All Stories, Romance

Before Hitting The Ground by Tobias Haglund

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”Did you know Leonardo da Vinci was a farmer’s son?”

“No.”

“He was. Born out of wedlock by a mother who was a farmer.  You can imagine how it must have looked. Fifteen century Italy, born and raised by a single mother, yet he still managed to accomplish those many great things. It really is a great argument that every social class should be given a chance, right?”

“Right.”

“The next Leonardo da Vinci might be raised right now by a single mother.”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yes.”

“Look. If you don’t want-”

“I want to. Let’s just talk for a while first.” Kevin sat down on the bed. “Would you? Would you please say something. Just… I wanna hear you talk. It soothes me.”

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In conversation with...

Tobias Haglund in conversation with Adam West

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”Sit down, my good friend, sit down.” Adam gave Tobias a stout. “There you go. Something imperial to take your mind off of things.”

“Thank you, kind sir. My mind has been racing, that’s for sure.” Tobias took a big enough sip for it to be called a chug, but he did it in such a gentlemanlike way it remained a sip. “Mind if I share with you what burdens me?”

“I’m all… wait -” Adam chugged a stout and slumped down. “Ears.”

“I’m a Swede, as you know, and therefore when I write English, prone to make mistakes. Some are because it’s a second language and some are genuine mistakes. Let’s start with the latter. Take for instance the word mistake. In Swedish a miss is always spelled with two S. Even when writing mistakes-”

“I’m sensing a pun here…”

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All Stories, Fantasy

Sadistic Justice by Tobias Haglund

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In a damp cellar the mould mixed with the scent of urine coming from his rags. A drop of sweat still dangled at the tip of his black hair from an excruciatingly painful hour as the hatchway closed. He was strong, the strongest, but he had never endured that level of pain. Moss and mice were signs of hope, or at least hope of life in the dark.

Conspirator. Traitor. Your house shall burn and your name will be dragged in the mud.

And they dragged his face in mud. Along the wooden planks and the stone. From one side of the long wall to the next. Two hard punches to the back of his head threw him into the stone. He lost teeth. A man stamped him in the lumbar region, which was the reason he couldn’t stand up.

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All Stories, Horror

The Violin He Played Downstairs by Ashlie Allen

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He won’t do anything else. All he ever does is sit downstairs and stroke his violin. No one recognizes the notes he plays. Most of the time he makes no effort to play pretty sounds. Maybe pretty noises break his heart because he thinks he’s ugly inside and out.

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Background
Latest News

Literally Stories – Week 21

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We hope that you have all enjoyed this week’s mixed bag from Literally Stories as much as we have enjoyed presenting them to you.

There is always a buzz of excitement when we receive a new submission, this is tempered by nervousness and crossed fingers.  We absolutely love accepting your short fiction pieces, we are thrilled to send an acceptance email and the following notification of publication date.  All the stories, including our own are read by all the editors and to be approved they have to receive at least three strong YES votes.  Sometimes a story will be borderline and then there is great discussion amongst the editors and on occasion one of us will champion a piece successfully and bring about a change of mind and a piece will gain approval.  I mention this because we do want contributing authors to know that we always take your work very seriously and we do know how disappointing it is if we have to send that horrible “other” email.

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All Stories, Humour

Mr. Peta by Tobias Haglund

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“Mr. Peta. A broad’s waitin’ for ya.”

“The red dress with blonde hair? Yea? Did you offer her somethin’ to drink? I got a feeling she’s gonna need it.”

I acted surprised when I saw her. The news coverage pretty much summed up what the meeting would be about. Socialite inherited fortune after bloody breakfast accident.

“Hello Mr. Peta.”

“It’s Mr. Peter.”

“The secretary-”

“She can’t speak. What can I do you for?”

I sat down and shoved old newspapers with half-finished crossword puzzles to the side. I didn’t want her to know I couldn’t finish what I had started. I offered her a glass of bourbon smokier than a factory working ballet dancer.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Time to Change by Ceinwen Cariad Haydon

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Jenny looked down at Rob’s sleeping face, his open mouth dribbling peaceably onto the pillow that supported his head. She was dressed, breakfasted and ready to go. She was ambivalent in the mornings. Her husband could not win, although he did not know it. She felt resentment if Rob didn’t get up to mark her departure to the office. She needed him to fuss over her a little, and pay attention to her comfort: a reward for her stalwart commitment to the daily grind of work? On the other hand she valued quiet and solitary mornings when he overslept, listening out for signs that he was stirring and willing him not to. She planted a light kiss on his forehead and tip-toed out of the bedroom.

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Latest News

Literally Stories – Week 20

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Week 20 ! that’s a milestone isn’t it. There’s another one also, no prizes but can any of our regular readers guess what it is?  Answers on a post card please (not really but there’s always the Your Thoughts page for those little titbits you want to share with us, we love to hear from you! But if you read on to the end I’ll reveal our other great milestone.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Fat Tuesday by Adam West

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For Jonas Ericsson, a junior prosecutor with the Swedish Prosecution Authority, the story began in Stockholm on Valentines Day, 2012, and ended a week later in New Orleans, USA, on the twenty-first day of February.

Fat Tuesday.

At short notice Ericsson asked his secretary to cancel a number of upcoming appointments. He then booked two weeks leave.

Five days later he landed in the United States.

The day before Mardi Gras.

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, General Fiction

Margaret’s Mementos by June Griffin

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Margaret Dawson had sold linens at Macy’s for fifteen years, hating every day of it, every customer she served, and every other sales clerk, when she met her husband, Donald, a kind-hearted Manhattan policeman who patrolled West Harlem.

Marriage did not change her discontent and the birth of a premature and severely disabled baby named Bertie brought her to a simmering rage.

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