redrum! The universal taboo, the most expensive thing you can buy, assassination, passion, jealousy, business, the mob, the craziest conclusions to the most human realities.
“What is going on?” Charlie demanded as he pressed his body against the door frame of his office. Sure enough, there was Diana, face white as she clutched her chest. Bob was standing over her, looking more perturbed than anything.
“Charlie!” she whined. “Bob’s harassing me! He’s going to hurt me!”
Some chose killiing. Isn’t it called murder for hire? You could actually pay someone to commit the act that would eliminate all this frustration. How do you even find someone who is willing to do that? Could I ever get frustrated enough? And where would I find the money, anyway. No, I just had to put up with it.
the blood was still on her face. she flicked her hair back, spraying it across the room
his eyes were fixed on hers, empty, glassy, but there
as she raised the knife one more time
his voice caught in his throat
then released
thank you, he said
thank you
she plunged down and smiled
“It was!” The girl screams at me, voice wavering slightly. I assume the only thing holding her together was determination. “My sister wouldn’t just- just off herself like that.” I sigh deeply, deciding it was late, began ushering her out of my office. As I opened the door, the silver plaque on my door reading ‘Detective Jack Sterling’ glinted in the light of the evening. “The gun was in her hand, the room locked. Believe me we know the difference.” Elle, I think that was her name, looked around frantically, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.
“Look.” I say, brushing the fatigue from my eyes. “I’ll look over the files again, and if anything sticks out, you’ll be the first to know.” She knows I’m lying. She knows as soon as I’ve said it, and as soon as she knows the look in her eyes kills me.
The wooden door creaks as it follows her out, gentle tones mixed with the ragged sigh of the young detective.
A plague on the society we live in
our relative we all know of, but wish to shun
never wanting to do anything about them until something happens
worse for wear, is what we are, thanks
to murder.
is fun. is not fun. it’s not okay. but sometimes it can be amusing? that’s disturbing, but at least I’m not Stephen King. Redrum. That takes premeditation. How does he do it? With more time and probably some funding. That was a good book.
Murder is the most horrible crime. To murder someone is a terrible thing indeed. To ends ones life by murder must be an awful way to end your days on this earth. Why does one person think they can take the life of another.
In a flash, the tall dark man was in and out. In the darkest of nights, he was just a shadow looming in the distance. In this depth no one heard the grunt as the dead-man feel. Murder. That’s what they call this darkest of nights. They never saw the man enter the abode, or leave it, and the one who did can never tell. Actually he can never do anything again.
If i had a knife I might use to kill animals
if I had a gun I might put it in my mandibles
wouldn’t pull the trigger…cause I don’t murder humans
I push the envelope on the meat that I ruin…
I’m Human I got to eat I got to eat…what do I eat…
not humans. so is killing animals murder it depends
on the position your assuming.
I like murder. Murder likes me. It follows me when I walk around at night. It follows the girl I was stalking. She’s not around anymore. I have to find someone new. No one compares. I visited the scene of the crime. There was still a blood stain. They never could figure out who did it. It was me. It was murder.
Tonight in the park someone committed a murder of a famous actress Lisa Steinberg. No one was able to see the person in the black hoodie yet the victim’s family have their own suspicions.
The murder happened so long ago, it had almost been forgotten. Certainly it had by the inhabitants of the block, who no longer always locked their doors and did not keep their eyes down when they saw a stranger. But the building, the building remembered.
Murder happens on a daily basis. People live and die, and are killed. But look past that, lets see who these people are. View the persons life, judge them if that is what you truly desire. Murder isn’t inherently evil, but the people behind it might be.
why did i do it? i don’t know. i guess i felt like i had to. i can never tell anyone, it would ruin my life. just like i stole his, right from him. he was so young. so much potential. how could i?
“Help…” I croaked he was there, i could see him through my blurred vision, a shadow leaning against the door frame. Why? i thought, why would someone do this to me, I was just a boy, barely a teenager, what did he want with me? He came towards me, i was hung up against the wall, he blindfolded me, i couldn’t see what he was doing, but i could feel it, that searing pain in my abdomen, then i could see clearly again. But it wasn’t the scene that had invaded me for the past two weeks, it wasn’t that dark, damp room that seemed to belong somewhere near a sewer. It was bright, and then i saw her… “Mum?”
I like to write about murder,it’s one of my favorite subjects. It’s ultimate power,to remove someone else’s life. Can you imagine? It’s sick and twisted,but it has always fascinated me greatly.
