The people watched as the paramedics carried away the man on a board. All they saw was him dead, but one light haired male in the stands saw more.
He was the main suspect.
-CUE EVIL MUSIC-
The suspects were stuffed into a blank room behind a thick plexiglass wall. The police had lined them up so she could identify the perpetrator. A few stared boldly towards her as if attempting to prove their innocence telepathically, while some hung their heads and glanced upward in confusion.
But Chantal barely glanced at the other faces. Her eyes floated to his, gazing directly into her soul as he had so often before. Suddenly she knew why on that awful night she had felt not only violated, but also betrayed. No mask could hide the power of Devin’s piercing green eyes or the surge of memories that they carried.
“Do you see the one, Ma’am?” the officer asked, eying her cautiously.
Devin was back. He had come back for her.
A cold wave of nausea rushed through her body.
“No. No, sir. He’s not here.”
suspects are a suspicious people. what is sad about suspects; they’re not always guilty. Sometimes prosecuters point their fingers at the wrong people. When that happens, justice is not always found.
The usual suspects were not usual this time. They were the cook, the thief, the wife, and her lover.
Who would expect a thief anyway? Maybe a cook. But, come on….
She suspects that he’s lying to her, she doesn’t know why though, she just can’t figure it out. How could he? Why would he? Is he? It’s too frustrating, so she shoves it in the back of her mind to be thought about another day. As usual.
She looks at him and suspects him.
What ever did he do wrong? He’s just an ordinary guy, doing ordinary work. Why would she accuse him of doing something suspicious?
Oh no, not at all. He didn’t do something suspicious.
She suspects him of loving her.
There were twenty men lined up along the white wall. Ashley looked at all of them closely, with watching eyes. They stood proud as can be, all criminals, showing no shame for their crimes. She pinpointed one man at the end of the line, tall, dark hair, staring directly into her eyes through the one way glass.
It’s silly that he’s worried, because it’s not like there’s really anything he needs to worry about. The police make mistakes all the time. Just because they’ve taken his two best friends in for questioning doesn’t mean that they were actually involved. It doesn’t mean that they were the ones who murdered that poor girl in that dirty back alley. He shouldn’t be worried. He knows his friends, and his friends aren’t murderers.
Suspects lining up for identification. Witness walks in. The procedure has gotten old, but we can´t show that in our manner. If the witness – battered women, frightened men with debts too big for their pants, little old ladies, people at their most vulnerable – feels like it´s receiving a factory line service we´re the bad guys.
It’s not like he actually thinks that there’s anything going on. So his two friends have been taken in for questioning. So, what. The police make mistakes all the time.
There was once a criminal who stole bread from an old man. The police took the criminal down to the station. He was a suspect, however, there was another man in on it. A partner in crime. Another bread stealer. Another carbohydrate demander, sort to speak. The police had no idea that there was another suspect. They thought it was just a single thief, going around, bashing the elderly’s heads, and stealing their carbs! But, no! It’s a two person job. What these two criminals have been doing, was going from county to county stealing bread. What do they do with the bread? They bake drugs into them and send them off to Mexico.
The usual suspects: a gal with a beret, a man with a bad attitude. Don’t know why they’re hanging out on the corner under the streetlamp; they look like they should be in class at the local high school. They look so guilty I have to wonder if they’re innocent.
I never thought I would be the one on this side. The side of not knowing who is looking at you. In the cold feeling lost and out of control. How did I wind up here? In my very own work place? I am on the force! I should know better. Damn it all.
criminals. why are you here, you ask? you are being interviewed for an unspeakable task that is so unworthy of even being trialed. you all are here for that reason alone,for your sake, i hope you get released.
