Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
Maybe It Was Fate?
Another blurry day passing. Amongst the other days that fall into the category of I cannot wait for this day to end. Along with all the numbing details of my life I’d wish I’d forget, the rain begins to intensify on my walk home. It has gone from the light sprinkle I seen when it first started to this downpour of misery from heaven I am now in. Only a few miles to go, lucky me. It isn’t out of the ordinary to find this friend of mine I call misery on my way home. She has become quiet the friend. Last week I was chased by a dog and lost my keys half way home. This week I would be out of my mind to hope for a glimmer of sunshine. Its seems almost lonely without her. She is after all the only excitement I find day after day. Everybody needs the fear of death to really live and I have more than my fair share on just my walks home. This night was no different. Trailing in the distance was a shape I couldn’t quite make out at first. After all, it is Just another exciting night where I am kept on edge keeping an eye out for roaming monstrous dogs. Each glance back brought this figure a bit closer which put me closer to the edge in my anticipation of another life threatening chase. Of course, to no surprise of my own I found myself waking in the middle of the sidewalk with no idea what happened. However, the pain my head was in gave me a bit of a clue. That and my missing wallet. Maybe it was in my dazed confusion that I thought I had a glimmer of hope but I should have known better. As I looked around to get a better picture of what had happened my confusion brought the delusion that I had maybe just maybe caught a glimpse of luck. A little black book with names inside. I figured at the very least I could get my wallet back and hopefully my rent money. The rest of my journey home was riddled with dizziness an the freezing rain. My cell phone was shattered in the attack, or at least I thought so. At home I bandaged my head and changed my bloody shirt. There was no need for a shower since the rain washed away everything but my misery. I thought about calling the police but the rash of unsolved robberies in the neighborhood was enough to kill that hope. The news was on and my throbbing head was enough to keep me form changing the channel. I thumbed through the little black book I found and seen names and symbols that peeked my attention. Then I thought I was hurt more than I first believed as I seen the same symbol on the news that was in the book. Another robbery victim had come forward with evidence that was left after their thumping and seemed to detail the same clues I had in my own hands. Then, the questions poured in, I don’t know why I’m my dizzy state that I thought that it would be a better idea to search out these clues than to go to the police but staring at this symbol gave me a confidence that I dint have before. Or maybe it was just desperation but either way I was intent on finding whoever left their calling card and a gash on my head to remember them by. The night was just as gloomy as the walk home. The thunder outside and throbbing pain seemed to sync. The thunder teamed with my pain where like constant knocking a my door. When I’d wake to see who it was the noise and pain where just fast enough to make me miss their appearance but just loud enough to keep me from getting enough rest. The morning came and my headache woke me once again. This time without the thunder. The day had cleared which looking back on my life was never a good sign. A clear day was like a omen, a path for my old friend to come a pay me a visit and bring to me what I knew most these last few months. Out the door and on my way to get my rent money back I took a look at this little black book. Now that my head was getting back to the normal amount of confusion that my life was riddled with as I stumbled through the pages there was an foreign language and in the middle of the book I caught wind of something I hadn’t seen before a receipt from the old Chinese restaurant down the street from my work. I figured I could at least get the security cameras footage and it could lead me further along on this path of trouble. At least I have the company of misery to keep me from going too far.
By frank gutierrez5 years ago in Criminal
Golden Touch
Light streamed in from the slatted windows, exclaiming every mote in the dust-ridden air of the bar. One soul sat at the rugged counter, nursing his obvious hangover with a hair-of-the-dog and trying to keep the creak of the saloon doors out of his ears. He leans back in the stool, seeming to exhale for the first time in about a week, until he’s alerted to a metallic sound in the open air. That breath is sucked back in as he reaches for his hip and kicks his stool out into the lonely room. Heart racing and sweat beading, he draws and brings his sights up to meet the door. As it slowly swings in the late summer breeze, stillness sets in again when he remembered the windmill on the old fire-tower had needed greasing for a year or more, and malaise falls over the man once again. He pulls the stool back to the bar, his revolver finding its way back home as he tries to lose that breath again. He reached in his pocket, producing a handful of bills and change. Counting out the 3 cents needed, the clinking of the coins masked the jingle of spurs approaching. The man left the change, took a deep breath, and realized just how quiet it was. Recognizing the new silence of the groaning old doors, he turned to them and now faced down the barrel of a lawman’s rifle.
By Philip Smith5 years ago in Criminal
The Sunnyside Deli Corporation
THE SUNNYSIDE DELI CORPORATION 1:33AM - A TRAIN The young man, half awake on the train, his name is Sebastian. A lost soul, wondering in purgatory. He’s on his way to his uncle’s deli in Sunnyside to work the night shift. Apparently he’s an actor, or at least I think he thinks he’s one. No one really knows who he is, what he does. He comes in and out, and fades away into the void. Every. Single. Day...
By Daniel Salgado5 years ago in Criminal
Rouge
Entry 1 - June 2nd, 1997 I felt taken care of, but it always felt lonely. I loved my husband with all my being, yet it seems his thoughts are always transfixed onto his art, as if there can only be one masterpiece in his life. As I write and write, it feels as though this journal knows more of me than anyone else, the pages openly receiving my desires, my sorrows, and the woman in me that nobody desires to invest in, to uncover. The textured black cover like the gatekeeper to my heart, each thick, unwavering page a vessel for my very blood and soul to be poured out into.
By Naomi Samuel5 years ago in Criminal
10 Killer Kids You May Not Have Heard Of
It is hard to fathom how a child could commit monstrous acts. The horrific murder of little James Bolger shocked everyone, even more, disturbing was the fact that this crime was committed by two young boys. Something no one could imagine in their wildest dreams, yet it has happened. Here are the 10 worst cases of killer kids that you may not have heard about:
By Nicole Gibson5 years ago in Criminal
Unbelievably Doomed For Greatness
This article is written for a person who’s on the rise artistry distributes excellence and widespread deeds for the betterment of not only at-risk communities or those with survival stories, but most importantly to the youth that hold the future. I am pleased to introduce you to Marlon Reid. The remarkable 44 year old shares his incredible and chilling stories of being in death’s hands at least three times, in his self-published book “The Diary of a Changed Man.” Born with Neonatal Abstinence Syndrome (NAS), on July 8, 1976 in a Philadelphia, PA hospital, Marlon clanged for dear life and was not expected to live past three weeks. At the age of eight Marlon mentions the frightening ordeal of fighting for his life again after being struck by a car while crossing the street. Lastly, Marlon was shot several times after a confrontation with someone he knew from his neighborhood.
By Beautiful Intelligence5 years ago in Criminal