I saw the blood on my hands. I saw the scarlet covering the floor. I felt the tears dripping down my face. What had I done? I had never intended it to end this way. Oh my love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill you… Please, please forgive me…
“Wake up…” I cry, “Please, please wake up… This has to be a dream…”
I wish I could quit you; stop the high in its tracks
Murder the cravings and end their attacks
It’s parasitic, this hunger that leaves me always wanting more
An infection of the mind; now impossible to ignore.
She had been under my skin for days, keeping me awake and causing me to grind my teeth to bluntness. No one would miss her, except me. I felt her absence with every draft I wrote. The other girls were so flat and lifeless. I wanted her back, but she was gone and would not be returning. Murdered in 12 point Courier by her cold and calculated creator. Me.
She lay flat in the middle of the room, arms and legs squewered in an awkward position, blood seeped from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Four candles lay at her head, two at her feet. only half were stil lit, as they had melted down into white puddles, mixing in with her hair, and engulfing the bottom of her heels. The remaining three flickered out as the men in the white overalls poked and prodded her body, searching for anything that could give any clue as to who this woman was.
She stood at the entrance to the apartment, in the doorway, her breath taken from her chest as if some otherworldly being had ripped her heart out clear through her rib cage. She was staring at the body on the floor in her living room, the male body in a black tuxedo or suit that was seeping out sticky dark burgundy blood onto her crisp white rug, and she was pretty damn sure that he was dead. How had this happened? She had gone out for milk and had honestly only been gone for a total of 15 minutes, how had someone entered her apartment and then subsequently died there in such a short spance of time? She stood there, in shock, her beaten up door leaning into the darkness of her living room as she swallowed a deep gulp that felt the size of a baseball as it wiggled down her trachea. Who was this guy? Why was he in her apartment? And more importantly, why was he DEAD in her apartment? It took her only an instant to move, from her solitary state of shock in the doorway to dashing wildly into her apartment, down the hallway, darting into her bedroom, straight for the third row of dresser drawers, fourth drawer down.
I was sat in my house on that sunday, when i heard the screams, the screams of those terrified kids over in the orphanage, i had no idea what was going on, i just waited till morning.
cut scream
just a dream
we found her in the woods
the bears would have eaten her
had they not seen her shoelaces under the leaves
gone, gone
now we have to
The murder weapon was covered in blood. I tried to touch it, to move it, to hide it, but there was just so much blood, I couldn’t stand the thought of it coming into contact with my skin. I know not moving it was a mistake. I knew, even then, when I had the chance to do something about it, that my not moving it would come back to haunt me, but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.
they tear the tendons from little girls’ legs
and press blood carmine into their cheeks
until they reveal two rows of baby teeth
(file them straight lest the girls bite back,
weaken them with bleach lest the girls bite back)
HOW TO LOSE 40 POUNDS IN TWO DAYS
written over a 13-year-old girl’s fresh face
they tear the tendons from little girls’ legs
and press blood carmine into their cheeks
until they reveal two rows of baby teeth
(file them straight lest the girls bite back,
weaken them with bleach lest the girls bite back)
cosmo girl: two pages of diet advice
short of mass murder
she sat there, blood on her hands. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. He’d been yelling at her and accusing her and she’d stabbed him. 10 times. She had been screwing the milk man.
Murder? He’s not “murdering” anyone. What he’s doing is just efficient elimination of opposing elements. If he’s fighting a war, then the objective is to clear out enemy units. To call it “murder” and paint his task some moral color is to burden it with unnecessary labels. You win by killing other humans. That’s all there is to it.
Sometimes I really want to murder someone. It’s not about the act; no actually that’s not true. It is about the act in a way. About the planning. I’d like to plan a murder and see if someone else could get away with it. To see if my plan would be flawless and perfect. In another way it’s not about the act.
redrum! The universal taboo, the most expensive thing you can buy, assassination, passion, jealousy, business, the mob, the craziest conclusions to the most human realities.
“Help! Murder! Rape! Murder, and then rape!”
“What is going on?” Charlie demanded as he pressed his body against the door frame of his office. Sure enough, there was Diana, face white as she clutched her chest. Bob was standing over her, looking more perturbed than anything.
“Charlie!” she whined. “Bob’s harassing me! He’s going to hurt me!”
“I was asking for a damn pen!” growled Bob.
