thriller
YNs—SAMHSA. Content Warning.
2025 In between the crevices of the street, little paper planes fluttered in the breeze. A quiet descended upon the city and eyes looked around corners. Colonel Namina Norrey walked these streets like the warrior she had become. It had been a decade since she had asked a body of the Delaware congress to pass legislation legalizing all drugs. That day had not come yet. She walked alone. She wore her starched white shirt, tie, and those glittering four stars. The coolness of the spring afternoon enveloped her person.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
YN—Love Roses. Content Warning.
2026 Red, purple, and gold wrapped around the counter. A fan in the corner pushed hot air but the idea was that the air conditioner would be fixed soon. In walked Kirstie Brodwick. Thirty-four, with a waiflike demeanor although she paid her dues to the motel manager every two weeks, she walked with change in her hands. Coins contacted her skin and made that tinny smell once combined. She also held dollars.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
YNs—Jerseys. Content Warning.
2002 Edward Vessen, 52, looked at his fingernails and toenails. He felt a sense of cleanliness as noted by his manicure and pedicure. He owned the shop, so he didn’t pay but he tipped the twenty-year-old Vietnamese woman named Hah $100 nevertheless.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
YNs— Pony Tail. Content Warning.
1994 The smokers wiped down the chariot. Sodium bicarbonate sunk between the seats. Otherwise, they looked immaculate. The exterior grew cleaner with the clientele using soapy water to address the ‘92 black Ac’ Vigor. In the driver seat, Parnum Bell, 22 and inky black, looked at his rearview mirror on the side of the car. A huge splash of solution washed over the surface.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
YNs— Onion. Content Warning.
2007 In the Autumn rain, the leaves looked slick against the road. Water had covered them and made them look glossy. Cars splashed or just made that swishing noise under the leaves and what the rain brought. Kennedy Koles, 19, dug into his pocket. He held a wad of ready rock. In the time that he was about to cross the street to meet a client, he hesitated and almost got hit by a car. He thought. In his mind, he considered chopping the work down and adding more baking soda to make it bigger and make it ready to sell more. He backed onto the sidewalk once more. The user looked up and signaled for him. He waved him away. The client shrugged.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
YNs— Chickens. Content Warning.
2025 In his personal jet at night, nineteen-year-old Elvin Coor counted figures. Little lights illuminated the area around his aircraft. This Wilmington, Delaware airport created a space for him to consider, grasp, evaluate. The sound of the pilots discussing routes intermingled with a soft ringing. He, nevertheless, continued to use his iPhone to tabulate his earnings…and earnings potential. He saw his street team and sense of achievement ached its way through his lanky frame. Dressed in a three piece gray suit and a fuchsia shirt and matching pocket square, Coor’s medium brown skin complimented his attire.
By Skyler Saunders6 months ago in Fiction
Treasure Trap
Is my name Jim Hawkins? I guess so, because my personal Billy Bones swaggered into the tavern last night. I didn’t know his name. Definitely a seaman by trade, with a rucksack slung over his shoulder, and carrying a small lock box. He tossed me a golden guinea, and slung the rucksack at me. “Here, boy, put that in yer room, and hide it right well.” He tossed the lock box at my older brother, who barely caught it in his stomach with a hearty oooofff. “Here, boy, do the same with this. Lock those rooms of yourn good an’ tight. I’ll return fer them, come new moon, with more treasure to share.” Another gold guinea appeared, which he handed to me. “Fer yer brother, when he can handle ‘is hands agin.”
By Meredith Harmon6 months ago in Fiction
Return Address
The first letter arrived on a cold day in February with his own handwriting on the envelope and no return address. He opened it assuming it was something he'd mailed to himself and forgotten, the kind of thing he did sometimes, a reminder or a document. Instead, it was two paragraphs.
By Justin Buzzard6 months ago in Fiction
Night Shift
He had been a night nurse for eight years and he prided himself on his memory for faces. It was practically useful, more useful than people realized. In a busy emergency department at two in the morning, when things moved fast and the light was hard and everyone was tired and some of the patients were not in a state to give clear information about themselves, a good memory was a clinical tool. He knew who had been through before. He knew the regulars and their histories. He knew the face of someone who was hiding something and the different face of someone who simply didn't know what was wrong with them.
By Justin Buzzard6 months ago in Fiction
The Log Entry
He had worked the lighthouse for eleven years and he knew every vessel on the local registry. Fishing boats, survey craft, and the coast guard tender that came through weekly. He knew their lights, their silhouettes and the sounds their engines made in fog. He knew them the way you know things when your whole job is watching and your world is water.
By Justin Buzzard6 months ago in Fiction
The Tell
She was eight years old when she realized not everyone could see it. She thought of it as a shimmer, though that wasn't quite right. It was more like the air around a person went slightly wrong when they said something that wasn't true. A wobble. A brief doubling of the space behind their eyes.
By Justin Buzzard6 months ago in Fiction
