Submission # 8

Name: Violet Ingram
Title: Death by High Heels

Cops hate it when you vomit all over their crime scenes. That was a mistake I had no desire to make again. So as I fought the urge to hurl, it occurred to me that they probably weren’t going to be too thrilled that I had trampled all over this one. Well, crap. If only I hadn’t answered the door, I’d be eating dinner instead of standing in my neighbor’s apartment looking at a dead guy.

I’d spent a hell of a lot of time at crime scenes lately. Even caused a couple I’d really like to forget. My name is Kimberly Murphy and I’m a private investigator. In my line of work I’ve seen plenty of weird things but this had to be one of the weirdest. The guy was just sitting there in the chair. It would have been okay if not for all the blood and his guts spilled onto his lap. I tore my eyes from him and asked the question I most wanted the answer to.

“What the hell did you hit him with?”

Lindsay glanced at floor. “My shoe.”

“Damn it, Lindsay, you can’t kill someone with a shoe!”

“Hello, they’re Via Spiga.”

“Ugh.” I rolled my eyes. There was no way in hell she had done this kind of damage with a shoe. If she had, women would soon be saying goodbye to their much-beloved accessory. Men-even NRA members- would insist on an instant band of the deadly yet sexy weapon.

Submission #9

Title: DESTINED (YA)
First 250:

My forehead rested against the wooden shutters in my room as I searched for the courage to push them open. I knew what was waiting for me outside -- and gods -- I didn’t want to go through this again. But I had no choice.

My admirers were waiting.

“It’s time, Sadie.” Maia gave my shoulder a squeeze with her weathered hand. “Might as well get it over with.”

She received my weakest smile in return. I stalled by fidgeting with the tendril of chestnut hair dangling by my cheek and adjusting my favorite silver headband. Not that I could improve on Maia’s hanidwork, but it bought me a few more seconds. Rubbing my glossed lips together, I smoothed out a fold in my tunic. “Fine,” I said. But agreeing to get on with it didn’t stop my hands from shaking.

Maia backed away from the window, inching closer to the mahogany door. Preparing me to face the horde was one thing, but I didn’t allow anyone in my room when I was on display. Not Maia, not my parents, and certainly not my sisters.

Flinging the shutters apart, I was blasted with sunlight and deafening cheers. I flinched before forcing myself to smile, in spite of being repulsed by the sound of my own name. The waiting crowd launched a shower of jewels that shot toward me like driving rain. The tokens sailed past my second-story window before plummeting back to the ground for our guards to collect. I used to love the gifts; now they terrified me.

Submission #10

Name: Robin Weeks
Title: GEAS (YA Urban Fantasy)
First 250 (well, 259--you said we could finish the sentence) :) :

Brina’s only warning was a light brush on her upper left wing. A second later, an elaborately folded magazine cover landed in her lap: a pterodactyl this time. Original. The complex folds obscured the picture, but Brina already knew that her face was lost somewhere inside. It had been taped to her locker (marked over with devil horns and a forked tail), stuck to the bathroom wall (with bat wings and fangs), and slipped inside her Biology book (with blacked out teeth and crossed eyes). It had been folded into airplanes and rolled into spit-wad shooters. It had been scribbled over with slurs of every kind. An anti-tribute to the school outcast.

After the first ten, she’d stopped smiling and thanking the sender. After the first twenty, she’d stopped feeling sick every time and settled for numb. By 3:30, she had a collection of fifty or more. Us Magazine must be making a killing.

Without taking her eyes off the stage, Moira reached over, snatched the newest offering, viciously crumpled it, and jammed it into her backpack with the rest of them.

“Nice picture, freak,” hissed a voice behind them.

Moira’s face hardened, but Brina shook her head. “Not worth it.”

In the dim light of the high school auditorium, thirty minutes into auditions for A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Brina was too nervous to care anymore. Moira flashed a one-finger salute to the rear, Brina sighed, and they both went back to watching the stage.

Until the jerk behind them yanked on Brina’s glowing White wing, making her yelp.

Submission #11

Name: Kay Bigelow
Title: A New Woman Returns
First 250


“She’s coming our way.” Lieutenant Tai Mitchell whispered into her communicator as she spotted Svetlana Johannsen rounding the corner in front of them. Johannsen was the undercover cop acting as their decoy in this operation. “Stay alert. Paulson can’t be far away. We want him alive.”

As if the entire scene were choreographed, David Paulson stepped out of a doorway. Tai swore to herself. How long had he been there? How had he gotten past her team? He was a man of many faces, and she barely recognized this one. Tai wasn’t sure how many disguises and aliases he had, but by her last count they numbered in the hundreds.

Paulson had been killing women in her city for at least five years. The city’s women and the police department were desperate to get him off their streets and into custody. To that end, the department had assigned its best homicide detective to take him down. Tai was about to do just that.

The police had never been this close to arresting Paulson. He was a clever killer and never left any forensic evidence at his crime scenes. He had only screwed up once and they had been able to put a name to the serial killer. This trap was elaborately laid and had taken months to execute. Tai could feel the excitement rising in her team as they watched the scene unfolding before them.

Submission #12

Name: Leiann Bynum

Title: Brothas Torn

First 250 Words:
“On the count of second-degree murder, we the jury find the defendant…guilty as charged.”

Guilty.

There it was. The verdict that would determine my dad’s future. He was going to prison.

My stomach felt like a dead weight had been dropped into it. I closed my eyes, wishing this was all a mistake. Wishing that at any moment the jury foreperson would yell, “Psych! We really found the defendant not guilty.”

But, of course, she never did.

Dad turned around to look at me sitting behind his seat. His dark brown face looked concerned. Funny, there he was wearing an orange jumpsuit, with a cop nearby ready to handcuff him, and he was concerned about me. It was his life that was practically over now. Although it felt like mine would be too.

Dad turned back around to face the front. The judge, an old black man, was looking at him. “James Ahmir Taylor, the court has found you guilty of the crime. Your sentencing will be two weeks from today. Bailiff, take him away.” He rapped his gavel once to adjourn the trial.

I jumped to my feet, swallowing repeatedly. I had told myself I wasn’t going to cry no matter what happened, but I could feel my eyes stinging. How embarrassing. Sixteen-year-old boys weren’t supposed to cry.

Dad stood too and spun around to face me again. I leaned forward and threw my arms around his neck.

Submission # 13

Name: Michael A Tate
Title: Bleed Well

Fredrick dipped his clothes into the stream, letting the clean glacial water cleanse them of all traces of his deed. Next to him, a bloody rock sat immersed half-way into the mud, and Fredrick ran his hand gently over it. Touching the rock seemed to command him to look through the trees and into the distance where he saw, lying on the ground, a small corpse. Downstream, the water turned a light pink, a silent witness to his crime.

The words ‘Evil’, ‘Destruction’, and ‘Sacrifice’ still echoed through his mind. Once more, he looked around to see if anybody followed him, but he was alone.

“Evil...Destruction...Sacrifice...” Fredrick muttered in a gentle whisper, mimicking the phantom voices. As he looked down, his hands began shaking again. He clasped them together and thrust them into the icy water as he looked back up towards the corpse; his eyes locked onto it. Pulling his shirt out of the water, Fredrick threw it over his head and shivered as the wind whipped through the wet cloth. With the cold freeing his eyes from their frozen state, Fredrick turned around and ran down the mountain towards his home.

A white plume of smoke drifted and danced above the kitchen as Fredrick arrived back in his village. The sun lit up the valley, and the smell of the fresh baked bread wafted into the huts lining the river. As if led by the smell, people began to make their way outside.