Tag: short story

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Author Part 2 by Frederick K. Foote

literallystories2014

typewriter

Click here to read Author (Part 1)

The next morning I arrive at Judge Fong’s office at 7:30 am as ordered. I’m suffering a headache hangover. I’m mildly irritated to see the Judge’s Clerk beaming with excitement. “What’s up Bob? You look remarkably bright this morning.”

Robert “Bob” Mitchell gives me a classic shit-eating grin. “Tecumseh, your ass is grass. The Judge’s mad as hell at you for letting your client get killed. What the hell was that all about? That’s all everybody’s talking about is the Mayhew mess. The word is he was practicing voodoo–”

Continue reading “Author Part 2 by Frederick K. Foote” →

All Stories, General Fiction, Romance

Chasing Josie’s Ghost by Domenic diCiacca

literallystories2014

typewriter

There’s a wrinkle of land in Stone County, an isolated pocket valley so remote you can hardly find the sky. My wife Sarah and I were happy there. A nearly feral cat lived there too, a scruffy calico that hung around to avoid coyotes. Sarah called her Josie. That cat was neurotic, delusional, paranoid and pathologically afraid of me though I never gave her cause. For three years all I ever saw was a flash of motion or the tip of her tail disappearing around a corner. The exception was anytime my wife ventured outside. Josie would glare death at me and sidle by on stiff legs, back arched and tail fluffed, to get to Sarah’s lap. I didn’t resent it. Sarah could talk tadpoles from a puddle, chant clouds from the sky, charm ticks from a mule’s hide. She surely charmed that cat, and the cat was good for Sarah. I’d leave them to practice their healing magics on each other and go find something useful to do.

Continue reading “Chasing Josie’s Ghost by Domenic diCiacca” →

All Stories, General Fiction

Michael and the Final Fix by Tom Sheehan

literallystories2014

typewriter

Michael the orderly, before it had all come down to the most private of acts, remembered his wondering if Marty and Valerie, in their lives beforehand, before the catastrophic crashes, before cement and machines and phone poles adjusted to flames around the piles of their motorcycles, he was a bull in bed, she was the puma come down to drink. Images loomed early on, lively, kicking images on how they must have cut a path to the heart of their appetites, their excitements, from what he heard up and down the entire east coast. Even pinned now to lives in rolling chairs, they evoked a fierce amount of energy, fire and brimstone, taste and distaste. Even then he thought the world of them, wanted to be god on the hill for them, Thor or Odin or a damned good magician with a damned good wand. Hell, he had the black skin; all he needed was the black hat with a few secret compartments.

Continue reading “Michael and the Final Fix by Tom Sheehan” →

Latest News, Writing

Literally Stories – Week 65 – Getting Nowhere

gwencron

typewriter

The grass needs cut and I’ve returned to work after a week off. I hate gardening and I especially hate working. So I apologise for the depression that is oozing from my pen. I have watched Bambi’s mother being shot fourteen times in a row to try to cheer me up. It just made me hungry. But that soon stopped when I remembered I was heading to work. It takes the notion of food away from me. It also takes away any thoughts on being sociable, helpful, understanding and committed. I don’t think I like working with the public.

Anyway, I thought about what to write. It came to a choice between this posting and a suicide note!

Continue reading “Literally Stories – Week 65 – Getting Nowhere” →

All Stories, General Fiction

Rescue by Lou Gaglia

literallystories2014

typewriter

On the bus ride home from my summer job, I couldn’t get the bank teller’s face out of my mind. The line had been long, but I’d stood there waiting on it anyway because I was out of spending money. Having nothing to read, I watched the tellers absently, but the dark-haired, dark-eyed woman at the first window seemed familiar, so after a minute I looked only at her. She seemed unsure of herself as she nervously counted money, and she only glanced at a customer for more than a second at a time. Even when it was my turn, I watched her from the next window, pretending not to. She peeked at me once, maybe sensing that I was staring, but didn’t look over again. There was a defeated slope to her shoulders, and sometimes she blinked rapidly for a moment, as though she were suddenly preoccupied.

Continue reading “Rescue by Lou Gaglia” →

All Stories, General Fiction

Living Life on the Other Side by Michael Marrotti

literallystories2014

typewriter

It’s been a good run by anyone’s standards. My dealers can attest to it. I lived for months upon months in a altered state of mind. Climbed mountains with no problem. Maintained self control when other times I would’ve lashed out. A chemically induced transcendence. The phone calls I made were always answered. It was a mutual gain for us all. They desired finance, I desired freedom. In the end we both came out on top. Well, all that’s come to an end now.

Continue reading “Living Life on the Other Side by Michael Marrotti” →

All Stories, Crime/Mystery/Thriller

Killing Frost by Sharon Frame Gay

literallystories2014

typewriter

James Frost leaned back in the recliner, adjusting his body into the soft confines of the old chair. It was leather, shiny with age, comfortable as a slipper. It was the only piece of furniture he had brought with him from home when he moved into Garden Court last year. Hell, at ninety-two it was time that he treat himself to a little comfort. He was tired of cooking, tired of housework, tired of watching his late wife’s garden wilt and deteriorate into patches of dirt, only memories remaining of the gladioli, daisies, and Lily of The Valley that Millie loved.

Continue reading “Killing Frost by Sharon Frame Gay” →

All Stories, General Fiction

Inauguration Day by J. Edward Kruft

literallystories2014

typewriter

“I love it when they say, ‘no offense but,’ and then they say something totally offensive,” said Lindy. “And by ‘love’ I mean hate,” she added unnecessarily, Barry thought. Not that he was paying much attention to his cousin’s nattering, his mind intent on the farce going on in the basement rumpus room.

Lindy passed the joint to Barry. “I’m hungry,” she whined. “Should we go down and snatch some food?” Barry held his breath as he stared at her, and then blew smoke into the whirling vent above the toilet.

“I’m not going back down there. You go, if you want.”

“Come on,” she said, nipping at his elbow. “It’s your party.”

Continue reading “Inauguration Day by J. Edward Kruft” →

All Stories, General Fiction

Letter to the Lost by Tom Sheehan

literallystories2014

typewriter

Dear Big John and Little John and Billy and Hughie and Londo and Eddie Mac and Breda and Kujawski and the comrade I carried to his death whose name I never knew and all the others I pray for every night yet, the men of the 31st Infantry Regiment;

Every reading I’ve done for more than sixty-five years simply begins this way: John Maciag was all bone, knees, elbows and jaw, hated his rifle, proficient at killing, wanted home so badly it burned his soul. We leaned up that mountain near Yangu, frightened. War’s hurricane tore our ranks, trees of us lifted by roots. I came running down three days later. Like cordwood the bodies were piled between two stakes, all Korean but that jaw of John Maciag I saw, a log of birch among the pine. The sergeant yelled to move on. I said no, maybe never. I am going to sit and think about John Maciag’s forever, whose fuel he is, what the flames of him will light. Perhaps he will burn the glory of man or God.

Continue reading “Letter to the Lost by Tom Sheehan” →

All Stories, General Fiction

One Dick, Two Sheryls by Bruce Costello

literallystories2014

typewriter

“This is Dick trying out his new tablet.” Dick keyed in the words and touched TTS. Key in your words, the salesman had explained, touch TTS, and the tablet will speak back what you’ve written.

“This is Dick trying out his new tablet,” a female voice repeated.

Dick’s eyes lit up. He keyed in another sentence and hit TTS again.

“My name is Sheryl and I love you,” the woman said.

Continue reading “One Dick, Two Sheryls by Bruce Costello” →