in the park, lunchtime I went to sit in the sunshine. It was nice. I was on my own as usual and today I just had an apple. It was small, red on one side, green on the other and there was a small bruise near the bottom. I hadn’t brought sandwiches today. Partly because I was late up and didn’t have much time but mostly because I only had chicken roll in the fridge.
It’s Week 18 at Literally Stories.
A chilling psychological thriller. Philosophical science fiction. Addiction. History. Crime. Heroic deeds. But enough of the UK’s General Election campaign.
I’m joking of course. That was dull. The same old same old. Not at all like Literally Stories. No, the only thing you can predict for sure about Literally Stories, is another week; another five quality tales.
The same again next week then?
Yes.
How predictable.
And the week after?
I guess so.
And the week after that?
Hmm. Not if a bunch of sweet wrappers and an empty fag packet are the only things rattling around in our inbox.
This week’s review belongs to the reviewers.
Here they are:
June Griffin said about The Village by Tobias Haglund: The powerful laws of nature are at work in this brilliantly horrific tale told in three colors – the black heart of an inhumane father, the white snow of a freezing Swedish winter, and the drops of red blood from a slaughtered moose…
Vic Smith said about Unit 4207’s Failed Assignment by Piyali Mukherjee: Clever stuff, Piyali. I particularly liked the way that the unit had some of the designed-in flaws that humans have. I enjoyed reading this.
James McEwan said about Hugh Cron’s Reasons Don’t Matter: I thought we were in for a police procedural crime story, in a way it was. But I discovered as I read on, it was a reflection on the justice system, where the criminal couldn’t care less, yes I weep for the world we live in.
Vic Smith said about Ossie Durrans’ Zepps! (no longer available on LS): This is an interesting read, Ossie. I don’t know if it’s based on truth, but it certainly felt like it. It’s good that you showed the participants in war as individuals and not faceless armies.
Hugh Cron said about Tobias Haglund’s The Gulls Cry: You have a superb talent for finding beauty in tragedy. Your descriptions and tone in the story are perfect. You are a very accomplished, skilled and adaptable writer. I only hope that your future involves your talent with much deserved success!!
This week’s race to be top of the polls (Story of the Week) was well contested. Close. Witness cut and thrust. Thrust and cut. More key battlegrounds than you can shake a *swingometer at. What I ought to say about the contest is Nik Eveleigh is not a Dirty Rascal, he’s this week’s King of the Castle with his odd little tale titled The Old Man in the Park.
There’s tidy for you!
* It often pays to ‘ignore’ a spell-checker, but pundits, politicians and err, parrots, beware! During the next few weeks of electioneering it is less than likely you’ll hear/read the term ‘urinometer’. On the other hand…
And speaking of all things electoral… have your say about which of this week’s stories should come out a winner:-
Welcome to two new authors this week, Lee and Ceinwen.
Thank you as always to our readers. We trust you enjoyed the stories. For those taking time to comment — much appreciated. Speaking of which, here are a selection of this week’s comments.
When she left home Briony hadn’t meant to leave so – well, quite so permanently. She went to the shop to buy a cabbage. A medium sized drumhead was what she had in mind, although in fairness there was an option for cauliflower. Dinner was beef, already in the cooker, rich and redolent, herby and delicious. Beef, Beef in beer for Dick and to go with it mashed potatoes and cabbage. His favourite.
Continue reading “Just Going for a Cabbage by Diane M Dickson”
When my father came home from work and said we were going to a concert I was thrilled. It was to take place upstate along the Hudson River in a town called Peekskill. To get out of our stuffy Brooklyn apartment at the end of summer was heaven-sent. I didn’t know dark times were swirling around us.
“You’re going to love the concert David. Paul Robeson is going to sing,” said my father.
“Are you sure Frank? You saw what happened the other night,” said my mother.
“It will be fine. More of us will be there and we can’t let them get away with this can we? After all this is America,” he said.
Life: what is it all about?
I’d left for the party minimally drunk and maximally desolate. Eva and I had argued earlier. “Laurie,” she’d said truculently, “why don’t you want to go? Who stays in on New Year’s Eve? Jenny and Pete are our oldest friends. But maybe you have your own reasons?”
Here are some scores:
*Wales 2 1 Russia
England 9 1 Australia
Scotland 4 4 USA*
Sweden 1 1 Republic of Ireland
Northern Ireland 1 1 India*
For those of you who are wondering how on earth they missed out on such an exciting bunch of midweek Football ‘Friendly Internationals and are now contemplating whether or not Scotland blew a 4-0 half-time lead against the USA and did Australia send their cricket team instead of the Socceroos, I have news.
Wonder no more. No such fixtures took place this week. The ‘scores’ are – as you have no doubt already guessed – a tally of authors published on Literally Stories since our inception in November 2014 (an asterisk denotes new writers scheduled to appear on LS soon.)
For a review of this week’s stories I’ll hand you over to the readers.
The Number 26 by Diane Dickson. Fran Macilvey said: Very interesting and poignant.. Thank you, Diane!
Three Weeks by Todd Levin. Vic Smith said: Another good story, Todd, thoughtful and observant. I enjoyed reading it.
Honey Pie by Tobias Haglund. June Griffin said: Tobias, this beautiful story is so real, it left me hurting.
Len Cordy and the Lollipop Guild by Shane Bolitho. Des Kelly said: Nicely written. Filled with evocative scents, sights and sounds. You drew your characters well.
Sanctions by Hugh Cron. Vic Smith said: Another slice of truth, Hugh. You speak for those with no voice, without trying to turn them into saints. Des Kelly said: Nicely told. Full of despair.
Story of the Week for week ending Friday 13th March went to a photo finish. In horse racing the idiom would be it was that close you could throw a blanket over the runners and riders. Fine, but if you did that then horse and jockey might not cross the line at all. They might veer off at an acute angle, plough through the running rail and head straight for the nearest…I digress. It was close. But there are no horses or blankets. There is however a winner’s enclosure. Albeit a crowded one.
Three winners. Hugh, if you can just…budge up a bit Todd. That’s fine. Tobias if you could tuck your elbow it then…good, now you can all take a bow.
Don’t forget to vote for your favourite stories to choose the winner for next week:-
Toothpick balanced on his lip, just so. Hair slicked down with practiced precision. But despite the evil eye and air of menace he fancied he gave off, Rachel Duccini couldn’t help but smile. Gerard Marron, for all his sneering attempts at brooding ominousness, reminded her a hell of a lot of the Lollipop Guild Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. The way he squinted, the pant legs too short to cover his ankles, and the way he had his hands in his pockets, thumbs out pointing at each other across his groin.
Continue reading “Len Cordy & The Lollipop Guild by Shane Bolitho”
Nathan stood outside next to the elevator. We see each other sometimes across the floor while he smokes a rolled-up cigarette and sometimes drinks and I take out the leftovers.
‘Three weeks without a kiss,’ he said to me the last time I stood there last summer with my black bags, ‘but at least I don’t stink like you do right now’ and through the smoke he’d laugh, coughing roughly in the yellow glow.
