fiction
Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.
Another sad, happy ending.
"What did he do this time" she asked. My only response was mumbled words as I was struggling to breath. All I could think was "how, how could he do this to me again".. I asked "Mommy I love him, why does he do this to me?".. All she did was stroke her fingers through my hair in silence. How could she respond? Her only advice was to leave him and obviously that never worked before hence the reason I'm still in this predicament. I couldn't bare to leave him, he’s the one who stole my heart but apparently that doesn’t stop him from using my love disguised as forgiveness to hit me again, and again.
By Catelynn West6 years ago in Criminal
The Old Man and The Book
You can tell a great deal about a person by listening to them work on a typewriter. The pace and force with which they strike the keys reveals much about their mood, disposition–even their view of the world. One particularly cold night, slow and steady ticks from a weathered Electromatic bounced around in the dark recesses of a cavernous home library, their dying echoes making the large room feel somehow lonelier than if it were empty.
By Derek Hollenberg6 years ago in Criminal
The Journal of Morrison James
I found it. Well, that’s what I call it when I take things. After years of having my head shrunk, I understood growing up on the cusp of poverty makes you want to hoard things. It makes you turn every little precious thing into a plug for that hole in your heart. So, when I was a teenager, I got hooked on the “five-finger-discount,” as my friend Ben called it. I liked the rush. As I got older, I honed it, part entertainment, part therapy. There is a strange honor in doing it well. I only mark the most deserving people; That guy, the one who spends too much time on his hair, or that woman who spends more money on her nails than she does on her kids. It never felt fair to be the smartest person, the most talented, and yet I could never catch a break. I see all of these gray people passing me with better cars, better houses, stumbling into perfect lives. I know life isn’t fair, but somehow taking a little piece back was all I needed to set the numbers straight.
By Sean Wells6 years ago in Criminal
The Black Book Keeper
Black Book Keeper During the pandemic of 2020, many people lost jobs and businesses lost the ability to sustain themselves. In Brooklyn, Joe was no different times were tough for a 22-year-old living in an apartment with his best friend. Joe and Chris had known each other since they were in diapers and remained close friends their entire lives. Joe was tall and skinny Caucasian man with brown hair and brown eyes. Chris was a short skinny African American man with an adventurous personality.
By heath noble6 years ago in Criminal
The little black book short story
Blood was everywhere, scraped skin peeled from his weak, broken body onto the road. His wailing screams put me in a trance, the light reflecting off his motorcycle pierced my eyes, I couldn’t comprehend what had just happened right before my eyes.
By Anjali Kanda6 years ago in Criminal
Slow Poison - Chapter One
Chapter One Amsterdam, 1986 Killing Time. Red lights glowed like cinders in the crisp December air. Trim shivered in Armani camel, watching the doorway of the Casa Rosso. This was the evening of the third day. He watched and waited, smoking an hour away, waiting for The Six. Den, Pete, ‘Dog’, Mart, Kev and Ritchie; feral pack animals, careering through the City of Love, leaving a trail of phlegm and expensive scratches, wrist-high on Mercedes lacquer.
By David Philip Ireland6 years ago in Criminal
Slow Poison - Chapter Three
Chapter Three Seated in a dark corner of The Rode Leeuw, Trim removed his black kid gloves and folded them neatly and placed them upon the tabletop. He took the diary from his coat pocket and opened it at random. He read the familiar passages for several moments. No one had noticed him enter the bar. He knew he should wait, but he needed a drink.
By David Philip Ireland6 years ago in Criminal
Slow Poison - Chapter Five
Chapter Five Amsterdam, December 7th Centraal Station was a lonely place at six thirty on a Sunday morning. The newspaper kiosks were not yet open. There were bundles of newspapers stacked against the aluminium security screens tied up with coloured twine. Piles of De Telegraaf, The Sunday Times, Das Welt and all the others. Trim slipped an Express from its stack and leaned back against a screen. He glanced at a few lines about the violence in Amsterdam at the bottom of the front page, before dropping the newspaper to the floor. He would wait for the Sun on Monday. The diary would suffice as reading matter for the journey.
By David Philip Ireland6 years ago in Criminal
The Rose Room
The day began as any another day did. Beatrice woke up, did her hour and a half ritual of getting ready for work, and left before the clock struck 8:00 A.M. Her life as an editor’s assistant was what she called “puzzle version.” Words—big and small, common and uncommon—crossed her vision each and every day., connecting her to things, places, people and ideas she never thought she could be connected to. She learned that certain things fit snug against her, and others placed themselves at a distance. A rare few confront her and inflict pain, leaving scars that will test the will of time with their permanence. Her life was consumed by words and all the feelings and emotions they could cause. She preferred it that way. To feel instead of experience. She’s done enough of that in her past. She’s done enough experiencing. Now . . . she's ready to live, truly live.
By Samantha Heck6 years ago in Criminal
Mysterious Men & Thanksgiving Turkey
“Pass the potatoes please!” My sister called. I reached across the table to grab the warm bowl filled with mashed potatoes. It was Thanksgiving evening. My family was gathered around the table enjoying our Thanksgiving feast when we heard a soft knock at the door. My father looked to my mother quizzically as if to silently ask if she had invited anyone. She shook her head slightly in response. We all sat there quietly as she got up from the table to answer the door. Our curiosity was piqued. Who could it possibly be? We heard two voices as the door opened.
By Kaitlyn Softley6 years ago in Criminal
