Life: what is it all about?
I’d left for the party minimally drunk and maximally desolate. Eva and I had argued earlier. “Laurie,” she’d said truculently, “why don’t you want to go? Who stays in on New Year’s Eve? Jenny and Pete are our oldest friends. But maybe you have your own reasons?”
“MR BELL!!”
“THAT’LL BE ME!!!”
The security guard walked over. Neil watched as the guard’s belly swayed from side to side. He couldn’t help himself as he began to gag.
Why the fuck do I imagine so many ugly people shagging?
“Have you a problem?”
Neil hit at his chest.
“No, not at all, I just have an attack of the dry boak.”
The guard pulled at the back of his trousers, “No, I don’t mean that, I mean your outburst.”
“MR BELL, I AM WAITING!!?”
“Oh, you mean like that?”
Toothpick balanced on his lip, just so. Hair slicked down with practiced precision. But despite the evil eye and air of menace he fancied he gave off, Rachel Duccini couldn’t help but smile. Gerard Marron, for all his sneering attempts at brooding ominousness, reminded her a hell of a lot of the Lollipop Guild Munchkins from The Wizard of Oz. The way he squinted, the pant legs too short to cover his ankles, and the way he had his hands in his pockets, thumbs out pointing at each other across his groin.
Continue reading “Len Cordy & The Lollipop Guild by Shane Bolitho”
It shone over Hayfield, South Dakota, and George Angus ran his hand through straws of Hard Red Winter Wheat. Cream colored leaves. He used his hand to shield against the sun and fixed his eyes on the old oak tree upon the hill. Then down again. Frail dryness. Like the touch of Mary’s hand. He looked at his own hands, dry but not frail. Quite sturdy. Sharp lines, trenches from a working life. He ran his palm over his scruffy wide face.
Nathan stood outside next to the elevator. We see each other sometimes across the floor while he smokes a rolled-up cigarette and sometimes drinks and I take out the leftovers.
‘Three weeks without a kiss,’ he said to me the last time I stood there last summer with my black bags, ‘but at least I don’t stink like you do right now’ and through the smoke he’d laugh, coughing roughly in the yellow glow.
He was dead before his eyes closed. That they closed was a blessing, the whole thing was so devastatingly awful that to have him slumped in the seat with staring eyes would simply have added to the nightmare.
It has been another week on Literally Stories. Began Monday. Went through several days and ended Friday.
I could review it all for you but I am inclined not to as I’ll no doubt make a hash of it.
Least said soonest mended is my maxim. Strictly speaking I didn’t actually think that one up.
Anyway. I’ll belt up. Keep schtum (I cannot repeat what my spell-checker suggests.)
Say nada, zip, or nowt as we say in my native city of Seven Hills.
Not Rome, Italy folks. No. Sheffield, England.
Say nothing and let others do the talking…there, I’m done now.
Talk!
Monday – The Hobby by LS Editor and master of dirty realism, Hugh Cron. Tobias Haglund said: A very, very interesting experiment with the format. Placing the unsettling feeling of discomfort in the head of the reader. Something unsaid or intangible is often scarier.
Tuesday – Cor Pulmonale by Todd Levin. June Griffin said: The river, the bus stop, the poppy designs, the constant cold and the broken heater were just some of the vivid elements in this fine story of two lost souls snatching at a comfort never meant to last.
Wednesday – Pater Noster by Bi-lingual LS Editor and master of a multitude of genres, Tobias Haglund. Some grinning buffoon who seems to have spent too much time in the sun said: PK Dick renowned as a science fiction author would have approved of this Tobias, the line: One misstep. Two paths in a forest. If both lead to the river how can either be wrong? There aren’t shades of darkness. epitomises the central, arguably spiritual theme to his philosophical writing.
Thursday – Son of Violence by LS newcomer, Michelle Assaad. Vic Smith said: Whatever happens next, it won’t be good, will it? I enjoyed this, Michelle, and I’m looking forward to your next story.
Friday – Ray’s Vision by LS Editor Adam West. Richard Ardus said: A very satisfying short; the pithy one line admonitions; the sinister identification of the protagonist with the son of God, knowing that there’s a kind of get-out clause – like Christ, he’s doomed.
Forgot to mention there is a poll. A new one (see link below), and there is/was an old poll and that poll was a tumultuous battle. Two T’s – Todd and Tobias – an Englishman and a Swede – went to war. And it was terrible. Titanic. Turbulent. Like two people called Titan fighting and someone (called Titan) had to win, and someone had to lose (unless it was a dead-heat then it didn’t have to end in defeat). Was it a dead-heat? No. Who won? Tobias won that’s who. But Todd won too. It was his third story to be published on Literally Stories which puts him one behind Des Kelly as most published author on the site.
For the first thirty-two years of his life Ray Gaffney did not know who his father was.
He did not care either.
That all changed at a party. After he had sex. When he had a vision.
Freddie knew there were some people you could disrespect and others you had to treat with reverence. He was in a restaurant looking at a man sat at the bar. He knew instinctively that this was a man who was not to be fucked with.
He looked back down at his bowl of spaghetti and ordered his wife to do the same. She did but every once in a while peeked up at the man from the corner of her eye.
She had a bad feeling about him.
I always had trouble seeing the signs despite the signs always pointing in the right direction. One day I left home and walked down to the next town and decided not to walk back. As it turned out this was a place that didn’t have signs and I was alone.
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