Indefatigable that’s what Leila Allison is and as the earth turns on it’s axis to carry us into winter she pulls on her gloves and boots and carries on foraging in the darkest reaches of LS Towers catacombs. She sends us these some weeks before you good readers have the chance to see them and we are really grateful for her rootling and scrabbling – it plays havoc with her manicure. This time she has come up with a story by Martyn Clayton and this is what she said:
All Stories
Week 253 – Unavailable Fables, A Taste Of Ointment And A Deceit Of Politicians.
The year is flying by and we are now at Week 253.
I was on holiday a few weeks back and stayed in a couple of hotels. It was weird to see that there were no bibles. Not that I wanted a bible mind, there was plenty of toilet paper but I just think that it is a bit sad for those who want to read some bibley stuff. You’ll may have noticed that I’m not the most religious person but what I did think was a sorry state of affairs was when Churches first started being padlocked at night. If you are of a notion and you want a wee pray then that option should always be open to you.
Look by Simon Bell
She closed her eyes and looked.
In all her years of seeing she had never looked quite like this. This was seeing.
The ‘accident’ was now over ten years ago, and she was resigned if not reconciled with the state of affairs. The impairment to her vision had been absolute. The ophthalmologist had been kind and empathetic but quite definite in her assessment. 100% sight loss and not a chance of recovery. The diagnosis was certain. And so, began a new life.
Yawp by Jude Atwood
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The Caiman Hide Boots by Harrison Kim
Someone stole my caiman hide boots from underneath my styrofoam homeless shelter mattress. My boots are a rich polished brown with chunky scale nubs rising from the foot area. My Dad gifted the comfy caimans to me as a 27th birthday and university graduation gift, he purchased them online from Leathers of Louisiana. It took me seven years to obtain my BA in General Studies due to my schizoaffective brain problems, though my measured IQ is 132. Psychosis is eating away at my cerebrum. Sometimes it’s hard for me to tell what is real and what is illusion, but I know for sure my boots are missing.
Hands by Marcella Hunyadi
He told me he was Special Forces. I thought it was a lie; sounds so sexy, I’m Special Forces. I imagined legions of girls in soaked underwear.
Me, I didn’t care. My daughter was one year old, I moved to Manhattan to a 5th Avenue apartment believing in a Cinderella story, only to find Lelle’s car seat in front of my door one morning with a “Sorry!” note. The prince paid the $12,000 monthly rent to fulfill the lease and told me to keep the 3 carat Harry Winston engagement ring.
Skye Jim McKay by Hugh Cron – Warning Adult Content.
I first met Jim when I was working in a food bank. He came in to ask if he could get some food. He was reeking of Buckfast. I told him that he had to be referred.
He laughed, “Take your referral and your food bank and stick them right up, and I mean right up your fucking arse!”
