Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
Unexpected circumstances
Wait, no, I shouldn’t be doing this, no wait I should I need the money, but I’m not a bad person right? No because if I was a bad person I wouldn’t be doing this with good reason. Or maybe I am. Wait a minute, pacing back and forth, rapid pulse, rapid breathing and oh I feel like I’m going to puke. Ok, pull it together Flynn you’re in shock. “Flynn! Flynn!” Someone yelled from the background. Still unable to grasp what’s going on I stood silent, thinking. Looking anxiously, my eyes seem to have found themselves staring at the automatic pistol in my hand. “Flynn, the safety deposit boxes NOW!” Ram demanded. “HEY! (yelled the smallest guy I’ve ever seen) move again and I’ll put this little knife of mine right between your eyes and then we’ll see how well your third eye perceives your current situation.” With anxiety overpowering me I find myself in the vault with the bank manager. I need boxes 316, 174, 118, and 256 open now. “Myself alone couldn’t open those boxes miss, they have a dual control system”, said the bank manager. Are you married, what is it, “Kyle”? “No”, said Kyle. Hey that’s strike two. I saw the family photo on your desk. Beautiful blonde by the way. I hope you’re interested in red heads because if you lie to me again i’m gonna put a bullet through the back of her head. Simultaneously thinking to myself, will he go for it, I could never do something so awful, but it seemed to work for the small guy in the lobby. His eyes took on a haunted look, gloss like as if a tear was soon to fall, his jaw trembled in fear and then a sudden rush of lemon colored fluid began to flow down his leg and fill his patent leather shoes. I stared feeling mischievous. “I’m sorry”, said Kyle. Listen we don’t have time for apologies. “Ok ok, I’ll do it. I’ll open the boxes”, he said.
By Kevin Thomas 5 years ago in Criminal
Stolen
I slowly opened my eyes and stared up at the ceiling. My head was throbbing and I had a ringing in my ears. The lighting was so dim that it took my eyes several minutes to acclimate to the gloom. I slowly sat up and winched in agony. I clutched my hand to my side and let out a small whimper, the pain was so intense that I couldn’t even manage a scream. I gingerly lifted up my shirt and saw that I had a bandage haphazardly wrapped around my lower abdomen. The part of my side that I had touched had faint traces of red soaking through. I lowered my shirt and looked around at my surroundings but there wasn’t much to look at. I was sitting on a bed that was like an extension of the wall with an old stained mattress on it. There was a small desk and chair facing me and a small bedside table right by the bed with a rusty lamp on top of it. I shuffled over to the lamp, clenching my jaw every time I moved too quickly. I pushed the switch on and tilted the light up to get a better look at the room I was in and regretted it.
By Emma Diane McManus5 years ago in Criminal
Book Review: "The Psychopath" by Mary Turner Thomson
When we think of a psychopath, most of us think of murderous and horrid people and we would be right to do so. But most of us do not even know how to define a psychopath, have not actually met one or have only really seen this stuff on television so do not connect with it in a truer sense. As we are unable to actually put this into perspective, it always comes as a surprise when someone writes about their experience with a psychopath in a very realistic way because it challenges the notions put forward in films such as "American Psycho" (2000) - which may be a good film but not wholeheartedly accurate according to the DSM.
By Annie Kapur5 years ago in Criminal
A murderer´s letter.
Last year, I was forced to write an article regarding a certain curious character in the area of the silent crime, who considered himself a vigilante, a container for the voice of the divine, a judge and the executioner himself. Within my investigations, I found unpublished evidence that shows the nature of the dementia of the man I am talking about and despite my past soliloquies concerning whether I should publish my findings or not, I decided to share with my audience the eccentricity of this character, as well as the danger of his thinking. Here is what I managed to recover from the old letter:
By Richard Wilcox5 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
Dust
While squatted, he reached in, pulling out two $10,000 labeled bands of cash from the Fjallraven Kanken backpack. With his thumb, he flipped through the bills before tossing them both to the side. He shook his head as his lips pinched together and dug deeper into the bag, shifting the contents, searching for anything of value.
By B.B. Rivera5 years ago in Criminal
My Last Mission
I felt something touch my face. Turning to lay on my back I opened my eyes and looked up, it was raining. Not caring I just laid there and stared at the grey clouds and lightning in the distance. As it started to rain harder, I closed my eyes and let the rain drench me. It felt as if the rain was washing all my troubles away. As I felt the ground turning to mud, I could hear footsteps approaching. they got closer and closer. As the footsteps came to a halt I saw a manly figure above. Before I could make out his face he dragged a board over the hole they threw me in. Then it was dark.
By Lat’icia Rodgers5 years ago in Criminal
Last One
James Wright rests his head against his hands while scratching his short black hair under his grey security guard cap. He pays half attention to the twenty monitors in front of him. The security cameras rotate throughout the museum, constantly changing and scanning the empty building. James stares at the monitors and shakes his head, letting out another deep sigh.
By Anthony Hall5 years ago in Criminal
The Heist
I took my first step toward the bank, scarcely believing that I was really going to do this. A second disjointed step. How had it come to this? I glanced over my shoulder to the spot where we would often park to watch the bank together: just Dad and I. Feeling wholly disconnected to my feet, I still noted that they were moving forward. Almost as if they were on autopilot. All those days spent sitting next to Dad, watching the bank, and chatting about all of our plans for the money that we would soon be rolling in —faithfully noting all goings-on in the little black notebook. In this fashion, we sought to ignore that the dialysis treatments had less and less effect on him.
By Lydia Bowman5 years ago in Criminal
