fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
WHAT ARE THE ODDS?
The odds seem to have been stacked against me from a young age. My friends call me Shy, I was born on a hot July morning 1983 in The Bronx, New York to a Puerto Rican couple, Marisol and Sergio. They were high school sweethearts and although we didn't have much, my dad always seemed to make it work. We lived on the second floor in a six floor walk up apartment building, there were several similar buildings on that street, a few vacant lots and a corner store that everyone went to. We were always well-dressed and put together because that's how my dad liked it and Mom wouldn't have it any other way. Dad also loved jewelry so we always had gold chains, earrings, bracelets and rings. My mom was a beauty, light skinned, petite, with big brown eyes and a smile that would light up a stadium; a natural life of the party type. My dad was a serious character, tall, dark and handsome and the ladies loved him but never dared to step on my momma's toes. She was as fierce as she was beautiful and could throw down like a professional MMA fighter. Plus, my dad wasn't giving any of them the time of day. My parents were well respected on the block and everyone loved them. Sergio was no drug dealer but he dabbled in it from time to time when he needed to make ends meet, it was easy for him since the entire neighborhood was infested with drugs and addicts alike; otherwise he was hard working and sometimes held down two and three jobs at a time. Marisol stayed home with me and threw the best parties; dinner parties, dominoes parties, birthday parties, block parties, no matter what type of party it was, you were bound to have a great time. She was a great cook and Sergio had the biggest speaker system, the whole block could hear the music when we had parties. Sergio didn't smoke, drink or do any drugs, Marisol on the other hand, indulged in all of it; sometimes enough for the both of them. I loved both my parents but I was a daddy's girl.
By Vanessa Rodriguez3 years ago in Criminal
The Unmasking of Hannah Nguyen
“Pushhh!” the midwife shouted, as if screaming would help get this baby out of my vagina. I had been pushing for two hours after a 30-hour labour, most of which was in a private waiting room, with nothing more than a desk, computer, and a less than comfortable chair. The nurses said it was Valentine’s Day baby season. With only seven birthing rooms at the public hospital, many labouring women (including myself) had the pleasure of barring our labour in rooms, with what felt like paper thin walls, side by side, with no pain relief.
By Diana Pereira3 years ago in Criminal
A Really Good Friend
My family keeps me in drink and I appreciate it. I am not an alcoholic, but I truly enjoy a cold beer or a good single malt. Years ago I implored family and friends to forego the gag gifts, puzzles, and clothing items that I invariably returned to their stores of origin and instead surprise me with a dark ale or scotch. They complied and every time I drink a dark Becks or sip a Laphroaig from a Waterford tumbler I think well of the givers. And of the Laphroaig I also think well of Dick Francis whose character kept saying "Ahaaa, Laphroaig" when tracing counterfeit single malts in one of his books. His appreciation for the peaty brand inspired me to try the brand for myself. I daresay the distillery should have given Francis a commission.
By Cleve Taylor 3 years ago in Criminal
The List
John, woke up tired, hungover, and alone. "Here we go again," he thinks. Wiping the sleep from his eyes he stumbled his way to the kitchen, searching for a clean glass to fill with water, trying to still the pounding headache he acquired from the night before. "Why do I keep doing this to myself? I'm never drinking again," he says aloud.
By Jared Long3 years ago in Criminal
Coordinates of Life
For most seventy six year olds, routine dulls the terror and excitement of life, and that much could certainly be said for a man named Albert. Every single day was always the same for Albert. Alarm shrieks life into Albert at five A.M. Slowly, he hobbles into the kitchen and makes himself two scrambled eggs and pours a steaming mug of black coffee. While he eats, the morning news blares a serenade of background noise into his quiet and dusty little kitchen. He takes a shower and shaves until his face is smooth as a baby's bottom. And with that, he is ready to leave the house for the day in his cream colored fleece and baseball cap.
By Luke J Picchioni3 years ago in Criminal
Chasm
My bed shakes the way mom would shake the end of the bed to wake us up for school. Then the shaking gets more intense and I realize I’m twenty-seven and I don’t have school anymore. It’s the middle of the night. I wake up in a jolt. It’s an earthquake. What are you supposed to do during an earthquake when you're barely awake? I yank the quilt off of me and head to the door, hoping to find my dad. We find ourselves in the hallway at the same time. We look at each other through bleary eyes and hang on to our door frames. The sound of glass, metal, trees and concrete breaking, is all I can hear now.
By Eddamar González3 years ago in Criminal
Hope
“My baby, where is my baby?” Maddie’s voice cracked with horror. The first time mother opened the little pink blanket and saw a stack of money, where her baby should have been. Underneath the twenty thousand dollars? A note with an all too familiar address. It’s her first day home from the hospital. She must have just dozed off for a little while, long enough for a break-in, apparently.
By Samantha Kressevich3 years ago in Criminal
The Little Black Book
It was a hot and sultry July afternoon in 1985. I had been walking in the heat in and out of thrift stores in search of something different to add to my antique collection. As I walked through the door, I could feel the stores stale AC hit my sweat dripping face when I man in worn clothing came running towards me to the door, bumping me and pushing me aside into the box of umbrellas. As I began to get my balance, two other men in Dormeuil Vanquish Suits stormed past me pushing back into the same box of umbrellas. I could not help but notice the flash of their Rolex watches and alligator shoes. They certainly did not fit the usual thrifters. As I stood up and watched them leave, I could not help but noticed not only were they wearing identical suits, but they also appeared to be twins. At that moment both turned and made eye contact with me. I must admit I felt a bit apprehensive when they pressured themselves into my space asking if I saw where the man went. The sweat that had begun to dry from the AC began to bead again on my forehead and it was not from the July heat. I swallowed what little spit I had in my dry mouth as I pointed in the direction, I saw the man run and they left my side.
By JT Thompson3 years ago in Criminal
A Commuter
Damn it I'm running late, yet again, to catch my last bus. I usually don't mind catching it, but on a cold damp night it's not the best. I dash down the block past two guys drinking beer and talking sports. Almost there. I turn another corner and see my bus only a few yards away.
By Gabriella Duncan3 years ago in Criminal