It was the third cup of coffee that was to blame.
Tag: literally stories
Scenes From An Ayrshire Chip Shop by Hugh Cron – Adult Content
Here son, Haggis Supper.
“Cheers.”
“I want a kebab.”
Well fuck off to the kebab shop, I’ve told you, we only do suppers.
“Some fucking shop this is.”
Do you want anything else?
“Give me a packet of Gypsy Creams.”
I’ve ran out.
“Fuck this I’m going for a Chinky!”
Well off you fuck!
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The Bannion Interlude by Tom Sheehan
The Bannions, from every direction and for as many reasons, pushed things their way, until all targets or causes fit the one corridor of family wishes. The power and might of their numbers, of their attitudes and abilities, made them a most pernicious band of unity tight as closed fists already past the knock-out punch and on for the kill, no matter the added punishment often unneeded.
Literally Reruns – The Last Time I Saw Grampaw by Matthew Lyons
Leila admits that she found this piece a bit ‘gross’ but that it was also amusing and that made it worth a second look – have a read and see what you think:
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Week 264 – Thanks And No Thanks, A Solution That Isn’t Alcohol And Looking After Number One And Two.
Well here we are at Week 264.
First off I need to thank Diane for her excellent post of last week. She did a grand job. And you may not know this, but she removed three thousand and forty two profanities from her original draft. I thank her on behalf of all you sensitive souls.
Arthur Rimbaud in New York by Cathleen Davies
‘Creep, my love, why don’t you photograph me?’
Creep took many photos. Creep had seen a lot of bodies. They were always scarred and twisted because all bodies, excepting those of new-born babies, are scarred and twisted. His models were dirty. Creep liked bohemian grit, the real, as he called it. He liked the street-rats best. He savoured dirt.
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We Are the Waiting by Chrissie Rohrman
I’m on break when I get the call from Gram. I listen and nod along, pretending my heart isn’t seizing in my chest. “Keep me posted,” I tell her, and she sighs in exasperation.
Bluestone by Martin Toman
Near where I grew up there’s an abandoned quarry. For over a century bluestone was mined there. A deep open pit cut into the earth; steep walls of dark basalt criss-crossed by fine veins of quartz, caverns and sink holes and shelves of hard rock. Forty years ago the quarry stopped being profitable, so the mine owners turned off the pumps, removed the equipment that still worked, and let the ground water rise. Within a few months the quarry had turned into a lake. The rising tide submerged the void, and what was left behind was forgotten and drowned beneath the surface. The mining company planted some trees, put up a few picnic tables and walked away. Because of the height of the quarry walls on one side, the lake stood sheltered from the wind that whipped over the land, the skin of the water still and inviting, a dark blue pearl in an amphitheatre of stone.
Speak No Evil by Hugh Cron – Warning – Adult Content
I was somewhere I had no business being, doing something that I shouldn’t, when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
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Literally Reruns – Lissa’s Moment by Diane M Dickson
Leila has paid me the wonderful compliment of choosing a piece of mine from 2015 for a rerun. This is what she said:
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literally stories 