Tag: Short Fiction

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Literally Stories – Week 44

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Scrolling down our Twitter feed for Week 44, witnessing the variety of images that help ‘sell’ Literally Stories short stories it is impossible to ignore the diverse nature of our site.

Tumbleweed in an arid New Mexico landscape (we cheated, it’s Kansas), a church in the north of England (a church in the north of England),  a few billion galaxies (yep — we bring you real galaxies folks), a landscape with crows in flight courtesy of Van Gogh and finally, my favourite beach in the whole of Hawaii, Waialua.

Not all of the above statements are entirely true and accurate.

The joy of writing eh? Lying with style. Though it might be disputed that I know all the angles it is irrefutable I have mastered none of them!

~

The last time Friday began the week Monday staged a walk-out and Midweek came out in solidarity with Monday whilst the weekend said it couldn’t give a $!£* when the week started.

On that archaic note I deliver you something fresher. Well, LS newcomer, James C Clar’s does.

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All Stories, Fantasy

The Plane That Flew Forever by GJ Hart

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In order to ascend vertically and eliminate the need for a runway, the plane was designed to mimic a helicopter on take-off. Then, once airborne, its propeller would shift through 90 degrees, transforming it neatly into a plane.

Neat on paper perhaps.

Due to low funds the whole operation must be effected entirely by hand. The propeller wound into place, the wings extended quickly, creating sufficient drag to lift the fuselage into place. Then the whole structure bolted tight. If they messed up, if they took too long, there was a chance the propellers force would tear the plane clean in half.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Switching Allegiance by Madeline McEwen

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“I apologize,” Professor Plotnik said, a compact man with thinning hair and patience. “You’re not an imbecile but naive.”

Jane Birk bit her lip and clutched her tablet to her chest. The professor might fire her for insubordination. She couldn’t imagine life outside the Clusterings Institute and never completing her research. With her thesis two and a half years overdue, Birk knew she’d crossed the line, again.

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All Stories, Fantasy

Peppermint Fresh by Chris Milam

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Living in a mouth is precisely what you’d think living in a mouth would be: wet, aromatic, and exhilarating. It’s cozy and rent-free in here. She’s not a big talker, so it stays as dark as Anchorage, Alaska during a typical winter. I sleep well. I bathe in her saliva. I nibble on specks of food that dangle from the roof like edible stalactites. When she’s wrecked and raging on a Friday night, getting blitzed on gas station wine, blaring Linda Ronstadt, we both stumble into el diablo’s embrace. When she peeks at the mirror while applying lipstick, or washing her face, I pop out and wave hello.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Mount Carmel Raid by Tom Sheehan

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Mount Carmel Road was a quiet dead-end in the north of town. In the middle of the night when the war in the Far East was over and the radios blared the news, all lights went on in all the houses on that blind street, except where the card game was played. Many of the neighbors were solidly indignant about that turn of events on VJ Night, two Mount Carmel boys would not be coming back from the mad Pacific, which most of us only saw in Saturday newsreels at the theater.

This house was a dark house on a dark street in my town that, with some lesions and scars, hangs on to a place in my memory and will not let go. Tenants and landlords hardly leave scribed notations of a dwelling, thinking all things will ferment, dissipate, and eventually pass on. Fifty years or more of recall usually get dulled, terribly pockmarked, or fade into the twilight the way one ages, dimming of the eyes, bending of the knees, slow turns at mortality. But this one rides endlessly in place, a benchmark, a mooring place. It resides as a point of time, a small moment of history colored up by characterization of one incident.

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All Stories, General Fiction, Story of the Week

Dancing in Amsterdam by Tobias Haglund

Tobias Haglund

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Every fifteen meters the light from a lamppost shines. The rivers running through the town reflect their lights. The water often flows smoothly. An occasional wave might pass by, but I barely notice it.  If it wasn’t for the rainfall I wouldn’t believe I live in a coastal city. Five or six small boats are anchored by a one-way street on my side. No anchoring on the other side. The river is narrow enough to see across which causes most people to shut their drapes.  Shadows move to and fro. There’s a couple on the second floor who are particularly animated. They dance, I think, or perform sketches. I sit by the window at my computer and try different songs to match their rhythm. I’ve tried to listen by opening the window, but I can’t hear a thing other than the city noises. Not that I live in a busy part of town, just a forgotten side-street between two busy river crossings. There is always a car somewhere, a loud conversation around the corner, a bottle being broken or something that breaks the attention. The cities are growing even more crowded. Oddly enough I read that the cities are not growing louder. Hundreds of years ago the city was smaller but louder. The blacksmith would bang his hammer on the anvil. The hooves of a horse echoed in the streets. There were no phones or microphones. You shouted to be heard. Maybe that part hasn’t change. Maybe we still shout. To be heard is to be seen and we all want to be seen. I wonder how Victoria sees it. She must know about me and Patrick.

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All Stories, General Fiction

Paperback Summer by Embe Charpentier

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A reputable librarian knows how to tell a story. My eleven year-old grandniece, reader extraordinaire, inquires about my days as Cabbagetown’s librarian. Our rockers creak on the covered porch, a steady rain patters all about us. “Best story you got, Auntie Claire. And I better not be able to see the end comin’.”

I sip my sweet tea. She leans toward me as I begin. “This story is true, more or less.”

1980

Reading success; the number one predictor of a successful future. The research said children who chose books read more. Yet every summer, I rarely saw a child more than once or twice.

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All Stories, General Fiction

The Counselor by Tobias Haglund

Tobias Haglund

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I walk down the three steps, step out onto the sidewalk outside her house and lean my head back to the sky. Raindrops land on my face, neither warm nor cold. No breezes, but I hear the wind in the leaves on the trees along the avenue. Few people are up, light from maybe one or two windows. The street lamps light my way down the avenue. The asphalt is wet, which gives the city a fresh smell of concrete and cars. I like the smell of both; cars and concrete. It must have rained harder an hour ago. Streams run along the sidewalk picking up dirt in a slow pace and pouring it down the sewer.

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All Stories, Science Fiction

Silent Treatments by Goran Sedlar

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Laughing out loud.

Rolling on the floor with laughter.

Smiley face.

This last one was from Barb and Trevor’s heart-felt like supernova.

The night was going well. He was being charming, funny and confident. His body language advertised a great catch and a man who should be forgiven one honest mistake.

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