fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Ghosts of Girlfriends Passed
I wish I could have stopped it. He throws her against a shelf. I TRIED to stop it. He cracks her head against the wall. I screamed and yelled at the top of my lungs, hoping someone would hear me. COULD hear me. I shoved at him. He slams her to the ground.
By Bre Johnson5 years ago in Criminal
The Article Part 1
Prologue We shall begin this story with two young males outside playing. One goes by the name David, and the other is Goliath. The two were playing catch with a baseball until two ladies entered the park. Both of them were slim and dressed in jeans and a tank top. David took fancy of these girls.
By D.m. Napier5 years ago in Criminal
girl in the basement
I sat laughing at a table with a beer in my hand and a man playing a guitar at the front. “You know Billy you haven’t lost any of that young soul of yours.” a man with long grey hair and a broom mustache said across from me. Another man said. “yup! 65 years old yet his soul is only 21.” I laughed and put my hand up to my chin feeling my bread. I then heard the door open and a pretty lady walk in. a song started to play and the girl said. “Come with me I want to dance.” I laughed and danced with her. I heard a loud sound and then felt a huge pain in my torso I looked down and saw blood gushing out of my stomach. The lady had shot me. “Give me all your cash!” She said pointing the gun at the cashier. I managed to say “stop!” but she turned back and shot me in the face.
By Kathy Colbert5 years ago in Criminal
Watch Your Head
“Shit,” Detective Ashburn cursed at the road. The headlights were being interrupted by the rain, but her focus was on the dimly lit homes that skated by. The houses came to a stop in front of a strongly lit porch where Ashburn stops the car, she forces the vehicle into park and releases a sigh of relief. Ashburn walks to the stoop of the craggy house as she knocks on the door.
By Rachel Huron5 years ago in Criminal
The rich hitman
Hi, my name is James Crawford, and I am an innocent alcoholic who lives in Croatia but I am not so innocent now. I used to live in a one-bedroomed apartment where my friend, Davis Lanes would pay rent for me so I wouldn't worry about anything besides which beer I was going to buy with the money that Davis would have sent to me but one Saturday afternoon Davis decided to visit me and it was not good at all, he was complaining about how I did not pay my own rent and how I would always be sick due to the alcohol I consume. At first I did not care about what Davis was saying until he mentioned cutting me off and at that point I started begging Davis not to cut me off but he refused. I was worried about where I was going to be living the next month. I was so stressed that I did the only thing I am good at, drinking. I went to the bottle store to drown my worries in beer but it did not seem to work. I purchased my tenth beer and sat outside the store and as I was about to open my beer I remembered an old friend named Alex Runner. I pulled out my phone to search for his contact and luckily enough I found it. Alex requested a meeting at his house which was twenty minutes away from my apartment. I walked to Alex's beautiful mansion and I was quite shocked considering that he was just as broke as me ten months ago. The gates opened up for me. I approached the mansion thinking I had written down the wrong address but the front door opened up and to my surprise, Alex walked out. He was so excited to see me but. I was still confused and I rubbed my eyes to make sure I was not dreaming and to my ultimate surprise, it was not a dream. Alex got to me and hugged me. I only had one question to ask which was
By Tapiwa Zinyuke5 years ago in Criminal
Putnam Robberson
“Careful, careful. Doubtless I’m a wobbling bottle, but a bottle can fall and break not. I’ll bite another nail and avoid a fresh set of tangents. If the translucent glass figure of my being smashes then I shall only lay there shattered, not dissolved — and certainly not dead. Should I be intact upon this potential drop I shall wait for a fool to pick me up and put me on the shelf. “No! Get your mouth away from me. There’s nothing in me: I’m not new.” And I’ll sit, cosy, upright, peering out, writing my letters however I please, with my resolutions secure and protected, ignorant of that aligned around me on the shelf. I’m an active ornament, a funky rogue rendering no followable trail. Pick up my pooh and see just how fresh it is. Did I go left? Right? Was that little branch snapped by my movements or by a lost but carefree monkey? I am gone. I don’t need to be a ghost. No one is watching me, rather me them. Leave the jungle! Let autopilot fly you out. And you’ll die never connected to your true self, fettered to the influences of your dreadfully similar brethren. And me, I shall be an anonymous bottle, open, empty, devoid of carbonated conventions, filled with delicate insight, — perhaps precious — quiet and groomed with self-respect, adding to the modest flavours of my simple soul, like a relaxed wizard with wisdom and mansuetude swimming through his veins, for man had trampled on the moon, drenched the earth in blood and lost any quasi interpretable translation of love there ever was: how can I be a part of that? I am careless, I am gentle, and I am nothing like you.”
By Oscar Richard5 years ago in Criminal
Playing with Pyros
The aerosol can hissed and sprayed chemicals across the living room; igniting instantly. The trail of flames eventually engulfed the brown suede couch, crimson curtains and gray carpet. Lodin ran out the back door just as the rest of the cans he had planted began to pop and rupture with the rising heat. Once outside, he walked through the alley and examined the back of the house. He enjoyed the yard, and he thought that she would too because she had talked about how much she wanted a big yard for future kids and family dogs. Amidst his admiration of the smoldering house, he heard voices and knew people had already begun to gather for tonight’s show.
By Myiah L Bengston5 years ago in Criminal
The Red Lady
She didn’t know what she was doing anymore. That much was certain. As she swirled her spoon in the dark drink, Amber stared blankly at the glass cup, her eyes barely blinking the deeper she lost herself in the liquid of her thoughts. Sinking into her worn and cushioned seat, she swallowed hard and tried to even out her breathing when she felt her vision begin to sting and water.
By Delores Wilson5 years ago in Criminal
