”Another one, Mickey.” Mickey raised his eyebrows. “Yea I’m sure. Throw on another one. It needs to support the weight and account for winds, so throw on another one.”
“I’ll never get the speed high enough to take flight.”
“Sure you will. You’ve been practicing?”
“Yes. I’m fast. How are your motors coming along?”
“Don’t worry about them. You just keep focusing on staying on track at that velocity.”
Althea walked out from the cabin, kissed James on the cheek and placed a tray on the table. “How are you boys doing?”
A chilling psychological thriller. Philosophical science fiction. Addiction. History. Crime. Heroic deeds. But enough of the UK’s General Election campaign.
I’m joking of course. That was dull. The same old same old. Not at all like Literally Stories. No, the only thing you can predict for sure about Literally Stories, is another week; another five quality tales.
The same again next week then?
Yes.
How predictable.
And the week after?
I guess so.
And the week after that?
Hmm. Not if a bunch of sweet wrappers and an empty fag packet are the only things rattling around in our inbox.
This week’s review belongs to the reviewers.
Here they are:
June Griffin said about The Village by Tobias Haglund: The powerful laws of nature are at work in this brilliantly horrific tale told in three colors – the black heart of an inhumane father, the white snow of a freezing Swedish winter, and the drops of red blood from a slaughtered moose…
Vic Smith said about Unit 4207’s Failed Assignment by Piyali Mukherjee: Clever stuff, Piyali. I particularly liked the way that the unit had some of the designed-in flaws that humans have. I enjoyed reading this.
James McEwan said about Hugh Cron’sReasons Don’t Matter: I thought we were in for a police procedural crime story, in a way it was. But I discovered as I read on, it was a reflection on the justice system, where the criminal couldn’t care less, yes I weep for the world we live in.
Vic Smith said about Ossie Durrans’Zepps! (no longer available on LS): This is an interesting read, Ossie. I don’t know if it’s based on truth, but it certainly felt like it. It’s good that you showed the participants in war as individuals and not faceless armies.
Hugh Cron said about Tobias Haglund’sThe Gulls Cry: You have a superb talent for finding beauty in tragedy. Your descriptions and tone in the story are perfect. You are a very accomplished, skilled and adaptable writer. I only hope that your future involves your talent with much deserved success!!
This week’s race to be top of the polls (Story of the Week) was well contested. Close. Witness cut and thrust. Thrust and cut. More key battlegrounds than you can shake a *swingometer at. What I ought to say about the contest is Nik Eveleigh is not a Dirty Rascal, he’s this week’s King of the Castle with his odd little tale titled The Old Man in the Park.
There’s tidy for you!
* It often pays to ‘ignore’ a spell-checker, but pundits, politicians and err, parrots, beware! During the next few weeks of electioneering it is less than likely you’ll hear/read the term ‘urinometer’. On the other hand…
And speaking of all things electoral… have your say about which of this week’s stories should come out a winner:-
”You see this meadow, boy? It was a swamp before we moved here. One of the conditions for buying the mansion and the adjoining land was that I paid to have it fixed and also the beach. You enjoy the beach, right boy? The restoration of the pier as well. How do the villagers repay us? They let their dogs shit on the meadow. They shit on the meadow, boy. They want me to pick it up… Look out the window! There’s Andersson with his ugly daughter.” Erik stopped and rolled down the car window. “HEY! Andersson! Pick up after your shitty daughter’s shitty dog! Or I will empty my septic tank all over your ugly house. I’d do you that favour. The shit glaze would probably raise the property value.”
When my father came home from work and said we were going to a concert I was thrilled. It was to take place upstate along the Hudson River in a town called Peekskill. To get out of our stuffy Brooklyn apartment at the end of summer was heaven-sent. I didn’t know dark times were swirling around us.
“You’re going to love the concert David. Paul Robeson is going to sing,” said my father.
“Are you sure Frank? You saw what happened the other night,” said my mother.
“It will be fine. More of us will be there and we can’t let them get away with this can we? After all this is America,” he said.
Another week of words where verbs very welcome were. Verbosity? No. Not us. Never. We would never use a very unnecessary word. Why do I begin the news piece this way? An important lesson, of course. An edited piece stands a stronger chance. Remove unwanted verbosity. Look up the word verbosity, then add back those words you removed and cut the fat. Now, to some lighter news.
I stood on the bottom floor waiting for the elevator. There are two elevators and when one reaches the bottom floor, the other makes its way to the middle so that, when it’s called from no matter where, it’s as close to all floors as it can be without keeping the caller waiting. I’ve often thought of the vanity of that, especially here in a building where the people move out as quickly as they move in. I’ve been here for two years and it feels like I’ve been waiting just as long for this damned elevator. I don’t mind because I have nothing to get up there for, up there on the 7th, where like all the other floors, the doors are white, the people don’t talk and the night is longer than the day. It’s midnight and it’s a Tuesday in November so I travel to the 7th alone. I stare at the bulletin board for the building and it’s empty. It has notices and pictures but it’s empty. I haven’t slept properly from nearly three weeks, a successful push of late being four and a quarter hours last Monday, the effects of a bad day, a dirty gin and an over the counter sleeping pill that just made my eyes feel heavy and like they couldn’t open when I finally woke up at 02.45am.
The task of writing Week 13 News fell to someone (me) who has made a habit of late of staring at blank pages. Bereft of inspiration (I tidy up and make tea and send out a load of emails to make myself useful) I’ll leave the wordy stuff to the reader/writers of Literally Stories.
I seldom get invited to poker games as I never carry cards but always sad short stories. Read ’em and weep. Now that we got that awkward first sentence out of the way I can begin summarising the past week.
Last Tuesday featured a dystopian story about something which kills off most of humanity. Speaking of a thing which kills, Kill Switch is the name of Nik Eveleigh’s story. It’s bold. Not just because I wrote in bold but the story is also bold.
Following those two stories was a comedy called A Captivating Meeting by crazily Swedish tough guy Tobias. One of those three is not true.
The Thursday story came from Vic Smith. Its speculative theme resonates in modern technology and it’s called The Conscious Coward.
Finishing the week is usually Sunday, but not here at LS. It’s the Friday story (Well technically it’s this news update, but no one reads this). Des Kelly, who will become our most prominent external author, gave usSnow On The Ground. About the complexity of love between two even complexier persons.
The Story of the Week from 9th to 13th February 2015 has been decided. It was close. How close? Like a near-sighted dyslectic would spell clothes. Because he would write very close and also spell it close. The very definition of exciting couldn’t even begin to describe how inspiring and exhilarating this Story of the Week competition was. I guess that is the definition of exciting, so yes the very definition could describe it. It was very dramatic. It started from the stomach and ran all the way up to the throat. It’s a tie. But enough about my attire. The competition was a draw.
Vote for your favourites and stop voting for Tobias. It’s the equivalent of voting for the Beer Party in elections. Go ahead and click on your favourite story.
I knew we built this ark for a reason. With our ark we managed to avoid drowning in the flood of stories, but don’t get me wrong. We live in an ark, in the middle of the desert in need of floods. Keep flooding us with stories and it will be smooth sailing for Literally Stories. Who is our Noah? Adam of course. Me? I am just a barnacle at the bottom of our ship, slowing us down.
literally stories 