When I inherited my great-uncle’s fortune, I quit my job at the drycleaners, but I kept driving my thirdhand Nissan. I didn’t stop shopping for housewares at Twice But Nice, and I even renewed the lease on my two-bedroom walk-up on Standard Street.
Continue reading “Omaha Hold ‘Em by Shoshauna Shy”
On July 3rd, 1903, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show gave a performance in Abergavenny, a market town in the Black Mountains of South Wales. The town sits surrounded by seven hills, but the most prominent is The Sugar Loaf (it’s Welsh name is Pen-y-fâl), which looms over the town. At the close of his show, Buffalo Bill annouced to the crowd his intention to climb The Sugar Loaf the next morning. It was said that, the next day, Bill was accompanied up the mountain by half the adults and all the children of the town.
Continue reading “Buffalo Bill’s Day Out by Michael Bloor”
Mr. Balding, our 5th grade Social Studies teacher, was so old that the Germans shot the hair from his head on two separate occasions and in two separate wars. Mr. Balding was so old that he hated and despised discussing his age. He was so old that the hairs in his ears had fossilized and had grown longer than the hair on his head. He was so old that his cataracts had cataracts. He was so old that he couldn’t remember being our age. And, yet, in a weak attempt to connect to what he imagined to be our violent sensibilities, once a month, or so, some military and patriotic force compelled him to tell gory and graphic war stories from behind the full view of the obit page of Peoples Gazette—our local and irregularly published bi-weekly.
Continue reading “Nobody Ever Retires, Even After They’re Dead [1] by J Bradley Minnick”
(A Novel Excerpt)
Author’s Note
Gertie McDowell, a naïve young girl with a talent for misadventure, has joined a women’s wrestling troupe called Christian Ladies of Wrestling. The troupe was put together by Wanda Sue, a bank robber with a streak of religion whom Gertie met while serving prison time because she “trusted the wrong sort of fella.” The mission of the troupe is to bring folks closer to Jesus by having women posing as Christians wallop the daylights out of women posing as transgressors. Gertie’s wrestling persona is Haystacks Holly, a lustful temptress who leads married men astray. Her tag team partner, an Apache girl named Cocheta, is billed as Blasphemous Berta, an outspoken atheist who deifies witchcraft. Both girls incense Christian audiences by flaunting their unsavory lifestyles.
Continue reading “Samoa Moa by James Hanna”
1917.
In her most primitive form, Nora was nothing but an artist. Her papers were covered in sketches, an arch of flowers in one corner, life-like copies of butterflies sketched into another. Every pen in the house was out of ink, every pencil leveled into nothing but a stubby eraser.
Continue reading “The Radium Girls by Chloe Hehir.”
This week we take a deeper look into the mind of site friend and excellent contributor Steven French. To date, no one has gone Turtle on us; everyone has replied brilliantly, as has Steven who is a relative newcomer to LS, but a person whose impact has already been widely appreciated.
Continue reading “Interview Steven”
(As for the image, Elliot is on vacation this week)
Maybe I’m Amazed
I live by the water–by name, the Puget Sound, a cold and unforgiving northern sea connected to the Pacific Ocean; abundant with life, ghosts and sources of amazement. When I was small I’d amaze myself with the idea that I could get in a row boat anywhere on the Sound and proceed to China without having to touch land once. I dismissed a nagging voice that informed me that I’d likely drown long before reaching the Strait of Juan de Fuca; nagging voices are for grown ups. And although I’ve dealt with the Sound in one way or another nearly everyday of my life, I do not know how to swim beyond the sort of “floating stroke” peculiar to corpses. Cold northern seas will kill an unprotected Olympic swimmer just as fast as any non-aquatic type of person; thus the skill is as futile as wearing an asbestos suit for a walk on the sun. But the sea and surroundings are excellent places to spice up reality through what I like to call “self amazement.”
Continue reading “Week 486: Beware of the Amazing Bogey-Duck”
Her cousin Dean’s voice was so hushed that Katie could barely hear him over the buzz of insects and the scrunch their sneakered feet made on the haphazard gravel track. He lengthened his stride as he spoke, and Katie had to stretch her legs as far as they would go to keep up. She shot a glance at his thin face and wondered why he looked anxious under the splotched mask of freckles that stood out against his fair skin, his mouth moving as if he was biting the insides of his cheeks. The faint shadows that lurked under his pale blue eyes like the hint of an impending thunderstorm seemed even darker than usual.
Continue reading “The Follower by Odile Mori”
In her dream she was speaking a language she did not know and had never heard before and when she woke to the half-light and strangeness of her room some words of it were still on her tongue. There was a dry and bitter taste in her mouth and her fists were clenched. Her body ached as if she were a traveller returned from some far off border of the world.
Continue reading “Borderland by David Calcutt”
“The journey of life is like a man riding a bicycle. We know he got on the bicycle and started to move. We know that at some point he will stop and get off. We know that if he stops moving and does not get off, he will fall off.” — William Golding
Queens, New York 1953
“Hop on,” the familiar voice coaxed with a slick, avuncular oiliness. “I’ll take you home.” Olga recognized the soft, confident tones with just a hint of adolescent huskiness. Big Dan was her brother’s older friend who would come around every now and then to work on their bicycles in the backyard. “Your brother said it’s okay.”
Olga glanced up from the schoolyard garden plot where she had been gathering wildflowers, pressed a golden buttercup under her chin, and smiled timidly at the hulking teenaged figure towering over her, blocking the afternoon sunlight. She assembled the feathery bouquet of cosmos and ranunculus into a tidy bundle and obediently sprang up on Big Dan’s sturdy bicycle with her spindly five-year-old’s legs, shyly settling herself on the crossbar.
Continue reading ” In Tandem by E. C. Traganas”
literally stories 