A dark and fearsome action. It affects so many it is unknown. life comes and goes. people choose to do this to others. it happens through a miscommunication in the mind.FEAR.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each once marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them? Quickly, the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold.That was probably supposed to be a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each once marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them? Quickly, the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold. He supposed that was a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each one marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them. Quickly the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold. He supposed that was a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
the most awful act a human being can perform.; sometimes others justify it by excuses to make less horrible such as self-defense. however, in my opinion, it is still an atrocious deed. Murder is not just about killing another human , it’s also about killing innocent animal out of a tendency to be a criminal or killing plants and trees and every other form of life. the biggest murder to day is murder of life on earth. That is indeed horrific.
I don’t want to murder. I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at them. I’m angry at myself, because I’m not feeling anything but bad, broken, like I don’t belong, and I don’t have a purpose. Meaningless.
The worst word to pop up for the day. It’s brings you back when they got shot and tossed in a river to be discovered the next morning. And the phone call when they told you “how do you want bad news” and you said “rip the bandaid off” because you didn’t think it would be so bad. But it was. And you’re not fine. But everything’s okay. Just okay.Give me hope through a messy life.
the murder of the prime minister was a huge topic of conversation. everyone was talking about it. no one knew who did it and the cops were hot out to find the murderer. the tragedy was in every newspaper and on every news station. some people thought he had it coming and that we are better off without him. but a lot more people were unnerved by this.
He thinks about her constantly
He wants her
with
around
inside
between
everything that he ever was or is.
He believes in her
her everything.
It’s not ending
It’s beginning.
as is everything and anything that fills his soul and spills into his eyes.
their full
full of red
and blue
and her.
Death and accident and on purpose, revenge and curiosity and impulsiveness and passion. It’s personal fun, with regret. Sometimes no regret. Emotions and intrigue and questions and answers.
I have always been fascinated with murder. The way it is done, the way it is discovered, the reason behind it. Was it the parents that had provoked the child? Or is the child simply a lunatic?
Messy, way messier than she’d intended. Actually, it wasn’t intentional at all. It was what they called a crime of passion. At least that was what she had planned to say if they ever caught her. But they wouldn’t. She’d bleached everything, and would burn the rest.
It was sheer murder, working all day in the hot sun, pulling weeds that
grew in the gravel. It was supposed to be a no-maintenance yard, but
after a couple of years the gravel filled up with dirt and weeds
sprouted. They would grow anywhere under the most minimal conditions.
Oh God… what a terrible thing to think about. How can you take someones life away? You don’t know what comes afterwards. How do you know if the person your killing, to make him suffer won’t be better off dead…
murder is the topic about the movie i just watched. it was an american movie and well american movies are usually extremely violent and graphic and as I am not used to seeing such exaggeration I was a little shocked to be honest. I wonder why it is. and what I also noticed was the fact that the movie and the time period, being the 90s was very sexed up. It was all abou
He put down the knife slowly on the table. He took a sigh and looked at the dead body in front of him. Clark had did it, he committed murder. Panic raced through his mind, “I’m a killer, I ended another’s life.” Panic was then replaced with remorse, for he soon realized that the lifeless man in front of him, the former Stan Ericson, was not the cause of the tattered shambles of his life. “I did that I my own.” Clark said in a whisper, as if there was someone else in the room. “I drove Stacy away with harsh words and neglect, after the company closed down. She just found someone new who actually cared for her, and I took that away from her.” Tears were now streaming down his face as he crumpled to his knees, “What’s the point of fleeing? I have nothing to return to.” He said this to himself with utter self loathing, and then broke into piteous sobs.
“I murdered you a thousand times in my head. When I felt my chest burning and my stomach twist. I thought of you and your bloody head. I guess it wasn’t quite murder though, because you were never taken to the place of being legitimately dead-but tortured. I wanted to expose you, show them exactly what you had done and make you experience the same.” I shuddered as I rewound and listened intently to the tape. A whir and a click for it to start on with it’s mutterings again. “I imagined this because in reality I couldn’t reach you, I couldn’t make you ‘gone’.”
Murder… what brings one to the thought of murder? Is it desperation? Jealousy? Greed? Perhaps it is an act of panic, a split-second impulse decision? Murder does not simply end one life, it ruins dozens of lives. Murder can only leave some survivors wishing for death, and such a crime can only be punished by the same fate…. an eye for an eye, a life for a life.
