Tag: loss and grief

Literally Reruns, Short Fiction, sunday whatever

Literally Reruns – A Boy Once Known by Tom Sheehan 

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Foreword

In honor of Remembrance Day (Veteran’s Day in America), and to honor those who served, currently serve and to those who gave all, we present a reworking of a story by Tom Sheehan first published in November 2017. Tom served in Korea and knows as much about the suffering of war, and its after-effects, as much as anyone.

Since it is an altered version, we will forgo the usual link and present the work right here and now.

All the best to the veterans and those who appreciate their sacrifices.

Diane, Hugh, Leila–Eds. Literally Stories

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All Stories, General Fiction

Julia by Chloe M. Dehon

literallystories2014

The sun is too hot for May, and my arm is starting to burn. That’s what I’m thinking of when I’ve missed my afternoon bus. That and my sister, Julia. My name is Elijah William Scott. And I am the reason my sister is dead. There’s a shortcut you can take off of Sawmill Road to get to our house. I don’t take it anymore. I don’t need to look at the drawings, the flowers, the “We Miss You” signs. It’s all bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. She won’t know.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Blacksticks Blue by Robert Cutillo

literallystories2014

The terraced house had a brown door, an unkempt garden, and a crooked gate. Weeds sprouted from the wonky paved path, and a torn plastic bag clung to a bare bush.

Michael stood before the gate, one hand in his jacket pocket, the other holding a plastic bag of his own, his eyes fixed on the front door.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Cold by Yash Seyedbagheri

literallystories2014

My older sister Nan and I climb up our makeshift tree house armed with our latest swiped goodies. Vienna sausages. Saltines. Sardines. Plastic Merlot bottles. The Sutter Home brand, not anything fancy, but durable. Plus, it’s enough to give you a good buzz, but not enough to get truly, raging drunk. Not like Mom.

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All Stories, General Fiction

A Psalm for Eddie by Tom Sheehan

literallystories2014

“One day,” Ed LeBlanc said, up to his crotch in the swiftly flowing Pine River near Ossipee, New Hampshire, rod tip high, a bright Macintosh apple half eaten in his left hand, his words more oath than wisdom, “we’re going fly fishing in Curt Gowdy country.” He said little else that morning, intent on the merest sensations electric at fingertips, on early May temperature of water laying heavy tongue on our boots, on the Mac’s sweet taste, on delicious silence falling on our heads as if the world was a mushroom and we under that still cap.

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