Last Sunday Literally Stories Editor, Tobias Haglund, chose his three favourite stories published on the site in the regular weekend feature, ‘Editor Picks’.
If you would like a turn at Editor Picks email us at: literallystories2014@gmail.com and tell us in less than a 1000 words why you think your three selections are special.
English Wells fought the Pumquich River for forty years, moving his will ever by degrees at it. “By God, Miriam,” he often said to his wife, “I’ll go at it until I drop, most likely. What you work for, you get. You get what you work for.” English, lacking funds or worldly promise, wanted to steal more land from this side of the river, to push his small estate out over the river’s run, to claim energy’s due.
December sweeps her dead hand around my throat. My capuche swooshes open and I come to life in the morning hour rush. A beggar scratches the furrows between the cobblestones outside the metro station. When I get close to him, the automatic doors open and the warm breath of the subway hits me. He looks up at me, then back down again to the cobblestones.
I walk out on to the escalator, a boy runs past me, then a girl, then another boy. The latter boy shoves the girl when he rushes by her, down the escalator. She yells, but keeps going. Yesterday the fungus to the right was green, but today it’s covered in white foam.
The subway train comes in and I get on. It’s full, so I stand. I can always tell which state the country is in by looking at the adverts. Education, insurances, job seminars and cheap groceries. I’m reminded of what the prime minister said; the lowest unemployment rate in Europe by 2020.
Promises aren’t worth much to the poor. That’s why the adverts look the way they do, and why the beggar scratches the furrows of the cobblestone.
Today I know this face. I stare into the mirror and I know this face. It is me, not the me that it was when we bought my mirror all those years ago. Down in the antique market, Martin and I trawling for treasures to make our home and we found it dusty and forlorn, how pleased we were. No it doesn’t show me that person, but it is the me of now and of just yesterday.
Tobias sat down, put his cup of cinnamon coffee beside the keyboard and stretched out his fingers. He moved his neck from side to side making a cracking sound and spoke to himself, but only in his own head.
“Alright, here we go!”
The first couple of sentences were clunky, it took him a while to get into the rhythm. Very much like the first couple of steps of jogging. Not that he ever jogged, whom is he fooling? But the analogy could stay. For now. Maybe he’ll come back to it, like a revisit of- No. No more analogies. On with the story. A setting and a problem. What did he want to say? Ah, he remembered. His girlfriend told him about a tourist guide who literally got into a fist fight with another tourist guide. Oh, but he didn’t like that last sentence. Why didn’t he just write ‘a story about two tourist guides who fought’? Well, it was necessary to part the two since one of them initiated the fight, that’s why.
They call him Stumpy. Not his mum, she calls him by his real name, Ryan, but the others call him Stumpy. Nobody remembers where the name came from. It’s not as if he’s particularly short and he has all his limbs intact. The name seems to have grown around him and there it is.
His limbs are intact but his mind, well his mind is a different thing. If the kids who teased him had possessed a modicum of intelligence it could have been that they realised his brain is stumped but that’s probably a bridge too far for them.
A greeter stood in the driveway wearing a black T-shirt, jeans, a set of Halloween cat ears atop his head, and had pulled a ladies negligee over his clothing. “A smile, that’s what I like to see. That’s why I do this. What a weirdo you say. But you’re smiling. Everything priced over a dollar today half off.”
Roy clutched the handles of the dog-eared backpack slung over his shoulder. “This is my father’s house.”
This week’s Fab Five was made up of one old boy, two Literally Stories Editors and two newcomers.
Des Kelly began the week briskly, setting a good pace with Running. James McEwan commented: “A clever and metaphoric piece, that is absorbing from within the character.”
Tuesday saw LS newcomer Jon Beight — welcome Jon — introduce a rarity to this neighbourhood of cyberspace. Namely a love story. Elizabeth Swann Lewis commented on Miguel, Lola and Ted – A Love Story: “I will probably never ever get the image of the guy melding with his chrome out of my mind. HILARIOUS.”
Wednesday, yet again, occurred in the middle of the week. I suspect, Wednesday’s author, Nik Eveleigh, couldn’t give two hoots whether or not you clicked on his story, Apathetica. Des Kelly wasn’t so indifferent when he observed: “Enjoyable and trippy stuff. You’ve gained entry into the magic lands of Terry Pratchett and escaped to tell the tale.”
Hugh Cron posed a question that felt more like a plea in his gritty tale Why Can’t She See The Difference? Diane Dickson remarked: “By approaching this from a less usual angle – that of one of the less obvious victims of a crime – you have produced a powerful piece of writing about the aftermath of a dreadful deed. Uncompromising and heart rending.”
The week finished on Friday in a not too distant future with another addition to the LS fold, Jaclyn Adomeit. Welcome Jaclyn and thank you for writing Drafted. Hugh Cron said: “This caught my interest very quickly. You have crafted a futuristic story with the recognisable attitudes and problems of today.”
Down the street the girl with bright hair ran. She’s running still, in her own way. Trying to avoid the thing she was made to do.
It’s been years, and nobody knows. Except for her.
Hair streaming in the sun.
It reminds her of blood. She’d like to wash it away.
Slowly scrub the stain.
‘Salt.’ Granny would insist. ‘Use salt.’
There’s salt in her tears. It’s not the same.
We invited Literally Stories author and friend, June Griffin, to be Editor for a day and choose three great short stories from the site. Here is what June had to say about the three stories she chose and why she felt they were special.
The forces of nature, human and otherwise, are at work in my three top picks, which I heartily recommend to every LS reader and writer, past and future.
Without a shade of murkiness, each story reveals these forces in their own distinctive way and pays tribute to the human comedy with clarity and precision. Each of the writers has perfected a beautiful writing style, and their intriguing plots and characters keep us engrossed from start to finish.
literally stories 