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Angela Cavanaugh

Angela Cavanaugh

Tag Archives: murder

Flash Fiction Friday – Scholarship

17 Saturday Jan 2015

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

death fight, distopian, fantasy, fight to the death, flash fiction, harry potter, hunger games, learn, magic, murder, scholarship, school, short story, spells

Last FFF: Introduction

 

Lumos

I woke up, face down in a clearing in the forest. I wiped the drool from my face as I regained my wits. The referees must have drugged me. I looked around, and saw two others still asleep, one male and female. I didn’t know how we all had come to be here. But I knew what it meant: my ticket had been called, and it was time to play.

This was the type of lottery that you hoped to never win. Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Tender

15 Saturday Nov 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

awkward, flash, flash fiction, murder, one night stand, short story, story, tender

Last Week’s FFF: Life

 

title

 

Jeremy walked into through the crowded bar.  The noise of a hundred conversations was nearly deafening.  Even worse, he wasn’t a part of any of them.  Arms tucked into his hoodie, he squeezed through the mass of happy, half drunk people and made his way to the bar.    Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Apples

11 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

church, flash, flash fiction, hiding, murder, new identity, read, short story, spy, story

Last Week’s FFF: The Hill

title

The morning mass bells rang loudly throughout the church. Worshipers piled into pews as the chimes echoed to a stop. Reverend Morgan looked at the crowd. It had been thinning the past few weeks. There was once a time when wars or crises would bring people to church in throngs. A time when people wanted to look for hope. Wanted to believe that there was a master plan for everything.

Times had changed. The news broadcasts were increasingly full of more violence, more hopelessness, more corruption of corporations and politicians. People were disenchanted with the church. They were giving up, or at least looking elsewhere for answers. Science doomed the world with reports of global warming. It claimed that Judgment Day was nearly upon us. Yet, less people were coming to repent. People were trying to save themselves with solar panels and space exploration rather than trying to save their very souls.

Reverend Morgan would be sure to put this perspective into his sermon.

Everyone settled, and Reverend Morgan spoke. He fueled his words with passion and conviction. The disenchanted masses mostly ignored him. They checked their social media accounts and texted with those uninterested in attending services. Reverend Morgan began to wonder why he even bothered, or why these people bothered to come at all. It wasn’t enough to only show up. His sermon ended with far less enthusiasm.

He took his position by the church doors and gave fair wells to people as they left. Half of the congregation didn’t even look up from their phones as he tried to engage them in conversation. They dismissed him and kept walking.

Reverend Morgan looked down in despair and quietly prayed for all those passing by him. As he looked at the ground, he noticed a pair of black stilettos with a blood red underside visible on the inside of the pointed heel. He scoffed at the shoes. What a thing to wear to church. They exuded lust.

He raised his head, following the legs up. They were shapely and wrapped in stockings. A short pencil skirt rested effortlessly on her hips. Her thin waste came next, covered in a silky blue blouse. The shirt was unbuttoned one snap too far, revealing a full bosom and the peek-a-boo of a lacy black bra. Her styled, dirty blond hair fell just past her shoulders. Her neck was long and slender.

He was taken aback when he got to her face. By the rest of the package, he had expected the image that populated sinful dreams. There was nothing unpleasant about her face. In fact, the longer he stared at it, the more he came to realize that it had a certain russet beauty. Homely, in a comfortable and familiar way, like home.

She gave a smile and spoke.

“That was quite a moving sermon, father,” she said with a thick Russian accent.

Reverend Morgan became frozen. A cold sweat formed on his brow as he heard the dialect of his origins. A sound that he had escaped from long ago, and had practiced out of his own voice. He swallowed hard and tried to act as if nothing was wrong.

“It’s not father. It’s Reverend. Reverend Morgan,” he said.

A lagging couple left the church. He nodded to them as they passed. They were the last of the congregation. He and the woman were alone.

“Yes. Reverend Morgan.”

She laughed.

“I was quite amused when I heard that you had found God,” she said.

“He is present in all of us, if you are willing to listen for him,” he said.

“Reverend, let’s not play games.”

“Fine. Let’s go inside.”

He led her into the church and closed the double, wooden doors behind them. He walked to the alter, and she followed behind, running her fingers over the pews as she walked.

“What do you want?” he asked.

“Listen to that voice. So convincing.”

“Who sent you?”

“I can understand your confusion, Reverend. After all, you have many enemies. But you should have known that there was no hiding from NOVA. When you turned your back on them, when you sold them out, you were signing your own death warrant.”

He put it together. She was a NOVA spy.

“I didn’t turn my back on them.”

“But I’m afraid that you did. And this little Reverend act has just been borrowed time on which you have been living.”

He solemnly nodded.

“Before you do what you came here to do, do you mind if I read from my bible?”

She laughed again.

“Why not? You pray to your God before you meet him.”

He walked over to the alter and placed his hands on the book, and lowered his head to read. After a moment, he looked back at her.

“How did you find me?” he asked.

“NOVA has many powerful affiliates. Also, you have taken the position of an authority figure. A public one, at that. Normally those who try to disappear don’t stand in front of a crowd every week. You are idiot. But from what I’ve read in your file, you never could stay out of spotlight.”

