Here we are at Week 283.
I’m hoping Diane adds a wee bit into this.
I thought this week that I’d tell you a bit about how I read the submissions.
Using my eyes is a good start. I tried with my ears but that was just shite.
Tag: literally stories
Notes on Calling Time by Stefan Slater
To this dying man whom the wolf already scents
And whom the crow watches.
Baudelaire, Flowers of Evil
Mother’s Day by Frederick K Foote
The weather was the culprit. Thunderstorms stranded Ella’s date in Boston. Flooding in South Carolina kept her son’s girlfriend in Charleston. Ella’s planned evening of formal dress, fine dining, forgettable speeches, and priceless facetime with clients and potential clients was a must-attend event.
Margaret by Matthew Hernandez
It was late afternoon when Margaret’s doctor told us that her condition was deteriorating, that it was time to talk options. Mom sat closest to Margaret’s bedside, with her back to the window. Dad and I hunched forward in taupe, plastic chairs positioned around the foot of the bed. Margaret’s doctor stood in his white lab coat opposite Mom, a clipboard resting on his waist.
The Viaduct by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language
Fergie left early again. He was fed up with the self-acclaimed King Of The Pub. He was a cunt. He was a pumped up insignificant prick who walked about as if he’d shit himself. And the clothes, fuck the boy thought he was a gangster rapper, he was nothing more than a nipple-end with some ‘roid rage.
Continue reading “The Viaduct by Hugh Cron – Warning – Strong Language”
Literally Reruns – All Saints Day by Tobias Haglund
Ah yes – Leila has picked one from the far back corner of the catacombs – We miss Tobias so this is a lovely little reminder of his skill:
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Week 282 – Genre Before Character Or Plot, An Asterix For Adam And Irony From Not Being There
Maybe it’s just me and my limitations but I was wondering how many writers choose a genre before they start to write?
A Sunset of Blue Smoke
The motel was distasteful. The wallpaper peeled off in strips, and water leaked from the ceiling into a near overflowing bucket. Everything had a yellow tint as the sun slowly set.
Out on the back patio, sat two men.
The World From This High by Andrew Jason Jacono
The World From This High
The stars are out chittering over the water and the bridge is cold on the backs of my thighs and for the last three years He The One has been jabbering in my head telling me to jump. I haven’t listened to Him until now, I’ve been strong and I’ve resisted, but there comes a point when you just can’t take it anymore and you give in and so here I am. I’m not happy about it but at least when I jump They’ll stop beaming all those messages into my head and They won’t be able to torture me anymore.
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The Line Man’s Last Drive by Harrison Kim
Scrawny old Bill Jackson worked twenty years as janitor at the mine. He swept the lunchroom, washed and waxed the office floors, operated the snowplough and weed whacked the grass. He liked to see things clean. After the mine closed, he spent most of his time driving up and down the highway and side-roads picking up cans and bottles. “Without me, the garbage would just pile-up” he told anyone who’d listen. He hauled discarded tires, old couches, rotten mattresses into the back of his pickup and drove them to the landfill.
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literally stories 