craigreads

[craigreads]

I’m into old video games, and last year I stumbled across a listing on a dark web forum for a super rare Japanese title from the 90s. The seller, going by RetroKing, had a solid rep on the site and seemed to know everything about gaming history. We hit it off, messaging about our collections, and he even walked me through fixing my busted Super Nintendo over encrypted chat. For six months, we swapped games—nothing crazy, just legit trades. Then one day, he slid into my inbox with an offer: a secret stash of unreleased games, dirt cheap. Said he needed fast cash for his mom’s medical bills. It sounded too good to be true, and my gut didn’t buy it. I dug around, reverse-searched some pics he’d sent of the cartridges, and bam—they were ripped straight from a Japanese gaming museum’s site. The same museum that got hit by a huge theft a few months back. I anonymously tipped off the cops through a burner email. Two weeks later, it’s all over the news: RetroKing was tied to an international art theft crew. They’d been using fake game sales on the dark web to smuggle stolen paintings across borders, hiding them inside hollowed-out cartridges. The kicker? That Super Nintendo fix he gave me still works like a charm. Every time I boot up Mario, I’m playing on a console patched up by an art thief.

[craigreads]

I was clocking out late from my shift at the mall food court when my younger brother Tommy sent a text, begging for a lift home from his buddy’s place. Our parents were away, so it fell on me to pick him up. I rolled up to the house, and it was pitch black—no lights, no sign of life. Tommy wasn’t picking up his phone, so I stepped out and pounded on the door. That’s when I heard shrieks coming from inside. My stomach dropped. I didn’t think twice—I booted the door in and bolted inside, shouting for Tommy. The living room was a disaster: chairs flipped, glass shattered across the floor, and what looked like blood smeared on the walls. I froze, my pulse hammering in my ears. Hands trembling, I fumbled my phone out and dialed 911, barely able to spit out what was happening. Within minutes, three cop cars screeched up, lights flashing. Officers stormed in, weapons ready, while I stammered about Tommy and the screams. Then, out of nowhere, the lights snapped on. Tommy and half a dozen of his grinning idiot friends popped out, hollering, “Surprise!” They’d been recording the whole fiasco for some dumb YouTube stunt. The “blood” was just ketchup, the chaos was fake—Tommy had cooked it all up to catch my freakout on camera for his birthday. But the cops weren’t in on the joke. They were livid—false police report, wasted time, wasted resources. Tommy’s big prank landed him in cuffs instead of candles.

[craigreads]

I was supposed to be working remotely that day, but my charger crapped out, so I dragged myself to the office. As I lugged my dead laptop toward my desk, I caught giggles spilling from the conference room. My best friend, Sara, was there with a few colleagues, hashing out plans for her engagement party—I was set to be her right-hand woman. Then I heard it: “You seriously chose her?” someone snickered. “She’s going to tank your pics.” Sara chuckled. “I know, right? But we’ve been tight since uni, and she’s so desperate to be part of this—she’s already offered to cover her outfit and run errands. Free help, basically.” I froze, gripping my laptop, as she kept going. “And get this—she’s so pumped she’s dropped 10 pounds already. Maybe by the party, she’ll actually fit the vibe I’m going for.” My chest caved in. That night, I fired off a text: “Found someone else for your lineup—check your inbox.” I’d emailed her a receipt for the sleek jumpsuit she’d eyed for me, ordered in her size, with a note: “Something chic, something new—perfect for you.” I stepped away. Two years on, I haven’t played second fiddle at any bash, but I did kick off a meetup for women untangling from backstabbing friendships

[craigreads]

When I was in 5th grade, I wanted to sound cool to the other kids in my class, so I started telling people my grandma's sister was the Queen of England. they were 9 years old. So they all believed me. Word started to spread to the other classrooms and other grades. I was getting attention and kids were calling me "future princess Baylor" and giving me parts of their lunch (??) a second grader even curtsied in front of me at recess. Turns out they told their parents, who told other parents, and word got around to my mom. Without a second thought, she agreed to the allegations and continued the lie. my lie. MY ADULT MOTHER chose to go with it instead of shutting it down and explaining I was making things up LIKE KIDS DO. The Royal wedding happened to be in a couple weeks and everyone assumed I would be going to England. For my family. My mom didn't want to cause drama between the moms or me and my classmates so she decided to take me out of school that week. We mostly did indoor activities. Movies and face masks and painting nails. I have been googling facts about England and the royal family ever since 5th grade to keep this up.

I'm so tired.

[craigreads]

I was once