Evidence In A Case
And a lucky escape
People donated all sorts to our charity shop. Once, a frighteningly attractive man donated five dinner jackets in a suitcase. They looked expensive.
‘They’re a little soiled’ he said.
‘That’s fine.’ I smiled. I’d sell them, cleaned up, fifty quid each.
His eyes were alarmingly green. I tried to flirt. He was in a rush. I requested his email address, for our mailing list obviously - or to look him up online later. He practically sprinted away.
I have that effect on men.
Then, the police came, wanting those jackets. The soiling was blood; evidence in a case.
About the Creator
Lacey Dearie
Indie author 📚 Blogger 💻 Humanities student 👩🏻🎓 Editor of the 27th best blog in Scotland apparently 🏆 Unapologetic daydreamer 😑 Natural introvert/selective extrovert 💃🏻 Member of the Cat Writers Association 🐈⬛
Find me on Komi
Keep reading
More stories from Lacey Dearie and writers in Fiction and other communities.
Peanuts and Crackerjack
Bottom of the ninth inning. The game is tied with two outs, two strikes and a man on second. I tap the bat on home plate. The rigid vibrations it creates reminds my aching digits that this isn't over. The practice swing only adds to the heft of mental burnout... Man on second, willing to chance it. Pitcher eyes him but doesn't give in to the dangerous bluff. I kick up dust, readying the peculiar stance I've had since the days of little league. The bat lays stiff upon my cramping shoulder. Pain has no reason to be acknowledged; it's a fleeting afterthought. The sun sits passed high noon, but the stadium lights are on anyway. They trick my brain into believing they are the cause of this sweltering heat. Sporadic clouds are motionless, they too, don't want to miss this exhilarating predicament. Anticipating the next pitch, intensifying roars from the crowd rumble the stadium... Behind me, the crafty catcher adjusts his stance and spits to the dry dirt. Behind him, the staunch umpire doesn't flinch or even blink; he knows how important his call will be. The pitcher winds up, his grip tells me its gonna curve. The release is fierce! Beads of sweat from his hair and face disperse in every direction as the force of his might is unfailing. My left leg lifts—an instinctual move that will increase the power of my swing. It's all down to my two, bloodshot eyes. They lock onto the speeding, white dot as it instantly becomes the target I intend to destroy. The swing is late, but I manage a solid tip. The ball is taking a fast bounce toward the pitcher who is recovering from the almighty throw! Man on second leaves in a desperate rush! I fling the bat to the side with a sense of urgency and make a mad sprint to the only destination I have—first base. Three defenders race inward to be the first to retrieve the skidding ball. Man is almost on third! I watch the open glove of my adversary, wondering if I’ve done enough to win this race. I switch my attention to his eyes, looking for a clue, some kind of reaction that tells me the ball is in the air and heading his way. All I see is frustration. The deafening roar of the crowd spikes! Something happens that I can’t see! My opponent abandons his post right as my left stride touches the bag. I waste no time turning my head to see the pitcher laying on his stomach, pounding the mound with an open glove. He misses the opportunity to out me and the ball has quickly bounced past him. Excitement grows! This isn’t over yet... It's become an imperative fight to tag out the runner heading homeward. The catcher falls to his knees in obvious despair as he watches my teammate make the run of his life. He knows it’s going to be close when he sees the shortstop fumble the ball a second too long. I jump up and down with no plans on leaving first base. All my chips are on the speed and agility of the active runner. His cleats dig into the dirt, trailing a dust-filled cyclone from the rapid and strenuous strides. With a thrusting dive and an outstretched arm, he lands on his chest to begin the crucial slide to home plate. The shortstop fires the ball to the catcher! It immediately begins closing the gap! Nail-biting doesn't begin to describe the anxious vibe permeating the stadium. The bench begins to celebrate even before he reaches the plate. Forty thousand cheering fans reach maximum crescendo, filling the air with a glorious sound. Everyone knows how this story will end… My teammate is met by the entire bench as his fingers inch across home plate, instantly followed by the unmistakable motion of the catcher's glove attempting to tag him out—its milliseconds too late. The ump swings his arms outward, officially calling him safe.
By Lamar Wiggins3 days ago in Fiction
May The Fourth Be With You
As the calendar flips to May 4th, fans of the iconic Star Wars franchise across the galaxy come together to celebrate a day dedicated to all things Jedi, Sith, and everything in between. Emerging from the collective imagination of George Lucas, Star Wars has transcended mere entertainment to become a cultural phenomenon, captivating generations with its epic saga of heroes, villains, and the mystical Force that binds the galaxy together.
By Theo Jonathan3 days ago in Fiction
Create Your Personal Vocal Homepage
I'm not a Vocal Newbie (not that there's anything wrong with that), and I'm technologically comfortable. But, I'm also perhaps too comfortable. I think I know, even if I know that I don't know what I don't know, I still think I know more that I do know.
By Judey Kalchik 3 days ago in Writers
Comments (2)
Flirting with a killer. This was an awesome piece of microfiction, Lacey! Great job!
Extraordinary writing and a Great Story, 😆🎯 I like the little flirt she attempted...🤣