Waiting at the bus stop, I sigh heavily as I stare at the ground, feeling the rain drum against my shoulders. I panic when the raindrops start to feel like fingers.
What should have been an occasion to celebrate had immediately turned into a nightmare of police questioning, media harassment, and stress. After all, finding a hundred thousand dollars in your living room wall is great, unless you find a body stuffed in next to it.
I should have known something was off about my date, Steve, from the beginning. Anyone who lets a match burn down to their fingers without flinching should not be trusted.
The fairies had been gone from the garden for years now. Even still, whenever she passed through it the memories of that terrible night haunted her, and she swore she could still hear their screams.
I used to write things for friends. There was this girl I had a crush on, and she had a teacher she didn’t like at school. I had a real crush on her, so almost every day I would write her a little short story where she would kill him in a different way. -Stephen Colbert
From the first day I met him, he promised to always love and protect me. Hollow words from someone who was keeping me chained up in his basement.
Lacey looked up after gathering loose dollar bills and her top from the stage and froze. Sid was silhouetted in the doorframe, the club’s black lights revealing a dark splatter on his white button down shirt, and making the teeth revealed by his gaping smile glow. The last time she gave him a lap dance he told her he handled hostile takeovers, and she was starting to question what that really meant.
Andrew looked around the bright room expecting to see someone else, but he was alone. A rustle behind him made him jump and spin around. “So, you’d like to make a deal,” hissed the snake coiled on the low table in the middle of the room. ********** Three Line Tales Week 139 Writing prompt by Sonya at Only 100 Words Photo by Jordan Gellie via Unsplash
He never actually turned the television on. When he stared at it every night, he always looked for the same thing. A glimpse of the family so cruelly taken from him reflected back from the glass screen.
Months after the hurricane, Robert’s house was the only one that remained empty in his neighborhood. Truthfully, he had been hoping it would have been completely destroyed by floodwater, disposing of his business partner’s body. Now he was just going to have to hope that Andrew’s body was so decomposed authorities would simply assume it was his, allowing him to escape to Mexico as planned. *********** photo by Nathan Wright via Unsplash Week One Hundred and Thirty-Seven of Three Line Tales, hosted by Sonya at Only 100 Words.