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.”
Content that some readers may find upsetting – refer to the tags on the bottom of the page
Small towns are quiet places at night, especially the town of Hush. That’s what made it the ideal place for eight-year-old Sammy Keen to live in. The skinny boy with piercing dark eyes, a towering forehead, and large, floppy ears looked forward to bedtime every night, unlike his friends at school, who cherished the day and its fun activities under the bright sun. Changing into his pajamas, he’d jump into bed and turn off the lights. A smile would form on his face as he gazed at the open window and began to listen to the sounds outside, for Sammy was a gifted child with a wholly unique talent and the intelligence to utilize it.
Continue reading “Night Sounds by Tom Koperwas”
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”
Weekends are for my brother. I try to see him on Saturdays, but sometimes it’s Sunday. He doesn’t know one day from the next, so I don’t guess it matters. They limit his time with the other patients. I wish they wouldn’t. Even if he doesn’t talk, he might like listening.
Continue reading “It Happened on Wednesday by Foster Trecost”
“Hey there pretty lady, lookin’ good!”
“Hi Chris, didn’t expect to see you here. Alone and on a school night!!”
“What the fuck, I needed a drink! And I really don’t give a shit about the job, so, so what if I go in half-mangled…What about you? Waiting for someone?”
Continue reading “Market Place by Hugh Cron – Adult Content”
There are many Declans in this story, but let’s begin with ours.
Declan sits on the edge of his bed, absently sweeping his hands under the crumpled sheets in search of the remote. When that fails, he reaches beneath the bed without bothering to look, hoping his fingers brush against salvation.
Continue reading “Channel 7 by Gareth Vieira”
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”
(Editors’ Note: It’s a hell of an accomplishment to land one story for publication, but it takes special talent and courage to do this many–and we are only a small part of Fred’s overall canon. Congratulations Fred! You earned every word and sentence of this achievement–Leila, Diane, Hugh, Nik at LS)
Back in the day, when I was a snot-nosed little rascal growing up in the country, the old folks used to say stuff like, “Homer Hall, how you let all these kids keep up so much ruckus? Where’s your mind, boy?”
Continue reading “The Keys to the Highway by Frederick K Foote: Number 100!!!”
St. Peter knew the wide-hipped, big-breasted, large-lipped, brown-skinned woman was trouble the moment she arrived. She popped up outside the Gates of Heaven like a thunderclap. The hundreds in line turned to see what the commotion was all about.
Continue reading “Etta May Shoemaker by Frederick K Foote: 99–One More to Go!”
literally stories 