“Wake up, Benjamin. Wake up, brother man.”
I snap awake from my nap on my patio, look up at Hero Delicious Abbott, the fly in my ointment, the pain in my ass, the thorn in my side, my larcenous first cousin.
Literally Reruns – The Apartement Non by Darryl Graff
Leila Allison has just made my head hurt with this re-run submission. Not because of her choice of story – it’s a cracker – but because of – well – this is what she said:
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Week 231 – A.I., Bad Ideas That, As We Speak, Are Being Considered And Special, Special Effects.
Well here we are at Week 231.
We now have over three hundred thousand hits on the site. We thank everyone who has visited!
New writers are still submitting and we have a brilliant relationship with all the writers who have been with us for a while.
The Dancing Bear by Jack Paton
Miss Margaret McTuckleberry is incredibly tall, incredibly thin, and incredibly strong. Strong enough that, if she wanted, she could pick up a troublesome visitor to her pub by the scruff of his neck and throw him out of the front door from several paces, sending him sailing straight over the porch and onto the gravel just outside “The Dancing Bear”, perhaps the toughest and most notorious pub of all the pubs in perhaps one of the toughest and most notorious counties of the entire United Kingdom, the county of Kent.
Chess with Al by Harrison Kim
I’m watching Al’s fingers lift his chess knights in the day room of a maximum-security ward at the Forensic Psychiatric Hospital for the criminally insane. Al’s an older patient just out of seclusion. Pasty white cheeks, grey stubble, slack mouth, intense brown eyes, with lids that drop unexpectedly, and flutter, and open once again. His fingers hold a castle’s head, then release it. He moves to a pawn, lifts its top.
The Hedge by Penny Faircloth
The town fidgets on a rock outcrop spouting with springs. Only a few decades ago its salient features were a few old-time stringband musicians busking on the pavement, a minor moviehouse, a tractor showroom, the teaching college and the big Baptist church that owned the majority. Some of those old boys and girls are Grammy winners since, but the theater awaits refurbishment and the tractor palace is a coffee shop, the university is open to everyone and the Baptist Church is at most number two on the scene. The university has become the largest landholder in town. It owns almost everything. Another two thousand students and it can advance to a higher football division. Football has cleaned up the town.
A Story Found from Yore by Tom Sheehan
I’m a packrat from the word go, have been since I was a kid, even these days people see me in my daily walks, stop, retrieve some object from street or gutter, and stick it in my pocket.
Beneath Your Skin by Rose Banks
You weren’t yourself, that night.
Usually, when you got back late, you went straight to bed. I’d wait for ten minutes or so, until you’d finished clattering about up there, then creep up the stairs and slip into bed beside you. And then lie awake, staring at the ceiling. Listening to the clock. Tick. Tock. Trying not to wonder where you’d been, and with whom, and what you might’ve got up to.
Literally Reruns – A Special Sort of Day by Diane M Dickson
Leila has done me the honour of choosing one of my scribbles – Thank you.
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Week 230 – So Many Songs, So Many Shit Musicals And Friends Who Are Good People, Gagging For It.
These postings come up quicker every week and here we are at Week 230.
I’ve given up trying to find any interesting facts about numbers as they are mostly pish. If we reach Week 667, that could be entitled ‘The Neighbour Of The Beast’. T-Shirts give me some ideas! I’m looking for a way to work in either, ‘I poke badgers with spoons’ or ‘I’m not mad, ask my invisible camel, Stephen.’
literally stories 