Two men walked towards the elevator. The older man took out two key cards and gave one to his son.
“I promised you that I would take you into the tower when you reached twenty-five.”
“I was fed up asking.”
“Dennis, you have worked hard over the last eight years. I am proud of how quick you have picked up on the businesses I run, sorry, we run. You are my son and my partner and I had to make sure that you would be able to handle what you are about to see.”
His father stepped back and Dennis swiped his card.
I live up off Sorrel Creek road in Gusty Hills. Its eighty acres of good pasture land on rolling hills with majestic Blue Oaks and plebeian scrub brush residing on gentle swells like green clad bosoms in the spring and tanned brown breasts in the fall.
I live in the house that my grandfather, father and I were born in. A solid Oak and Sugar Pine structure with redwood shingles and two stone fireplaces.
It is dark here, the floor is wet and the smell is dreadful. The window is barred and I can’t reach it to see out. There is nothing in this stone room, nothing except me and Alia.
The bars of the cage sparkled. Each morning the cleaning detail scrubbed them from outside the building using long handled brushes. A clean cage kept life threatening germs away from the inmates, the same germs that caused the near extinction of the human race.
Three new authors graced Literally Stories with their literary talent this week: Patty Somlo, dm gillis and Alex Rezdan.
Patty kicked things off on Monday with Dead, a wryly observed tale from beyond the grave. Richard Ardus commented: “I enjoyed reading this thought provoking piece. The Magic Realism twist makes it one to remember.”
On Tuesday Tobias Haglund’s tragic love story Before Hitting the Ground had June Griffin remarking: “It may be a sad story, Tobias, but it’s also beautiful, moving and memorable.”
Off the wall – anarchic – satirical or just plain funny – take your pick from any of those or read what Vic Smith had to say about Wireless by another LS newcomer, dm gillis: “Funny, witty, disturbing; this is great stuff. I love it.”
What I am about to tell you should come as no surprise; yet again Hugh Cron is worthy of his ‘dirty realism’ tag with this story of an apparently reformed alcoholic, in Revelation. Vic Smith agrees no doubt when he says: “Quality, not quantity. Not a bad idea. Who wants to live forever?”
Friday saw the third and final newcomer of the week to Literally Stories, Alex Rezdan. Alex might have won the prize for longest story title of the week with A New Perspective or That Time I was Allergic to Wussing Out but he will have to wait to this time next week to see if he has won the much-coveted accolade of Story of the Week. Diane Dickson seems keen on Alex chances as she says: “Very nicely constructed. An entertaining story with a perfect mix of humour and horror.”
A Dave who did poll well this week is Dave Louden. Not a soap box in sight in this week’s Story of the Week, Ultra-Belfast.
Super.
If you missed that contest never fear here’s another one.
There’s nothing like almost killing yourself to put things into perspective. The slow, dull lull of life seeping out of your body one drop at a time, and you, rushing to say all you need to say before it’s all over. And by you, I mean me, of course.
Jardine walked towards town. Town was what all the residents called the shit heap that was a few shops and two halls. The shops consisted of a butchers, which supplied good enough meat, a Spar, which was the usual Spar shite, a bookies and the mandatory charity shop.
Jardine was heading to one of the halls. The other was for Masons only.
I had this to consider as I fell: that to be pushed from the eleventh floor of a slum hotel, in the end, isn’t so different from being pushed from the eleventh floor of the Ritz-Carlton. The outcomes would differ very little.
”Did you know Leonardo da Vinci was a farmer’s son?”
“No.”
“He was. Born out of wedlock by a mother who was a farmer. You can imagine how it must have looked. Fifteen century Italy, born and raised by a single mother, yet he still managed to accomplish those many great things. It really is a great argument that every social class should be given a chance, right?”
“Right.”
“The next Leonardo da Vinci might be raised right now by a single mother.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Look. If you don’t want-”
“I want to. Let’s just talk for a while first.” Kevin sat down on the bed. “Would you? Would you please say something. Just… I wanna hear you talk. It soothes me.”
Alejandro knew he was dead but that didn’t stop him from wanting to come to America. His body lay on the dry dirt exactly where he’d fallen, the muscles rapidly losing their ability to stretch out and contract. His mouth was fixed, oddly enough, in a permanent grin.
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