This week’s Whoever has been with us since May 2021 when he had the beautiful All My Darlings Waiting published. Now it’s time to find out more about this writer of poignant, lyrical work. We sent Antony a list of questions and his responses are as thoughtful as his fiction writing. If you haven’t read any of Antony Osgood’s work you really are missing a treat.
Continue reading “Sunday Whoever”
The wild man sat in his lawn chair and tried to ignore the small boy lurking behind the shabby travel trailer. The chair was made from aluminum tubing and woven plastic webbing. The coarse webbing sometimes pinched the back of the wild man’s thighs, but he was accustomed to this. He’d owned the chair for a very long time. The sneaking little brat, however, was a new and unwelcome annoyance.
Continue reading “Frankie and the Wild Man by Marco Etheridge”
Ida hates the sunset. She also has a profound dislike for the ocean, Greece, Italian villas, and all 30,000 islands of the Pacific Ocean. But every morning she wakes up to one of them, rotating views out her window: a nightmare cycle of 5 star resort views. Sometimes she thinks she is already dead, stuck in a penitentiary of hell’s ennui where every day is more passive then the last.
Continue reading “After Dark by Nico Gurdjian”
In the headquarters of Calcutta Electricity Supply Corporation, we sit over lunch. The powder-blue walls smell damp; the fans hanging on ten-foot-long rods from the high ceiling whirr lackadaisically, barely moving the swamp-thick air; our lunch is white rice, fish curry, and sweets; and the only way to stay awake this midsummer afternoon is to jabber.
Continue reading “Backsides by Amita Basu”
They call me an English movie addict. True that. I watch every movie, web series and show streaming out of Hollywood. Not watch. Binge watch. Everyday. Till my eyes ache and my head hurts. I watch those images on my television, riveted by those pretty houses and manicured green lawns in what they call the suburbs, the crowds in…what they refer to as downtown, walking briskly to work, women in heels, men in blazers and overcoats…. the glamor of beaches, blue oceans and snow capped mountains. Even the sunlight seems different…. a golden hue showering gently on the landscape. Basking in the sun was a term invented for them. Here it is a blazing sun scorching the earth and burning us. But out of these pictures, it is that of a woman driving to a bar for a drink that I’m addicted to.
Continue reading “What’s in a Drink? by Sushma R Doshi”
The only thing fake about me is my name. Everything else, from the leather of my riding coat, to the bullets in my revolver, to most importantly, the intentions in my heart, are very real. To the world, I will soon be known as Simon Bolter, but to one currently unsuspecting soul, I will even sooner be known as “the man who robbed me.”
Continue reading “The Ballad of Simon Bolter by David Ford”
This story has content that some readers may find distressing.
Under normal circumstances, a tale of a violent, animal abusing prick wouldn’t get far with me. But Alex Sinclair is not the usual writer; nor is Paraffin Lamp a usual story. Alex has the tremendous ability to bring forward the least appealing elements in a character and make them interesting and alive. It lies in his effortless mastery of the language and perfect ear for dialogue.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Paraffin Lamp by Alex Sinclair”
We’ve been really busy this week.
I reckon we had close to sixty submissions and most of them were at the back end of the week.
We’re more or less caught up, maybe with a few stragglers.
It’s been good. But it always seems to happen when we have someone on holiday, and in my case, trying to get two rooms ready for the decorator coming tomorrow!
It’s been fun though – Well not the wallpaper stripping. I’m not the smallest of people and have two arthritic knees so trying to squeeze behind a cooker ain’t much fun.
Continue reading “Week 430 – Dear Food Balancing The Books, Mick Bloor / Mason Yates And *’I Smell A Watering Hole’”
I think it’s quite common for people to chat to their dead parents/spouse/buddies from time to time. In Andy’s case, he would chat to his dead dad, usually when the car was stuck in traffic. Andy’s dad had been a no-nonsense kinda guy and his contributions to these conversations tended towards telling Andy not to be so bloody daft; which advice Andy usually found helpful.
Continue reading “Hindsight and Occupational Choices by Michael Bloor”
Boots sank into the damp ground, charting his path through the mud. The long, gnarled wooden stick added its own accompanying impressions. Pulling the brim of his hat low to guard against the puddles of rain exploiting gaps in the trees, Vincent walked. Unconcerned about the trail he left, knowing nature would conceal it long before any of them rose. He’d dedicated his life to knowing their practices. A commitment borne of bloodline. They hunted. They executed. Without exception.
Continue reading “Beasts by Claire Marsh”
literally stories 