Vancouver 1949
There’s a direction a city takes when kids go missing. The virtues of due process are quickly abandoned, and the closet vigilantes come out. Suddenly, everyone has an opinion and a plan.
Supposition becomes fact. The police become worthless stooges, in league with the perversions of dark and faceless perpetrators. Rights and freedoms become the sole domain of the self-anointed, raging against the printed word that breaks the news.
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, Vic Smith, to be Editor for a day and choose three great short stories from the site. Here is what Vic had to say about the three stories he chose and why he felt they were special.
This list of my three favourite stories from Literally Stories only crystallised as I set out to write it. These are the stories that meant most to me at that moment. At another time, when I’m in a different mood or when the weather has changed, it would be a different list. The depth of talent here is too great to be summed up in such a small number.
For more than a month that horizontal plane, the cold, hard iron blade of the sea, has scythed around this lonely spite-filled ship, the Meeuwtje, the Seagull. Our only constant: that unwavering edge. If only we would come to it and tumble off into the void.
I am consumed with the vilest thoughts; acidic loathing, a derision that stoops my shoulders. This sinful, wind-blown bastard-mongrel pack with whom I share this stinking pile of creaking timber, rope and sailcloth!
Continue reading “Cold, hard iron blade of the sea by Shane Bolitho”
Pearce soon came to realise sleeping on the beach was not as romantic as it seemed, especially when a chill breeze swept in off the sea. The moon above remained bright, piercing the unshielded eye. There was the roar of waves to contend with; the whipping wind that sent a spiral of sand into his face and the ever-present danger of discovery or robbery. A young man out at night presents a tempting target for those aiming to do harm. Not that Pearce encountered any; he was simply paranoid about the possibilities.
He won’t do anything else. All he ever does is sit downstairs and stroke his violin. No one recognizes the notes he plays. Most of the time he makes no effort to play pretty sounds. Maybe pretty noises break his heart because he thinks he’s ugly inside and out.
Continue reading “The Violin He Played Downstairs by Ashlie Allen”
I had been in hell a week by this point. It looked a lot like Belfast. I knew it was hell because I couldn’t find any of my favourite bars and it was the 12th of July every day. The streets were awash with track-suited skinheads and chippie wrappers, and smelt of dark orange piss. I died the same age as Bukowski, seventy-three years-old. He had wanted to go at eighty making it with an eighteen year-old, I was just happy making it beyond fifty. It was a rare landmark for the men in my family.
Continue reading “Ultra-Belfast by Dave Louden – Adult Content”
I’ve been in the park, lunchtime I went to sit in the sunshine. It was nice. I was on my own as usual and today I just had an apple. It was small, red on one side, green on the other and there was a small bruise near the bottom. I hadn’t brought sandwiches today. Partly because I was late up and didn’t have much time but mostly because I only had chicken roll in the fridge.
I knew we built this ark for a reason. With our ark we managed to avoid drowning in the flood of stories, but don’t get me wrong. We live in an ark, in the middle of the desert in need of floods. Keep flooding us with stories and it will be smooth sailing for Literally Stories. Who is our Noah? Adam of course. Me? I am just a barnacle at the bottom of our ship, slowing us down.
