Category: fiction

Story Jots # 4 – Where is Danny Champagne?

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Go ahead, tell me one more time that you don’t know where he is, and I am pulling this trigger. I’m tired of games. You know, it’s actually convenient you wearing that mask. Now I won’t risk getting too much of your ugly face all over my new black marble floor. My wife hates when I do stuff like that. She’ll be pissed if she finds out I brought my work home. Only, this time she won’t be too hard on me. Because you my friend, were stupid enough to come here on your own free will. This is sort of like delivery for me. What the hell were thinking coming to my house anyway? To my private masquerade party? Then, have the nerve to drink my expensive booze and hit on my ladies. They are all on my clock you know? You got some balls, kids. I will give you that. OK, cut the bullshit. Where is Danny Champagne?

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Story Jots # 5 – Serial Number

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The body was easy to move from the place to the car to the boat. As it always is. Premeditation is kind of my thing. I have done this same routine maybe a hundred times. No, I believe it is a hundred and six times. Yeah, a hundred and six. You know, blondes are my favourite of all the women. Slightly more gullible. Usually more attractive. All of them walking by themselves late at night. Coming from their restaurant shifts, drunken bachelorette parties, or on their way to an ex-boyfriend. Then, I would present myself to these tired, these tipsy, and these texting specimens. Most nights, it is an unlit cigarette in poor lighting that works effortlessly. Cliché I know. Although, there were times I would fake a bleeding lip on this fragile face of mine. It was easy with these ladies the way I look. Always so helpful they are. But now I am bored. Unmotivated. No more of this killing racket. I am done. Finished. The girls just do not seem to fight back anymore anyway. Shall I leave a clue? Maybe allow one to getaway? Hmmm. Better yet! How about this one? Number 107. I mean, after all of that and you, my pretty blonde lady…are still breathing.

Fiction From A Photo – She Has No Past, You Have No Future # 1

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Hey everybody,
I’m going to get straight to it. This category is something I have been playing around with for a while now. The premise is I will take a photo I’ve found somewhere and draw whatever inspiration I can from it and write a short, maybe long story from it. Plus, I would like to offer the same opportunity to anyone who wants to follow my lead and use both the photo and/or story title as a prompt. I would love to see examples of other forms of inspiration. It doesn’t have to be a story either. It could be anything from a story, a poem, a song, anything your heart desires.

OK, here’s the beginning of this one for me. I have a few chapters done of this prompt, only I was too excited and reacted. I went with the moment and posted. #amwriting

Don’t forget to tell me what you think in the comments, and let’s see where this goes.

Enjoy!!!

SHE HAS NO PAST, YOU HAVE NO FUTURE # 1

By: Ash Douglas 

Marcus, get up! Come on. It’s not funny.
We have to go.
Do you realize I needed to be home fifteen minutes ago? Not cool.
You know, I’m going to be in deep shit again.
My Uncle is going to kill me for sure this time. 
Marcus?

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Story Jot # 3 – Dark Twins

Yeah, that’s right, you heard me. There are two of them. Identical, except one of girls has a wound over her left collarbone, she’s been shot and now on foot. If we find and contain her first, we’ll have a better chance of drawing out the stronger one. She won’t risk another fight, her sister’s too injured. OK, we’re almost there, I need eyes trained on the treetops and more on that corn field over there. That’s her last known position. Stay sharp and remember, we don’t have a huge window to pull this off people. If the two of them are together for more than fifteen minutes, the wounded sister will heal. If that happens…God help us!

Story Jots # 2 – A Million Problems

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Listen, it’s not safe for us to be here like this, but I needed to make sure you’ll look after her for me. Like you promised. You have to. All of a sudden, I’m a millionaire, and if the wrong person finds out, I’m dead.

Story Jots # 1 – Soon…

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In the bowels of those human cages, he promised soon he would have his revenge. A promise that has kept him alive all this time. A promise he made ten years ago to his fiance on that dark and rainy night when her life was taken from him. By his hand.

The Black Journal – (Take-Away)

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If not up to date, please visit The Red/Black Journal Page

Friday, 9:45 P.M.

Ethan’s driver-side door crunched and creaked as it slammed shut. He was home. Another long day of chasing a killer without so much as a single clue of who it might be. Zero answers, just more questions. Questions, that for now had to wait. The only thing on his mind was finally getting to see his beautiful wife, Susan. Take one look at her and no matter how bad of a day he was having, she’d quickly make all go away. A hot shower and some food wouldn’t go astray either.

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Buffering – What’s Next, Who’s Next?

Hey peeps,

I thought it was necessary to give my awesome followers a fair warning that something’s coming. Something very overdue. So, my friends, later tonight or 100% tomorrow we will all get another glimpse into the world of The Red Journal. I have been hemming and hawing internally for too long creatively. It’s time for all of us to see who’s been doing all the killing in Jamestown and what Jamestown’s finest will do about it.

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The Black Journal – (Break Room, Over Lunch)

Friday, 5:40 p.m. 
(Ethan and Sarah come up short with their first visit to The Keep. They decide to spend most of the afternoon going over the witness statements from the bar and various other items of interest scattered in a brown file on a lunchroom table)

Awfully quiet, how’s your Chinese food? 

What? Oh, ah…it’s good, it’s good. 

Is that right? Well, you wouldn’t say that by what’s left there on your plate. Sarah, you’ve haven’t eaten a thing. You’re not still mad at me, are you? 

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The Black Journal – (Pulled up in front of The Keep)

(Shortly after the briefing, Ethan and Sarah find themselves downtown at the bar, The Keep, the victims last known whereabouts and the potential for video evidence. As they slowly exit their vehicle, a homeless man suddenly appears from the alley motioning toward the door.) 

Friday, 9:46 A.M.

It’s closed! 

Excuse me? 

The bar, it’s closed. Not open yet, doesn’t til six. It’s written right there on that sign. 

Right, thanks for pointing that out. 
Listen, I’m Det. Frost and this is Det. Wilson.  
Jamestown Police Department. 
Tell me…ah, is that yours? Around the corner over there? Do you live in those boxes by the dumpster? 

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