She smiled as she heard his wail. He’d always been delicate and wasn’t as mature as the other kids.
…But she knew that would change soon.
He ran into the room with his fist clenched out in front of him.
“Now then Jimmy, don’t cry. It’s only a bit of blood.
…And it’s worth it.”
Continue reading “Legs Eleven by Hugh Cron”
It was a very steep slope. Even the hunters felt unsure of their steps. The thick creepers and grasses made every tread a threat since there was no way of knowing what the escapees were disturbing on the untrodden path. The deerstalkers amongst them could have been expected to feel less unsettled, but it felt strange for them to be carrying babies or half-carrying the elderly. Noi insisted on clinging to Sai. In the Asia of so long ago, much before any contact with Westerners or Christianity, ‘till death do us part’ was her own inborn resolve. Sai had no choice.
Continue reading “In the Right Spirit? by Nidhi Srivastava Asthana”
Ned the Necromancer and his otherworldly friends live in splendid isolation in the derelict Mortlake House. Unfortunately, they need a new tenant to pay the bills.
Continue reading “Dead Together by Oliver Lavery”
At the corner of Wisteria and Hope lives a snotty little shit named Miss Hola Americana Chic. She’s a he. She wears a velvet garter. Hola wears penny loafers with a silver dollar. She has three titties and speaks Esperanto, but she’s Greek. She’s a delegate to the UN. She’s afraid to fly. She travels by boat. She spends her weekends boar hunting. When she goes hunting, she takes an entourage of three Irish setters and a black body guard. He’s a she. He speaks Swahili and is an alcoholic.
Continue reading “Fulfillment by David Lohrey – Warning – Adult content.”
I hopped into the Wayback machine and located this piece by one of Literally Stories founding Editors, Adam West. It is a keen look at the Cult of Personality and the usage of women somehow justified by a higher power of the user’s invention.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Ray’s Vision by Adam West”
Here we go again, another week has been and gone. I’ll be delighted to see this posting on the site as that means that I’ll be off for a week after finishing this morning.
These days off were one of those holidays that were more of a use-up than something that was planned and what is so good about them was I thought I wasn’t off for another week.
Continue reading “Week 363 – Personnel Empathy, Twenty Five For Dave Henson And Fifty For Mr Jackson.”
Five minutes, twenty-nine seconds for milk, bread and a few other items? Ridiculous. The clerk transfers the time from my corporate God Assurance card to the store’s account. “Here you are, Mr. Spencer.” He gives me a rattler.
I pass the diamondback between my hands a few times then raise it to eye level to complete the required time. As I give the snake back to the clerk, I hear a woman in the next booth gasp.
Continue reading “A Currency of Serpents by David Henson”
Other people’s dragons? Maybe you find your rooftop scorched and have to change your weekend plans. But when you say “MY dragon”, that’s a different story. My world was all fucked and I could no longer ignore it. Two choices: 1- Keep stumbling along, half-assing a mediocre existence, or 2 – Take control.
Continue reading “I Will Gift My Dragon by LC Gutierrez”
Too sunny on the belt buckles, blinding my brown eyes. Hooking them down to the sidewalk, I take control of my hazy head, walking quick with the crowds, watching for loose wallets. I’m skinny, so I slip between pants. It’s a familiar circuit on rainy days too, under the umbrellas and inside the handbags. Hey! There’s the known mullet cut! Yes, over by the plate glass doors. That’s Ed up there, jostling just up the Hastings sidewalk, debating with Miss Jehovah Witness, holding her pamphlets.
Continue reading “Deep Inside Woodwards by Harrison Kim”
As Alex was walking through the university gates to the departmental staff meeting, he was thinking about Black Holes, the first photograph of which had been displayed as a news item on his ipad that morning. One of the strange-but-true properties of Black Holes was that they slowed the progress of time. There was an unlikely parallel with departmental staff meetings, with their endless discussions of staff car parking provision. Looking on the bright side, it was the last staff meeting of the Easter Term, and at the end of the term he was retiring.
Continue reading “The Foot of Bennachie by Michael Bloor”
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