“Letti the Yeti. Letti the Yeti,” the children chant.
… “Mama, what’s Yeti?”
“The Yeti is a monster, Letti. It’s also called Bigfoot.”
Category: Short Fiction
Literally Reruns – Mr. Zimmerman Flies to Buenos Aires (Economy Class) by Adam West
Adam was the founding member of Literally Stories, as such he has his own cupboard in the dungeons at LS Towers. Access requires a special key, a code and a bribe for the hunchback guardian. Apparently Leila has stolen the key, guessed the code and we just don’t know what she gave the hunchback!! Anyway – she found this:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Mr. Zimmerman Flies to Buenos Aires (Economy Class) by Adam West”
Week 296 – A Journey For A Gentleman, A Sign For The Ridiculous And A Sore Arse For A Pensioner.
Before we start I want to advise that we have updated Tom Sheehan’s Author CV page.
He’d actually sent in a piece about his life and writing journey as a submission but we wanted to have it somewhere where it was always available, hence the idea of putting it onto his page.
It’s worth a look to give you an understanding of our most prolific writer and who he is, where he came from and what has inspired him over all these years.
Continue reading “Week 296 – A Journey For A Gentleman, A Sign For The Ridiculous And A Sore Arse For A Pensioner.”
Dodging Traffic by Tim Frank
Nina and I were just kids when we started running into oncoming traffic. Dodging cars was something that felt natural – a part of growing up, facing demons we didn’t know we had. We’d sit on the low curb, flicking crisps into the gutter like cards into a top hat, then as we heard the rumbling of a car approach, we clamped hands and dashed into the street. We experienced short spurts of ecstasy, drifting away on a sublime high and yet the feelings were short-lived, elusive.
Cutthroat by Alex Sinclair
1
Murphy Conway was half Albert’s age and twice his size, but all Murphy had to do was look into the pieces of flint that were Albert’s eyes to know he could never take him, even if he did him dirty and started it from the side.
Rêverie by E. F.Hay
Dribbling saliva, slumped in the deepest of rêveries, he was approached by a French accented usherette- a veritable mini-skirted caricature, advertising a take-me-from-behind coquetry; she tottered wantonly, making a beeline towards him. Continue reading “Rêverie by E. F.Hay”
Only a Jellyfish Would Live Forever by Leila Allison
The Scenario: Part I
He crushed two pills between his teeth and swallowed. That made four in an hour. A stomach that wanted to stay alive would have objected; but for once there was consensus. He believed that two more similar doses within the next thirty minutes should punch his ticket to the Undiscovered Country. Perhaps such an important event as flirting with self destruction should come accompanied by an unfilched metaphor, but when in doubt go with Shakespeare–Besides he’d used up all the sparklers in his suicide note. It was a fine suicide note. Well written, streaked with effortless pathos and humor. It was the best thing he had ever written. “All show, no tell,” he’d said after lighting it on fire and watching it curl to black in the kitchen sink. “Best punched ticket ever.”
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Stretch by Anuradha Prasad
The leg swept in a wide arc, missing her face by a margin. Avni scooted further back, her eyes trained on the dancer who strode across the room and leaped twice, a leg stretched one way, a hand stretched the other way. She didn’t want to miss a thing. The dancer fell to the ground lightly, the body surrendering to the fall, to the pull of gravity. In its surrender, the body defied the will of earth.
Avni followed her mother and her friend out of the studio after the dance performance.
“Did you like it, dear?” Avni’s mother’s friend asked her.
“Yes, very much, aunty,” Avni said.
Week 295 – Shit Job Titles, Shit Jobs And Dick’s Career Was On The Up.
And we are now at Week 295!
I’d like to pass on a ‘conversation’ between me and Diane this week.
Continue reading “Week 295 – Shit Job Titles, Shit Jobs And Dick’s Career Was On The Up.”
Circles by Leila Allison
The pomp with the primered Ranchero dropped three stacks of jackrags in the alley behind Elmo’s Adult Books and rang the bell. This happened every other Saturday afternoon. Sometimes the pomp waited for old Elmo to waddle back, sometimes he’d drive off before the fat fuck unlocked the back door. It was one of the times the pomp drove off first. Tess stood lookout, and I dashed from our side of the alley, snatched a bundle, and got back under cover with seconds to spare. Then it was off to Fort Oxenfree, leaving Elmo a little poorer.
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