Tag: literally stories

All Stories, General Fiction

Inside the Possum Coat by Patrick G. Roland

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“You scary pretty,” she said, settling onto the lattice bench. She wasn’t her, but she looked at me the same way, as if she knew the part. Ever since Celeste’s funeral, I kept finding her inside strangers. I checked the time out of habit. The second hand trembled near the six. The woman was small inside a brown trench coat made of possum fur, seams hand-stitched with thick black wax taxidermy thread. The woman kept her eye on me, then threw a coin into the fountain beside us.

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All Stories, Editor Picks, General Fiction, Humour, Latest News, Short Fiction

593: Limping Mind Games

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The dumbest question to ask a kid must be “What do you want to be when you grow up?” (Often preceded by “So”). For me the best answers for that are “How the fuck should I know, I’m seven”; “Lizzie Borden” and “Anything that takes me away from you.” But I never used any because even at that young age I knew it was an insincere “points winning” question usually asked by some dweeb whose aim was to screw my mother.

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General Fiction, Short Fiction

Almost Cinderella by Claudine Mussuto

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In my mind, I walked in bare feet on a narrow, yellowed, dry-grass path, not stilettos or Merrell’s, Asic’s or glass slippers. Posturing and protection seemed incompatible with the advancing disclosures.

Left and right there were walls of water like the falls in certain hotel lobbies and shopping malls, but seemingly static, not flowing, like glacial ice, the same layered turquoise and white, and mirrored, warped, the way shame distorts what isn’t love into something recognizable and consequently accepted.  There was enough width for my shoulders plus an inch or two on either side.

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All Stories, Fantasy, General Fiction

Louis Lovelace and the Salvation Economy by Zachary Arama

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September 8th

The idea came to Louis Lovelace after a phone call informing him of the end of the world.

He groped for an excuse to end the call, but his mind was foggy from the smoldering joint in the ashtray. He’d been burning through the severance from his last job for almost five months now, and the truth was he had nothing better to do than listen.

“Louis, it’s Sheldon. We went to college together, remember?” the hopeful voice on the other end of the line said.

“I know this seems strange, but it’s urgent.”

Louis remembered Sheldon as a devoutly religious student who shared his notes whenever Louis was too hungover to take his own. They had hardly been friends, and in the fifteen years since graduation, Louis hadn’t thought about him once.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Butcher by Brandon Sharp

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The Damascus steel, fresh off eight sets of eight strokes at fifteen degrees against the diamond rod, meets no resistance when you turn it on yourself by accident.  Across the web of skin that spans forefinger and thumb, a line of blood appears and lengthens until the bright sting of pain arrives.  You place the boning knife to the side of your butcher block with a gasp that you hope the other cooks don’t hear.  You hold the cut to your mouth and when you remove it from between your lips, you pretend what you see is a gash in someone else’s flesh.

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All Stories, Short Fiction, sunday whatever

Sunday Whatever: Tweedy on Reed an essay from Dale Williams Barrigar.

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“The dead don’t die.” – Jeff Tweedy

Whoever believes that a 58-year-old man can’t rock out any more hasn’t heard (or has heard and hasn’t understood) Jeff Tweedy’s new song “Lou Reed Was My Babysitter” from his 2025 triple album Twilight Override.

The symbolic title of this song alone is worth volumes as it encapsulates an American way of life, for good and ill, in five words.

Anything with Lou in it has to be great, or near-great, to justify the use of his name and this song is.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

Week 592 – R.I.P The AP, Julius Is Second And No Nail Varnish.

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Another week, another Saturday Posting!

Week 592 if I’m not mistaken.

I wondered why I had so many random stories this week. But I realised why, I held the newspapers back and hadn’t read them for a few days, most of this nonsense, I found today. It’s actually a bit of fortune as I had very little to go on. What I did have can wait for another day.

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All Stories, Historical

Manorial Roll by Ann Tlusty

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In Which are recorded Arguments and Misunderstandings among Neighbors and Subjects in the Village of Gebsattel in Middle Franconia during my Tenure as Bailiff, and how the Same were Adjudicated and Settled, as well as Other Matters requiring Punishment in the Stocks.

Beginning in the Year of Our Lord Christ’s Birth,

Anno 1574.

Erhard Wolffhardt, Bailiff in Gebsattel

(Excerpts)

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All Stories, General Fiction

Five Millimetres from the Rim by  Charlotte L. Sworn

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Maggie walked into the kitchen and flinched. Bert was in the kitchen. In her spot.

The clock chimed. Seven minutes before the day started. She teetered forward, shielding her eyes as the jumble of papers and pens on the kitchen table leapt out at her.

She gasped, hot tears stinging her eyes. Bert had desecrated her workspace.

“Good morning, darling,” Bert said, turning his head. “Tea will be ready in a minute.”

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All Stories, General Fiction

(Sleep)Walking London by Akio Lê

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For two months of Summer, I spent my midnights wandering the streets of London with a sleepwalking girl. It wasn’t voluntary, to be honest. I was on my way home one night after my shift as a street cleaner: the pavement was empty of pedestrians, roads empty of cars; the night shift staff stirred the dim lighting of the dining rooms with their exhausted silhouettes; tumbleweeds of Gregg’s wrappers flew past my peripheral; pigeons strolled mindlessly over the large tiles of Trafalgar Square pecking for bits of croissant between the cracks; rats drunk on Aperol spritz bin-hopped in a chorus of squeaks; waltzing flies cast flecks of shadows beneath a streetlamp.

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