Tag: fathers and sons

All Stories

The Painted Smile by Matthew Whistance

literallystories2014

Will stopped at the doorway of the small unkempt home, his hand grasping the door frame. He stood for a second, hesitating, before walking inside. His father had lived there for a few years before he died, but Will had only been inside the house a handful of times. The damp smell hit him as soon as he crossed the threshold. A solitary recliner sat in the corner of the living room. A TV guide perched on the arm. The place where he remembered his father the most. In front of the TV watching old shows, replying only in grunts when Will spoke to him.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Trip by Dillon Cranston

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I walk in; he’s watching Andrei Rublev walk through a shoddy doorway into the rain and disrobe.

“That’s an oldie,” I say. “Are you finding it any good?”

“Hmm,” My son hems. “It’s a lotta doorways. And he’s not very nuanced.” Done thinking, his face flashes. “Don’t spoil anything if you’ve seen it.” Still hung up on the Citizen Kane snafu…

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction, Short Fiction

 A Little Bit Toasty By Ben Gamblin

literallystories2014

“Reload the story,” Harry said.

“Harry, I just—”

“Please?”

Kenneth sighed and clicked the arrow icon. Their network connection was slow in the mornings and the page reconfigured slowly. First came the bold, enlarged headline, followed by the ads. The smaller print loaded last. Kenneth and Harry skimmed the entire article again but it read the same as before, no updates or revisions of any kind. The suspect is in a blue Volkswagen Passat heading southbound on I-5. Police are urging other motorists to avoid—

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All Stories, General Fiction, Short Fiction

Another One of His Punishments by Paul Beckman

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My son and I meet in the City, dinner and talk. And drink. More and more drink as time goes by. He is quite the drinker, my son is, Old Overholt Rye on the rocks–a drinkers drink. None of those blends that people call Rye. Who am I to talk? When I was his age, twenty-seven, I was out drinking every night and my poison of choice was Tequila.

But it’s not the same. Sometimes I think he needs his golden anesthesia to tolerate our time together. We hug hello and goodbye and he never acts embarrassed to kiss me when he sees me. We never have a bad time, not like the old days, which were rocky as all Hell. That’s okay. Fathers and sons should have a little conflict to make them stronger and bond as more than just parent and child when they get older. By now we should be bonded at the hip, but I worry that he’s getting the Irish disease which is even worse for a Jew than for a Mick. I should know.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The World’s Greatest Painting by James Freeze

literallystories2014

When he was a young boy, he had pictures of cartoon superheroes taped to the walls of his room.

When he was in high school, his walls were covered with pictures of great athletes.

In college, he had posters of movie stars on the walls of his dorm room.

When he got his first job, framed pictures of fancy sports cars were on the walls to motivate him.

As he moved up the corporate ladder, his walls became almost completely covered with personally autographed pictures of celebrities he had met over the years.

On the day he retired from his position as the CEO of a Fortune 500 Company, he packed up his belongings all by himself. He went back to the office one last time to take down the only remaining painting left on the walls.

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