She looked down at the weapon in her hands. The blood dripping of the edges. What was going on? She looked up and from that glance, her life was thrown upside down. What she saw would stick would her for many years to come. Murder.
As I turned the corner I quickly stepped back and peered around the corner. The sight I see is Jessica knife in hand in front of her brother Andy. Just as she is shoving the knife in his back. Murder. Mudering her own brother.
Murder muddles my mind, makes it malfunction in muddled monotony; murder mummifies my control, marrying monotone statements of manipulation with melancholy mutters of malevolence.
She took a step in the wrong direction. She knew it, even before the board creaked under her foot. The man on the stairs paused before slowly turning and looking up at her. “Well,” he said. “What do we have here?”
She took a step in the wrong direction. She knew it, even before the board creaked. The man down at the bottom of the stairs paused before slowly turning around. “Well.” he said. “What do we have here?”
The murders excited him. He loved them. They were what he lived for; and now, a triple muder-suicide. Sherlock was thrilled. Lestrade had made his day when he asked Sherlock to help with the case.
He watched as they put her on the stand and asked what happened. Tell them what you did, he whispered, tell them what you are. But she never did.
The clouds he was in suddenly darkened.
A dark and fearsome action. It affects so many it is unknown. life comes and goes. people choose to do this to others. it happens through a miscommunication in the mind.FEAR.
Murder most foul. I have trouble writing drama, but I think that someone is going to die in my next story.
He’s not going to stay dead for very long, however. Because that would be cruel, and I am no Wheedon. Nor am I Gaiman.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each once marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them? Quickly, the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold.That was probably supposed to be a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
It was murder.
It’s as simple as that. You killed me. I died.
It was murder.
And now I have to live with it.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each once marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them? Quickly, the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold. He supposed that was a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
The man clicked his pen over and over the sound almost comforting in its familiarity. Sheets of paper were laid out in front of him each one marked carelessly with a bright red CLASSIFIED. A new murder case eh? God, these things popped up every few days how was he expected to deal with all of them. Quickly the man scanned his eyes over the report, taking in the words, intentional and 1st degree. Of course. He picked up the coffee mug next to him and took a long gulp, almost spitting it out once he realized the contents inside was cold. He supposed that was a sign for him to stop stalling and start working.
There is always another choice. Never kill anyone for anyone. Love is the answer. Bad choice, bad decision.
the most awful act a human being can perform.; sometimes others justify it by excuses to make less horrible such as self-defense. however, in my opinion, it is still an atrocious deed. Murder is not just about killing another human , it’s also about killing innocent animal out of a tendency to be a criminal or killing plants and trees and every other form of life. the biggest murder to day is murder of life on earth. That is indeed horrific.
I don’t want to murder. I’m not angry at you. I’m not angry at them. I’m angry at myself, because I’m not feeling anything but bad, broken, like I don’t belong, and I don’t have a purpose. Meaningless.
I walked in the door and there he was. Laying on the ground. Surrounded.
Covered.
Bloody.
And there she was. In the corner. Shaking, staring at it.
His body, beginning the processes of decaying, not unlike her soul.
Well, it had to have been for someone to get to this point.
He was her husband, of 30 years. This was their anniversary.
A murder of crows, black, boisterous, sat mocking the cat as it meandered it’s way among the parked cars.
The worst word to pop up for the day. It’s brings you back when they got shot and tossed in a river to be discovered the next morning. And the phone call when they told you “how do you want bad news” and you said “rip the bandaid off” because you didn’t think it would be so bad. But it was. And you’re not fine. But everything’s okay. Just okay.Give me hope through a messy life.
the murder of the prime minister was a huge topic of conversation. everyone was talking about it. no one knew who did it and the cops were hot out to find the murderer. the tragedy was in every newspaper and on every news station. some people thought he had it coming and that we are better off without him. but a lot more people were unnerved by this.
she wrote, under duress as the seconds dripped ahead, behind. she wrote, she read, she looked but could not find any reason to put the the crime aside
He thinks about her constantly
He wants her
with
around
inside
between
everything that he ever was or is.
He believes in her
her everything.
It’s not ending
It’s beginning.
as is everything and anything that fills his soul and spills into his eyes.
their full
full of red
and blue
and her.
Death and accident and on purpose, revenge and curiosity and impulsiveness and passion. It’s personal fun, with regret. Sometimes no regret. Emotions and intrigue and questions and answers.
Murder is a horrible thing.