There was recently a shooting in Arizona or somewhere at a movie theatre, the suspects were black males and they shot everyone during a batman premiere. It was bloody. I don’t know much else about it, but 12 people died and a lot of others were wounded. The end. Suspects. S u s p e c t s.
it could be fine really no one would have to know i can keep a secret well notabout about you not about how much i want to reach out to you how much work i have to do holding myself back holding myself down i just want you that’s all i just want you to understand what i’m feeling why hold back when giving in is so so so close so easy so real
oh my gosh you have no idea what it’s like to leave and ride the elevator from happiness to days without you riding on the giddiness the amazement i feel in every moment in every step in every click in every short breath and swift step in every smile that appears because of you.
but then every once and a while i have a feeling you do have an idea.
it’s not a crime if you don’t pretend to be a suspect.
I’m fine–most of the time. But there are points where I’m reading something, and it reminds me of him. We were so close, I loved him so dearly, and we were never letting go. But that day that I stood up from that park bench and walked away, he didn’t even give chase. Why the hell wouldn’t he even try? And I’ll think about it for several minutes, but in the end, it’s not worth my time. There were clues–and I should have suspected it all along. We were meant to be for that time, not the forever that I wanted.
Down the slimy ally way in the heart of the city, danger lurks unknowingly to the journalist. Journalist, waiting for hours outside of the suspected drug tunnel entrance, waiting to get her bust. She knows this will make it she will become the best journalist on the strip if she wrote this story. As she waits eagerly, there are eyes stalking her. He breaths her scents and watches her every move. He calls the others, thinking where the hell are the idiots they need to be here or our one chance of stopping her will be ruined. He can not wait any longer. He pounces with a mighty leap.
The suspects consisted of two people, one male one female. Both had blood from the victim on their hands, but only one pair of fingerprints matched those on the murder weapon. The chief of police knew who the murderer was, but he had a guilty pleasure of watching guilty murderers squirm under pressure. The woman glanced nervously at the man, as he looked at the ground, hiding a small, but noticeable smile.
Reminds me of the countless crime shows I’ve watched. I think my favorites are Bones and Fringe. Bones because the characters are well developed and hilarious and Fringe because of how they incorporate science into the back story. It’s awesome.
Suspects are always around, everyone around is is suspected of something, whether they know it or not. Even you, and me, are suspected of something. No one is not a suspect. What are you suspected for? What do you suspect people of? What would make people suspicious of you in the first place?
When you are investigating about a crime, you have to think of the potential criminals, these are the suspects. Then, after that you have to realize who comitted the crime and you have solved the case. But this is not easy, you must be very intuitive and intelligent.
I have none. All of them are just suspicious… I love suspicious people, so, I love every suspects in the world…Elementary my dear watson!!I’m no detective but I know everything about every suspect…
Suspects? What are suspects? We automatically think about the people the crime detectives find, but there is something else we need to look at. We need to look at the inanimate culprits—the things or the factors that cause the problem—as the most important suspects.
Suspects is who we look to for the main crime. The ones who admit that they know something. We pray that those who had anything to do with the shooting is punished. They knew everything while those in the movies knew nothing. We pray that they know that its harmful and a waste of human space. Please pray for those who didn’t make it.
I see the suspect.. walking around me.. their world may be similar to mine… but maybe they are just me… other me,s… maybe me maybe we all fit together to mesh into one world… one person… suspects fitting into one life
Suspects are full of lies and non belief. They hunt the innocent and fear the worst for them. They cannot live without hurting other and making sure that they never see the end of the world. Suspects live in fear. They fear that they will never be reconized for their work.
the suspects were lined up against the wall. they all stared as the deputy paced up and down the line. he looked each person in the eyes. “None.” He said finally. “None of these are the man.”
“How do you suspect he was killed? And why do you think it was murder?”
“I don’t think it was murder, I know it was. You see any need for rat poison in yuppy’s apartment six floors up? Now do you follow? He would have immediately become sick from ingesting the poison, which I…suspect the killer put in the flour here. But he couldn’t call for help because…the phone line was cut. Now why would he do that? Because it was a forced entry therefore I can rule out your little ‘allergy’ theory. The killer would have to have access to this place, so we can say it was someone in this building….and due to a buildup of mail in front of that door that person’s hightailed out of the city, or even the country by now. After all, he has killed a posh little dandy. Why not just a vacation? Most people don’t wish for others to know they’ve left. And who owns this apartment….ah, the Butler, of course. Damn stereotype.”
