It won’t be long until our 300th post.
Any of you who have been reading those anniversary ones will know that we normally have a section on memorable lines. This year will be no different.
Forks by Meg Sattler
In my suitcase there were six pairs of knickers. Six was the number I’d need for a week of work, assuming that one night I’d swim or go to the gym and it wouldn’t be outrageous to wash a couple of pairs in the hotel shower.
I’d packed four tops, all of them black. Jackie in Rentals had told me that if you wear all black nobody notices. Once, she’d worn the same black shirt every day for a month and no one raised an eyebrow. Then she wore a yellow shirt twice in a week and four people said don’t you have another top?
There’s One Just Like it Everywhere by Andrew Johnston
“Tell me a story, stranger.”
The guy on the opposite stool was a typical weekday drunk, full of good humor at the pain of others and caustic remarks at nothing at all. That he was polite to me was an oddity; perhaps he sensed that I was different, that I was less tethered to this place and its vices than those of his usual company.
Continue reading “There’s One Just Like it Everywhere by Andrew Johnston”
A Weekender by Hugh Cron – Warning Adult Content.
Tammy had received her call back from NHS24. She went through the formalities and had been put onto the triage nurse.
She felt a tear as the pain got worse. Explaining herself for the third time didn’t help.
“Can’t you send a doctor out to see me. I don’t mind that.”
“Tammy, I’ve been trying to tell you, a doctor can’t help you. You need to be in hospital. You’re blood pressure needs monitored, bloods taken, medication decided on. We need to do something about the infection. You can’t mess about with it. We need to keep an eye on you.”
She thought for a second, but it was a no-brainer.
Continue reading “A Weekender by Hugh Cron – Warning Adult Content.”
Turtle Beach by Paul Blaney
The first inkling Frank had of the change that would overtake him came on the drive down. He was in the back seat, his hip aching from hours on the Interstate, listening to a radio show about snow geese migrating from the Arctic, big flocks miles high but always along the same route: migration corridors they called them. And all of a sudden Frank was up there flying among them, mile after airy mile in unison. Who knows how long it lasted before Kathy turned and spoke to him, words he didn’t catch but that startled him back down, into his body? He shook his head, a horse throwing off a fly; he was a practical man, not given to daydreaming. ‘How long till lunch?’ he asked Kathy who asked Tom who wanted to get another hundred miles at least.
The Night Game by Jennie Boyes
Dread comes with darkness. Bar your doors and windows, and keep out the evil spirits. That’s what people say. I hide under my blankets, but Mama says they won’t keep me safe. I’m not even safe in her arms. That’s why the mare took baby Bert when he was sleeping, and the blacksmith’s wife. You never know when she might come, but Mama says no night is safe.
Literally Reruns – Trigger by Doug Hawley
Leila has been spending so much time down in the dungeons of LS Towers we are worried that she might be sleeping down there. Not to worry, we’ll make sure she has plenty to eat and drink. This week she has nominated a piece by an old friend of the site – this is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Trigger by Doug Hawley”
Week 288 – Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychyrndrobwillantysiliogogogoch, Hippopotomonstrosesquippedaliophobia And Pneumonoultramicroscopicsicicovolcanoconiosis.
(Diane, I’m sure you are bored into distraction by my predictable childishness!!)
Well here we are at Week 288.
On last weeks post, I promised Diane that I would cut the title down to four words.
I, being a total nipple end had a look at the longest word in the English language and I found it to be the chemical name for a Super Protein called Titin at around one hundred and ninety thousand letters. What a piece of nonsense, surely there has to be an alternative, could I suggest we just use Titin. Who the fuck would give up the three hours of their life that would be needed to say it?
The Traveling Circus by Adam Dorsheimer
Looking back on my youth is a strange and depressing rush of hospitals and doctor’s offices. Even my bedroom, with what little time I spent there, was a bare, clinical space, with untextured white walls broken up only by the odd poster and my calendar that I kept long after its year had passed. It was weather-themed; each new month brought new storms and natural disasters, lightning bolts and tornadoes and the like. But on the first of November, I turned the page to find something different. The photograph showed a black lake, pieces of ice strewn around, and up above there were these magical green trails etched into the sky. This gorgeous respite from the storms of the previous months had a powerful effect on me, and by the time the month was over and I had to turn the page to see yet another bolt of lightning I felt a kind of sadness, a longing for it to be November forever, if only just to see those northern lights.
A Fair Amount of Ghosts by Zach Murphy
He plays the trumpet brilliantly on the corner of Grand and Victoria. He doesn’t look like he’s from this era. He’s impeccably dressed, from his crisply fitting suit to his smooth fedora hat. There aren’t many folks that can pull that off. He’s cooler than the freezer aisle on a sweltering summer day. He performs the type of yearning melodies that give you the goosebumps. I’ve never seen anyone put any money into his basket.
literally stories 