She was the last one to move in. Most people moved in the day the builders handed the keys over, but her house stayed empty for a couple of weeks. She was renting which probably explains it. We still don’t actually know who owns the place, even after everything that’s happened.
A jutting, brick-walled affair, we’d moved into our one-bed flat three weeks ago. It wasn’t much – first time buys never are.
But it was something. It was our space; it was home.
Chris leaned his head against the bus window. He was tired but he couldn’t let himself even doze as that would turn into deep, much-needed sleep.
1.
It was put through the front door. Put through that brass trimmed rectangle small enough to keep out the worlds. The letterbox is far outside. I do not go to it. In the space under the door and online necessary links are maintained. But this package is different. It is not an invoice to pay or a manuscript to edit. George has pushed it into a corner with her nose.
He had a long chunk of writing tattooed on his skin. It looked like Greek or Chinese or something. He said it was ‘so I never forget’.
‘But it’s over your shoulder,’ I blurted. His shoulder was massive, like a pig carcass.
He looked at me like he wanted to kill me. ‘It’s back to front so I can read it in a mirror,’ he said at last. I never found out what the words meant. But he taught me lots of other things.
“Right Israelites…Where are they?”
“Only me boss. Do you like my frock?”
“It’s very fetching. And who are you?”
“I’m Charlton, the rest of them seen the smoke in the distance and thought there was a fire heading this way. I mean they’ve just got dried from the sea thingy, miracle, whatever the fuck.”
“The sea parted, it never touched them.”
“I know but they’d all pissed themselves. They’re not very brave. Anyway they fucked off home, wherever that is.”
Continue reading “The Ten Commandments by Hugh Cron – Warning – Adult Content”
In memory of Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
******
(No semicolons were abused during this production; in fact, the one to your immediate left is the only one employed by the author in this piece, and its necessity is a matter of debate.)
******
(No one said anything about the omission of colons: *Try producing shit without one.)
******
(*Use of the oldest scatalogical punctuation mark joke in the English language is protected by the false concept called “Free Speech.”)
****** Continue reading “God Bless You, Boots the Impaler by Leila Allison”
I can’t think about my brother William without cringing from guilt. What a terrible childhood he had. None of us loved him or tried to make him part of the family. He was just someone who shared space with us. Which was a tragedy. For him.
Leila has chosen a story by a writer who rapidly became a very good friend of the site. Not only does he write wonderful short stories but he makes interesting, entertaining and amusing comments as well. this is what she said.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Breakfast at the Hospital for the Criminally Insane by Harrison Kim”
Because we didn’t know his name, and he played air guitar outside Family Dollar, we called him Air Guitar Eddy. He had two dogs. We called the pit bull Pitbull, and the other, a terrier, Funky Bitch. Funky Bitch was pregnant, bursting at the seams, and she would sit and pant in the shade. Because it was Family Dollar, Air Guitar Eddy, Pitbull, and Funky Bitch didn’t get much by way of charity.
literally stories 