Smooth Criminal

Have you ever had a song that wouldn’t get out of your head? That’s what has happened to me the last couple of days.

I have had the song, “Smooth Criminal” by Michael Jackson stuck in my head. I thought why in the world do I have this song infiltrated in my brain. It occurred to me to make it a prompt for a story before I went to sleep the other night, but then I forgot about it when I woke up.

I was perusing the Facebook newsfeed and guess what song I saw on a video. You guessed it. So, I got the computer out last night and started typing this up.

I read somewhere that Michael was inspired by the fact that medical personal were taught to say in CPR classes, “Annie, are you okay?” Even though paramedics are supposed to call the person by name sometimes out of habit they would call the patient Annie. Below is my story inspired by the song “Smooth Criminal”


Annie glared at her stalker through the long pane window. He was shouting at her, but she just saw his arms flailing up and down as he screamed. She could see the crow bar in his hand. Tap.Tap.Tap.

“Oh Lawd. He’s going to break the window.” Annie said as she bolted to the dining room.

The sound of  the shattering glass filled her ears.

“Annie.” He hollered.

Tears were pelting down her face. There was nowhere to hide. She slid under the dining room tablecloth. Praying he didn’t look for her there.

“Annie, you got nowhere to run. It’s just you and me. You shouldn’t have changed the locks Annie. Did you really think that I would leave you alone? That a restraining order would stop me. You are mine and the law ain’t going to tell me any different.”

Her hands were trembling as she covered her mouth to muffle her cries. She could hear the glass crunching beneath his boots.

He paid no attention to the shards of glass imbedded in his skin. He patiently made his way to the dining room. He could hear her breathing and the muffled cries.

“Annie, Come out, Come out wherever you are. “

He turned into the dining room. Whimpers came from under the table.

“Annie you shouldn’t have ran from me.” She could see his boots as he circled around the table.

“I thought you loved me. You promised to love me and cherish me. I pay your bills. I buy your food, and this is how you repay me. Annie, Annie, Annie. Didn’t your momma teach you better?”

He stopped circling the table. Annie clutched her arms around her legs and laid her head on her knees. She was shaking uncontrollably now.

“Please, don’t hurt me, Dexter. I won’t run again. I won’t lock you out. I’m promise,” she said crawling out from under the table.

“Why should I believe that? No, I think we are long past that. See, I think if I can’t have you. I’m not going to let anyone have you.”

Dexter grabbed Annie’s black hair and rubbed his hands across her face. He pulled her up to his chest while her hair remained in his hand.

“I’ve never killed somebody before. You’ll be my first. You’ve been a first for me in many ways Annie. “


The policeman walked through the broken remains of the window.

“Annie. Annie are you okay? The officer didn’t miss the bloody footsteps that ensued out of the dining room. When he reached the dining room, he discovered Annie laid on the floor with a gunshot wound to her chest.”

“Annie are you okay?”

Annie didn’t respond.


He watched from the woods as they covered Annie on the gurney. Dexter didn’t see the young man watching him as he fled through the woods, but the young man would never forget him.

The weeks that followed Annie’s death Dexter told the tale to anyone that would listen. The police didn’t come looking for him . He had paid them off. His brothers didn’t snitch on him either. They knew what would happen if they did.

“Hey Smooth Criminal.” That’s how they greeted him.

Dexter would stop and see Annie’s boy at his grandmother’s from time to time. He always made it a point to inform the boy that if there was anything he ever needed not to hesitate to contact him.

Annie Miller’s case like so many others went untouched and Dexter grew bolder in his crimes.


Fifteen years later a new police chief took over the Anaheim Police Department. He instructed them to open up the cold case of Annie Miller.   He was so sure of who the murderer was that he called him the Smooth Criminal. He had been planning for this moment since he was sixteen years old.

He was there when the judge read Dexter Clement the verdict. He walked up to his mother’s convicted killer and looked him in the eye.

“I made a promise to myself that I would apprehend you if it was the last thing I do. It looks like I made good on my promise Smooth Criminal. My mother can finally rest in peace.”


I’ve Been Watching You

Flash Fiction for Inspiring Writers has a flash fiction picture prompt every week.  Below is the picture for this week(I’ve caught the tail end of it-I’m such a newbie 🙂 ).  I thought it would be fun to participate and to share it with any of you that are interested.  As always I love comments, so feel free to leave me one.  I will comment back. If you want to participate their site is here.

flash fiction April
Dawn M Miller

The white van has already made four trips to Mr.Palmers house. Each time girls, no older than thirteen, are dropped off and shuffled inside the house.

