“We try to be flexible here at Literally Stories and when we have authors who send work outside our word count guidelines we are still willing to give them a fair shot. To get through in that case they have to be a bit different and stand out in some way. Adam sent us this and we were all really taken by it. It is way below our normal lower limit but being Adam he also sent in some art work to bring the thing even more to life. So, for one night only at a website near you we are proud to present Words and Images by Adam Kluger in “Are we Both Broken.”
Category: General Fiction
Extended Meeting by Gary Beck
The benches in the New York City Clerk’s office were hard and uncomfortable. The wood was worn and shiny from nervous and impatient squirmings. The room was dim and shabby, wearied from processions of the city poor, eager to pay the few dollars for the privilege of marriage, or not eager, but complying with demanding families, resenting the notices of do’s and dont’s, murmuring to the indifferent walls. And behind barred windows, clerks in funereal voices, never calling names fast enough to spare the nervous couples the glances of others. The eyes that have seen it all before; waiting, birth, death, the history of in-betweens, waiting.
The Fifty Dollar Sewing Machine by Mitchell Toews
My Grandma often told us about an adventure that she and Grandpa had in Winnipeg soon after my dad was born.
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Chicken by Hugh Cron
“You nearly beat me that time William.”
“You’re very good Sir.”
“Sir…I like that…Tell me why you’re here?”
“I’m not sure Sir. I love this place. It’s just that, after you came to my house that night, I knew that I wanted to be with you. And I thought that you felt the same way.”
Bardo Train to Canarsie by Ted Myers
My body had been dead for two days. I could hear my brother monks chanting the Mantra of the Dead the whole time: “Go to the Light. Do not be distracted by the demons of the Bardo…” If this was the Bardo, it certainly was not what I was expecting.
Seekers of the Wow Signal Emoji by Leila Allison
Ethan and Renfield Stoker-Belle have been married six months. Although the future is always uncertain, one should think that the Stoker-Belles have the ingredients necessary for an eighty-year marriage. Of course the future seems easy, Early On, when both parties are fresh and pretty and full of happy surprises; before the erosive winds of time blow in and expose the true sizes of the “little things.” So far, however, Ethan hasn’t found Renfield’s verbal catchall “Right?” anything less than charming; and Renfield has yet to detect sarcasm in Ethan’s “Aye-aye, you’re the captain” whenever she’s driving. Only 1/160th into the mortal portion of forever and ever, optimism is high with the newlyweds. So high, that they have decided to test the strength of their vows via the insane act of buying a house.
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Bomaru’s Quest, Part IV by Neil MacDonald
The creature’s head punched round, leathery scales abrading his skin. Bomaru held tight, the sinews of his arms corded like autumn branches, slowly forcing the winged reptile’s head to the ground. Teeth sharp as spear-points snapped, close enough for the clash to shiver through his straining grip, and the stench of the creature’s foul breath to taint his nostrils. It was no ordinary strength that maintained his grip. He knew sweet Farlaine would die if he failed, and the knowledge lent him the force of ten. Bomaru twisted with a desperate might. With a sickening crack, the dragon’s body gave one last twitch and was still.
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The Girl Of My Best Friend by Hugh Cron – Strong Adult Content
Bernie wheezed his way into the pub. He looked over and saw his pal Jamsie sitting at a table in the corner with a half drunk pint of lager. A full pint awaited him. He walked over, slumped down and gulped his drink.
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Eddie Smiledge, Houseman by Tom Sheehan
He was the houseman and smoked cigars thick as Baby Ruth bars, short as he was, and always wore green pants and red socks so people could laugh at him a little bit on the side. He’d pocket change while the laughter moved around The Rathole. We always knew something special was ringing in him, some other call or cause. There were times he would lend a guy a buck who had missed a great shot at billiards or One-Ball and was almost there, getting his dough back, and he never charged but a buck for a buck. He could listen as good as a bartender, talk like a barber, remember to the minute the start of each game at each table. He answered only to Smiledge, never to his Christian name, never to hey you or houseman or you over there by a newcomer. Smiledge, he’d say. Smiledge it was. It seemed to us that it was Smiledge forever. Then one day he was gone, but that’s ahead of me.
The Sixth Floor by Adam Kluger
“Welcome to your new home down on the sixth floor, Mr. Smith…it may just look like a cubicle farm… but it’s really so much more”
“Call me Ted, please…otherwise you’ll make me feel older than I already am.”
“You got it Mr. Smith…I mean Ted…any questions?”
“I’m sure I’ll think of a million…but none right now.”
“Isn’t that always the case.”
