I couldn’t believe the site was real. The police came and simply reported it as an allergic reaction not even seeing it as potential murder, this guy must be good if the police don’t even think twice about it. They needed to remove the body, so everyone got the rest of the day off. Meaning I could rush home, scramble through my belongings grabbing everything important, before heading to Walmart to pick myself up some useful goodies. An AR15, two pistols, a bullet proof vest, binoculars and three different sticky trackers. Thank god for America’s loose weapons law. I trade my luxurious bmw for a second hand jeep wrangler with pre registered plates so he can’t track me. My life feels like one you see in a hard-core action movie, it’s what …show more content…
I feel my eyes becoming heavier as the night grows longer, until the glaring front lights of a blacked out Chevrolet impala begins to cruise down the street, edging closer and closer to my house. I could hear my heart beating through my ears as the car parked itself a few metres away from my house. Out came something I’d expect to see in the movies, a man fully dressed in black with aviators covering his eyes. He left the car running as he walked along the path, maybe he had plans for an easy target, “that’s certainly not what he’s gonna get” I said to myself. I took notes of things, from his number plate “FM-5463” to how many weapons I believed he could hide within his outfit. He spent a lot of time inside my house, “What could he be doing?” I asked myself, I really didn’t enjoy the feeling of being clueless. He finally emerged, climbing back into the impala, but not before throwing a scrunched up paper ball onto the road, I knew exactly what this was, it was the note I had left him earlier. I couldn’t withhold the laughter leaving my mouth, “He knows exactly what he’s up against now” I said to myself. What did the note say you ask? it read two simple words “Try again”. I drove a few miles to the Rosen crown Motel and booked a room under the name Thaddeus Stone in hopes to evade detection, it wasn’t anything special, I just needed somewhere
I woke up at John Morris’ house, on his coach. As I knocked a flyaway hair out of my face I noticed my face was wet, with tears, and then it all hit me at once that my Dad and Mrs. Borden were dead. Suddenly I couldn’t breathe. I heard John Morris ask if I was alright, but that seemed like a completely different world, I responded with a meek okay, so Mr. Morris wouldn’t see me like this. That didn’t work though, I saw his tall shadowy figure ducking under the door frame with tea. As Mr. Morris sat down and put the tea on the coffee table in front of us, I turned my head and quickly wiped the tears from my eyes in hopes he wouldn’t see.
I placed the knife on the table and turned around, pinning my gaze inside the plastic wrapped room that I had carefully prepared. An agonized face glared back at me, blue eyes burned beneath the black eyebrows. “What the hell is this?” I carelessly studied the forehead which tightened and twitched with tension and my gaze wandered off to his left cheek. “This... is the moment of truth.” I replied to his cry with ease. He was breathing heavily. Oh, this felt so good. It has been a very long time since I let my dark passenger come out to play. Thirty-eight days, sixteen hours, and twelve minutes to be precise, Trinity has kept me occupied long enough. Then I sliced his left cheek to take my blood slide.
He was brought in for questioning about the incident but was not charged and was let go. In 1975 Nilsen was living with a guy named David Gallichan for two years. Nilsen said they were in a sexual relationship he David denied the whole thing. After David left, Nilsen became an alcoholic and this made him crave company and affection from others. On December 29, 1978, he met a young man at the pub and invited him to his home. When he woke up the next morning, Nilsen had the sudden idea that he didn’t want the man to leave he decided to strangle him with a tie and then drown him in a bucket of water. “He took the corpse to the bathroom to wash it and then placed the body back on his bed. He later remarked that he found the corpse beautiful” (Biography. com). He tried to have sex with the body but it was unsuccessful and spent the night sleeping next to it. Before disposing of the body by burning the remains in his backyard, he hid the body under his floorboard for 7 months. This was Nilsen first of many victims to come. “Nilsen encounter the police for the second time in October 1979, when a young student accused Nilsen of trying to strangle him during a bondage-play session. Despite the student's claims, no charges were pressed against Nilsen” (biography.
Kelly had us watching this man for the past month, what time he leaves his house, to what time he gets to his house. We had to know what time he went to bed to what time he was mostly alone in his mansion. His name was Charles Urschel, wealthy tycoon and businessman but to us he was just a way to get money. James Connor and I accompanied Kelly when he plotted to raid the wealthy man’s home and kidnap him for ransom money. It was a very still calm night, light breeze. It was as if I could sense the nervousness on my partners face but for Kelly I saw nothing. Just the cold, hard, terrifying look that was always on Kelly’s face unless he was with his wife. We waited...
Billy Thompson and Sam Westfield were similar in many ways. Since a young age they both has excelled at sports and both loved more then anything, the sport of football. While growing up, the boys did not know each other and probably thought they would never have too. But all of that changed with the diagnosis.
Growing up as an only child I made out pretty well. You almost can’t help but be spoiled by your parents in some way. And I must admit that I enjoyed it; my own room, T.V., computer, stereo, all the material possessions that I had. But there was one event in my life that would change the way that I looked at these things and realized that you can’t take these things for granted and that’s not what life is about.
It was a beautiful night. It was perfect for a walk. As I strolled further into the park a figure approached me. It was as dark as pitch so I couldn’t make out who it was. It was late; you wouldn’t usually see anyone at this time. My heart was beating faster and faster. The strange thing was I wasn’t frightened; it was just my heart beating rapidly. As the masculine figure approached, I began to walk slower. That was when I heard the voice.
