Mystery

DownDrift
Tires squealing could be heard ringing throughout the thick forest. Sirens blared off in the distance. Many voices collided with one another as words were shouted in the air. I stood still waiting for the right time to move. I needed to grab the hanging branch above to climb up the tree as quick as I could to be out of sight.
By Belinda Grissam4 years ago in Fiction
The Upside Of Down
Part 1: The Downside Today isn’t a fair day: the clouds began to cry as the sun-set down for the night. I loomed in darkness, questioning my existence in an unjust world, a world that views me at face value and makes assumptions about my body—a world that refers to me as being psychotic and not stable in the mind. I’ll say that the world had abandoned me, left me, like a wrong turn. I’ll say that the reason I refuse to attend additional therapies with Mr. Eubanks, my childhood psychologist who fails to see my loss, is because he can’t understand my obsession with this beautiful model.
By Eye Q4 years ago in Fiction
At Sunrise
It rattles, like a tin can with only one item held inside. Leave it be. He buries his head a little farther beneath the blankets. He squeezes his eyes shut and tries to remember the words to The Lord’s Prayer, which he spoke so many times in the past without conscious effort on all those Sundays when his grandparents took him to church, always casting a disapproving glare at his parents and their refusal to join. He remembers the glare his mom would cast from the alcove window as her own parents pulled out of the driveway with him in their car on their way to St. Vincent’s parish.
By Calliope Briar4 years ago in Fiction
The Fire
The darkness came quickly. The mist in the air seemed to hang like a curtain stealing the last bit of light. The chill went right to the bone.
By Larry Nowicki4 years ago in Fiction
Forced Caravan, The
This is my last (and favorite!) story for November’s Throwback Thursday! I don’t have many fans, so I thought it was okay to take a day off - sorry if you happened to be waiting! I wrote this in college for an assignment where we were to address a current event through fiction. This time, I’m adding Non—Profit information at the end of this story to help make this horrifying less accurate.
By A Baptiste4 years ago in Fiction
He Always Loved Himself Until...
A sliver of orange light filtered over the landscape as the sun began to rise above the horizon. The last rays of sunlight began to go away as the night became darker.
By Rabia Hafeez4 years ago in Fiction
What's The Verdict?
Jacob Miller knew he should leave the store the moment he started to imagine “Coupon Lady” with her brains splattered all over the cash register. The only thing that kept him there was the even more horrific vision of his wife's battered carcass being stuffed in the trunk of his car if she screamed at him again for going home without the milk. If she hadn’t been such a miserable bitch all the time, he wouldn’t have forgotten to pick it up in the first place and wouldn't be in this damn store right now.
By Cathy holmes4 years ago in Fiction
The Trees Swallow People
In a public park there are trees that have never harmed anyone, lining the path from the entrance, shaping the jogs and evening strolls people take, in places parted enough for desires lines to form. But then there are the other trees.
By Conor Matthews4 years ago in Fiction
Dick Rousts the Russkie
Nothing Shipshape Chapter 1 The Liberty Bay was a soft target for the Somali pirates. She was hauling oil from the Persian Gulf to the port of Mombasa.
By S.K.Mukherjee4 years ago in Fiction
The Girl in the Basement
Small drops of water hit the pages of the book in my lap. Choosing to again ignore them, I continued rereading the same paragraph I had been working on for the last hour. Continuously I found myself brushing my long golden hair back behind my shoulders. The bare lightbulb swung ever so slightly on its string above me, causing the dark shadows in the basement to continually change.
By Shelby Larsen4 years ago in Fiction
All of their insides
People pass by me all the time. They judge me right away. I see it in their fleeing eyes as they walk past me, their path curving slightly to the side, away from me, so they avoid getting too close, thinking maybe I would grab their ankle and burp out a dirty joke about banging in a staircase or munching their pubic hair. They think I don’t notice that deviation, that half arc detour around me. Maybe they don’t even notice it themselves, their body performing an unconscious, self-preservation automatism. They think I’m a drunk and an idiot and a loser. That I probably smell like old sweat and cheap wine, some of it probably regurgitated on my lavish, torn “S’life is good” printed t-shirt and forming a nasty patch of reddish puke. Why is “s’life good” anyway? Why is that spelled out on a t-shirt? They must wonder that too, those who risk a glance at me. Well, I never knew. Sorry to disappoint. This t-shirt doesn’t make any fucking sense. That’s why I love it so much. The walkers are right about some things though. I am a drunk and a loser, and I spend my days sitting on my steps, chain-smoking Viceroy’s, a bottle of tequila never too far, ready to serve, hidden behind my always opened apartment door on Gordon Street, Verdun. But I’m not an idiot. And I know how to watch. I see these people as they would never imagine someone could. If they possessed the ability to sit behind my eyes, at the wheel, driving my brain around, making sense of what my strangely wired optic nerves perceive… they would either go insane or become desperate, hardcore addicts tearing their eyes out begging for more. Maybe that’s what happened to me a long time ago. Both these things. But my vision is my main perk now, it had to become a perk, so that I wouldn’t die too fast and could learn to appreciate it for what it is. My ride to both heaven and hell, paved with colorful schematics of people’s core, their drive, the essence of what it means to feel. More than that, what it LOOKS like to feel. Anybody’s turning point can become my fantasy, my drive. My design, in whatever way I shape it inside my head. They paint it for me as I watch them, some of their vapor I could blissfully die for.
By Clemence Maurer4 years ago in Fiction
It's too late
The library has always been an old haunt of mine. I’ve used my local library and others for many years. Something about a library is so homely; maybe the smell of old books gives this psychological effect.
By Lee Kendrick4 years ago in Fiction