Hello there folks.
Another week bites the dust and we’ve reached posting number 256.
Continue reading “Week 256 – Invading Illuminati, Imbalance And Pastimes For Pricks.”
Hardwood by Jeremy Salo
The kids in town nearly ignored marijuana altogether; they moved straight to heroin. They smoke it off of aluminum foil and to them it’s like taking communion. Not many shoot it, perhaps because they’re afraid of explaining away the marks during gym class.
Samphire Lighthouse by Tracy Gaughan
He put the button on her tummy. ‘Breathe now Hetty’ he said, ‘and watch the button … that’s what it’s like for a boat, going up and down on the sea.’
Two Live Here by Samantha Swain
Alexia hiked ahead of Cian. Frozen pine needles crunched under her boots and frosted ferns brushed past her jeans. The denim shimmered silver for a moment then grew dark as the ice melted into the fabric.
Send Galabicus by Tom Sheehan
Spiel: I’ve always admired the under-achievers who were small men, supposedly sour at life’s humble start with a small stature, but who bust their way out of the harsh beginning.
Sewer by Noah Lessard
I work in a sewer.
Literally Reruns – The Royalists by Tobias Haglund.
It’s a while since founding editor Tobbe has been able to take a part in the running the site but it’s great to see his work still has fans. This is what Leila had to say about The Royalists:-
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Royalists by Tobias Haglund.”
Week 255 – Religious Aardvarks, Artichokes And Toasting Toasts
Well hello there Chinas!! (A nod to Rikki Fulton. He always deserves a mention at this time of year.)
Here we are at the first Saturday posting of 2020 with Week 255.
It’s great to be back.
All the best to all of you for the coming year.
Both me and Diane behaved ourselves over the festivities but unfortunately we had to arrange some bail for Nik.
He had an unfortunate incident with a Twin-Tub and an Aardvark.
Continue reading “Week 255 – Religious Aardvarks, Artichokes And Toasting Toasts”
Cracked and Broken by Andrew Campbell
They tell me I’m not OK, and I listen. They say, “Take it easy for a while,” so I do. But even so, things don’t change. When I do nothing, I end up here, and if I do too much, I end up here. Is there a line? Maybe I’ll find it, but not while I’m laying in this bed, scribbling on this paper, and staring at the cold concrete wall beside me. They say, “You need to stay in a stress-free environment while you recover.” This place is stressful. But I’m here anyway.
1984 by DC Diamondopolous
James, as the doctors and staff at St. Mark’s Regional Hospital in San Diego insisted on calling him, applied pancake make-up over the band-aid camouflaging the skin lesion on his chin. He was glad to be home, surrounded by his Nippon figurines, the ornate lampshades with exotic scarves draped over the top, and his trunk of overflowing satin and silk costumes, boas, several strands of pearls, and oodles of costume jewelry. His move to San Diego had been a windfall—the most money he’d ever made doing drag. He lived to entertain. On stage, he was Jasmine and loved. Standing-room only. Now he was sick. How long would he be able to afford his apartment in Hillcrest?
literally stories 