Mystery
White Smoke. Runner-Up in Return of the Night Owl Challenge.
In a cramped wee flat on the top floor of one of Glasgow’s beloved tenement buildings, Professor Donalda Vass pored over the pages of her oldest and heaviest book. With the installation of her floor to ceiling bookcases, she could almost reach from one side of her tiny office to the other just by stretching out her arms. The sloped ceiling and small, leaded window would be less than desirable for anyone else. And, although the flats on the floors below were much more spacious, with the usual high ceilings and large bay windows that were typical of Glasgow’s tenements, her attic rooms were perfect for her needs, if a little small for her collection of books and antiquities.
By Olivia Seaton4 years ago in Fiction
Alessio Piras, "Omicidio in piazza Sant'Elena"
Undecided between the detective story and the intellectual novel, Alessio Piras, in Murder in Piazza Sant'Elena, mixes the two genres, alongside the classic, and highly inflated, Commissioner, another protagonist, a shoulder who actually towers over, the intellectual Lorenzo Marino , in large part, we suspect, the author's alter ego. The two find themselves collaborating on the case of Paco, a South American boy killed by a badly cut drug overdose in the alleys of Genoa. It will be discovered that behind it there are personal events and the hypocrisy of a moralistic and rotten bourgeois world.
By Patrizia Poli4 years ago in Fiction
Vigor
I should have known it. On the day I woke up right under the wooden roof next to the hay and some of the tiny mice living there - mother called it my little nest. I was lying without my blanket, got woken up by the changing of the guard, as always accompanied by the bell chime. But something was different. I didn’t know what, until I had gathered all cattle behind our house and led them down the path, past the hall of the elders and the market towards the western tower. Out of the village towards the great meadow, right next to the river where the first flowers would sprout, when the forest would awake. I was sitting down on my favorite rock, a little uphill, enjoying the intense silence of the forest and suddenly realized it. The sun was just awakening and yet, I was almost sweating under my peasant clothing. Later my Mother would tell me that she hoped I wouldn’t get a fever. And my father would add that I was probably just still dreaming and that I should care about the cattle, not the weather.
By Julian Brüne4 years ago in Fiction
Night of Deception
There I sat in my old beat up ’58 Datsun pickup. It had a neon green body, with a broken taillight that I had covered in red tape. The light still worked, thank God, but here I was, faced with the newest dilemma of the day—a dead battery. At least that’s what I thought it was after I got out to take a look. I glanced up the highway, then back over what I had just covered. About thirty miles long, the stretch was.
By Susan Sargis4 years ago in Fiction
The night creature
It was a cold dark February evening, as I anxiously drove down the dirt road. The snow and the wind began to pick up and the road was starting to drift. My name is jake and I needed to get to my uncle John's house. He was terminally ill, and I was his beneficiary. He had never married and had no children, and he was like a father to me.
By Craig Maxwell4 years ago in Fiction
It Was All A Lie
The rays of the Sun danced beautifully upon the horizon, blinding anyone who looked straight into them. Beneath them was a vast sea of grass that seemed to go on forever. Panning upwards, one would see the beautiful figure of a barn owl gracefully soaring and dipping through the sky.
By Carlee Trujillo4 years ago in Fiction