This isn’t the first time the van has appeared. Ever since Mr. Palmer moved in, there’s been a lot of traffic.

I inch closer trying to get a better look, and hit the wind chimes.

Mr. Palmer looks in my direction. He makes a phone call. Someone hits me from behind.


I hear moaning. I realize that I’m the one moaning. I touch my head. It’s bleeding. Where am I? Has my mother figured out I’m missing yet? Has she called the police?

The door opens and Mr. Palmer strolls in.

“I’ve been watching you for a while. You’ll make me lots of money.”

He closes the door and I start to cry.

*141 words

Sunday Morning

© 2015 Silverstein Potter

Sunday morning comes then goes,

out the door and down the road.

Monday comes, then Tuesday too.

Wednesday comes, and I’m halfway through.

Thursday is quite a mess.

Friday, I need a rest.

Saturday! Yay Saturday!

Please don’t go. Please, please stay.

Then Before I know it, the day is quickly done.

Saturday is gone, and Sunday has begun.

*I don’t even pretend to know anything about poetry. I love children’s rhymes. So this is my humble attempt. Have a great Sunday. I would love to hear from you…..

© 2015 All Rights Reserved @Silverstein Potter and Other Fictitious Ramblings

What would you do?

My grandparents

In my  sketch,” Late Night Intruder”, Bertha Mae Floddlebuster was asked if she was going to plant roses and crochet, now that she was retired.  Her answer was an adamant, no.

Above is a picture of my grandparents.  They chose to spend much of their retirement with us grandkids. It is something we all treasure. We realize that not everyone gets that opportunity.

I thought it would be fun to ask y’all how do you want to spend retirement?

Maybe you are retired. How do you spend your days? I can’t wait to hear your responses.

P.S. My husband wanted to be a millionaire and retire by thirty…….let’s just say that didn’t happen 🙂

Hotel California: Surgeons Need Not Apply

 Peeling green paint covers the walls. The lights are dim.” Hotel California”plays on the Budget Motel Inn’s lobby speaker’s. I watch the manager, with a receding hairline, smash the roach on the counter. He doesn’t even bother to wipe it off when I approach.

I fight the urge to run.

“I need a room for the night.”

“That’s what they all say, Hon.” Most are gone within the hour. As long as you pay, I don’t care what you do.”

“I’m just here to sleep, nothing else.”

“Won’t happen.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

“Sassy, I like that in a woman.”

Joe, according to the metal name tag, took my credit card. I make a mental note to check my bank account in the morning.

Joe smirks, as he hands me room key number thirteen . I roll my eyes.  I stopped being superstitious when I was twelve . On my way to Lucky 13, multiple dead plants line my way. When I enter my home for the night, my stomach hurls.

The carpet has multiple stains. The bed-spread, that used to be white, was now a dingy yellow. All that is needed now is for Jack Nicholson to barge in and yell, “Heeere’s Johnny.”

Before leaving the lobby, Joe informs me that there are soft drinks in the mini fridge (the only accommodations as far as I can tell). I remove a Pepsi, unscrew the top and drink.

I don’t remember falling asleep.

But, I do remember waking up surrounded by ice. I was no longer in the Budget Motel Inn. The cut-glass chandelier that hangs from the bathroom ceiling in this room probably cost more than all of their furnishings combined in the motel that I had previously occupied. No, definitely not the Budget Inn.

Sharp pains shoot through the left side of my back. My hand grazes a row of stitches about two inches long, where the pain originates from. I struggle to move.  In my peripheral vision, I catch a glimpse of a cell phone. On the phone is a pink post it note that reads, Dial 911. So nice of my abductors to be so accomodating.

I bite my lip reaching for the flip phone. With no hesitation at all, I dial 911.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I think someone has stolen one of my kidneys.”


Music is an integral part of my life. I was pondering where today’s inspiration should come from, and I thought about Hotel California. While the story in the song Hotel California, is memorable, it has always creeped me out. Moving past the creepy, I decided that I would give it a try. This is the result. I never saw the end coming.


Just incase you wanted to know-Stolen black market kidneys are Urban Legend. There remains little evidence to prove such illegal activities exist.