fiction

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

The Black Book, Dansy
“Would you like to tell us what really happened? And what you were doing with all that money we found on you.” The office said, placing the tape recorder in the middle of the table. I stared at that table for a while, cold and shining. The officer’s mug sat there, the words NYPD printed on the side; his aging coffee gone cold. “This is it” he says, “this is the moment to tell your story.” I smirked and replied, “A story...that’s a funny thing to call it considering the circumstances. Some might call it more of a tragedy. But you know, before a tragedy occurs, before the mistake that will end your life is made, there is a moment of hope. This moment is but a breath of time in length—that is all the time life ever gives you to choose—and, win or lose, you will live with all the weight of the decision. So maybe it should be called hope; some people call it sin.
By Ch5 years ago in Criminal
Patient Confidentiality
My eyes were peeled open, glued to the ceiling. I was deep in thought about the events that led to my current circumstances. The mere cold alone was enough to make me regret my decision. The decision that led me here, the same psychiatric ward that I referred my clients to when they were having some sort of mental health breakdown. My psychiatrist entered the cold, stale room, and roared, “Well hello Mrs.Gilbert! Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Gilbert. How are you feeling?”
By Dee Sha'Ron5 years ago in Criminal
Petty Games
Burn it. Bury it. Both. I eyed it back as it eyed me. The little black book sitting on the nightstand across the room from me in its unrelenting righteousness. I sat in my chair drumming my fingers on the wooden arm rest. Making random rhythms of the rapping sounds.
By K. Thomas5 years ago in Criminal
A Room of Her Own
The door clicked with the finality of a jailor locking a cell. He was gone for the day. She pushed a strand of thick auburn hair back into her loose bun, looking down at the child by her feet. “Momma?”
By Michelle Forbes Viking Author and Musician5 years ago in Criminal
The Guy in the Corvette
The car had crawled out of the intersection, the barely attached front bumper scraping the tarmac as it labored onto the upcoming street. The machine banged, popped, and sputtered to a grinding halt in the middle of the road. One of the wheels, jutting out in a position opposite the rest, had finally spun lose its tire. There was a pained whirring as a result of excessive force on the gas pedal causing dense clouds of white smoke to rise up from the tailpipe. By some mad determination of the man in the driver’s seat, the car started moving again, a wobbling tire beneath it and a trail of fluid streaking the ground behind. He steered the groaning vehicle toward the curb alongside a Chevy dealership where he killed the engine of the black Corvette for the last time.
By Jesula Damas5 years ago in Criminal
The Idiot
The messenger bag hanging on the Bouncer’s right shoulder bounced against his side as he ran, it held textbooks and notebooks. He punched the air with his left hand and brought his watch close to his sweaty face. He clutched the watch with his right hand to steady it. Time was running out, he needed to catch the last train out of the city. The last thing he wanted was to spend another night at the 24 hour Carl’s Jr with the vagrants. He had nothing against them but it was impossible to sleep comfortably in there waiting until the station opened in the morning. The stench of rancid piss in the air was too much. The twenty-something year old, community college student by day, strip club bouncer by night, raced down the city sidewalk as a thick fog had begun to settle into the streets. His all black suit shimmered under the city lights. His dress shoes snapped against the cement. He regretted his decision earlier to work a bit longer for an extra cash tip buying a bottle of liquor and sneaking it in for one of the dancers. She had told him to keep the change as a tip. One dollar. Gee, thanks, Candy.
By Adrian Nava5 years ago in Criminal
Consequences
A woman franticly entered the elevator and scanned Mark to see if he was a threat. He asked her what floor she wanted. She looked at the elevator panel before saying twenty-two. It was two floors above where Mark’s room was located. The woman held the small bag around her shoulder with two hands. Despite wearing a fancy cocktail dress she looked as she had just been running. Mark considered making small talk but couldn’t think of what to say before they arrived at his floor. Just before he stepped off the elevator and onto his floor they caught each other’s eyes. They both quickly looked away.
By WDawson5 years ago in Criminal
My Black Book Secret
It was dark inside of Emily; her mind constantly raging with thoughts that could drag you down and keep you there for days. On this particular day, her mind felt exceptionally clouded as she sulked out of bed, through the mess of her studio, and into the bathroom.
By Not Available5 years ago in Criminal
Good-bye
Today is July 17, 1974. Everything is ready to go. The thought of what comes tomorrow morning is making it hard to sleep. It’s nearly 2:00 in the morning and I have to be out of here by 6:30. I’m keeping positive, it’s just another sleepless night for me.
By Elena Valdez5 years ago in Criminal
Scapegoat
“Heads up Charles, Marshall’s on his way over.” “Notebook too?” “And a fancy three-piece suit to go with it. He really thinks he has you on this.”
By Matt Gavin5 years ago in Criminal
Mpasi, please hold.
Vivaldi blares from the kitchen counter top as the scent of fresh coffee fills my nose. The mug sits untouched on the other end of the work surface. Cold milk drips down my chin and I barely catch it with the tip of my spoon whilst inwardly celebrating the cat-like reflexes.
By Alex5 years ago in Criminal
Blackout
That’s it. I’m making an appointment. This is the fourth time in the last couple weeks I’ve woken up like this. My head won’t stop pounding, I’m soaked in sweat. Come to think of it, can’t even remember going to bed last night. I’m so thirsty, but the thought of getting out of bed makes me want to puke. Finally making my way to the kitchen, it looks like something out of a frat house. Beer cans overflowing from the trash. The handle of Jack I bought yesterday tipped over on the counter, empty.
By Kate B.5 years ago in Criminal