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Police brutality and its effect on societies
Corruption in law Enforcement Introduction
Police brutality and its effect on societies
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As we all gathered and celebrated, everyone enjoyed themselves and adored each other. Laughing filled the household and everyone wore red jumpers to bring positive cheer, we was ready for the new year. Drinking red wine and eating ravish red gammon, the night couldn't of been any better. Whilst watching the countdown for the new year, we was just moments away from starting a natious new year but they came.
Men in elusive black uniforms that broke in and rampaged through our house, arresting each and every one of us. I tried to run but there was too many of them, they came from everywhere like rats in a sewer, disturbing everthing they came in to contact with.
They pinned me to the wall like I was a wanted criminal, but none of them spoke a word. Like silent hunters, they lacked emotion and human traits, they're souless monsters that only cared about the law. The law which had now been passed due to the amount of crime and scum that had filled our streets with blood, is all their fault, but in they eyes of the government, its all of us. Those who potentially will become corrupt thugs and cause nothing but devostation and suffering through cruel ways.
As they struck their authority where they stepped, their dark glowing red eyes stared at us. Rounding us up into a group and pushing us to our knees, they surrounded us. As one stepped forward, I flinched out of fright and it was the worst thing I could of ever done in my life. All their eyes lit up and beamed down on me. Somehow breaking free from my shackles, I barged through them and ran, but they got me within seconds. I thought it was the end for me. Dragging me back to the group and placing tighter shackles on me, one of them disgusted and outraged announced in a sinister voice, ...
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...o the freezing desert, my eyes began to drown in tears as I saw friends bloodied and beaten in the hall way, then being dragged outside, everyone down both sides of the street was either being loaded into vans or being wrestled to the floor by brute demonic soldiers. All of us being too drunk to be able to fight back, we were herded like sheep, herded to our death sentences.
I then stumbled to the floor. With dirt smudging across my face, an empty wine bottle sat abandoned before me. Staring into it's reflection, flashbacks flowed into my mind and all the times I spent with my friends on nights out, even the bad ones, I wouldn't miss for the world and wouldn't change it one bit. I just regret that I never had the chance to do it more, all those opportunities that I wasted away doing stupid things, I passed up on but if I could do it over again, it would be different.
The religious procession, with their full regalia and stoic expressions, belied the emotions that were surely heavy laden. Their slow, methodical pilgrimage hinted that they were beginning what would ultimately be a funeral procession. The brave young men, escorted by their elder counterparts, were led to slaughter much like sacrificial lambs. The fact that they were escorted sends the message that they were truly doomed, much like prisoners being led to their executions. Finally, the awful silence radiated throughout the land.
I. Intro. - Imagine you are sitting home one night with nothing to do. Your parents have gone away for the weekend and there is absolutely no one around. So you sit around that night watching TV for awhile but find nothing on worth watching. You go on upstairs to your room and get ready for bed. Turn off the lights, lay down, and close your eyes. All of a sudden you here a crash of glass in your kitchen. You rush to your feet and put your ear to the door listening to what’s going on downstairs. You begin to hear the voice of two men as they start going through the living room, making their way to the stairs, right outside your room. What do you do? You aren’t going to confront them since its just you—remember you thought you heard two of them right? Well you are really stuck in your room and all you can do is sit there hoping that they leave soon and don’t harm you. Now if it were at my house things would be a little bit different. For starters I would get out my shotgun from my closet and begin to see what is gin on down stairs.
Life wasn’t always so bad, or at least that’s what they told me. From what I remember of my child hoods great memories my family speaks so highly of, if there were any at all, are all clouded in my mind by the what I can remember my life being. At times I find myself going thru old pictures of when I was a child and think to myself. Why can't I remember this day? I looked to be a happy healthy baby then my heart turns in a cold way. Growing up to a parent addicted to drugs and alcohol is no way for a child to be raised. I had to grow up at an early age and didn’t truly get to experience life the way a child should. My family tells me Marquise you were so loved by so many people and your Mom tried to do the best she
* * * * * * * * I woke up after a particularly bad session with the torturers. If I was lucky, I’d fall asleep from the pain. I vaguely remembered something to do with hot irons, scalpels, electric shocks, blades, pliers, and lots of blood. At that point, I was literally scared everywhere. Big, red, infected scars.
My feet ache. My ears ring and my hands sting from the cool steel handle of my sidearm I ripped off the body of a collector. I don’t know why they’re coming after me--I had paid my rent in full a whole day before the cut off date--and yet here they stand, poised outside my door with automatic rifles screaming “Heretic! Death to the false Prophet!” I didn’t have a clue to what they meant. Maybe they were referring to the shrine I had created in the attic of my townhouse dedicated to Silvus, the deity of lightning. Probably not, though. Maybe they mixed up my house with the Joi dealer next door.
It was a warm spring day. I turned down the radio as I drove across the bridge at Hoover dam, water and cement connected the state line separating Arizona from Nevada. Crossing the dam then past the tourist information center reached two huge stone angel monuments with arms and wings stretched toward the sky. The sight of them invoked religious desperation from me as if a I was lacking from divine intervention. Parked on either side of the two towering angels sat two highway patrol cars. One on each side of the statues like vultures ordered by the sherif of Nottingham to victimize taxpayers. I felt desperate and uneasy as I stared into the troopers eyes as I passed by and they stared back. I am not paranoid but that doesn't mean they are not after me. Everyone is a suspect and victim for harassment and possible revenue. My sense of privacy dissolved with the irreverent mix. Psychically connected and hoping to break the troopers attention, I turned up Black Sabbath on the radio and sang along.
