This is weird as I have no inspiration on what to write. I’m hoping that I can write my way into something.
I think all of us here at Literally Stories have done this once or twice when trying to decide on a story. We write down our thoughts, our reasoning and that eventually helps us decide.
So here goes.
Continue reading “Week 88 – Bingo, Sean Connery And Equal Ground”
It was on a summer night that Suki jumped out of that train and into that basement, not a winter one. She remembers the stale cigarette smell, still feels it scratching the back of her throat as she talks about it.
Continue reading “Suki’s Unabridged Journey to The Train of Thought by Sharon Mertins”
It was darker now, he wouldn’t have believed it possible. It was, deep, impenetrable and velvet. For the first time Tom was afraid. When the others had suggested the trip it sounded like fun. A chance to explore the newly discovered pothole, to be the first and so have their names in the journals as the original team opening up a new cavern, shining light on the newly opened place. He wasn’t very experienced and found the roping complicated, he had done it wrong and it had stuck twice on the trial run, the rope catching in the pulley but they told him it would be fine. He knew that they were finding him irritating, they were all so much more experienced but hey, that wasn’t his fault. Anyway in the end it hadn’t been fine, it had let him down and as he began to slide into the smaller cavern, pushing and slithering on the loose gravel at the head the damned thing had failed tossing him end over end into this pit.
Right now. Right at this very moment. The moment we are sharing through the medium of a page and the words it contains a man is washing blood from a nine inch blade. His hands are shaking and not just from the chill of the brown water that alternately dribbles then vomits from a rusting tap.
The bathroom is stark. You know the type. Single, naked bulb throwing diseased shards of light into your brain, alive with a frequency on the ragged edge of your hearing. The floor tiles might be white under the patina of despair, shit and god knows what else. The ones on the walls are much the same but with more graffiti to hide their shame. The mirror above the sink keeps showing the same re-run of a man washing a knife. He looks familiar but he’s changed. Hollowed out. He has no idea why he is cleaning the knife but he doesn’t stop.
Fraternal twin brothers from an exemplary family with a long history of silver spoons, silk stockings, white gloves, and blueblood.
Arthur, the elder by minutes, born to ponder, plan, plot and practice minor deceits for major gains and elaborate scams for minimal returns or momentous losses.
Theo of the laughing lips and smiling eyes, a charming and pliable character and a lubricous seducer of young girls and married women. The younger brother, a slippery wordsmith, giving every word a double or triple meaning. His promises are rarely broken because they are seldom understood.
Continue reading “Atreus (Arthur) and Thyestes (Theo) by Frederick K. Foote”
“Here I am,” says his imperative argument in an undertone, “eighty-seven frigging years old, my knees gone to hell and back, my gut talking about all the beer I’ve sailed my life across, barrels of it talking to me all at once, and this little kid out in front of my house crying his head off. This little kid, this little shaver, one of the ones we did our thing for, our future.
Continue reading “Beau Geste Murtaugh, Veteran of Wars by Tom Sheehan”
Here we go again. Another seven days have gone as quick as Usain Bolt with a dodgy stomach! I think you can see where this post is going. I can’t ignore what is a world-wide event so I have been thinking on The Olympics this week. Due to me not wanting to upset many people I won’t comment on the big man overlooking but not helping the Nazareth team winning any medals. (Broken Down Angel anyone???)
Continue reading “Week 87 – Submissions, Words And The Nazareth Fencing Team”
“He’d been a philanderer for years.”
Those words spilling out slowly from my mother’s mouth, chin firm, lips straight, not a tear in her eye, about my father who had just died – came as a total surprise – especially when there was no chance to verify her accusation. He was gone, unable to defend himself. So as his son, I wasn’t sure to take the announcement as total truth or as someone’s bruised opinion?
Dick and Jane and Bob and Sally lived in a pretty little town with grass and trees. One day Bob was gone, leaving his body behind. Dick said to Sally, “Where is Bob?” Sally said to Dick, “Bob is gone.” They looked at Bob’s body, poking it with a stick. It did not move. He was not there.
Prologue: A case of the heebie-jeebies.
In a determined effort to spread inefficiency and uselessness throughout all possible universes, the Amalgamated Union of Pennames and Imaginary Friends(of which I am a reluctant member) has expanded like a toxic spill, and now includes the clientele of the recently defunct Guild of Fictional Characters. The mess has been “rebranded” the UPIFFC.
Continue reading “Meanwhile, Back at the UPIFFC… by Leila Allison”
literally stories 