fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Heartless Divulgence
A little after midnight, the sounds of thunder shake the room and suddenly Jay is launched from his terrifying nightmare back into his lonely sweat filled bed. Sweating and shaking he crawls out of his drenched sheets leaving behind the damp remains of the aftereffects of a troublesome nightmare. Stumbling over the many duffle bags filled with money cluttered across his one-bedroom apartment floor he fights to get to his bathroom. He finally manages to reach the sink to splash cold water on his face trying to force himself back to reality. But what was reality? He continues to have similar dreams of him being caught red handed in one of his various heinous acts. Although he didn't fear death, he was absolutely terrified of being tortured. The thought of being forced to endure an unknown or unforeseen amount of pain sent a shrivel up his spine so intense goosebumps would start to form; his palms would get clammy and his heart would beat through his chest. He would begin to sweat profusely with a growing tremble in his gut forged from fear and distress. Jays thoughts now channel to his newfound situation or the life he lived before the arrival of the black notebook. It’s only been about 1 month of having the book in his possession and Jay has amassed a small fortune. Upon receiving each payment for each mission and to witness the aftereffects of his original decision he would continuously loose another piece of his sanity. Staring himself in the mirror he is disgusted and nauseous at himself but at the same time excited about his newly found riches. He hasn't slept more than two hours in 23 days and his actions have turned him into two different people. He thinks to himself "yea, 23 days ago, that's when my life changed." He shakes his head with a slight grin and splashes more cold water on his face and begins to think back to the exact moment that changed his perception of life and death. Now again staring at himself in the mirror he doesn't see a way out of this precalculated predicament. "Why is my freedom more important than another's? Did my life mean more then another's? Who decides ones worth?" As he ponders these questions for the 10th night in a row he thinks of his role in this unreal circumstance. He establishes that he might be stuck at the crossroads of depression and exploitation with no way to change his incurable occurrence.
By ET Productions 6 years ago in Criminal
Journal Entry 2
Dear Diary, Today in the garden... No, never mind. My therapist told me I should keep a diary, but my memories of the word “diary” are littered with imagery of heart-dotted-i’s and glitter pens. And secrets I couldn’t tell anyone. This thing is all suave black leather, so maybe journal is more appropriate? I don’t know, I think I’m just binarily gendering stationary at this point. But honestly, “Dear Diary” sounds a little too young and nostalgic, and “Dear Journal” doesn’t have the same warm ring to it, so let me just get on with it:
By Misa Tadasai6 years ago in Criminal
Roses
August 28th, 1969 The top of the newspaper read. Two months before Frank Scaletta’s twenty-fifth birthday. Frank sat on a bench downtown in front of a flower display in the courtyard. It was foggy but humid, parents and their kids were walking on either side of the yard with bags from their shopping trips. He used today’s newspaper as a cover as he watched for his target. Nowhere to be seen of yet. Perhaps the tip was shit. He was getting sick and tired of bad tips.
By Leonardo Pizzolato6 years ago in Criminal
INFATUATED DIARIES
¨L-O-V-E is not just a word, love is more than caring or being loyal or honest to your significant other. Its about waking up everyday happy to see the same face and live with that person and take care of that person for weakness or health¨.
By Essence Ventura6 years ago in Criminal
Young, East-African Girl
I stared at him as he laid there with his eyes wide open. Angry, abandoned, and hurt that someone he loves so much took a gun and put a bullet through his skull. Shouldn’t I feel some kind remorse? I mean after all I did just kill human being. A man that was only my lover; the husband of my sister but also my employer. When he was kind he was extremely kind, generous, I dare to even say loving. But when you mess with the man’s money the kind Muslim man disappeared. He turned into a monster like you have never seen. He would tell me “I drink the blood of those who steal from me”. Often times I would try to fight back the urge from just laughing. I mean come on, what a drama queen right? He watched too many American films I tell you. The fragility of a rich middle eastern man’s ego. "Uff ya rebbel alemin forgive me but it had to be done". I did my sister, his daughters, and his other women a favor. Men like him, men that pray to Allah Five times a day; wearing their zebiba on their forehead like a batch of honor; while simultaneously prostituting women in secret and taking all the money for themselves. Well that’s beyond "HARAM" (forbidden)!
By Tarik Bein 6 years ago in Criminal
The One Who Follows Snippet
In the midst of this drama, came one of life’s pivotal moments. A few months into living at the loft with similar or exceedingly wild stories that I will spare you the details of, I realized I was tired of being dead broke. Since I declined the internship at McLaren, I had taken up three part-time jobs. One as a cashier/busboy/waiter/janitor at a walk-in fast food restaurant called Wahoo’s. I was paid minimum wage, and whatever tips were made were to be put into a collective jar for the week and dispersed equally to all the staff, which I hated because I was a charming little devil and the tips I made in a week would have been worth my while. I hated that job. I had greatness in me, don’t you know, and I felt too good to be waiting on people hand and foot and cleaning dirty bathrooms. The second part-time job I got was much better (for the time being) and more lucrative, I was an employee in fashion retail at Lacoste. I had a great group of co-workers and was paid a whole $11/hour. Big cash ting, you know? But that was like a supernova, burn bright die young, as management closed that location within ten weeks of me joining the team, because of poor sales performance from the year before (and by poor performance I mean a 2% drop instead of a 25% increase, the impossible mark they had been shooting for, while the city of Philadelphia had the façade of the store under construction for the last fourteen months). They had given us all one week’s notice. Yay. Back to serving up bowls of “Are your taste buds satisfied with the $8 quality food you are eating, or would you like me to take it back to the kitchen a fifth time?” I was getting really frustrated. I was looking for jobs, getting an interview here and there but getting nothing. Some said I was overqualified and that they were only looking to give the position to those with no prior work experience and/or no college education. I had also been working on building a business, which just so happened to fall into the energy industry, and research and development is quite expensive if I am putting it lightly.
By Nico DeGrange6 years ago in Criminal