I have always been fascinated with murder. The way it is done, the way it is discovered, the reason behind it. Was it the parents that had provoked the child? Or is the child simply a lunatic?
Messy, way messier than she’d intended. Actually, it wasn’t intentional at all. It was what they called a crime of passion. At least that was what she had planned to say if they ever caught her. But they wouldn’t. She’d bleached everything, and would burn the rest.
It was sheer murder, working all day in the hot sun, pulling weeds that
grew in the gravel. It was supposed to be a no-maintenance yard, but
after a couple of years the gravel filled up with dirt and weeds
sprouted. They would grow anywhere under the most minimal conditions.
Oh God… what a terrible thing to think about. How can you take someones life away? You don’t know what comes afterwards. How do you know if the person your killing, to make him suffer won’t be better off dead…
murder is the topic about the movie i just watched. it was an american movie and well american movies are usually extremely violent and graphic and as I am not used to seeing such exaggeration I was a little shocked to be honest. I wonder why it is. and what I also noticed was the fact that the movie and the time period, being the 90s was very sexed up. It was all abou
Mercury knives hidden at the edge of burden sighs, and in my eyes: the prize. For tonight these are the words that maketh murder, Taro.
He put down the knife slowly on the table. He took a sigh and looked at the dead body in front of him. Clark had did it, he committed murder. Panic raced through his mind, “I’m a killer, I ended another’s life.” Panic was then replaced with remorse, for he soon realized that the lifeless man in front of him, the former Stan Ericson, was not the cause of the tattered shambles of his life. “I did that I my own.” Clark said in a whisper, as if there was someone else in the room. “I drove Stacy away with harsh words and neglect, after the company closed down. She just found someone new who actually cared for her, and I took that away from her.” Tears were now streaming down his face as he crumpled to his knees, “What’s the point of fleeing? I have nothing to return to.” He said this to himself with utter self loathing, and then broke into piteous sobs.
a murder of crows
a shiver of sharks
a flamboyance of flamingos
a congress of lizards
a pack of wolves
a school of fish
but what is the word for a group of friends?
a clique? no.
a nightmare.
Murder. The most awful, horrible, terrible, beautiful thing in the world.
group of crows
or
killing with malice aforethought
no inspiration to be had here. just a bad thing that happens, or birds.
“I murdered you a thousand times in my head. When I felt my chest burning and my stomach twist. I thought of you and your bloody head. I guess it wasn’t quite murder though, because you were never taken to the place of being legitimately dead-but tortured. I wanted to expose you, show them exactly what you had done and make you experience the same.” I shuddered as I rewound and listened intently to the tape. A whir and a click for it to start on with it’s mutterings again. “I imagined this because in reality I couldn’t reach you, I couldn’t make you ‘gone’.”
killer
maniac
psycho
victim
blood
more blood
death
anger
shame
hate
forgiveness
rape
jail
accident
car accident
police
dept
love
Murder… what brings one to the thought of murder? Is it desperation? Jealousy? Greed? Perhaps it is an act of panic, a split-second impulse decision? Murder does not simply end one life, it ruins dozens of lives. Murder can only leave some survivors wishing for death, and such a crime can only be punished by the same fate…. an eye for an eye, a life for a life.
She looked down at the weapon in her hands. The blood dripping of the edges. What was going on? She looked up and from that glance, her life was thrown upside down. What she saw would stick would her for many years to come. Murder.
As I turned the corner I quickly stepped back and peered around the corner. The sight I see is Jessica knife in hand in front of her brother Andy. Just as she is shoving the knife in his back. Murder. Mudering her own brother.
it was the red rum that got us, another night lost in the midst of innocent murder.
Murder muddles my mind, makes it malfunction in muddled monotony; murder mummifies my control, marrying monotone statements of manipulation with melancholy mutters of malevolence.
murder. you know what’s murder? murder is when you kill someone’s hopes, someone’s dreams. murder is when you shatter their precious heart.
She murdered my soul; impaled my heart, ripped out my innocence.
She took a step in the wrong direction. She knew it, even before the board creaked under her foot. The man on the stairs paused before slowly turning and looking up at her. “Well,” he said. “What do we have here?”
She took a step in the wrong direction. She knew it, even before the board creaked. The man down at the bottom of the stairs paused before slowly turning around. “Well.” he said. “What do we have here?”
The murders excited him. He loved them. They were what he lived for; and now, a triple muder-suicide. Sherlock was thrilled. Lestrade had made his day when he asked Sherlock to help with the case.