Mystery
BAY OF VENGEANCE
The rays of the rising sun reflected on the dazzling tiles of the large elevated terrace that was facing the bay of San Francisco. Passing through the half-opened glazed door, they irradiated the white walls and designer pieces of furniture of the sleeping room with a delicate spring warmth, giving them in places yellow and cream shades. From the terrace, you could see the harbor with all these berthed yachts, the lighthouse as well. Orienting the glance to the right, you could see the island of Alcatraz barely two miles away. And everywhere the blue, form the sky to the ocean, pure and light, omnipresent. The house was on Marina Boulevard, in the Marina district, one of the wealthiest of the city. It was a modern house. Its architecture was radical. Its cubic shape and its general structure had very sharp angles. It was built a decade ago, during the early eighties. Because yes, we were in 1989, a Saturday of May more precisely. On the first floor, in the bedroom, the landlords, Alan and Claire Anderson were sleeping snuggled together. They were young, handsome, blonde, and tanned. They looked like fitness magazines models. The radio-alarm clock was displaying 5:55 AM. But no need for ringing. Both perfectly coordinated woke up simultaneously. Alan was behind Claire. Keeping the same position, he caressed her long hair and kissed her neck softly. After a few minutes like this without moving, they got up at the very same time. Always as synchronous in their moves, and with saying a single word, they entered the bathroom and faced the double washbasin, perfectly choreographed, they washed their faces and brushed their teeth. This being done, they put on their sportswear, got outside the house, and after a few brief stretches and without forgetting to start their stopwatch, started running.
By Julian Salvatore4 years ago in Fiction
The Clock Goes Backwards
4:30 PM Time to start getting things wrapped up. No more meetings, the network is being a bit slow, these new systems were meant to make our jobs easier and more productive, but we just spend our time rustling up work arounds to deliver what we need to do. We seem to spend more time doing that than our excellent job.
By Mike Singleton đź’ś Mikeydred 4 years ago in Fiction
Cyclops
Two FBI agents stared down at the mutilated corpse. It was the middle of the Great Depression, so finding a body in a rail yard was not an uncommon occurrence. Finding three engineers’ bodies, each in a different rail yard, in three different states, and all displaying the same wounds was. The cause of death for each man was a stab wound directly into the heart. The left eye had been removed postmortem, and a cat’s eye marble inserted into the empty socket. The coup de grâce was the word Cyclops written across each victim’s forehead in their own blood.
By Mark Gagnon4 years ago in Fiction
A mole in Big Tony's organization
I hate this fucking sauna. Steam so thick I can’t see. Sweat running into my eyes. But this is where the boss likes to conduct his most private affairs, so here I sit. The heat drains my energy, so I recline against the wall and close my eyes, just for a minute.
By Donald McCullough4 years ago in Fiction
Mystery's Circus: The Lost
Mystery’s Circus: The Frost Prologue Pt3: An Icy Bond Mystery: “Welcome back everyone! I hope you are as excited as I am to get back to the show! Strange that this is still the prologue, right? Well, there’s a good reason for that, but that reason isn’t important to explain right now. Don’t worry, this should be the last of the prologue…maybe. Depends on how long this next section is. In any case, let’s not waste any more time and get right back to the show! Enjoy! And yes, I know the title is a pun.”
By Koby Bradley4 years ago in Fiction
Writing
Writing: A bit redundant. I should expect it to be fairly obvious that many people on this platform would talk about writing as their creative outlet: a place to release their thoughts into the world and have people relate to and/or sympathize with their struggles. Sometimes the news of the world and everything that happens around us humans gets us down and we are just lost into the darkness.
By Just Daniel4 years ago in Fiction
Hero's Cunundrum/Chapter 7
They left and left me there alone, I’m really starting to think that is futile to try and kill Bansao. What was he talking about, does he knows the future too? Right now constantly moving from place must to be the only way to survive, but I don’t want my people to survive forever, I want them to live. I went to search for my crew, I really don’t remember where they must be now so I’ll go from the last camp place I remember. On my way, I found a small cabin covered with bushes that I have never seen before. The cabin has a bed, a desk, several military uniforms and there are lots of books. The uniforms have a name tag, the name on the nametag is Bansao and there are also some of the papers are awards and recognition to Bansao in his military achievements. Maybe this is where he used to live, I could learn about him here, his origin or how to defeat him.
By Angel Delgado4 years ago in Fiction
An Owl?
An Owl. By Hana.Mahmoud Chapter 1 “AAAAAAAAHH!” Nine year old Charlie Watson woke up screaming, sweat dripping from his head. “It was just a dream, no, a nightmare.” He told himself. He looked outside his window, there was no one outside. He kept hearing noises though. All types of noises. Bears, snakes, grasshoppers, goats, and lions. But the loudest noise of them all, were owls. He kept hearing them, hooting, flying, screaming his name. But when he looked outside, he saw nothing.
By Hana Mahmoud4 years ago in Fiction
