Author: storgy

2014 STORGY Short Story Anthology

The 2014 STORGY Short Story Competition Anthology is now available on Amazon for only £1.99. This Kindle Anthology contains all fourteen finalist short stories, author interviews, afterwords, and exclusive artwork by STORGY illustrator Harlot Von Charlotte. Cover design by Rob Pearce. You can read the winning story below. Winners: 1ST PLACE: LIVE MEAT AND FREEDOM

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Lauren Bell: The Beginning of the End!

The news was full of it. Unidentified blue object falls from the sky. I turned the TV up, not sure whether I had heard correctly. The newsreader hadn’t got a clue what was going on, his large vacuous eyes like plates wiped clean, but he went along with the script anyway. ‘Reports on Dover beach

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Anthony Self: The Hook

The all-beeping rendition of Los Del Rio’s ‘Macarena’ cut through the darkness like a schizoid Spanish Morse code. John peeled his eyes open. He knew he’d have to answer it before it got to the main chorus; otherwise he’d never be able to get the damn song out of his head.   A la tuhelpa

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Benjamin Hewitt: Splinters

“You’re a writer Jenny…tell me a story to cheer me up.” “Okay so there’s a rock, and underneath there are two woodlice and they start to fight.” “More detail.” “Okay. So one of them is like an old man woodlouse with a chapped shell, and the other is a young female with a strong armoured

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Sian Evans: They’ll say I smelt of damp

I hate the smell of damp: clothes that haven’t been aired as they dried; the bath mat after my niece and nephew have splashed their way through bath time; the old sock stuck in the corner of the duvet cover that is only discovered when you change the bedding; the unused side alley to the

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Steve Noyes: The Member

  Honourable Speaker, Picture a motel corridor. Exit signs, arrows. Carpeting. Metal receptacles. We’ve been here. Door at the end of the corridor, propped open on light, pure, of the palest candescence peculiar to a Northern B.C. midsummer. Our camera enters a room. The recordist, his face cubistically altering, sits at a small desk writing

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Heather Clift: One More Chance!

An elderly man, his clothes threadbare and dirty, sat next to a rusty shopping cart parked to the left of the door. It was heaped with miscellaneous detritus and several small plastic bags filled with aluminum cans were tied to the outside. “Hey, kid. Got any spare change? Help a Vet get his mornin’ cup?”

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George Huntington: [Somnia]

The hotel is a large boxy square sat facing the beach, much like the other boxy squares sat either side. The elderly flaking paint is peach coloured and ugly. The windows, though equally old, are scrubbed and the frames careworn. The resulting effect is that of a treasured family mongrel having been groomed for a

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Charles Bane Jnr.: Davids Engines

W​hen my son was born, I had every expectation that I would leave behind me one day an industrious, kind and well-educated young man. Very few are remembered for their accomplishments, but a child will remember you if you are loving and supportive. I would be such a father, and the exact same feeling in

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Lawrence Pratt: “Blind Faith”

Steve Dunn lay awake, staring at the ceiling in the near-dark of his bedroom. His wife, Linda, was on the other side of the bed, sound asleep and oblivious to her husband’s insomnia and building frustration. How, Dunn wondered, could the events of the past few hours have occurred? After all the work and prayers

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