thriller
You're My Favorite Murderer (Chapters 10-12). Content Warning.
Chapter 10: ๐๐ต๐ข๐ญ๐ฌ๐ฆ๐ณ ๐๐ฐ๐บ It's only been a handful of months since we've crossed paths but seeing her, even just the back of her; those dark waves save for her silver streak, arises too many emotions. The most prominent being hate. Pure hatred for this fucking woman. The way she burrowed her way into my skin, into my very fucking soul and tore it apart with her red-marbled blade. Passion, anger and pain are among some of the others but hate overshadows them all hands down.
By ๐. ๐. ๐ก๐พ๐ซ๐8 months ago in Fiction
You're My Favorite Murderer (Chapter 6-9). Content Warning.
Chapter 6: ๐๐ช๐ป๐ด๐ผ๐ฒ๐ญ๐ฎ Just as I make it out of the building's French doors and down the stairs that same deep voice calls out to me, somehow breaking through the chaos of everything. "Hey. Hey you." I force my head down, not bothering to look, knowing it's the sexy mystery geek who helped me. But calling out most likely means he's looking for something in return for his volunteered services. And I'm not in a giving mood. "Yeah, that's okay just walk away. I'll be sure to let the professor know you cheated" he projects across the space. Christ, did he have to let the whole goddamn world know? Gritting my teeth I turn around quickly eating up the distance as I come face to face with the gorgeous man trying to fuck up my life. I won't deny his good looks but the malicious smile he's wearing says he's gonna make this fucking hurt. And not in a good way.
By ๐. ๐. ๐ก๐พ๐ซ๐8 months ago in Fiction
Dead Air
For Samantha Reed, working the midnight shift at WQTR 98.7 FM was less a job and more a long, sleepless stretch of white noise. A dead-end radio gig in a half-dead town. Four nights a week, she sat alone in the old station just off Route 9, tucked between cornfields and rusted telephone poles.
By V-Ink Stories8 months ago in Fiction
The Color That Waits
Ever since she could remember, seventeen-year-old Clara Monroe had been afraid of the color black. Not spiders, not heights, not deathโblack. It was more than a fear. It was a sickness in her chest, a clawing in her brain. Black wasnโt just a colorโit was a presence. When she was a child, she told her mother that black people โwatchedโ her. Her parents thought it was a phase. But it never went away.
By V-Ink Stories8 months ago in Fiction
You're My Favorite Murderer (Chapters 1-5). Content Warning.
Chapter 1 : ๐๐ช๐ป๐ด๐ผ๐ฒ๐ญ๐ฎ Have you ever killed someone? No? Aw, poor innocent little thing. Well, I have and fuck, it's exhilarating! Unlike anything you'll ever experience. You don't understand, feeling the life leaving their body, seeing their unseeing eyes knowing there's nothing behind them, merely a hollow shell. Shit, it's powerful, you literally hold their life in your hands.
By ๐. ๐. ๐ก๐พ๐ซ๐8 months ago in Fiction
The Girls the River Remembers
The Girls the River Remembers:- The train screeched to a halt just before the Sutlej bridge. Smoke billowed from the engine, curling into a sky already heavy with ash. Inside the cramped carriage, silence clung to everything. Not peaceโjust the kind of silence that follows screams.
By Zakir Ullah8 months ago in Fiction
Below Zero: The Isolation Cell"
Emilyโs breath fogged the air as she woke with a violent shiver. Her eyelashes were stiff with frost, and her fingers ached with pain sharp enough to make her want to scream โ but she couldnโt. Her throat was too dry, her lips cracked and bleeding.
By Muhammad Ahmar 8 months ago in Fiction
Whispers Beneath the Mango Trees
The First Light of Mango Grove In the gentle warmth of dawn, the first light of the sun crept across the horizon, spilling gold over the lush, dew-drenched fields. The scent of mango blossoms floated on the morning breeze, soft and sweet, stirring the peaceful landscape awake. It was the time when even the birds hesitated to chirp, reverent of the stillness that hovered over the land like a sacred prayer.
By Mukhtiar Ahmad8 months ago in Fiction
Echo
Clara stood in her kitchen, scraping butter onto toast as the kettle began to rumble. She poured the boiling water into the instant coffee and reached for the mug with the chipped handleโ-โher favourite. Morning sun spilled over the countertop like a blessing. She felt it shine over her body. The warmth gave her the energy to go on with her day, for she hadn't felt like doing anything these last few weeks.
By Denise Larkin8 months ago in Fiction
