My friends had always been transparently envious of Molly, even if they weren’t verbalising this. But it was obvious.
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Tag: Short Fiction
Just Give It Time by Matthew J. McKee
Saudade: (n.) a nostalgic longing to be near to something or someone that is distant; the desire to be near again to what has been loved and then lost, “the love that remains.”
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Karass by Iván Brave
After piling the paper bills from his last passenger and placing the square photograph of his wife on top of the money, the ferryman lights a match. He lowers it slowly, shaking. But just then a breeze blows out the flame, leaving nothing behind but a thin waft of smoke. There are no more matches, unfortunately. Now his hut—earthy, with a cot, a bucket, and a small shrine inside—feels emptier than ever.
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How I Made the Greatest Concert Movie of All Time by Adam Kaz
Things really pick up at the fifteen-minute mark. Lionel Bottom, lead singer, is belting the chorus of “Baby Without Bottle.” He’s suffused in steamy shades of red and purple, highlighting the angularity of his spiky hair and turning his pasty skin pink. He holds the microphone like he’s choking it when he sings, “We are men we need no coddle / We’re like baby without bottle.” It’s a glorious crescendo, really marvelous, powerful stuff, exactly what The Scrum is all about. A crowd of five thousand worships the trio with bacchanalian ardor, yelling, dancing.
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The Man Who Pulled Himself Together by David Henson
I call my boss, whose texts I’ve been ignoring for days, and tell him I’m returning to work. He says not to bother. Serves me right. I’ve let everything go to hell since Arlene left. I vow to pull myself together. Tomorrow. I take a few diazepam and go to bed.
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Literally Reruns Ghost Hats by Marco Etheridge
What were you doing at the start of the Summer of ‘19? Once upon a time that question brought images of straw hats and trolley cars. But we now have a new ‘19 to define in our memories, though it is still a bit too green for that at the moment.
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Week 469 – Always Listen,Honour Your Mammy’s Mammy And Never Crawl In Brown Water.
Well hello there folks!
Here we are at week 469 and time for the relevant round up!
A couple of writing things have come up over the last week or so and we thought that we’d explore them further.
Continue reading “Week 469 – Always Listen,Honour Your Mammy’s Mammy And Never Crawl In Brown Water.”
Snow Happens by Eileen Emmanuel
Snow happens quietly in many places, often overnight, without drama. Pull back the curtains before sunrise and under the streetlamps a sulphur tinted fondant drapes over everything – the rows of Victorian terraced houses on either side of the street, the pavement, cars, wheelie bins, everything. Garden hedges and shrubs sit undisturbed, revealing dots of evergreen just visible through layers of cotton. Higher up, tree branches, recently bare and springy, now sag wearily as bits of fine powder dust off intermittently in the breeze.
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The Random Roommate by Adam Kaz
My landlord Enid lived above my garden unit in a tchotchke-coated little old lady apartment which I had never visited until that fall evening. A Sunday. On her kitchen table were placemats of art nouveau nymphs and salt and pepper shakers fashioned like bowling pins. She handed me a coffee mug in the shape of a cartoon character and said, “I hope this is good.” I didn’t say how I like my coffee, so on her own volition Enid put in lots of cream and lots of sugar.
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Old and Cold by Rachel Sievers
The cup of coffee had gone cold days ago. The first gulp of it had indicated that but the second gulp confirmed that the coffee was not only cold but old, still Gene takes a third sip. How long would it be before she could make fresh coffee again? It would require standing up from the television and letting this little shit win.
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literally stories 