When we thought about doing this I considered researching, re-reading and trying to come across as a damn sight more intelligent than I am. I therefore decided to do this off the cuff. That is what it is all about. In my lifetime I have read over 400 books and I would not be able to hazard a guess at the amount of short stories. Within all of the short stories published on Literally Stories, I remember some. Those are the ones that I would like to consider.
Overlooking the Staatsoper, the Rathaus, the Parlament and the Burgtheater Johann ticked his finger up and down. The lighting made a group of freshmen look as if they flickered underneath an ethereal golden waterfall. They danced and laughed on the market place, took pictures and were allowed to be free. A girl with blond hair in a white dress caught Johann’s attention. The others talked while she almost tiptoed away. He lowered his finger but stopped it from rising again. Her smile. Mesmerising. He stamped his feet on the wooden floor, watched her move around a street lamp. Graceful and delicate. She’s smiling still. And she came around to the other side, his side, the dress and the hair moved like a C Major played by a violin. Back to C, but from where? Not some place dangerous, some place of comfort and trust. Of the golden waterfall and the blend between baroque and renaissance architecture. Was she even real? Could she disappear at any moment if he just closed his eyes? He raised his finger and closed his eyes. She was gone. And so was the group of students.
”Did you know that The Hobbit has 95022 words?”
“I didn’t. Now, watch your head. You’re taller than I thought. I mean, I’ve only seen your picture-“
“Yes, those are deliberately small. So this is your man cave?”
Nik skipped and yodeled his way to the brewing station. “Here! Look here. Now, wait, let me conduct a little presentation for you, my Swedish friend. Here, is where ale becomes Bale – that’s a Welsh football reference – here, is where a pond of swans becomes Swansea. But enough of my great Welsh puns, HERE, is where the best beer brews, buddy.”
Tobias sniffed and smiled, sniffed and smiled. By now, he was more dog-like than people-like. “So spin me the tail… I mean tale of the beer.”
Continue reading “Tobias Haglund In conversation with Nik Eveleigh”
It is dark here, the floor is wet and the smell is dreadful. The window is barred and I can’t reach it to see out. There is nothing in this stone room, nothing except me and Alia.
There’s nothing like almost killing yourself to put things into perspective. The slow, dull lull of life seeping out of your body one drop at a time, and you, rushing to say all you need to say before it’s all over. And by you, I mean me, of course.
Continue reading “A New Perspective or That Time I Was Allergic to Wussing Out by Alex Rezdan”
”Did you know Leonardo da Vinci was a farmer’s son?”
“No.”
“He was. Born out of wedlock by a mother who was a farmer. You can imagine how it must have looked. Fifteen century Italy, born and raised by a single mother, yet he still managed to accomplish those many great things. It really is a great argument that every social class should be given a chance, right?”
“Right.”
“The next Leonardo da Vinci might be raised right now by a single mother.”
“Are you nervous?”
“Yes.”
“Look. If you don’t want-”
“I want to. Let’s just talk for a while first.” Kevin sat down on the bed. “Would you? Would you please say something. Just… I wanna hear you talk. It soothes me.”
Continue reading “Before Hitting The Ground by Tobias Haglund”
”Sit down, my good friend, sit down.” Adam gave Tobias a stout. “There you go. Something imperial to take your mind off of things.”
“Thank you, kind sir. My mind has been racing, that’s for sure.” Tobias took a big enough sip for it to be called a chug, but he did it in such a gentlemanlike way it remained a sip. “Mind if I share with you what burdens me?”
“I’m all… wait -” Adam chugged a stout and slumped down. “Ears.”
“I’m a Swede, as you know, and therefore when I write English, prone to make mistakes. Some are because it’s a second language and some are genuine mistakes. Let’s start with the latter. Take for instance the word mistake. In Swedish a miss is always spelled with two S. Even when writing mistakes-”
“I’m sensing a pun here…”
Continue reading “Tobias Haglund in conversation with Adam West”
In a damp cellar the mould mixed with the scent of urine coming from his rags. A drop of sweat still dangled at the tip of his black hair from an excruciatingly painful hour as the hatchway closed. He was strong, the strongest, but he had never endured that level of pain. Moss and mice were signs of hope, or at least hope of life in the dark.
Conspirator. Traitor. Your house shall burn and your name will be dragged in the mud.
And they dragged his face in mud. Along the wooden planks and the stone. From one side of the long wall to the next. Two hard punches to the back of his head threw him into the stone. He lost teeth. A man stamped him in the lumbar region, which was the reason he couldn’t stand up.
We hope that you have all enjoyed this week’s mixed bag from Literally Stories as much as we have enjoyed presenting them to you.
There is always a buzz of excitement when we receive a new submission, this is tempered by nervousness and crossed fingers. We absolutely love accepting your short fiction pieces, we are thrilled to send an acceptance email and the following notification of publication date. All the stories, including our own are read by all the editors and to be approved they have to receive at least three strong YES votes. Sometimes a story will be borderline and then there is great discussion amongst the editors and on occasion one of us will champion a piece successfully and bring about a change of mind and a piece will gain approval. I mention this because we do want contributing authors to know that we always take your work very seriously and we do know how disappointing it is if we have to send that horrible “other” email.
“Mr. Peta. A broad’s waitin’ for ya.”
“The red dress with blonde hair? Yea? Did you offer her somethin’ to drink? I got a feeling she’s gonna need it.”
I acted surprised when I saw her. The news coverage pretty much summed up what the meeting would be about. Socialite inherited fortune after bloody breakfast accident.
“Hello Mr. Peta.”
“It’s Mr. Peter.”
“The secretary-”
“She can’t speak. What can I do you for?”
I sat down and shoved old newspapers with half-finished crossword puzzles to the side. I didn’t want her to know I couldn’t finish what I had started. I offered her a glass of bourbon smokier than a factory working ballet dancer.
literally stories 