I’m not sure if this one is as interesting conceptually, but I like it.
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Who saw this coming? Yea. Yea I DREW this. Not that it’s really all that good, but I made it. From scratch. I’m so proud.
Now go forth to the comment section below and RIP! Rip this apart! Or don’t. It’s 1920×1080 for all those of you with nice monitors to enjoy. Make it your desktop wallpaper! Print it out and wear it as a hat! Take it off and eat it! The fun never stops!
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A Ficly about an unnaturally series of deaths, a gritty tale inspired by the classic 50′s b-horror film. Everything needs a gritty reboot! (Spiderman 4, anyone?)
A twenty-five year victim of a gangland war. Two and a half decades in urban hell, cut down years past his prime.
Coffee splashes down my throat like a river of fire. I wipe the crust from my eyes. Two days later and they’re still dredging the swamp just outside city limits. The suddenness of the chief’s statement was unnerving. Standing around the rotting rank naked torso in six inches of water, looking through the fog at the deep grooves in the mud caused by clutching fingers, the phantom of the scream echoing in our minds, he said what we were all thinking.
“I don’t know what it was, but something came out of those waters.”
Someone asked if it could have been an alligator. We all kind of doubted that.
We stormed back to the cars like a bunch of fascists and hit the streets twice as hard, beating skulls in and blowing doors down like big bad wolves because there was a dead cop, or at least part of one, and we didn’t know who or what did it. Maybe the worst part of it was the fact that it wasn’t the first time. The list is at least ten names long, not all of them officers of the law. I’m starting to hope that it actually is a serial killing alligator. I can out smart that. I scared out of my mind that it might be something else.
Originally on Ficly:
Part One: http://ficly.com/stories/17044
Part Two: http://ficly.com/stories/17045
FICLY TIME! This one is about a cop who makes a mistake and lands himself in the operating room, but he’s not the one on the table.
I had a hundred good reasons not to send so much as a card this past Valentine’s Day, but I did because I wasn’t sure if I’d be around for the next one, and I knew that Lisa was depressed and could use a pick-me-up. So far, so good. I’m not sick or anything, not physically.
One dumb mistake on the job and I was in the operating room. It was the fourteenth of February. A rooftop shortcut that some schmuck took to a friends house ended with two rounds in his back, and I had fired them. The kid survived, thank god. Would have been jail or worse for me if he hadn’t.
I’m in my old sneakers, street clothes, not my blue uniform and badge.
The kid just collapsed, and the blood was everywhere. The bullets missed his heart, but one of them got jammed in his liver. I was told that this would all be kept quiet if I went to watch the surgery they had to perform on the him. I needed to see the damage I’d done.
Lisa sends me a text message that I don’t read as I watch them pull the lead out. Lights, rubber gloves, scalpel. All the while the heart monitor beeps, beeps, beeps…
Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16900
A Ficly short about a murder scene.
I crouch down on the balls of my feet and look at the body. What a piece of art. Naked, bloody, left arm almost emancipated from the shoulder.
It’s ten at night, the corpse relaxes, illuminated by the dimness of the street light above. Highway roars in the distance. The buzz and wail of sirens has stopped. I survey the group. Everyone, bleary-eyed, watches from a distance while I snap a few pictures. No one wants to get closer.
It started two months ago, dead man in bathtub, arms and legs bound, head tied to cinder-block. I wonder who the fuck came up with that idea. The five cops who went to check out the body all turned up dead within two days. Those who looked into their murders were dead in six hours. Everyone naked, everyone covered in blood. Primal.
I look back at the half-circle of cars and officers watching from twenty or so feet as I probe the corpse. Maybe this will be me soon. Blue and red lights twirl and flash over the body and me, and it feels for a moment like we’re dancing.
Originally on Ficyl.com: http://ficly.com/stories/15760