fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Someone Like Philipa Burns
It's always the same in suburbia- day in and day out. Life here is monotonous, but I'm one of the lucky ones. I still have a chance to get out of here, to do something with my life. But, to do something with your life, to do anything really you need one thing, money, and lots of it. People are always talking about how money doesn't buy you happiness. And yes, in many cases it doesn't, but it sure does help. That's why I do it, babysit I mean. I'm only seventeen and I babysit for four families on my street and make nearly double the money of all my friends flipping burgers. It's a good gig, decent pay and the kids are bearable.
Stephanie BennettPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Sound Grass Makes
On the afternoon of our disappearance, me and Frankie were running our ‘Eat the Rich’ hustle at a country club in Beverly Hills.
Daniel HalemPublished 3 years ago in CriminalOne Last Rock Before Sunset
It is golden hour, that magical time before sunset when the world is bathed in a fierce gold light. Hazel Wright rocks on her porch. She's 87, arthritic and constantly in pain. Her back is curved like a question mark. She watches the green-backed hummingbirds zip around the feeder she made from a soy sauce bottle and a strip of copper wire.
SG BuckleyPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Black Book
The Black Book One last look he thought, the gargantuan pile of concrete which has been crushing the life out of him for 20 years. How weird it is to continuously return to a place that slowly drip feeds you the idea of what life should be.
Mason KannemeyerPublished 3 years ago in CriminalRegularity
On his short stroll to work, Old Man Fitz heard a husky voice coaxing him over from the drain. Peering in, he saw a three-foot tall, red-headed, freckled creature with an always-eating-cookie-dough smile, standing on milk crates.
Justin DavisPublished 3 years ago in CriminalCash and Blood
Part 1 - The rules Jason had never seen a gun in person before, but the one on the table was definitely real. So was the graze on his temple where the pistol had been jammed a few moments ago. Sitting at his small kitchen table, under sterile white light, he felt like he was in an interrogation room - the kind where you leave by confession or not at all.
Jamie AllenPublished 3 years ago in CriminalA Simple Act of Plagiarism
Lisa stared into the fire as the edges of paper blackened and curled in the flames. She sighed with envy, remembering the confident strokes that filled up its lines. She tore another page out of the little black book and watched again as the flames took hold. Her face was grim but hopeful, the pages were the last of the evidence, an end to her problem. At least that is what she thought.
P.K. ArmstrongPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Pickpocket
She clocked him a block away. The man she marked was walking with an arrogant strut that only rich assholes can pull off. A ridiculously expensive suit, a knockoff Rolex, and on his cell phone talking way too loudly and gesticulating too much, thinking he's somebody.
Jacob CiprianoPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Key
It started through boredom. Single, getting old and living alone, there really was not much to do. It was my new normal Friday night, gone were the days of getting drunk down the local boozer! I would say I was getting too old for it, but to be honest I didn't really socialise anymore. The darkness that is anxiety was taking its hold, so it was easy to get home from work and cocoon myself.
Jodie BartonPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Little Black Book
Little Black Book The place stank of stale beer, cigarettes and regret. The dim lighting, hid the decrepit saloon fixtures, and clientele from scrutiny equally. Without exception, the figures leaning over their drinks were solitary, alone with their thoughts, or their guilt. People didn’t come to a place like this for pleasant conversation, or for the ambiance. There was no juke box to liven the evening, only the clank of filled glasses on the bar top, or the rattle of whiskey bottles being returned to the shelf. A silent hockey game played itself on the television mounted above the cash register at the end of the bar. The bartender minded his own business, and so did everyone else.
Mike NelsonPublished 3 years ago in CriminalTales from the Diagonal
Around a quarter past two on a Tuesday in March, the gravity in Irene Penrose’s front room went out. It was a relatively minor inconvenience -it lasted less than a minute, the only casualty a porcelain kitten- but it’s generally accepted that this was where reality first started to fall apart.
Stuart RobertsPublished 3 years ago in CriminalThe Wrong Sip
No one was surprised when he was found dead. On the kitchen floor, the white tiles now painted a dark red, he lay. The late summer flies had found his body long before his neighbours decided to reach out to authorities.
Amelia HillPublished 3 years ago in Criminal