Tag: loss

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Meant for the Dead by Susan Jennifer Polese

literallystories2014

Envision a seamless sky lining a hillside speckled with white stones. The air surrounds them, almost scentless, incensed lightly by pungent moss. Gaze ahead as the lush hills overlap, take hold of one another, layered green and hazel veils each saying to the next: Spring.  Translucent Spring. And I could see through it and taste it as anyone can at seventeen. Every day seemed to be like this one, then, endless and shady, but on this Tuesday morning curiosity did more than lead me. We ran. Run with me now.

Continue reading “Meant for the Dead by Susan Jennifer Polese” →
All Stories, Historical

White Horse by Kate Mole.

literallystories2014

Yesterday I walked another bit of the South-West Coast Path, from Praa Sands round to Marazion.  I was with a friend, who is aiming to complete the entire circuit of the path, from Minehead to Poole Harbour.  He does bits of it as and when he can, and invites people to accompany him if they live locally, or are keen walkers, or just feel like doing it with him.  This was a short section, only about six miles – well, short for him; about the right distance for me to walk comfortably. 

Continue reading “White Horse by Kate Mole.” →
All Stories, General Fiction

Caged by R H Nicholson

literallystories2014

Mamaw don’t want to lock you in a cage, but I got no choice,” she apologized to her wailing granddaughter as she extricated herself from the overwrought child, both covered in spittle, snot, and tears, an ectoplasm of bodily fluids. The child desperately reached for her, arms stretched, fingers twitching, head thrusting.

Continue reading “Caged by R H Nicholson” →
All Stories, General Fiction

The Day the End of the World Was at Hand by J Bradley Minnick [1]

literallystories2014

“I’ve signed you up for swimming lessons at the Y.M.C.A. Lessons start Monday. That’s tomorrow,” Mother said as I stood on pretty pink petals that lined the ground of our backyard jungle. A late spring snow had just left the rooftop of our home. The gutters were filled with brown, wet leaves. Father stood high atop a wooden ladder. Looking up, I saw his blue jeans and the dirty soles of his shoes. Mother stood under him, holding the bottom rungs. She wore a small bee-hive hairdo, a plaid shirt, and black slacks. Every so often a clump of leaves exploded in a burst behind me. 

Continue reading “The Day the End of the World Was at Hand by J Bradley Minnick [1]” →
All Stories, General Fiction

 Eulogy by Daniel R. Snyder

literallystories2014

(Editors’ note: Happy Easter to everyone.  And we thank Daniel for forgiving us (me) for misplacing his accepted story, which we are pleased to run today–LA)

The funeral is held in a large generation-spanning cemetery, with manicured lawns and polished granite headstones for the average, marble for the more-than-so, and pieces of nondescript rock hastily and carelessly inscribed for those who thought someone important enough for a marker, but not enough to break the bank.

Continue reading ” Eulogy by Daniel R. Snyder” →
General Fiction, Short Fiction

Eighteen Ninety-Seven by Pauline Shen

literallystories2014

I run my finger along the marker at the edge of our farm. Its wood is parched from time and weather. A locomotive’s soprano voice carries across the prairie. I picture that engine puffing into a station where the platform swirls with a symphony of tongues. I think of families boarding with slumped shoulders and weary eyes. I recall how we, my parents, my brothers and I, stepped onto the colonist car with its sunlit windows and faintly sweet fragrance. Around us, men snored while mothers cooed at young ones latched to their breast. I witnessed my older brother, Wasyl, rub his teary eyes as the train pulled us westward.

Continue reading “Eighteen Ninety-Seven by Pauline Shen” →
All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

The Spoils by Toni Juliette Leonetti

literallystories2014

Themes that some readers may find distressing – see tabs

***

July 7, 1917, Arras, France

It was no great shock to hear of corpses rising from their graves.

Not in this toppled world, where men turned moles. Where the fresh aged fastest, stooped and wizened in their dark holes, dreading the sun. Where a man’s next breath might kill him before he smelled hay in it. Just that, no longer the searing pineapple and peppered bleach of chlorine. Phosgene suggested merely a whiff of musty hay before the man’s lungs drowned him. Drowned, with no water in sight.

Continue reading “The Spoils by Toni Juliette Leonetti” →
General Fiction, Short Fiction

Something from Montreal by Elizabeth Rosen

literallystories2014

Each morning my mother opens the door in her housecoat and slippers and draws the newspaper inside like a prisoner drawing his supper dish through the metal slot of his prison door. She lays the paper across my father’s plate so that it will be there when he comes down for breakfast, but she never slips the rubber band off the tightly rolled bundle.

Continue reading “Something from Montreal by Elizabeth Rosen” →
All Stories, General Fiction

Girl on a Trampoline by Christopher Ananias

literallystories2014

                                                                                                                                                                                                               Night falls black and starless. His eye is drawn to the cemetery. A chill runs through him. Young sees his breath in the porch light. He takes the air into account—the change. Things will have to be shut off soon and covered, other things will have to be turned on. He hears footsteps and the slamming of cabinet doors. Young thinks, are those snowflakes? I hope not. Trinity’s rusty black Chevy Cavalier has the trunk lid standing open.

Continue reading “Girl on a Trampoline by Christopher Ananias” →
All Stories, General Fiction

The Weight of Nothing by Kip Knott

literallystories2014

Sam doesn’t like sunsets. Sunsets for Sam are a daily reminder that death is just over the horizon. Sunrises aren’t much better for Sam either because they just start the clock running again, marking time until the next sunset. Even now, as he stands outside his mother’s house smoking a cigarette while the hospice nurse tends to his dying mother, Sam is unpersuaded by the light of one of those sunsets in which people swear they see Jesus’s outstretched arms in the iridescent rays that beam between clouds. Sam just shakes his head in disgust, then turns and walks inside.

Continue reading “The Weight of Nothing by Kip Knott” →