Tag: Short Fiction

All Stories, General Fiction, Historical

An Historical Fotnate by Michael Bloor

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A while back, I was reading an account, by the poet and journalist James Fenton, of the fall of Saigon (aka Ho Chi Minh City) in 1975*. In the middle of the despairing mob outside the US Embassy, begging to be evacuated, as the last of the helicopters departed, Fenton came across one man simply shouting over again, ‘I’m a professor, I’m professor.’ Poor guy, he was well behind the times, we university professors get dumped on nowadays just like any other employee. The trick is to spot when the shit-shower is imminent.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns-The Girl with the Feet by Jane Houghton

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Jane Houghton‘s LS debut is one of the most complex tales in the archives. The Girl With the Feet features one of the best prolonged suspense scenes I have ever read. You can feel yourself wanting to jump in and advise the Joshua, who is not a very lucky person

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All Stories, General Fiction

Cherry Pie by Elana Kloss

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It’s my second month in L.A., and I’ve already forgotten about pizza. New York feels like years ago, and the only thing that matters now is wood ear mushroom, pork bao, and beef noodles. They arrive plump on Chinese porcelain and slam down and slap awesome like we do on a Friday night.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Careful Who You Save by Benjamin Pluck

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A mansion of fire crackled against an azure sun and the people who lived there were dark and crispy, their day had just begun. Panting and limping, the glass behind their eyes already misty, they set about their work at once. Staggering between each room, their lungs rattled in the hot air and their teeth were bared sharp behind cracked lips. Their hair was stringy and knotted, and stuck down the long of their backs – with skin as cracked as the salt planes that stretched for hundreds of miles around them. No one was around to smell the stench.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Rifle by Tom Sheehan

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Thump. Bump. Bang. Sixty years collapsed around his feet as if they were a single lump. Merricut was one step inside the front door of the antique shop, an hour-old beer settling within him, his wife Lynette three steps ahead of him. 

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All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller, Fantasy

Snakeskin by P.L. Salerno

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Leona Wiley stood outside the casino, waiting. She leaned against its brick facade, one suede heel up against the building’s side. Her dark blonde hair was neatly curled, just barely hitting her shoulders. Dangling pearls weighed down her earlobes, obsidian mascara darkened her eyelashes, and her lips shone a vibrant vermillion. She wore a copper fox fur coat and, under it, a black velvet dress. Leona watched as people slipped in and out of the casino’s double doors, looking for the person she was sent to see.

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Literally Reruns, Short Fiction

Literally Reruns – Watching it Move by Alex Reid

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Every now and then a story comes by that makes me slap my head and bemoan the fact that I didn’t think of it first. Such is the case with this week’s rerun Watching It Move by Alex Reid. Still, there ain’t a great idea that can stand up to clumsy handling; but Alex timed this perfectly and the result is satisfying as well as a cause of envy.

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Latest News, Short Fiction

8 Years!

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Eight years. Since an idea by Adam West in response to a favourite site failing to today. Those of you who have been with us from the early days may remember the struggle for content when we put our own work in to fill the spaces. Later you may not have realised how we were breaking under the weight of work until Lovely Leila came to our rescue. She works incredibly hard since we ambushed her and dragged her into LS Towers and we are really glad we threw that sack over her head (sorry about the hair, Leila).

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All Stories, General Fiction

Thorong-La by Jessica Hutter

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I’d actually been warned about the mountain years before, in the days when we were still in the Bronx, when all we’d climbed were the stairs on Bailey Avenue. Back then the ascent was no less tricky, with the steps that crumbled and the men who sat at the top, like goats, watching until we got close and then following us through the neighborhood. In the winter there was nothing extraordinary about the cold, more dirt than snow, just enough ice to make you doubt the ground.

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