All Stories, Fantasy, Short Fiction

The Pelanconi Flower by Jon Krampner

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The Italian Renaissance is one of the crowning glories of western civilization. In Florence, Venice and other cities, men like Leonardo da Vinci shook off the centuries-old slumber following the collapse of the Roman Empire and blazed new trails through the intellectual firmament, sparking a fire in the minds of men and women that continues to this day. But even as they did so, village life continued much as it had for centuries. Our story concerns the remarkable events that took place in one of these villages.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 499 – Barefoot And Pregnant, Smoking Fire And Dave’s On Next Week!

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Week 499 is now here.

Something came up this week that I want to address and that’s commenting.

This isn’t about any of you lovely people, it’s about my thinking when I comment.

This was brought to light when Dale commented on one of Leila’s early stories and I looked back to remind myself of the tale. I found that there was nothing from me.

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Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Short Fiction

Nice Young Lady Vanishes by Simon Nadel

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You haven’t been at work. That’s very unlike you. It’s been a few days. No, weeks. They couldn’t agree on how long but they all agreed it’s extremely uncharacteristic. You’re a model employee, always at your desk by nine, always there until at least five. You’ve been at your job for a few months. No, it’s been a year. A middle-aged HR manager named Dragwood (I didn’t ascertain whether it was his first or last name) looked through a file. He shook his head in disbelief. Wow, five years. She seemed like such a nice young lady, the man they called Dragwood said, like you I’m sure. I’m not at all nice, I didn’t say out loud.

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All Stories, General Fiction

In the Blink of an Eye by David Henson

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“Mr. Jacobs?” someone says. Roger tries to answer but can’t talk, can’t move a finger. His eyes seem glued shut. “You try,” the voice says. 

“Honey, do you hear me?” Roger recognizes the voice of his wife, Carolyn.

“Roger, you’re in the hospital. You had an accident.” Roger has no idea what she’s talking about. “This man is Dr. Johnson.”

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

What We Discard by Gil Hoy

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On Wednesdays, I take my trash down to the curb. You have to wait until 3 pm to bring it down. It gets picked up on Thursday mornings at around 8 am. Our setup is a lot like other New England towns. There’s a blue bin for recyclables, a black bin for regular trash and a brown bin for yard waste.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Last Good Day by, Thomas Allen Hayden

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The clouds moved quickly over the tops of the cypress trees. A storm came over the horizon and the sky darkened. They drug up the jug lines, checked the last of the crab pots, and made for the river. John jumped in the dark water, pulling the lilies from the rudder. He turned the engine on and off as the bay boat bobbed through the duckweed. Following the light, they came out of the back of the bayou, and the branches looped over the path and hung low for a while, then opened up to the Mississippi. The carp were leaping out of the water. The boat sat low and John drug his hand through the wake. The spray kicked up into Ellie’s face.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Lonely Ghosts.by Rebecca Disley 

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Syd walked along the narrow path of flattened grass between the gravestones just like he always did. On his walk home from work, on his way to the shops, on lonely days couped up at home watching the rain pour down his window panes he came to the graveyard. He walked through the melancholy bluebells that lined its edges, past balloons tied to pristine headstones and sad teddies left in the middle of graves to keep the dead company until he got to Liam. To the black marble with his date of birth and death, the little line etched across the bottom of it that was meant to sum up his whole life. Who he was. What he was. But it couldn’t, it was too small. Too dull. It blended in with all the other messages on all the other graves but nothing about Liam had ever blended in.

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All Stories, Sunday whoever

Sunday Whoever – James Hanna

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James has been a valued friend of LS for a long time. His first story The Sicilian published in 2016. He is really great to have around and the responses to our, sometimes silly, questions reflect what a genuinely nice person he is. As an added bonus we have a tiny glimpse into the interesting life he has had. Here we give you Mr James Hanna:

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Week 498: Not So Instant Karma; Two Special Announcements and the Week That Is

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The Wheel Grinds Patiently

In 1968, at the age of nine, I allowed a classmate we will call “Louise Haas” (not her real name, but close) to get a lecture for something I did. The offense was cussing. It was recess and I had told someone to “eat shit” or something of that third-gradely nature, unaware that the playground monitor was in earshot.

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