Category: All Stories

All Stories, General Fiction, Horror

Paraffin Lamp by Alex Sinclair – Warning – strong language and content that some readers will find upsetting

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“Verminous dole scrounging deadbeats poetically whingeing that’s all it is, lamenting wistfully about the plight of their work-shy genes. The Celtic curse so it is, forever waxing philosophical about being a shite for brains’ pisshead.”

He stops. He has run away with himself and he can’t remember what he was talking about.

Packy is barely cognizant of where he is. He exists in half dream, half myth.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Long Live Carl Mar by Jane Houghton

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Two punks sat outside a church, their slouching backs touching the north-facing wall, a few metres from the entrance – so as not to block God’s passage. Neither were religious, in fact they thought it utter shite, but they knew about respect. Respected respect. Their hair was spiky, but there were no spikes on them.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Food Cowboy by Leah Sackett

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Maisie wished Goodwill had an anonymous nighttime drop-off. She didn’t want to be judged for her donations or the frequency with which she gave them. In all things, Maisie preferred to be anonymous. She didn’t like to be seen. She was 262lbs and 5’2″. Most of her life, Maisie was petite, her adolescent frame offered her two options: one to keep shopping in the children’s department or two to find a good tailor. Thankfully, her grandma could sew. Grandma Betty made a lot of Maisie’s clothes. Eventually, Maisie hit 100 lbs. Now, the only thing she was lacking was much in the way of boobs. Push-up bras now had something, a little something, to work with even if the ballooned bras were problematic with spontaneous combustion while dancing or laughing. 

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Ice of Old Lily Pond by Tom Sheehan

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The man was raw-boned, sleek, could skate like the wind that blew out of Canada on days like these around the corner of Appleton and Summer Streets, near cliff faces where the Montreal Tunnel holds forth. His hair was dark, his eyes held stories recessed and reserved, but he wore a magnificent pair of hockey gloves. Great, shiny black elegant things, tools of the trade. If he stood still, you’d swear you could smell the new leather of them.

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All Stories, Short Fiction, Writing

Happy Christmas

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It’s been a funny year but we want to thank everyone for their support and their company. There would be no site without you. Whatever you are doing over the next few days, even if it’s nothing very much we wish you joy and peace and of course good health.

All the very best from Literally Stories.

Banner Image by Gerd Altmann from Pixabay 

Village Image by Louise Dav from Pixabay 

All Stories, General Fiction

Always Remember to Shift by Jessica R. Clem

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My mother’s cadence on the bike has always been impressive. She can seamlessly glide from first gear to third without breaking her stride. The sound of her chain effortlessly shifting sounds like fingers snapping a melody. We ride together on a winding dirt road. We are going incredibly fast considering her mountain bike is a heavy beast. The tires are wide and fat. But it is a cheerful red color. It is the color of tricycles and little wagons. Though she is only thirty-six, it is odd to see her on something that calls to youth.

Especially since she is dying as we ride.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Boundless Growth by Simo Tchokni

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‘And all of this is replicated across twenty datacenters.’

With a flourish, Davide draws a large rectangle around the messy, sprawling diagram he’s drawn on the whiteboard. He turns around. ‘Any questions?’

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All Stories, General Fiction

Quarters by Meg Croley

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He was seeing another woman, a woman who was not his wife, which admittedly was a little disorienting. What was he gaining that wasn’t already given to him by me or the wife (the wife never called him daddy). He hadn’t replied to my texts in three days, and I was about to announce a fake pregnancy. Then she called.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Rough Immersion by Tom Sheehan

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The mirror folds in on itself. Images separate. At seven years of age I was drowning! It was simple as that. Water, water everywhere and not a drop I should drink. Cut the crap, I thought. It’s not funny. It was strange, my mind still working, conjuring images, associations, and the pressures coming to bear.

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