All Stories, General Fiction

Happiness by Fernando Meisenhalter

This work is below our minimum word count. However, as we have said before, when something comes in that is just demanding to be published we are perfectly willing to be flexible. We have added our thoughts at the end of the post so that you can see our reasoning. Please feel free to comment – as always we love to know what you think.

Happiness

She has a tattoo on her boobs with something written on it, but I can’t tell if it’s a quote from Marx or César Chávez and the uncertainty is killing me.

“Take a picture,” she says.  “It’ll last longer.”

But a camera isn’t the issue, it’s the pronounced curvature.

“Don’t you think tattoos are like bumper stickers for humans?” I say.  “It’s like the graffiti that used to be on walls moved on to the skin of people, making it much harder to read.”

She gives me a Frida Kahlo look.

“We’re alone in the universe with only our tattoos to express ourselves; they’re the only thing they can’t take from us.  Show some respect.”

I apologize and change the subject, chat about the madness present everywhere and how we’re forced to squeeze a living out of whatever’s left.

“I work in a bar,” she says, “giving hand jobs.  I need to get the guys early, while they still have money.  It’s hard work.  Some are older, and it takes forever, especially if they’re drunk.”

“You must have a strong grip,” I say.

“You can say that,” she says.  “But work’s slow nowadays.  No one carries cash and everyone’s on antidepressants.  It’s like no one can handle happiness anymore.”

“It’s a damn shame,” I say.

“Happiness is in our Declaration of Independence, our Hollywood happy endings, our self-help books.  Now it’s Citalopram and Prozac.  It depresses me just to think about it.”

And I agree.  America’s missing something, something vital.  So, we keep lamenting our grim prospects, unpayable student loans, and I wonder how we’ll ever make it through the week, how will we ever survive.  It’s an uphill battle, each and every freaking day.  And I have no cash, and she has no hope.

~~~~~~~~~~

Diane:

I think it’s a real challenge to draw believable and visible character in such a short word count and that was the main thing that struck me about this piece, and what made me want to see it on the site. Just the very first line about the tattoo gives such a clear glimpse into the character of this woman. This is something with a literary quote on it, something more than just body ornamentation.  Then we find more about her, her struggle and her despondency, her strength and confidence. I think the woman is the deeper character here and the narrator a foil for our look at her life.

When you consider that all this is packed into 294 words it is very impressive. It is a social comment of course and if it had simply been that – almost a rant – I wouldn’t have considered it for a moment, but it is a multifaceted story, a tiny slice of two lives which perfectly encompasses the problems of misery and struggle of modern life, mostly in the developed world.

Very clever writing in my opinion.

~~~~

Hugh:

I have just read Diane’s views on this wonderful piece of writing.

The comments and points she makes are concise and well observed.

I can only add, for me, such a small word count only works if it has a cutting point that is perceptive and relevant. This powerful piece of work does all of that superbly well.

If you are going to write under three hundred words, this is the way to do it.

~~~

Nik

I experiment a lot with short pieces – 50 word fiction, drabbles etc. – because I love the challenge of getting depth into a story within the confines of a strict word count. It’s critical in my opinion that you get in two great lines – one to open and one to close – and that you keep it very simple for the rest. This piece opens well, closes well and is just a simple conversation. And yet as a reader I was able to picture the scene, flesh out the characters and feel a sense of hopelessness and despair. Clever stuff.

~~~

Fernando Meisenhalter

Banner Image: Pixabay.com

All Stories, General Fiction

Testing the Waters  by Fred Vogel

My Uncle Jonathan was a wonderful writer and an even better storyteller. By that I mean he was gifted with a vivid imagination when recounting events from his colorful past. How much of his writing was accurate has always been up for debate. But if only half of what he swore to be the truth were true, the man lived a rich and fortunate life.

Continue reading “Testing the Waters  by Fred Vogel”

All Stories, General Fiction

February by Nik Eveleigh

Some days bring sunshine. Some bring rain. And somewhere along the line life settles in hard as a February sky. Locks down your dreams tight against the iron earth and dares you to object. For such a short month it exacts a long toll.

A bunch of scientists did an experiment once with fleas. They took half a dozen of the brightest and bounciest, dropped them in a jar and screwed on the lid. For a couple of days those fleas launched themselves into almost continually. Eventually, through pain or weariness or both, they stopped jumping so high. They settled on a spot two thirds of the way up the sides of the jar and that was their limit. Even after the lid came off and they could have bounded their way to freedom those fleas kept right on jumping to a place well below the potential of possibility.