She walked to the rope hanging from the ceiling. She gave it a tug, and the bells rang out once more.

“It is my greatest weakness,” he said.

She began towards him, drawing her gun from her handbag.

He turned the page on his bible. The rest of the book was hollowed out. The empty pages were filled by a Glock 42 .380. He picked up the gun, pointed it, and fired. The sound of the shot was swallowed by the bells.

Blood spattered from her chest and back as the bullet flew threw her. She fell limp onto the front pew.

He went to her body and propped it upright. Her head hung down, and he placed a bible in her lap. He pocketed her gun, as well as his own.

He took one last look at the church. He had liked it here. But now, it was time to find a new identity and passion. And this time, he’d try to curb his pride and lust for the spotlight, his biggest sins.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Flash Fiction Friday – Fireworks

05 Saturday Jul 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

crowd, fiction, firework, fireworks, flash, flash fiction, fourth of july, murder, pier, short story

title

Jimmy kept his arms tucked in tight as he made his way through the thick crowd of people. All around, smiling, happy faces had their eyes trained on the sky, waiting for the show to start. Jimmy snarled as he saw the look of impending awe on their faces.

Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Bird of Paradise

14 Saturday Jun 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

brothel, cocktail, cocktails, fiction, flash, flash fiction, murder, read, short story, story

Last Week’s FFF: Ashes

title

Ricky stared at the cards in his hands. He held a pair of twos, and nothing on the table could help him.

“Fold or raise?” Abbot asked, sitting across from him.

Ricky swirled his gin, thinking.

“You sir,” he paused to take a sip. “Are as impatient as a Moscow Mule.”

“As stubborn as one, as well. Now, make your move or I’ll make it for you.”

Ricky sighed and threw his cards face down on the table. The man across grinned and gathered the pot.

“Yeah, yeah,” Ricky said.

He brought his cups back up to his lips, but stopped when he heard a woman’s scream echo down the nearby stairwell.  Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Valentine

14 Friday Feb 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

blood, dark, fiction, flash fiction, killer, love, murder, romance, short story, valentine, valentine's day, vampire

I watched from the shadows as a happy couple made their way down the empty street. They picked the wrong, dark alley tonight. The moon hung high above, illuminating their path, but the nooks of the cityscape hide kept me concealed.

The two laughed and swayed as they traveled. She clung to her escort, unstable on her tall shoes, like a gazelle just learning to walk. Even from here, I could smell that he wasn’t as drunk as he pretended to be. He was playing the part, leading her on.   Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Letters

08 Saturday Feb 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

detective, fff, fiction, flash fiction, missing girl, murder, read, short story

Last Weeks FFF – Two Shots of Whiskey, and a Splash of Death

 zombiesapien

Henry sat behind the solid oak desk in his office. He stroked the finish, thinking about how he would miss it. He was piling his personal effects into a box, when a rap came at his door. His secretary had already been given her severance, and left while he tied up the loose ends of the business. He didn’t know who had come knocking.

“Come in,” Henry said.

Jimmy appeared. At thirty one, he was twenty years younger than Henry, but had a lifetime of troubles.   Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – Two shots of whiskey, with a splash of death

01 Saturday Feb 2014

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

chuck wendig, cowboy, fff, fiction, flash fiction, gun, murder, short story, west, whiskey

Last Weeks FFF:  Heaven High

zombiesapien

Leaning on the bar, Wester ordered his usual.

“Double of whiskey, straight up,” his husky voice crooned.

The base tone of his words rumbled through the bar like thunder over the horizon. With a shudder, the bartender turned to him, slammed the glass upon the bar, and poured two fingers. He began to turn with the crystal canister, but a stocky hand stayed him. With little more then an instant pressure and a grunt, the bartender was encouraged to leave a bottle.  Continue reading →

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Flash Fiction Friday – A Time to Mind

15 Friday Nov 2013

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

body, detective, face, fiction, flash fiction, Friday, fugitive, futuristic, investigator, military, mind, murder, mystery, psychic, science fiction, scifi, short story, soul, time travel, unstuck

“You’d better have a good reason for dragging me out of bed at 3 AM,” Jack barked indifferently to the situation room full of his coworkers, bosses, and subordinates.

“Glad you could join us, Agent Reiss.” If Jack had a direct boss, it would have been this man. Jack had a certain set of skills which allowed him to answer to no man, although, he did take suggestions more than orders whenever the situation called for it. “If you had bothered to show up for the briefing, you would know that we’ve had an abduction.”   Continue reading →

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Vanity

02 Saturday Nov 2013

Posted by angelacavanaugh in Fiction

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

addiction, consumption, fiction, flash, flash fiction, Friday, just, murder, revenge, short story, vanity

Serg drew long a long breath through his pipe. As he inhaled, he felt a sensation of peace rush down his throat. He held it there momentarily, savoring its flavor. With despair, he released the smoke slowly into the air.
He slumped in his chair and laid his pipe on the table beside him. The den was dark and lit sparsely with only a few candles. He preferred it this way. The simulated solitude allowed him to disappear into himself.
He looked at the severed hand on the table, then closed his eyes and traced his finger over the long, raised scar that marred the left side of his face. Continue reading →

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