fiction

Mystery, crime, murder, unsolved cases. Contribute your own tales of crime to Criminal.

Tick
Flicking a blonde curl out of her eyes, Joelynne Stevens glanced at her computer as she waited for an important email to come through. Seeing it hadn’t come yet she pushed her chair away and stood up and stretched her long arms above her head to relieve her aching muscles. As she put her hands back down beside her white knit jumper and slim fitting denim jeans that she had chosen to wear that day, she sighed and yawned as she spoke,
By Ashleigh Holmes5 years ago in Criminal
How I Beat the Pandemic
My nights end with watching the sunrise. After last call, clean up, then employees’ last call, by the time I hopped – or stumbled, depending on the night – out of the streetcar – the buildings were all outlined in gold light. Getting a camera was one of the many things on the old To-Do list once I had the money. It was, I should say.
By Luiza Araujo5 years ago in Criminal
THE BIG INHALE
Three days ago I stopped breathing. But, hey man, I was desperate, you know? This damn covid thing meant I was out of a job, and my girlfriend kept hounding me to get something else. That wasn't happening so I decided to go back to my old way of making money. Sure I was rusty, but I figured it was like riding a bike. Besides, it would only be for a while. That’s what I kept telling myself.
By Diane Kasulis 5 years ago in Criminal
His Name Was...
It started at the New Years Eve Party last year. I came in with a couple of my girls and he stood over in the kitchen smiling from ear to ear in her face. As it seemed, he could easily fool anyone that he was madly in love with this woman. He fooled me for sure.
By Daisy Lane5 years ago in Criminal
Visions Come To Life
It’s been happening to me since I was a child. I never understood the things that came to me in my dreams, but they always ended up coming true in real life. One I wish would have never come true.
By Sarah Thompson5 years ago in Criminal
Confessions of a Mad Man
“The chemical formula of Love (C8H11NO2+C10H12N2O+C43H66N12O12S2) Dopamine, Seratonin, Oxytocin can easily be manufactured in a lab. However, overdosing on any of the above ingredients could cause schizophrenia, extreme paranoia and insanity”
By ApKWrites5 years ago in Criminal
The Little Black Book
"Hello?" "What the fuck do you mean hello?" "Just what I said, husband, hello?" "I've been trying to get ahold of you for weeks. Why haven't you been answering your phone?"
By Melidee Matthews5 years ago in Criminal
Red part 1
The crunching sound the snow made beneath my boots sounded deafening. Alone in the woods, I wandered a path that was leading somewhere, but I wasn't quite sure where anymore. I knew where I wanted to end up, but now I was turned around. Every snap of a twig made me jump out of my skin. I pulled my cloak tight to me. 'It's just an animal,' I assured myself, ' just a squirrel looking for nuts perhaps, or maybe a racoon. Yeah, that's it.' I kept walking. The basket on my arm was beginning to feel like it was weighted down with bricks, not a simple cake and little pot of butter. I stopped, looking up at the sky. The sun was starting to dip below the horizon making the snow covered trees cast eerie shadows across the path.
By Mina5 years ago in Criminal
Heartless Divulgence
A little after midnight, the sounds of thunder shake the room and suddenly Jay is launched from his terrifying nightmare back into his lonely sweat filled bed. Sweating and shaking he crawls out of his drenched sheets leaving behind the damp remains of the aftereffects of a troublesome nightmare. Stumbling over the many duffle bags filled with money cluttered across his one-bedroom apartment floor he fights to get to his bathroom. He finally manages to reach the sink to splash cold water on his face trying to force himself back to reality. But what was reality? He continues to have similar dreams of him being caught red handed in one of his various heinous acts. Although he didn't fear death, he was absolutely terrified of being tortured. The thought of being forced to endure an unknown or unforeseen amount of pain sent a shrivel up his spine so intense goosebumps would start to form; his palms would get clammy and his heart would beat through his chest. He would begin to sweat profusely with a growing tremble in his gut forged from fear and distress. Jays thoughts now channel to his newfound situation or the life he lived before the arrival of the black notebook. It’s only been about 1 month of having the book in his possession and Jay has amassed a small fortune. Upon receiving each payment for each mission and to witness the aftereffects of his original decision he would continuously loose another piece of his sanity. Staring himself in the mirror he is disgusted and nauseous at himself but at the same time excited about his newly found riches. He hasn't slept more than two hours in 23 days and his actions have turned him into two different people. He thinks to himself "yea, 23 days ago, that's when my life changed." He shakes his head with a slight grin and splashes more cold water on his face and begins to think back to the exact moment that changed his perception of life and death. Now again staring at himself in the mirror he doesn't see a way out of this precalculated predicament. "Why is my freedom more important than another's? Did my life mean more then another's? Who decides ones worth?" As he ponders these questions for the 10th night in a row he thinks of his role in this unreal circumstance. He establishes that he might be stuck at the crossroads of depression and exploitation with no way to change his incurable occurrence.
By ET Productions 5 years ago in Criminal
VANISHED
On 20 March 1953, the clock in St. Marylebone church struck midday with elegant conviction. It was a fine bright day: birds chirping, flowers blooming, wind blowing from the coast and all the usual paraphernalia that come with the first day of spring.
By Vera Finch5 years ago in Criminal
Journal Entry 2
Dear Diary, Today in the garden... No, never mind. My therapist told me I should keep a diary, but my memories of the word “diary” are littered with imagery of heart-dotted-i’s and glitter pens. And secrets I couldn’t tell anyone. This thing is all suave black leather, so maybe journal is more appropriate? I don’t know, I think I’m just binarily gendering stationary at this point. But honestly, “Dear Diary” sounds a little too young and nostalgic, and “Dear Journal” doesn’t have the same warm ring to it, so let me just get on with it:
By Misa Tadasai5 years ago in Criminal
Roses
August 28th, 1969 The top of the newspaper read. Two months before Frank Scaletta’s twenty-fifth birthday. Frank sat on a bench downtown in front of a flower display in the courtyard. It was foggy but humid, parents and their kids were walking on either side of the yard with bags from their shopping trips. He used today’s newspaper as a cover as he watched for his target. Nowhere to be seen of yet. Perhaps the tip was shit. He was getting sick and tired of bad tips.
By Leonardo Pizzolato5 years ago in Criminal