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.
Tag: short story
Son of Violence by Michelle Assaad
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.
Cor Pulmonale by Todd Levin
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.
The Hobby By Hugh Cron – Adult Content
Open letter to who can access:
We need to refrain from the hobby. It is with regret that I will implement this. To all involved within my branch, I ask that you cease immediately. I know that may be difficult, especially for the more enthusiastic and extreme members but it must stop.
We have suffered many losses. Some members are now out of circulation and there is going to be a storm regarding others. The protection that this branch guaranteed, unfortunately has to be considered compromised. There will be no more payments taken until our present difficulties are eradicated. I wish to ensure you that we will continue to monitor as much as we can, any future involvements for any potential return to our participation. I would say that the expectation may actually be more exquisite than the involvement.
Literally Stories Week 14
Another week of words where verbs very welcome were. Verbosity? No. Not us. Never. We would never use a very unnecessary word. Why do I begin the news piece this way? An important lesson, of course. An edited piece stands a stronger chance. Remove unwanted verbosity. Look up the word verbosity, then add back those words you removed and cut the fat. Now, to some lighter news.
Light bulbs are on sale.
2:45 am by Todd Levin
I stood on the bottom floor waiting for the elevator. There are two elevators and when one reaches the bottom floor, the other makes its way to the middle so that, when it’s called from no matter where, it’s as close to all floors as it can be without keeping the caller waiting. I’ve often thought of the vanity of that, especially here in a building where the people move out as quickly as they move in. I’ve been here for two years and it feels like I’ve been waiting just as long for this damned elevator. I don’t mind because I have nothing to get up there for, up there on the 7th, where like all the other floors, the doors are white, the people don’t talk and the night is longer than the day. It’s midnight and it’s a Tuesday in November so I travel to the 7th alone. I stare at the bulletin board for the building and it’s empty. It has notices and pictures but it’s empty. I haven’t slept properly from nearly three weeks, a successful push of late being four and a quarter hours last Monday, the effects of a bad day, a dirty gin and an over the counter sleeping pill that just made my eyes feel heavy and like they couldn’t open when I finally woke up at 02.45am.
Horses Riding in upon the Waves by Des Kelly
Sitting atop dunes looking out across the sea with wild breakers racing in like horses riding in upon the waves, keeping a watch for invaders; wild berserk axe men steering their longboats ashore to pillage, rob and kill.
The wild breeze whips the surface off the sand to send it spiralling like a crazy snake all across the ground; with sea weed patches scattered never to be redefined, spits and spots of rain cascade in the wind, some of it salt and some ill-defined.
Diving beneath the cover of walls built by hard faced men long vanished from the earth, searching out the hollows, collecting pebbles for one last dash & defence towards the approach to Castle keep, splashing through fast flowing water, scattering fat sheep and whooping a warning the boy drops breathless and excited onto the sandy soil.
Continue reading “Horses Riding in upon the Waves by Des Kelly”
Aunt Miranda by Diane M Dickson
When the blow first fell it was devastating. Grandfather roared and blustered around the rooms. He used words such as wanton and strumpet. Strumpet, it’s a ridiculous word, it doesn’t fit, sounds silly and theatrical. There was nothing silly about the situation and if it was theatrical it was a Tragedy.
Mummy and Nana sat in purse lipped silence. Their hands wrung and squeezed, white knuckles straining against aging, tightened skin. Aunt Miranda was “In Trouble, Disgraced, a Ruined Woman.”
Waiting For Francis by Todd Levin
I stood at the bathroom door of The Shield waiting on Francis. It had been a long Friday night like most of them had ended up being. This old place had been standing longer than we had but somewhere along the path between here and the hospital visits it stopped feeling that way. But we were alive. More than can be said for our beloved Shield.
Red Ribbons by Des Kelly
Red ribbons floating on the water. A hand sticking up from the deep. A cold plunge into nothingness. The sky so large, and he so small upon the summer lake. The rise and fall of a voice calling out for help…
The dark descending; too little comfort in the night…
literally stories 