It wasn’t a lifetime but 37 years was a good stretch of time.
After a particularly vivid dream where the two spoke again finally, and connected intimately in the lobby of the apartment building he grew up in, Craig Bugowski woke up happy, and fished for his iPhone.
Karrie M. was on his list of Facebook friends.
She had accepted his FB invite two years prior.
Her birthday was a month ago. She was a Gemini.
Anyone who has been reading our stories for any amount of time must be aware of Mr Sheehan who has over one hundred published pieces with us. His cupboard is huge. Leila had a rootle around – This is what she said:
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Unforgotten by Tom Sheehan”
The Literally Stories UK Anthology celebrates its fifth birthday this year and I think it’s high time that the persons who put such hard work into bringing it about come forward and take a bow. It is still available as an e-book (I am lucky enough to have bought a print copy), and since it was developed to aid the Book Bus and literacy, all persons who purchase a copy stand a much better chance at Heaven than those who have not.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – The Anthology – Week 294”
The manicurist left lye out among the pedicure chairs, struggling to maintain the salon to her standards, but the We’re Open sign was only half true and gone were the days her window said No Walk-Ins. After a customer burned skin off both feet, she kept things hygienic and let the overall harmony of the salon decay. One afternoon, the bamboo chimes stirred, announcing the arrival of three women. Breasts so large, the first woman was on the verge of tipping forward. A second woman lumbered under an oily mane. A third burbled, lips swollen and barely moving like two dowels in the teak plate of her face.
Billy circles to the right, away from Blaine’s money shot.
The big right-hand snaps out like a snake and Billy slips it and it goes over his shoulder.
Billy digs a hook into Blaine’s side, trying to tag the floating rib and bust it.
Blaine winces and drops his hands, only slightly, to cover up.
Billy flicks out a jab. Once, twice, aiming for the nose.
Blaine’s head jerks back and sweat droplets spray off his head.
Billy’s dad always said the jab is as important to a boxer as a paintbrush is to an artist.
Do you like lobster? Hunter asked, and I said yes, because if I said anything else, I wouldn’t be perfect anymore.
The date is at seven, at the seafood place around the corner from my apartment. I ate there once with David, but he paid attention enough to realize that I didn’t like it. But Hunter doesn’t know, and my mouth is shut.
Continue reading “Sandalwood and Lobster by Andrew Campbell”
As the anticonvulsant, antidepressant, and anti-inflammatory cocktail hammered through my bloodstream, I felt my facial muscles gradually unstiffen from their disbelieving grimace. Sleep, the voices around me said, at least for the first week or so. It’s easier.
His name was Maxwell Max Dugan and this is his story, but only covers those disturbing and warful years between 1941 to 1947, just seven years chockfull of battles, combat, explosions, heroic people, deadly people on a world-wide rampage, and means of salvage, at least of the souls, if nothing else.
I love this piece that Leila has chosen by Nik. He writes these short emotional pieces so very well – especially when you consider that he also does the wonderful Stormcrow stories. – Time for another of those Mr Nik?
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Reinventing Amy by Nik Eveleigh.”
Here we are at Week 293.
I was wondering what constitutes a large amount of writers? What numbers are we talking about?
That made me curious to see if there is a collective noun. I couldn’t find any. I think I’ll use ‘A Scepticism Of Writers’
Continue reading “Week 293 – A What Of Writers, Freeing Motivations And Fucking In Scotland”
literally stories 