Plot Shot Challenge


OK, Sisters, feeling sluggish after the holidays or a weekend jelly bean binge? Accept our challenge to write and post right here a compelling crime story of no more than 150 words based on the image below:


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10 Responses to Plot Shot Challenge

  1. I didn’t mean to kill her. She was so beautiful, so fragile. She discovered me at the Drag Queen’s Ball and we danced the night away.

    “My name is Elsbeth,” she told me in a lovely lisp.

    I took her away to my lair and then it all went bad. She was actually a “she.” And she thought I was actually a “she.” When she came after me in her fury with the dagger she’d hidden in that pretty white dress, I had no choice but to strangle her.

    But what will I do with her body? Oh, no. Is that someone at the door?

  2. Chelle M says:

    He’d killed her on impulse, his short temper getting the better of him when she let slip she was having an affair with his best friend. Now, hanging limp in his arms, he waited for a cab. He’d explain to the driver how she’d had too much to drink. He’d whisper soothing words and lovingly stroke her cheek and kiss the top of her head while the cabbie spied them in the rear view mirror.

    But he wouldn’t take her home. He’d give the cabbie her lover’s address. There would be no problem gaining entry once his former friend saw her condition.

    He’d settle her on the bed where she–they–betrayed him. It wouldn’t take the other man long to realize there was no hope for his lover. Her hair, once brushed aside, would show she was strangled. And he would realize the affair and his life were over.

  3. mowalsh says:

    This would be his finest painting yet! A self-portrait: “L’artiste avec une demoiselle morte.” If only he could hold the pose while painting for just a few more hours. Who would have known the woman would be so heavy? She’d seemed a sylph, a dream as she floated across the stage. Her delicate neck had snapped with the slightest pressure, her skin unmarred by his squeezing fingertips.

    Merde! She was slipping again as his left arm turned numb. Sylph. Hah! The woman was solid muscle—that’s how she did all that leaping and twirling. He’d planned to paint her clasped in his embrace as if dancing still. Why wouldn’t the woman stay upright? He’d tried to lighten the burden on his arm. Oh, right.

    He should have known she’d turn top-heavy without her legs.

  4. Young street performers
    Mesmerizing and serene
    The pickpockets’ friend.

  5. Claire (Clamo88) says:

    These are just all terrific! Thanks for such a treat.

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