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I really don't want to give anything away, but this is the beginning of a crime novel I'm writing. From the point-of-view of the FBI and the victims. I really dont know how long this will be, but it is split into parts based on POV. Yes, this is rated R, for explicit violence, death, and other...

I wonder if that will be the breaking point between these two. They've probably argued about it before. She's threatened to leave and then decided against it at the last minute. In spite of their shyness there is a tense history between them. They've witnessed tragedy together. I think, by the...

Another short story, but just split in two parts, for simplicity's sake. This is also another experiment with perspective. Once again, do not post on this thread, and please send me any criticism or questions via PM. Set in Washington, DC. I couldn't tell you how many charity events at art...

She was gone the next morning. And I mean gone. Before I had even gotten up to start on the inventory, which was at 5 AM. Nothing in the little room upstairs looked like it had been occupied. The sheets were neatly made, the drawers empty. Hell, she didn't even leave a note. For a second, I...

I should have known it wouldn't go on forever. That night she was sitting at the counter, looking at the accounts. I'd admitted the night before that I had trouble with them and she'd said she was all right with numbers and she'd have a look. Said it was the "least she could do," in a tone that...

The day before it all ended, we were chatting about some crap or other as I stirred the pot of pasta, when she suddenly asked: "Why?" "Why what?" "Why are you helping me?" I thought about it for a second but I couldn't say why myself. Natalie thought I was mad but it just seemed like the...

Once or twice, I thought I heard her crying. I tiptoed to the top of the stairs and rapped on the door, thinking maybe I could comfort her. Perhaps I hoped she'd open the door and it might lead to something else. I don't know. I ain't exactly proud of it. "You all right, love?" I asked softly...

"Sometimes, he's like a petulant little boy," she told me once. "He gets ridiculously stubborn and you can't hold him back. You might as well tell the tide to stop coming in." "I take it you're Canute in this scenario," I said, sliding the huge lasagna dish into the oven. She laughed and her...

Often I made up excuses to stay late at the cafe, told Mama I was doing the books. I'd send Natalie home early, spread the accounts ledgers across the checked tablecloths, leave the pot of coffee steaming on the hot plate, and hope I might hear her footfalls on the stairs. I just loved talking...

Later I stood at the kitchen door, watching her as an impulse hardened into a plan in my brain. We had talked for a while and then I had gone out back to clean up. When I finished, she was sitting in the chair by the neon sign, her arms folded across the checked table cloth, her right cheek...

The heating warmed the place up in less than 10 minutes, which was just as well since she was shivering uncontrollably. "How long you been out there?" I asked. "Three, four hours." "What are you doing it for? I see you every evening; in here, out by the station. Are you begging?" She looked...

Sundays we're shut. It used to be because Papa insisted we rest on God's day, now it's just because I need the rest. I still head into the city every now and then to go to mass at Westminster Cathedral. I know my mind isn't supposed to be on worldly things, and a house of God is a house of God...

She came in every day the next week and a half, always at the same time, always sat at the same table under the sign, staring out at the station plaza as the rush hour traffic poured past in a smear of double-decker red and taxi black. Ate the soup and then wandered out again. We even talked...

I usually leave it to Natalie to take the money; whatever her faults, she's better at maths than me. Only this time, when the woman comes to pay, it's almost 10 PM, and it's me sitting by the till. We were empty again -- no change there -- and she brought her bowl back to the serving hatch and...

The day I first noticed her was January 25, just another dull day like the thousand others before it. "For the fiftieth time, Natalie, switch that shit off," I roared as she turned the radio to Kiss 100 again. I hate dance music, especially that drum n' bass she listens to; sounds like two...

This is a short story that is written and posted in 13 parts. Constructive criticism is wanted and appreciated. Don't post on this thread, please send me a message if you have any comments. These places exist and are geographically correct: Little Ben is near Victoria Station in central London...