The people watched as the paramedics carried away the man on a board. All they saw was him dead, but one light haired male in the stands saw more.
He was the main suspect.
-CUE EVIL MUSIC-
The suspects were stuffed into a blank room behind a thick plexiglass wall. The police had lined them up so she could identify the perpetrator. A few stared boldly towards her as if attempting to prove their innocence telepathically, while some hung their heads and glanced upward in confusion.
But Chantal barely glanced at the other faces. Her eyes floated to his, gazing directly into her soul as he had so often before. Suddenly she knew why on that awful night she had felt not only violated, but also betrayed. No mask could hide the power of Devin’s piercing green eyes or the surge of memories that they carried.
“Do you see the one, Ma’am?” the officer asked, eying her cautiously.
Devin was back. He had come back for her.
A cold wave of nausea rushed through her body.
“No. No, sir. He’s not here.”
suspects are a suspicious people. what is sad about suspects; they’re not always guilty. Sometimes prosecuters point their fingers at the wrong people. When that happens, justice is not always found.
The usual suspects were not usual this time. They were the cook, the thief, the wife, and her lover.
Who would expect a thief anyway? Maybe a cook. But, come on….
‘Is there someone out there?’ I try to call out. But no sound comes from my mouth. I have no mouth. I have no voice.
There is nothing.
I’m just existing.
But there’s black everywhere. I’m not entirely sure whether or not it is due to my being in the dark or if it’s because I have no eyes.
I’m just here.
Hovering over nothing. Levitating in thin nothing. Floating in nothing.
What were the five senses? Sight. Touch. Smell. Taste. Hear. I suspect those meant nothing right now.
She suspects that he’s lying to her, she doesn’t know why though, she just can’t figure it out. How could he? Why would he? Is he? It’s too frustrating, so she shoves it in the back of her mind to be thought about another day. As usual.
criminal crime justice mercy forgiveness bad evil sin jail cautious investigate murder crime simple bad good cops police guns weapons blood hurt victims
The suspects were investigated last night, after the crime took place in the fletcher ave. No one could ever beleive what happened.
She looks at him and suspects him.
What ever did he do wrong? He’s just an ordinary guy, doing ordinary work. Why would she accuse him of doing something suspicious?
Oh no, not at all. He didn’t do something suspicious.
She suspects him of loving her.
There were twenty men lined up along the white wall. Ashley looked at all of them closely, with watching eyes. They stood proud as can be, all criminals, showing no shame for their crimes. She pinpointed one man at the end of the line, tall, dark hair, staring directly into her eyes through the one way glass.
It’s silly that he’s worried, because it’s not like there’s really anything he needs to worry about. The police make mistakes all the time. Just because they’ve taken his two best friends in for questioning doesn’t mean that they were actually involved. It doesn’t mean that they were the ones who murdered that poor girl in that dirty back alley. He shouldn’t be worried. He knows his friends, and his friends aren’t murderers.
Suspects lining up for identification. Witness walks in. The procedure has gotten old, but we can´t show that in our manner. If the witness – battered women, frightened men with debts too big for their pants, little old ladies, people at their most vulnerable – feels like it´s receiving a factory line service we´re the bad guys.
“Which One of You Was it?”
I Whispered,
Looking at the Two Faces
That I Loved More Than Anything Else in the World.
I Watched
In Horror
As They Both Slowly
Raised Their Hands.
It’s not like he actually thinks that there’s anything going on. So his two friends have been taken in for questioning. So, what. The police make mistakes all the time.