Maybe I’m being melodramatic but if that leaden February sky ever clears I wonder how high I can still jump.

Continue reading “February by Nik Eveleigh”

All Stories, Latest News

Week 141 – Fashion, Bulimia And Elvis Is Dead.

Post 141 is upon us. It is here and now and hip and happening!!

The last time I was hip and happening was, well, never!

This may be a weird mix of ideas this week.

For some reason I was thinking of fashion and how fucked up that is. It’s an industry within an industry which has evolved incestuously. Most of the pipe-cleaners who model look as if they need a bloody good feed.

I used the line that I was bulimic but I just kept forgetting to be sick on many occasions. I think a lot of the models are anorexic and they keep forgetting to eat. They must be on some sort of dust diet.

The only reason that I thought of this was when I put on my new Bakers Whites for the first time and I realised that due to my stature I looked like an avalanche. The only good thing about this is that a big hairy dug keeps bringing me brandy. For some reason they are all called Bernard.

Continue reading “Week 141 – Fashion, Bulimia And Elvis Is Dead.”

All Stories, Latest News

Week 134 – An Appeal, Kathryn Toolan And No Punctuation.

I get a bit of a break this week as we have another one of those now and again Saturday Posts.

I’ll get the reviews done first and then I’ll introduce our special posting.

Continue reading “Week 134 – An Appeal, Kathryn Toolan And No Punctuation.”

All Stories, Latest News

Week 128 – Fathers, Flagsticks and Strictly Perseverance

The literary legend we know simply as Hugh Cron is taking a well-deserved break from proceedings this week and has entrusted me, his faithful Welsh sidekick, to come up with a few choice words to sum up the week that was at LS Towers*

* not an actual tower – more of a chateau really.

I can neither confirm nor deny if Hugh is adding something extra to his Irn-Bru over the course of the weekend but I can at least confirm that from a roundup perspective what I lack in wit I more than make up for in lack of wit.

Continue reading “Week 128 – Fathers, Flagsticks and Strictly Perseverance”

All Stories, Latest News

Week 125 – Speedos, Trifles And Rooting Rhubarb.

I’ve began far too many of these posts with this type of comment:

All of us at Literally Stories send our thoughts to those affected by the atrocity in Manchester.

Our football season is coming to an end and that is normally a sign of summer finally turning up. Only in our country does it make sense to play sport in the rain and snow.

Anyhow back to the summer, we don’t handle those three days in June very well. As soon as it’s bright we put on our Speedos and head to the beach. The men don’t dress much better.

Unfortunately a bright day doesn’t necessarily constitute heat here in Scotland but our NHS services are wonderful and on that bright day they are well geared up with survival blankets and hot soup.

Continue reading “Week 125 – Speedos, Trifles And Rooting Rhubarb.”

All Stories, General Fiction

The Precipitous Writing Career of Evelyn Jones by Bruce Levine

From the first thing of recorded history, that is, the first thing he could remember, Evelyn Jones wanted to be a writer. He didn’t know what he wanted to write and, at not quite two years old, that was to be expected. But he’d seen people writing things. Adults, his older siblings and anyone else that happened to hold a pencil or pen and place it against paper was fascinating. The mere act of passing a writing instrument across paper seemed so extraordinary that he felt he somehow had to try it.

Continue reading “The Precipitous Writing Career of Evelyn Jones by Bruce Levine”

All Stories, Latest News

Week 120 – Insecurities, Placebos And Goosing Lamp Posts.

I’ve been thinking on insecurities and what fun they are to write about. You can have a laugh and rip the pish out of other folks and you can do the same with your own but that isn’t funny.

I would rather use it as a self-help exercise, ’cause lets be honest, if you can write about them and put them out there, you will never need to pay a therapist.

Now paying a therapist seems to be something people in other countries do. We don’t. Us Scottish people would never dream of doing this and that has sod all to do with the very false stereotype of us being mean.

We wear our madness as a badge of honour. To be sectioned is the top accolade but it very seldom happens. The only way this can happen is if you sexually assault a lamp-post and it complains to the authorities.

Continue reading “Week 120 – Insecurities, Placebos And Goosing Lamp Posts.”