Skip navigation

Tag Archives: short stories

I mustered up the courage to do what I had to do. It wasn’t totally illegal, but some serious assault charges could be pulled on me if the victim- my victim- found the need to. As I walked to the crime scene, I drank a 16 ounce cup of coffee, heaven knows I needed the energy. Once there, I saw the criminal. I jumped the person from behind, grabbed them from behind, and hitched them upon a nail in the door frame- a nail I had placed there for this purpose. I tore down the criminals hoodie, it was a man this time, and slapped him in the face. It was time to start my interrogation.

Advertisements

Marrisa was watching the news when her live-in boyfriend came home. He didn’t even say hi, but that wasn’t new. He usually didn’t.
“Live from the news room: Breaking News! Jessica Marche was found dead tonight. She had 93 puncture wounds. The carnage is so graphic, we decided not to share it”.

“What jerk would do that?” she asked, rhetorically.

She didn’t see the recently cleaned knife he tucked into the top drawer of the desk in his office. She never did.

I felt so vulnerable. You sat staring at me, my gaunt body, my sunken eyes. I must have looked like a ghost to you, my previously caramel colored skin now barely recognizable as having any sort of pigmentation.

“So, where exactly did you say you were all this time?” you asked, clearly wondering if I were a figment of your imagination. I couldn’t be real. I had long been dead to you. I told you someone had hidden me far away. You shook your head in disbelief.

“You’re not real. I’m finally cracking up,” you said as you walked away, thinking that if you drank more I would disappear. But I continued my story until you were inclined to ask the question that must of been nagging you this entire time.

“Who did it?” as you spoke the words, you seemed to know the answer. There was no other possible answer.

“You”