Nothing, she thought, could make her feel better than having a nice, long cry in the shower. Nothing felt better than water flowing over and out of her, releasing every negative emotion that drifted into her mind. Hot, cold, she didn’t care; it was the best medicine. The blaze of an inferno and the frost of an avalanche purging every impurity. The only equal? A full day lying in bed, listlessly flipping through childhood memories.
Continue reading “And She Was by Jordan Eve Morral”
Here we are at the first of the New Year with Week 566
Well, that’s the festivities over for another year. I hope you all have had a restful or mad time or a bit of both. I had some beautifully wrapped presents this year. I received a life size Dalek, a lucky horse shoe, an inflated beach ball and an anchor. I was grateful but not one of them was a surprise.
Continue reading “Week 566 -Obvious Prezzies, Paul Newman Was Brilliant And A Nod To Johnny Kidd And The Pirates.”
A Florida Fable for Our Time
When the Rainbow River began to speak, the remnant band of creatures eking out a living along its banks was dumbstruck. The waters they depended on to spawn fish and slate thirst had begun to gurgle and grumble in a quarrelsome, insistent pitch, as if complaining in a language no one could interpret. Divine Dominion being no competition for Manifest Destiny, the ranks of hangers-on were thinning by then, but the lone remaining panther, who was barely out of adolescence and a bit full of himself, summoned the hutzpah to organize a community forum. What is needed, he told the leader of the yellow-eared turtles, is an investigative committee. The old guy withdrew to his shell and considered, finally agreeing to send a representative. With the reptiles on board, the panther managed to assemble some shell-shocked deer and twitchy racoons, a patchy-feathered marsh hen among assorted wading birds, and the silver mullet king, who had suspicious spots on his fins and was not long for this world. Mama vixen promised to attend a meeting if she could bring her kits, humans having ruined her burrow by inserting mothballs and a blaring radio.
Continue reading ” Lost in Translation by Claire Massey”
Dale Williams Barrigar has been a blessing to every writer on the site since his arrival last summer. I dare anyone to find more sincere comments or an even more learned mind on the subject of literature on the site (although Gerry Coleman satisfies that condition as well!) Thus it is fitting that a painting The Old Guitarist should have at least partially inspired Dale’s first site story, today’s rerun.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns- The Old Guitarist by Dale Williams Barrigar”
Today we present a small tribute to our late friend Tom Sheehan (1928-2025). Tom was a friend of our site since the early days and published an astonishing total of 228 stories with us, by far the highest sum in our eleven year existence. Below you will find links to five of his stories, which will shine a light on the man, who is someone who earned the right to be remembered long and well.
Continue reading “A Tribute to Tom Sheehan”
Another week closer to another year!
I’ve been thinking on smoking. I see that some programmes have trigger warnings. Or to be more precise, ‘A Nonsensical waste of words by fuckwits for fuckwits!’
There was an old panel game called ‘Joker In The Pack’ which is being repeated and you can hardly see the contestants due to the fog of smoke.
The amazing Comedienne, Dave Allen sat at his chair with a pack of cigarettes and a large whiskey. (I didn’t spell that incorrectly, he was a proud Irishman.)
‘The Wheeltappers And Shunters Club’ was filmed in a Working Mens Club and you could hardly see the audience!
Anything that was filmed early 2000 and beyond had smoking restrictions. Before that actors and / or their characters puffed away happily.
Continue reading “Week 563 – It’s Amazing What Can Smoke, R.I.P Another Legend And All The Very Best To You All!!”
As his hearing receded into the ethers, Frank’s days filled with numbing despair. He was going deaf, there was no denying it. He’d tried with what inner strength he possessed to stave it off, first by denying it completely like any sane person would do, then by telling himself he was only forty-two, things like this aren’t permanent at this age, of course it will pass.
Continue reading “Hear, Hear by Karl Luntta”
“What’s it like, being imaginary?” asked Lisa Hannigan.
She sat cross-legged on the edge of her bed, gazing down at her imaginary friends, Sally and Qney, who mirrored her posture on the carpet below, knees tucked neatly beneath their chins.
Continue reading “Imaginary Friends by Gareth Vieira”
A Friend
Dear Readers
Before we start this week’s silliness, I must relate the news of the passing of Tom Sheehan, who died 16 October, at age 97. Tom holds the site record of 228 stories. He and I coincidentally debuted on LS in August 2015, and Tom nearly doubled my output in less time, even though he was thirty-one years my senior. I doubt anyone will catch him.
But more importantly, Tom was a fine human being: A husband, father, grandfather, historian of Saugus, Massachusetts and a veteran of the Korean War. It is not my object to create sadness because 97 is a damn good run and Tom was still writing till the end. His final submission, an acceptance, of course, The Decoration occurred this past spring.
We will be running a far more fitting tribute to our friend in times ahead, so please keep an eye open.
Leila, Diane, Hugh
Genre
I am not powerfully educated nor will my pride allow me to google every little mystery, but I feel that I have a fairly clear-minded grasp of genre.
I hear the word and Western, Science Fiction, Fantasy (not just impossible S.F.), Crime (or CMT), Mystery and so on pop into mind. In that regard “genre” is a useful list of things, and I highly approve of lists.
Continue reading “562- Remembering a Wonderful Friend and Some Goofiness Regarding Genre”
The two men sat in the dim kitchen. Drinking. Dark clouds hung low in the gray sky like they wanted to open their bellies. Cigarette smoke curled from a glass ashtray. Larry Miller got up from the yellow Formica table and pointed at a steak bone on a plate in the sink. The white plate was smeared dark with A-1 Steak Sauce. Larry said, “That was Jenny’s last supper. A T-bone steak, a baked potato, bread n’ butter, and a Coke.” He seemed proud to Thurman like he wanted Thurman to appreciate it.
Continue reading “Death on a Full Stomach by Christoper Ananias”
literally stories 