Some chose killiing. Isn’t it called murder for hire? You could actually pay someone to commit the act that would eliminate all this frustration. How do you even find someone who is willing to do that? Could I ever get frustrated enough? And where would I find the money, anyway. No, I just had to put up with it.
the blood was still on her face. she flicked her hair back, spraying it across the room
his eyes were fixed on hers, empty, glassy, but there
as she raised the knife one more time
his voice caught in his throat
then released
thank you, he said
thank you
she plunged down and smiled
a murder of crows.
that’s a collective noun I believe I know the story of,
if I’m not mistaken
and thinking of a parliament of ravens.
hatred intimate blood crazy passion jealousy love anger cold obsession mental waste devil darkness
“It was!” The girl screams at me, voice wavering slightly. I assume the only thing holding her together was determination. “My sister wouldn’t just- just off herself like that.” I sigh deeply, deciding it was late, began ushering her out of my office. As I opened the door, the silver plaque on my door reading ‘Detective Jack Sterling’ glinted in the light of the evening. “The gun was in her hand, the room locked. Believe me we know the difference.” Elle, I think that was her name, looked around frantically, trying to form words that wouldn’t come.
“Look.” I say, brushing the fatigue from my eyes. “I’ll look over the files again, and if anything sticks out, you’ll be the first to know.” She knows I’m lying. She knows as soon as I’ve said it, and as soon as she knows the look in her eyes kills me.
The wooden door creaks as it follows her out, gentle tones mixed with the ragged sigh of the young detective.
A plague on the society we live in
our relative we all know of, but wish to shun
never wanting to do anything about them until something happens
worse for wear, is what we are, thanks
to murder.
redrum
Never understanding
The warning signs
The crossed lines
trouble
is fun. is not fun. it’s not okay. but sometimes it can be amusing? that’s disturbing, but at least I’m not Stephen King. Redrum. That takes premeditation. How does he do it? With more time and probably some funding. That was a good book.
Murder is the most horrible crime. To murder someone is a terrible thing indeed. To ends ones life by murder must be an awful way to end your days on this earth. Why does one person think they can take the life of another.
In a flash, the tall dark man was in and out. In the darkest of nights, he was just a shadow looming in the distance. In this depth no one heard the grunt as the dead-man feel. Murder. That’s what they call this darkest of nights. They never saw the man enter the abode, or leave it, and the one who did can never tell. Actually he can never do anything again.
If i had a knife I might use to kill animals
if I had a gun I might put it in my mandibles
wouldn’t pull the trigger…cause I don’t murder humans
I push the envelope on the meat that I ruin…
I’m Human I got to eat I got to eat…what do I eat…
not humans. so is killing animals murder it depends
on the position your assuming.
I like murder. Murder likes me. It follows me when I walk around at night. It follows the girl I was stalking. She’s not around anymore. I have to find someone new. No one compares. I visited the scene of the crime. There was still a blood stain. They never could figure out who did it. It was me. It was murder.
Tonight in the park someone committed a murder of a famous actress Lisa Steinberg. No one was able to see the person in the black hoodie yet the victim’s family have their own suspicions.
The murder happened so long ago, it had almost been forgotten. Certainly it had by the inhabitants of the block, who no longer always locked their doors and did not keep their eyes down when they saw a stranger. But the building, the building remembered.
Murder happens on a daily basis. People live and die, and are killed. But look past that, lets see who these people are. View the persons life, judge them if that is what you truly desire. Murder isn’t inherently evil, but the people behind it might be.
why did i do it? i don’t know. i guess i felt like i had to. i can never tell anyone, it would ruin my life. just like i stole his, right from him. he was so young. so much potential. how could i?
“Help…” I croaked he was there, i could see him through my blurred vision, a shadow leaning against the door frame. Why? i thought, why would someone do this to me, I was just a boy, barely a teenager, what did he want with me? He came towards me, i was hung up against the wall, he blindfolded me, i couldn’t see what he was doing, but i could feel it, that searing pain in my abdomen, then i could see clearly again. But it wasn’t the scene that had invaded me for the past two weeks, it wasn’t that dark, damp room that seemed to belong somewhere near a sewer. It was bright, and then i saw her… “Mum?”
.
I like to write about murder,it’s one of my favorite subjects. It’s ultimate power,to remove someone else’s life. Can you imagine? It’s sick and twisted,but it has always fascinated me greatly.