But I couldn’t do it, only the principal and senior girl wanted to help. Everyone else thought like my best friend, that these 43 were just dead like all dead people. We lived in the second most dangerous city in the country and the 15th most dangerous city in the world. There is just so much death you can stand for.
SWISH! I turn my head to the right with a grin and see my mom cheering as I scored my first points of the season. The last game of the season I scored my first points of my middle school basketball “career.” Now sit back and relax as you read the story of how I got my first points in middle school basketball.
...ing and with laughter. And I sighed in another successful act of duplicity. And I thought about Black. I know what he felt deep inside. The hopelessness, the resentment, the agony of going insane. I bet deep inside he was thinking what most people here think in this dystopia of relentless rules. When they reach their demise they’d think “ The punchline to the joke is screaming “Somebody help us”. I looked over back again to that crowd. Took my scripted paper and crumpled it up. I don’t want that. No. I looked into the mirror and saw so many faces I couldn't find the one I saw as my own again. I wanted to see my own again. Before the mass death. Before the darkness. These people don’t need this after everything that happened. So I went back to that crowd and decided to make a change in me, this country, and for these people. You decide if that worked out.
Leaving the bodies for last we walked down the drive to take a look. Several rifles and shotguns were leaned carefully again the big oak. Two handguns and some knives were on the grass in front of them. Four people dangled from a branch of the tree close enough to each other to bump like a weird wind chime. A young couple and the other twice their age at a guess from the gray hair and styles of dress. They were probably parents and a married son or daughter with their spouse. Other than being hung there were no injuries apparent on any of the four. From the condition of the bodies they had been dead about a day.
Step, by step. One foot in front of the other. Anxiety running through my chilled limbs. I wasn’t supposed to be here. My parents forbid it to me when I was small. Yet I am still finding myself standing in the danger of a dark alley. Even the drowning sun was too weak to penetrate through the towering rows of bricks, which were located above me. The empowering darkness that ruled over this place, made be doubt my own judgment, of coming here. Though the curiosity kept me going. It fueled the fire inside of me, to keep walking in deeper. The alley was a place where no one wants to be; however the reason I was there is because I heard a desperate cry wailing for
“Let’s go ride our bikes!” proposes my dad, and my eyes light up with eager excitement. I stumble down the stairs and skip out to the garage. Instinctively I walk over to my glossy pink bike, standing in the corner, presiding over all the other inferior toys. No sooner have I done this than my dad lifts it out from under my nose and begins to strap the helpless hostage to the back of the car. “What are you doing?” I chirp with a quizzical expression on my face. “We’re going to ride somewhere else for a change.” Explains my dad. Puzzled and curious, but undaunted I shrug my shoulders and climb up into the vehicle.
She slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot as she grabbed her new perfume and flung it forcefully against the wall. That was the perfume that he had bought for her. She didn't want it anymore. His voice coaxed from the other side of the door. She shouted at him to get away. Throwing herself on the bed and covering her face with one of his shirts, she cried. His voice coaxed constantly, saying Carol, let me in. Let me explain.' She shouted out no!' Then cried some more. Time passed with each sob she made. When she caught herself, there was no sound on the other side of the door. A long silence stood between her and the door. Maybe she had been too hard on him, she thought. Maybe he really had a good explanation. She hesitated before she walked toward the door and twisted the handle. Her heart was crying out to her at this moment. He wasn't there. She called out his name. "Thomas!" Her cries were interrupted by the revving of an engine in the garage. She made it to the window in time to see his Volvo back out the yard. "Thomas! Thomas....wait!" Her cries vanished into thin air as the Volvo disappeared around the bend. Carol grew really angry all of a sudden. How could he leave? He'll sleep on the couch when he gets back. Those were her thoughts.
It was a regular Saturday morning. Dragging myself against my will out of bed, I trudged down the stairs and made my way to the kitchen. Popping two pieces of bread in the toaster, I grabbed the pitcher of orange juice from my fridge. Closing my fridge, I made my way to the kitchen table. I flipped the radio on and looked into the carelessly discarded newspaper on the counter. As I scanned through the articles, one caught my attention. They were releasing robotic super-suits for the cops in our area. I didn't think of it as important, so I casually shrugged and looked for upcoming films in the newspaper. Suddenly, I heard my toast pop. As I strolled to my toaster, I heard a sound of a whirlwind behind me. I looked behind me to see an older version of me. He looked well-built, with dreadlocks and a red bandanna across his brow. He wore a dark olive green trench coat, with camouflage pants. A scar was placed on his left eye. In his left hand, he held a large gun. He aimed his weapon at me, yelling, “What year is it?” I stood there in a moment of stupor. The man pushed his weapon against my head, bellowing the question again. I snapped out of my daze, and whimpered, “2013?” The stranger pressed a button at the back of his gun, and the gun shrank down to a stick and he placed it in his pocket. Extending his hand, he announced, “Ayomiro Aderin, MPEF Founder, at your service.” Looking at him in a confused manner, I inquired, “M-P-E-what? Wait, who are you, really?” The older man sighed in exasperation, then articulated, “Look, I don't have enough time to say this, but the apocalypse is going to begin by the end of this week. The destruction is inevitable. It will scar the world for life. It will be caused by the robotic suits being made...