As I inched my way toward the cliff, my legs were shaking uncontrollably. I could feel the coldness of the rock beneath my feet when my toes curled around the edge in one last futile attempt at survival. My heart was racing like a trapped bird, desperate to escape. Gazing down the sheer drop, I nearly fainted; my entire life flashed before my eyes. I could hear stones breaking free and fiercely tumbling down the hillside, plummeting into the dark abyss of the forbidding black water. The trees began to rapidly close in around me in a suffocating clench, and the piercing screams from my friends did little to ease the pain. The cool breeze felt like needles upon my bare skin, leaving a trail of goose bumps. The threatening mountains surrounding me seemed to grow more sinister with each passing moment, I felt myself fighting for air. The hot summer sun began to blacken while misty clouds loomed overhead. Trembling with anxiety, I shut my eyes, murmuring one last pathetic prayer. I gathered my last breath, hoping it would last a lifetime, took a step back and plun...
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
I stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warmth of my home. The first snowfall of the year had hit early in the morning, and the soft, powdery snow provided entertainment for hours. As I laid my furry mittens and warm hat on the bench to dry, I was immediately greeted with the rich scent of sweet apple pie, pumpkin pie, mashed potatoes, and the twenty-pound turkey my mother was preparing for our Thanksgiving feast.
Crying, I recall when I said to myself, “I will die!” I couldn’t think of anything else. I was locked in a small and dark room for two consecutive days, I was starving, and there was no one there to help me. Simply, I was frightened and worried about how I am going to get out of this room alive, although there was a war going around the whole city.
As I kept walking along, the scary people with masks that looked too good to be true touched me when I told them to stay away. I started freaking out; I didn’t know what to do. I mentioned to them that they weren’t allowed to get close to me,
Christmastime was always a magical time of year for me. The beautifully decorated shopping malls, with toys everywhere you looked, always fascinated me. And the houses, with the way their lights would glow upon the glistening snow at night, always seemed to calm me. But decorating the Christmas tree and falling asleep underneath the warm glow of the lights, in awe that Santa Claus would soon be there, was the best part of it all. As a child, these things enchanted me. Sure, the presents were great, but the excitement and mystery of Christmas; I loved most of all. Believing…that’s what it was all about. Believing there really was a Santa and waking up Christmas morning, realizing he’d come, as my sleepy eyes focused on all the fancily wrapped presents before me.
I was lying in my own filth, being tied up for several days, without being able to go to the toilet; it's not a pretty sight. My body was slowly wasting away, no food, and only drops of water I couldn't cope. I could see my team-mates, my friends, slowly going insane. They were talking in there sleep, screaming for freedom, but what was the point. The guards treated us like filth, something they'd stepped on and couldn't get rid of. I could see their point though, we killed their friends, and so they determined to kill ours. But I had to escape, I was the only sane one in there, my mind was at ease. You see, everyone else was going crazy wondering about their loved ones, but I had no one.
In the haze of the morning I remember reflecting on the adventure-filled summer I had experienced: I traveled to the Upper Peninsula to hike Pictured Rocks, tubed down the Rifle River, spent weekends in Caseville at my grandparents, and hunted boar in Tennessee. There was so much more I had done so it was challenging to remember, plus every weekend I found myself going out to embark on new adventures. Being sober for three years, every year kept on getting better and every year seemed to fill up with more positive activities. I was already planning to attend my first Red Wings game with my brother; we decided to see the opening game against the Sharks. The next thing I prepared to cross off of my bucket list was snowboarding as it had been my dream since I was a kid. My mind trotted further into the past when I used drugs and I missed those times because I did not have a care in the world. The thoughts of all of the responsibilities I held upon my shoulders lead me to be tempted to go back to how my life used to be years ago. I shook my head and reminded myself that my past life was more depressing than it had been fun and this was the time to continue to tackle my
Chinese New Year is the most widely celebrated tradition in Asia. The tradition is usually celebrated on the first day of the first month on the Chinese Lunar calendar. This tradition is rooted in centuries-old customs and is one of the most popular public holidays in China. Apart from China, this tradition is also celebrated in many Asian countries like Korea, Taiwan, Vietnam, Singapore, Malaysia, and Japan. There are many values and rituals tied with this tradition. For example, people would wear red clothing, decorate the house with red paper, and give children "lucky money" in red envelopes. According to legend, it is said that red can drive away bad luck, which is why the color red is highly emphasized. In myths, our ancestors would light bamboo stalks, believing that the crackling flames would scare off evil spirits. This is why fireworks and firecrackers are set off during this special tradition. Other values and traditions during Chinese New Year dinner such as eating specific dishes during the New Years Eve Dinner, exchanging red envelopes, and cleaning the house. These traditions all emphasize one value: the importance of family reunion during Chinese New Year. Family reunion is essential because it is a time to interact with family and friends who often times do not live nearby. Family and relatives will plan their schedules around Chinese New Year dinner, instead of taking family for granted. Adults also teach children important tradition and lessons during Chinese New Year so that when they grow older, they would continue this tradition with their families.