The sun is too hot for May, and my arm is starting to burn. That’s what I’m thinking of when I’ve missed my afternoon bus. That and my sister, Julia. My name is Elijah William Scott. And I am the reason my sister is dead. There’s a shortcut you can take off of Sawmill Road to get to our house. I don’t take it anymore. I don’t need to look at the drawings, the flowers, the “We Miss You” signs. It’s all bullshit. It doesn’t mean anything. She won’t know.
Continue reading “Julia by Chloe M. Dehon”
“What the people believe is true.”
—Nanabush, Son of the West Wind, Grandson of the Moon
I was a story I told myself.
My body required mechanical help with inputs and outputs, causes and effects—the purpose of one function needed to be fitted to the function of a higher purpose, from swerve of nerve to bend of bone, synapse to neuron across the junctions electric.
Body shifts, reflex tests, muscle pulls were performed. Others asked questions neither understood nor answerable.
Continue reading “The Story of Jimmy Gray by Gerald Coleman”
We often run pieces that rub some persons the wrong way. Some folks are sensitive, others as Jack Nicholson once observed “can’t handle the truth.” Still, it is far better to provoke a reaction than not. Sort of like there’s no such thing as bad publicity.
Continue reading “Literally Reruns – Franky and Jesus by -Hugh Cron”
Who is the greatest writer ever?
Is that a loaded question?
Literally snobs will come up with the usual suspects that I’ll not mention. I can’t really as there are very few of the so called classics that I have read.
Continue reading “Week 487 – Famous Five, Charlie and Young Mr Bell!!”
When I inherited my great-uncle’s fortune, I quit my job at the drycleaners, but I kept driving my thirdhand Nissan. I didn’t stop shopping for housewares at Twice But Nice, and I even renewed the lease on my two-bedroom walk-up on Standard Street.
Continue reading “Omaha Hold ‘Em by Shoshauna Shy”
On July 3rd, 1903, Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show gave a performance in Abergavenny, a market town in the Black Mountains of South Wales. The town sits surrounded by seven hills, but the most prominent is The Sugar Loaf (it’s Welsh name is Pen-y-fâl), which looms over the town. At the close of his show, Buffalo Bill annouced to the crowd his intention to climb The Sugar Loaf the next morning. It was said that, the next day, Bill was accompanied up the mountain by half the adults and all the children of the town.
Continue reading “Buffalo Bill’s Day Out by Michael Bloor”
(A Novel Excerpt)
Author’s Note
Gertie McDowell, a naïve young girl with a talent for misadventure, has joined a women’s wrestling troupe called Christian Ladies of Wrestling. The troupe was put together by Wanda Sue, a bank robber with a streak of religion whom Gertie met while serving prison time because she “trusted the wrong sort of fella.” The mission of the troupe is to bring folks closer to Jesus by having women posing as Christians wallop the daylights out of women posing as transgressors. Gertie’s wrestling persona is Haystacks Holly, a lustful temptress who leads married men astray. Her tag team partner, an Apache girl named Cocheta, is billed as Blasphemous Berta, an outspoken atheist who deifies witchcraft. Both girls incense Christian audiences by flaunting their unsavory lifestyles.
Continue reading “Samoa Moa by James Hanna”
1917.
In her most primitive form, Nora was nothing but an artist. Her papers were covered in sketches, an arch of flowers in one corner, life-like copies of butterflies sketched into another. Every pen in the house was out of ink, every pencil leveled into nothing but a stubby eraser.
Continue reading “The Radium Girls by Chloe Hehir.”
This week we take a deeper look into the mind of site friend and excellent contributor Steven French. To date, no one has gone Turtle on us; everyone has replied brilliantly, as has Steven who is a relative newcomer to LS, but a person whose impact has already been widely appreciated.
Continue reading “Interview Steven”
Her cousin Dean’s voice was so hushed that Katie could barely hear him over the buzz of insects and the scrunch their sneakered feet made on the haphazard gravel track. He lengthened his stride as he spoke, and Katie had to stretch her legs as far as they would go to keep up. She shot a glance at his thin face and wondered why he looked anxious under the splotched mask of freckles that stood out against his fair skin, his mouth moving as if he was biting the insides of his cheeks. The faint shadows that lurked under his pale blue eyes like the hint of an impending thunderstorm seemed even darker than usual.
Continue reading “The Follower by Odile Mori”
literally stories 