Forty-five minutes ago my cover was blown. I’ve been hiding out in London as a banker; there have been numerous reporting’s of some not so friendly characters snooping around the London Eye. Every day at 1p.m. they would walk into the South Street Band and then leave. Five minutes later they would walk in again, then leave. So my boss hooked be up with a job as a teller to report back my findings, but lately things around here got overly intense. Well if I am going to tell you this right I should start at the beginning. Let’s say three days ago.
It was just an ordinary Tuesday and I was walking down toward the deli to meet up with my old school chum Philmore. Just about to turn the corner I noticed an ID card on the ground; I picked it up and read, “Mitch Flannigan.” He looked kind of like a poodle; big curly brown hair, dark bushy eyebrows that looked like a scowl, a thick dark brown moustache with little gray bits on the left side, and big circular hippie glasses kind of like the ones Harry Potter wore. Which is kind of funny because Mitch Flannigan had a lightning shape wrinkle indent on his right cheek; I believe it was there to even out the gray.
So I turned and looked around to see if I saw Mitch, but I did not. So I planned on going to the deli and on my way home haul a cab to take me to the station, but things do not always turn out the way you plan. The deli was about four streets overt from where I found the ID; I began walking so I would not be late. Getting a creepy sensation that someone was following me I snapped my head around as quick as a whip only to find nobody. “Maybe I am just a little tired,” I thought. So I kept on walking, but when I was two streets from the deli got that funny feel...
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... and final member of their little gang is the operator of the London Eye. The other two probably went to get him every day, he would get off of work at around 12:45 p.m. and it taking them 15 minutes to walk over to the bank, thus getting there at 1 p.m. They were probably observing and getting ready for something big, but why would they walk in again. Probably to raise buzz, the more buzz there is off them the more famous they become.” The police officer said shockingly, “That is incredible! I am sorry we should have listened to you on Tuesday.” I then replied, “I want to say thank you, but no thank you. If you would have listened to me on Tuesday than none of this would have ever happened. I would never have had the reason to prove your wrong and try to solve it.” I then added, “I just have one more thing to ask. What are you supposed to do with those guys?”
One question that stuck out in my mind was, “Where did this guy live before coming to Chicago?” The fact that he hadn’t experienced what he was going through before he hit age twenty-two struck me as odd. This led me to assume he originated from a mostly black community where white fear wasn’t common to him. The next thing that struck interest in my mind was the automatic assumption that the women in the alley feared him because he was black, and not because of the fact he was a rather large male at six-feet, two-inches, and had a beard. Not to mention that he was walking behind her late at night down an alleyway with no witnesses. Naturally even I would be wary of a man walking behind me in a situation like that, even if “the stalker” was a women. I do not blame that women for getting out of that situation.
As I walk to the store to pick up snacks for the next half of the super bowl, I am trying to make it quick. I finally arrive at the store and quickly get my two favorite items, skittles and an ice tea. Thinking to myself that this is all I need, not knowing that it would be my last meal. On the walk back home, I have a feeling that I am being followed. I speed up. I turn around to find that a grown Hispanic man, mid-age, and heavily built is in fact, following me. In my head, I just want to make it home safely. Every move I make, he makes the same moves. Finally I turn around, quite nervous, to see if there was a problem. Next thing I know, we are on the ground fighting. Here I am, seventeen years old, up against a man in his thirties. As we fight, I know that this situation isn’t going to end well. Last thing I remember is being shot in my stomach. While I lay in the grass taking my last breaths, all I could think is “Why me”?
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.
It was a peaceful day here in Times Square, Jordan, Hannah and I had been taking a walk to our favorite hot dog stand when we got there the hot dog vendor had been robbed! All of us were furious because this was our favorite hot dog stand. We promised Tanner, the hot dog vendor, that we would find the culprit. First we looked around the crime scene to see if we could find clues. The first clue we found was a phone number and a business card that read “Mario’s Hot Doggeria” we suspected the suspect had something to do with “Mario’s Hot Doggeria” so we went there. When we arrived, Mario the owner of the place told us he has been robbed too. We wondered if the person who robbed Mario was the same person who robbed Tanner. We asked Mario to describe the culprit “I never got to see
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...