Crows on my street
gather and meet
on the tops of telephone poles
I saw the blood on my hands. I saw the scarlet covering the floor. I felt the tears dripping down my face. What had I done? I had never intended it to end this way. Oh my love, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to kill you… Please, please forgive me…
“Wake up…” I cry, “Please, please wake up… This has to be a dream…”
But it’s not.
I wish I could quit you; stop the high in its tracks
Murder the cravings and end their attacks
It’s parasitic, this hunger that leaves me always wanting more
An infection of the mind; now impossible to ignore.
She had been under my skin for days, keeping me awake and causing me to grind my teeth to bluntness. No one would miss her, except me. I felt her absence with every draft I wrote. The other girls were so flat and lifeless. I wanted her back, but she was gone and would not be returning. Murdered in 12 point Courier by her cold and calculated creator. Me.
She lay flat in the middle of the room, arms and legs squewered in an awkward position, blood seeped from her eyes, ears, nose and mouth. Four candles lay at her head, two at her feet. only half were stil lit, as they had melted down into white puddles, mixing in with her hair, and engulfing the bottom of her heels. The remaining three flickered out as the men in the white overalls poked and prodded her body, searching for anything that could give any clue as to who this woman was.
She stood at the entrance to the apartment, in the doorway, her breath taken from her chest as if some otherworldly being had ripped her heart out clear through her rib cage. She was staring at the body on the floor in her living room, the male body in a black tuxedo or suit that was seeping out sticky dark burgundy blood onto her crisp white rug, and she was pretty damn sure that he was dead. How had this happened? She had gone out for milk and had honestly only been gone for a total of 15 minutes, how had someone entered her apartment and then subsequently died there in such a short spance of time? She stood there, in shock, her beaten up door leaning into the darkness of her living room as she swallowed a deep gulp that felt the size of a baseball as it wiggled down her trachea. Who was this guy? Why was he in her apartment? And more importantly, why was he DEAD in her apartment? It took her only an instant to move, from her solitary state of shock in the doorway to dashing wildly into her apartment, down the hallway, darting into her bedroom, straight for the third row of dresser drawers, fourth drawer down.
I was sat in my house on that sunday, when i heard the screams, the screams of those terrified kids over in the orphanage, i had no idea what was going on, i just waited till morning.
cut scream
just a dream
we found her in the woods
the bears would have eaten her
had they not seen her shoelaces under the leaves
gone, gone
now we have to
“Murder”, the heart cried. Her hope is dying.
The murder weapon was covered in blood. I tried to touch it, to move it, to hide it, but there was just so much blood, I couldn’t stand the thought of it coming into contact with my skin. I know not moving it was a mistake. I knew, even then, when I had the chance to do something about it, that my not moving it would come back to haunt me, but I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t.
they tear the tendons from little girls’ legs
and press blood carmine into their cheeks
until they reveal two rows of baby teeth
(file them straight lest the girls bite back,
weaken them with bleach lest the girls bite back)
HOW TO LOSE 40 POUNDS IN TWO DAYS
written over a 13-year-old girl’s fresh face
they tear the tendons from little girls’ legs
and press blood carmine into their cheeks
until they reveal two rows of baby teeth
(file them straight lest the girls bite back,
weaken them with bleach lest the girls bite back)
cosmo girl: two pages of diet advice
short of mass murder
she sat there, blood on her hands. She couldn’t believe she’d done it. He’d been yelling at her and accusing her and she’d stabbed him. 10 times. She had been screwing the milk man.
Murder! Murder ! Screamed she. No one gave a damn. That’s strange she thought . Until she realized that it was she who had been murdered.
Murder! Murder ! Screamed she. One one gave a damn. That’s strange she thought . Until she realized that it was she who had been murdered.
Murder? He’s not “murdering” anyone. What he’s doing is just efficient elimination of opposing elements. If he’s fighting a war, then the objective is to clear out enemy units. To call it “murder” and paint his task some moral color is to burden it with unnecessary labels. You win by killing other humans. That’s all there is to it.
hate
blood
victim
flesh
gun
knife
weapon
screams
cries
death
hope
rape
horrid
scared
emotions
sadness
Sometimes I really want to murder someone. It’s not about the act; no actually that’s not true. It is about the act in a way. About the planning. I’d like to plan a murder and see if someone else could get away with it. To see if my plan would be flawless and perfect. In another way it’s not about the act.
blood
flesh
bones
hammer
knife
weapon
kill
scream
rape
gun
killer
victim
hate