Short Story

Smoke clouds drifted in the air, as the sound of metal chains thumping against thighs echoed throughout the night. Everyone was speaking loud in line, on the edge of the sidewalk, waiting to be granted access into the concert. I felt the back of my Doc Martens getting scuffed by the person behind me, as we got closer to the front of the line. The closer we got, the stronger the scent of cigarettes and marijuana became. Now we’re in reaching distance of the bowling alley door, showing our VIP passes, I opened the door as smoke clouds flooded the ceiling into the night sky.

The loud pub turned like a funeral, deadly quiet. The eyes of the crowd toward me were like the blade of a knife; it felt like all of them knew that I was the thief. I lied the whole thing about Paul and the money to Jack and his friend. I was sprinting like a car with missing a brake trying to run away from the

Talking. It was fine, I guess. Better than before. She leaned against the wall, drink in hand. Some kind of cocktail, but I could barely tell. I slowly reached for my glasses, but stopped myself. I just didn’t want to know. Why would I? She wore a black dress, I could tell. I’d seen her wear it before. I’d seen her wear a lot of things - that dress was my favorite. She always wore black on Tuesdays and red on Wednesdays. White on Thursdays. Purple on Fridays. Pink on Saturdays. Blue on Sundays. And whatever she wanted on Mondays. Always something different on a Monday. I came here whenever I could; she was here all the time. She worked here, actually. At a bar, yeah, but she was so smart. College. She went. Made it look easy. I did too. Geeky crap. Not a big deal. But she was such a big deal. Everything she did was so important, like they could write a news story just about her smile. A book about her laugh. A national news event on just the way she breathed. I’d seen her every day - off right now, no work on Tuesdays - and I’d say the same thing every time I saw her. A melancholy grumble. “Sprite.” And just like that, she’d give it to me. Her white

Does anything in our reality truly exist? That is a question I find myself pondering on. It seems if you go to questioning things too much, you find loose ends that can't be tied up. I know what you're thinking, "Just stop questioning stuff." My line of work is all about questioning, I'm a detective. I question everything so that the loose ends can be tied up. Although you always have those mysteries that seem uncrackable. Like the case I'm investigating now.

“What case?” Pinkerton was giving Oliver a questioning look. “Oliver you don’t even work here. This is private property…” Pinkerton went on but Oliver didn’t pay attention. He was lost in his

The time was 9:10 PM and I had my glass of water in my right hand. I sat in a rose-colored chair from another century, a baroque styled chair, way too ornate for an apartment manager from Phoenix. The only thing obliging me here was the letter in my pocket, which said, “Show up or she dies”.

“I would like to thank you for getting my money pouch back from that thief,” Emma politely and calmly said. “My dear everyone in this room is a thief of sorts its just some don't realize that they shouldn't steal from women as gorgeous as you.” “Any way you do not have to thank me any honorable man would have done the same,” the man replied. “It would appear that you are the only honorable man in this tavern which means you still deserve my thanks.” The man shook his head in agreement having no idea what he should say next. “I am Emma Griffith and you are?” “I am Patrick Hughes and it is a pleasure to meet you miss Griffith.” “Tell me mister Hughes what do you do for a living?” “I would say I am a collector of fine things which do not belong

Jen could smell cigarette smoke as she descended the stairs to the basement. Mrs Laurence was slumped at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. The ashtrays were full and empty wine bottles littered the draining board. Glancing at Jen, her eyes mudged with last night’s make up, she gathered up her cigarettes and phone and left without speaking. Silent and inward looking, she looked like someone burdened by guilt and fear, and too defeated to waste her energy on spite.

The bucketheads wouldn't stop shooting. It was getting harder to keep deflecting all their shots. I could feel Kanan growing more tired too. If Zeb and Sabine didn't get the shield generator soon we might not make it.

He walked to the office. I climbed over into the passenger’s seat. I opened the door, then grabbed a paper clip from the glove compartment. A glance up at the office. I got myself out of the cuffs, left them in the car, and started walking away. I walked down the street on the sidewalk, keeping an eye out for a blue 1974 Corvette.

He peered through his charcoal gray eyelashes and stepped out the warm truck cab. He flung my door out and wrenched me out of the seat. Trudging forward, he drove his fist into his khaki pants and grasped at my hand. The door opened. The faces danced around me. It wasn’t the bodies that were contorting around each other that caught my attention, which sickened me weak in the gut. It was the smell of their drug-infused sweat that the instance sensation of vertigo came over me. Johnny felt my bony fingers go slack. The floor plan of the first floor was a giant square. Each room was filled with vice, reminding me of a game show with different prizes behind each

“Mr. Tartt? Mr. Tartt?” A security guard asked stepping into the storage closet looking for me. I finished typing the email that was being sent to Kasten VanMeter, a detective that I thought could reveal the suspicious activities happening here at Mount Massive Asylum. I stood straight up, closed my laptop, and walked to the entrance of the room where I was met by the security guard. “Where have you been? They called for you 5 minutes ago.” He asked in an irritated manner. I ignored his question and walked down a long cold hallway to where I was requested. As I entered, the doors slid apart making a whooshing sound. Several men in Hazmat suits glanced at me and then went back to work. I walked in hastily and sat down at my desk.

"You are a mystery." Mr. Lyle, the current head of the telekinetics division, said to me.

When someone knocked on her door later that week, Charlie was wondering just what the hell she had gotten herself into. Hannah was teething, or at least that was what the older woman who had stopped by yesterday on Franks behalf had said. All Charlie knew was that it had turned the little girl into a non stop whining machine. Throw a sick, clingy Brody into the mix and Charlie was about to lose her mind.

"I dont know, but can you explain to me what exactly happened earlier." Jungkook says, straightening up in his chair.