Posts tagged Short Story Contest
Elvis by Alan Guffy

I’ve been in this room for close to an hour. It’s cold in here. They’ve taken my clothes and left me in a thin hospital gown on a folding metal chair. The only light comes from a fluorescent tube hanging from the ceiling. No windows. Hell, not even a door. But I can make out a thin seam in the concrete that I suspect will swing inward if they want it to. 

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Hell in Huntington by Zach Larson

Dark waves crashed onto the beach in front of Ram, sending a spray of mist into his face and showering his bare legs with droplets of saltwater. He smelled the brine and seaweed clinging to the humidity in the air. Raising his eyes from the churning waters, he focused on the moon, nearly full in its orbit. Stars shimmered down through the clear skies. He idly checked his watch: 4:15 a.m. The clouds would come soon, veiling the sky so completely that you could barely see your hand in front of your face. What did Hades hate about the light of day? The God of the underworld should want a bit of sun and relaxation, right? Why else would he have forsaken his throne and set up shop on a California beach? Ram sighed and tore his gaze away from the blissfully clear sky as he began his plodding march toward Huntington Beach Pier.

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Minotaur Noir by Katherine Luck

The minotaur was female. And she was decidedly dead.

The city streets were slick with rain that had been falling sporadically for hours, the drops hitting the pavement with the sluggish indifference of a washed-up boxer running out the clock so he could throw the match in the eighth round. The storm clouds had finally blown away at the tail-end of twilight, leaving behind a street cleaved by rivulets of rusty water that trickled from the broken gutters of the tall buildings where the humans lived.

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Pretty Ladies by Becca Edney

Jane took a deep breath of the cool, sea-scented air as she strode up a narrow, worn footpath weaving among the hills. She had left her friend Izzy behind, juggling the dogs at her own insistence, but she'd catch up soon enough; Jane wanted to get to the top of the hill to see the sea, and this meant that she could check the path was good.

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The Thief that Breathes Fire by Kendall Peterkin

“He’s done it again,” Cosus threw his tattered cloth down on the table in frustration. Causing his three teenage children to sit up straight. “I’ve counted over and over again, and we only have four.”

“The cattle.” Summanus confidently quipped, before his older and wiser brother, Pollux, nudged his frail shoulder.

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The Letter by Katherine Anderson

I stood at the mailbox, the metal flap hanging open on rusting hinges, and shuffled through the mail. There was the usual, bills and such, a menu from a restaurant I had no intention of trying, and a boating magazine that I hadn’t had the heart to cancel after Arthur passed. I folded the magazine around the rest of it and closed the mailbox as a small, stiff square fluttered to the ground. I looked around, up and down the street to see if there was anyone who had seen it fall, anyone who might see me bend down to retrieve it but there was no one.

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A Rose is a Rose is a Clue Unless its a Red Herring by Phillip T Stephens 

“When I saw the bouquet of 7 roses, I knew exactly who had murdered Mrs. O’Connell.” Bob kneeled next to the octogenarian’s body and jotted notes into his spiral bound pocket book with his Bic pen. One of the Bic pens he ordered 50 at a time from Amazon because (he swears), the other detectives steal them.

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The Rose Slayer by Stephen Bentley

Six murders. Two detectives. More than four million LA residents. “That’s a hell of a lot of suspects,” Bill Pawson said. His partner, Sean Wells shrugged.

Pawson and Wells, Detectives First Class of LAPD Robbery Homicide Squad, had been working this homicide case for the past three years. It was cases rather than a case. It was clear to them, their Captain, the Chief of Detectives, the media, and the public there was a serial killer at large in Los Angeles. What wasn’t clear was the identity of the killer. The cops had no clue as to who it was or why.

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The Seven Roses by Jasmine Lowe

Mrs. O’Connell wore her large twisted snaggle tooth that hung prominently in the front of her rather large gaping mouth proudly. She didn’t mind the fact that everyone stared at the tooth which looked as though it was attempting to rip its own self out of the mouth that was constantly flapping open during the constant conversation. To say Mrs. O’Connell talked a lot was an understatement.

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The Winning Loser by Joan S Peck

I became captivated the first time I saw her step out of the limo, one long, curved leg at a time. I smiled at the way she tilted her head to acknowledge the chauffeur who stood by as she reluctantly reached for his hand to help her out. As she stood tall, she was striking with long blond hair that she’d pulled back into a simple bun, low on her neck.

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