Mystery
Isaiah's Song
The air conditioner went out two hours ago. The ceiling fan was spinning furiously, moving hot air from one location to another. No A.C. in Houston in the middle of summer was a death sentence, and I meant that literally. I checked the temperature on a digital sign across the street. The readout said 102 degrees Fahrenheit and 39 degrees Celsius, humidity 85 percent. That was a blessing; it could have been over 90 percent.
By William Stinson5 years ago in Fiction
Follow the Marigolds
The morning was dark and rainy, much like my mood. Sipping my black coffee, I stared out the window at the dreary day, pondering your death. The short seven years we had together weren’t nearly enough. I can still hear your laugh like it was the first day we met. Your wavy red hair cascaded down behind you as your head threw back in joyous laughter. You were wearing that blue dress I love. Loved…I guess. We buried you in it. It was the night we met that I knew I wanted your laugh to ring in my ears forever.
By Kaneene Pineda5 years ago in Fiction
Hollowed Manor
Hollowed Manor stood tall within the dead still of the night. The grounds were spick and span in preparation for a wedding. The groom was a young Mr. Louis McCallister and the bride was Ms.Genevive Haus. Their family and friends were gathered within Hollowed Manor's various sitting rooms, sipping on cocktails and visiting before the big day. An elderly caretaker stood to the side, watching the guests chatter away. He enjoyed the loud noise when most of the time, the facility lay empty and quiet with nobody but the staff around.
By Chloe Rose Violet 🌹5 years ago in Fiction
Looking Back at the Present
Staring at the chalk outline wasn’t getting me anywhere. Three homicides in the same month. If this was linked to the others earlier this year, he was picking up in my district. She was thirty-two. Blonde but had a brown wig on. Probably what made her the target. Night walker by the way she was dressed and whatever clown college she went to, to learn to put on makeup. Poor ‘thing’ never stood a chance. To be fair she probably wasn’t going to last long in a normal life anyway if this was the road she was going down. People don’t pick her life because things are going well.
By Unabated Lemon5 years ago in Fiction
Transcender
“John, please.” The tired looking man said before finishing the last drop of his of fine Belgium beer still maintaining eye contact through the bottom of the distorted pint glass. Once he savoured his last drop and the bubbles settled he placed the glass down on the mat and John was less than pleased.
By Loyd Moody 5 years ago in Fiction
What symbolizes her strength
Lisa knew this woman could read situations just as well as she could read hands; she could tell just by that insincere smirk on her red lips and her mysterious slender eyes fixed upon her in the damp mist. She felt the urgent need to leave the foggy, narrow street which turned into a claustrophobic space after meeting her pen pal for the first time alone.
By Lobna Kowsar5 years ago in Fiction