Joyce Carol Oates’s “Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?” tells the tale of a fifteen year old girl named Connie living in the early 1960’s who is stalked and ultimately abducted by a man who calls himself Arnold Friend. The short story is based on a true event, but has been analyzed by many literary scholars and allegedly possesses numerous underlying themes. Two of the most popular interpretations of the story are that the entire scenario is only dreamt by Connie (Rubin, 58) and that the abductor is really the devil in disguise (Easterly, 537). But the truth is that sometimes people really can just be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Connie, a victim of terrifying circumstance will be forever changed by her interactions with Friend.
It began in the County Mall food court. Resting at one of the tables after my lunch, I casually glanced around the place. The food court wasn't crowded, and consequently I had no trouble spotting him: a tall, dark, gray-haired man. He caught my gaze, and started walking towards me. As I took in his gaunt frame, his tattered red t-shirt, and the holes in his great sweats, it dawned on me that before me stood a homeless man. Reaching my table, he asked if he could sit down with me but I declined. I wasn't in the mood to talk to him, and so mumbling a poor excuse and an apology that was probably a few octaves below any decipherable level, and not particularly caring whether the man heard me or not, I got up and walked away. The man called out after me, assuring me that he didn't want money, but rather only someone to talk to. I was rattled by his persistence, and pretending I didn't hear him I quickly walked away, my heart pounding in my chest.
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.
So there I was, thundering (or carefully maneuvering) my way up Route 9. After a quick stop at the local police station to re-orient myself (as I missed a left turn), I pulled into the small parking lot of the small, two-story, stucco-and-shingled building with an enormous satellite dish on it. I double-checked my questions, made sure my recorder was working, and headed in. I sat in the small waiting area as the secretary went to fetch Simon. Palms sweaty, I rubbed them on my jeans to calm myself and let out a little nervous energy.
It’s 3:20 am. on a Friday morning, and pitch black out. The only things visible are the tree branches and pavement shining from yellow streetlights that carve out a path from the parking lot to the back door of my building. Living on campus at Towson I should’ve owned mace, but I clutched my car key instead, pointed outward ready to stab the eye of anyone deciding to come out of the dark after me. The brisk walk up the hill seems to take half an hour. Finally under the bright lights of the overhang I swipe my card quickly to get inside. The door bolt locks behind me with a loud click. I’m safe.
I looked up at the black sky. I hadn't intended to be out this late. The sun had set, and the empty road ahead had no streetlights. I knew I was in for a dark journey home. I had decided that by traveling through the forest would be the quickest way home. Minutes passed, yet it seemed like hours and days. The farther I traveled into the forest, the darker it seemed to get. I was very had to even take a breath due to the stifling air. The only sound familiar to me was the quickening beat of my own heart, which felt as though it was about to come through my chest. I began to whistled to take my mind off the eerie noises I was hearing. In this kind of darkness I was in, it was hard for me to believe that I could be seeing these long finger shaped shadows that stretched out to me. I had this gut feeling as though something was following me, but I assured myself that I was the only one in the forest. At least I had hoped that I was.
Have you ever wondered why the sky is blue. Often times I find myself looking up on a clear day, pondering over that question? Why isn’t it green, or red or pink for even that matter. Every day, the human eye blinks more than 23,00 times. The human eye is a complicated organ that performs one of the most important tasks for our body. There are many questions about the eye however. What function do they perform? What happens if we don’t take care of them? How exactly do they work together to help us form images? Exactly how far can they human eye see?
With a slow dawn I remembered. Had I slipped or had he hit me with something? My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as I relived the figure advancing towards me. It was dark. The street light that shone from behind the man in the faceless thickset man in the grey hoody ensured anonymity. Now he was coming. How long had I been here? My head ached as I struggled to assess my surroundings.
All eyes were placed on me and they looked at me quizzically. The situation was chaotic when the crowd started to gossip among themselves. Overwhelmed with intense anger, I spat in reply. The old lady seethed with hatred. The burst of anger hung over us for a moment before the security guard came. In order to stop the quarrel, the guard checked my bag and body and proved there was nothing in my pocket. However, the unruly women still suspect me as the thief. She was agitated and infuriated. She surged forward and threatened to beat me
The Eye is the organ of sight. Eyes enable people to perform daily tasks and to learn about the world that surrounds them. Sight, or vision, is a rapidly occurring process that involves continuous interaction between the eye, the nervous system, and the brain. When someone looks at an object, what he/she is really seeing is the light that the object reflects, or gives off.