Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Criminal.
Impulse
My computer was humming. Winter, the perfect season for intensive CPU work. My window was open letting in a breeze that had already iced the glass. Two weeks were all I needed, and I would have access to Solaron’s main network. For obvious reasons, I won’t be disclosing which campus I was targeting, but this was one of the corporation’s axis mundis, they wouldn’t emerge from this unscathed. I had penetrated past their obvious traps, the easy to exploit honeynet, the dummy servers and faux communications. Their DDoS protection was top tier, but I had already obtained one employee’s hashed password. The digest took my code a few hours to crack, in which time I had been working on my resume.
By Syed M Hussain5 years ago in Criminal
Bookstore Ownership Is Not for the Faint-Hearted
Martin opened the little book and immediately flung it shut again. With a venomous glare at the finely embossed cover, he issued a silent demand for the volume to sort itself. After a moment, he cautiously pinched the lid of the book and slowly lifted it.
By Amanda Alden5 years ago in Criminal
A Piece of Her
From the instant they sat down at her favorite diner in town for chocolate chip pancakes, that was it; she fell, hard and fast. They talked about everything, which was rare for both of them to open up, to anyone. Their most ridiculous fears, like his spiders and her zombies. Their dreams of what they wanted to be when they were little, his dream to be a cowboy. Their pipe dreams, her dream to become a writer. And their deepest, darkest secrets which they guarded very close to themselves. They made each other laugh, a lot. Almost too much sometimes that they’d have to catch their breath. And at night, being together was the rawest form of passion she had ever felt in her entire life.
By Nik Commisso5 years ago in Criminal
Escape
CHARLIE The day began like most others, a slow, resentful emergence from the blissful respite of sleep into the harsh reality of his lonely existence. The old man stretched out his weary limbs and left the shelter of the broken-down Chevy he currently called home. A labored stroll down to the sheltering trees along the river gave his arthritic joints a chance to limber up. Once there, he relieved his aching bladder. It was then that he spied the little black book. The book’s sleek black finish stood out against the greys, browns, and greens along the riverbank, so much that even the old man’s fading vision was able to pick it out.
By Gregg George Stallings5 years ago in Criminal
Some rise by sin while others by virtue fall
At last, the black fire-proof box that once belonged to my mother was mine. Her hoards of craft materials, projects and dreams had all been extinguished the night of the fire. The police held the box for a while but finally, this trove of unknown treasures was finally mine. Police suspected the fire was deliberately lit, but by whom remained a mystery.
By Andrea Smith5 years ago in Criminal
The Temptation
I was just notified there was a homicide of one of our brothers in blue in our jurisdiction. Everybody that was present was assigned to this case. My little black notebook with numbered pages, radio, and evidence kit were all in tow. Homicide detectives were on their way out to the scene as well. Supervisor Garcia glanced my direction, “Hey do you want to ride together?” “Of course!”
By Trysha Parker5 years ago in Criminal
Blackout
This isn't a complicated story. It's a human story, filled with senseless errors. I planned the evening a month in advance. My military days had ended ten years ago, but once a Marine always a Marine, and we don't miss the opportunity to celebrate November 10, the U.S. Marine's birthday. I took the longest shower and skipped cologne; preferring the scent of a light clean soap. I gave myself the once-over in the mirror- starched jeans, pressed polo, shiny shoes, fresh fade. I checked my phone to see if my baby brother had texted. He hadn't. Communication was not his forte. Aside from both of us being ex-Marines and functioning alcoholics, we have nothing else in common. I am four years older, married with a daughter, and the more level-headed of the two. He's a hothead with no fuse who loves to fight because... well he's good at it. I'm a talker and can distinctly remember talking my way out of an ass whoopin from him. But, that Cat knows how to have a good time and it's our tradition to celebrate this night together. I text him:
By Mischia Farrer5 years ago in Criminal
Little Black Book
Anaesthetised. The word I would use when talking to my paediatric patients – explaining how I would be using a needle to numb their nerves, creating an invisible shield between my surgical tools and their delicate outer casing. Anaesthetised. The word I would use to describe how I felt at that very moment – the catch - there were no needles in sight. My body was creating this feeling all on its own. My brain was releasing chemicals, all as a reaction to what I had just read, with my now water filled eyes. I was numb. Cold even. The blistering heat couldn’t distract me from the cold I was feeling. The sensation continued down the length of my tall, dainty spine. One would assume that the bolts in my back would discourage me from feeling anything. However, after countless spinal surgeries my nerves remained intact. My body was in shock, perspiration left every crevasse within my exterior, with scents of terror and disgust. I looked ahead to see the lines of naked, stolen children; their terrified stares puncturing my numbing frame. One girl, a small, lanky, dark creature; stood staring at me. Looked about nine. The lanky nine-year-old frame hid the aged mind of the mature woman she was within. After all she’d seen and experienced, she had the right to be regarded as a woman. Her thin, malnourished, four fingered hand, slowly swept up, past her bony hips. Moving alongside her exposed, skin lacking, rib cage. Her hand came to a halt at the height of her shoulder. She waved. My body heaved, releasing the eggs benedict I’d eaten earlier that morning, onto my freshly manicured toes and faded Birkenstocks. His little black book fell to the floor, sending the dry, brown earth flying in all directions. I dropped to my knees. Thump thump. I could hear my heart through every fissure, every artery, every cell within my numb and shaking exterior. I looked up. The girl had moved her malnourished hand from a still wave to an extended, motherly grasp. Thwack. She landed with a thump; so loud I could identify it with the fifty-metre distance between us. The stocky, big bellied man - who created the thump - let out a deep, evil chuckle. He turned and picked up the rock he had previously chucked at her head, smirking at the speckles of blood found on its sharp, rough edges. Two strangers. Both lying on the same earth - the only difference; one still had a life, the other just had hers swept away from beneath her feet. I prayed. I didn’t believe in God - science was too existent in my life to consider a make-believe creature – especially one that didn’t have the power to stop monstrosities like this happening. Regardless, I needed something to believe in at that moment. I could feel my heart in my stomach, my chest tight with anxiety, my lungs struggling for the sauna like air I felt like I was drowning in. I wasn’t sure if I was reacting to the death of an innocent child or the words I had just seen in the little black book, which sat inches away from my right arm – now covered in the brown, African dirt. The dirt of a place I loved so much. A place I uprooted and changed my life for. A home I made for my girls. The line moved on - with my newly lost friends figure trodden on and rolled as the others were forced forward. Their bare feet standing on what could be, and quite possibly would be them. The line of young, exposed women went on for what looked like miles. There was a man posted up every five metres or so, with the support of a military rifle on their shoulder. With my gut about to release more of my eggs, I picked up his little black book and began to walk. As I struggled to move, I opened the book to find what had made me violently ill before. The Twenty-thousand-dollar cheque made out to a Mr Teddy Baraka for the sale of two hundred items – silently balancing on the coffee stained paper of his little black book. Items being women. Women being the young, nine-year-old girls trudging towards the army van – with the support of armed pigs.
By Eleni Thorn5 years ago in Criminal
little black book
Days like today are when Daniel likes to think back to his youth when he served in the Marines, the friends he made, the lessons he learned and the experiences he had; unlike most ex-service men who would do anything to forget the horrors they saw. He was on target to make Sergeant by the end of his third year of service, this however was too good to be true. A bad motorcycle accident spelled the end of his career and was discharged in 2012 at the age of 24.
By Edward Richardson5 years ago in Criminal