There was once a criminal who stole bread from an old man. The police took the criminal down to the station. He was a suspect, however, there was another man in on it. A partner in crime. Another bread stealer. Another carbohydrate demander, sort to speak. The police had no idea that there was another suspect. They thought it was just a single thief, going around, bashing the elderly’s heads, and stealing their carbs! But, no! It’s a two person job. What these two criminals have been doing, was going from county to county stealing bread. What do they do with the bread? They bake drugs into them and send them off to Mexico.
The usual suspects: a gal with a beret, a man with a bad attitude. Don’t know why they’re hanging out on the corner under the streetlamp; they look like they should be in class at the local high school. They look so guilty I have to wonder if they’re innocent.
I never thought I would be the one on this side. The side of not knowing who is looking at you. In the cold feeling lost and out of control. How did I wind up here? In my very own work place? I am on the force! I should know better. Damn it all.
criminals. why are you here, you ask? you are being interviewed for an unspeakable task that is so unworthy of even being trialed. you all are here for that reason alone,for your sake, i hope you get released.
There was recently a shooting in Arizona or somewhere at a movie theatre, the suspects were black males and they shot everyone during a batman premiere. It was bloody. I don’t know much else about it, but 12 people died and a lot of others were wounded. The end. Suspects. S u s p e c t s.
it could be fine really no one would have to know i can keep a secret well notabout about you not about how much i want to reach out to you how much work i have to do holding myself back holding myself down i just want you that’s all i just want you to understand what i’m feeling why hold back when giving in is so so so close so easy so real
oh my gosh you have no idea what it’s like to leave and ride the elevator from happiness to days without you riding on the giddiness the amazement i feel in every moment in every step in every click in every short breath and swift step in every smile that appears because of you.
but then every once and a while i have a feeling you do have an idea.
it’s not a crime if you don’t pretend to be a suspect.
I’m fine–most of the time. But there are points where I’m reading something, and it reminds me of him. We were so close, I loved him so dearly, and we were never letting go. But that day that I stood up from that park bench and walked away, he didn’t even give chase. Why the hell wouldn’t he even try? And I’ll think about it for several minutes, but in the end, it’s not worth my time. There were clues–and I should have suspected it all along. We were meant to be for that time, not the forever that I wanted.
Down the slimy ally way in the heart of the city, danger lurks unknowingly to the journalist. Journalist, waiting for hours outside of the suspected drug tunnel entrance, waiting to get her bust. She knows this will make it she will become the best journalist on the strip if she wrote this story. As she waits eagerly, there are eyes stalking her. He breaths her scents and watches her every move. He calls the others, thinking where the hell are the idiots they need to be here or our one chance of stopping her will be ruined. He can not wait any longer. He pounces with a mighty leap.
The suspects consisted of two people, one male one female. Both had blood from the victim on their hands, but only one pair of fingerprints matched those on the murder weapon. The chief of police knew who the murderer was, but he had a guilty pleasure of watching guilty murderers squirm under pressure. The woman glanced nervously at the man, as he looked at the ground, hiding a small, but noticeable smile.
Reminds me of the countless crime shows I’ve watched. I think my favorites are Bones and Fringe. Bones because the characters are well developed and hilarious and Fringe because of how they incorporate science into the back story. It’s awesome.
Suspects are always around, everyone around is is suspected of something, whether they know it or not. Even you, and me, are suspected of something. No one is not a suspect. What are you suspected for? What do you suspect people of? What would make people suspicious of you in the first place?
When you are investigating about a crime, you have to think of the potential criminals, these are the suspects. Then, after that you have to realize who comitted the crime and you have solved the case. But this is not easy, you must be very intuitive and intelligent.
Soft voices creep from the shadows outside of the streetlamp’s reach. I breathe, I brace and I wait. Of course, it’s only the usual suspects.
I have none. All of them are just suspicious… I love suspicious people, so, I love every suspects in the world…Elementary my dear watson!!I’m no detective but I know everything about every suspect…
criminal justice, chaos, insanity lunatic madness upset order dysfunctional lost hatred anger rage fury power gasoline arson gun powder death pain misery impulse strong willed open minded torture hurt lust
Suspects? What are suspects? We automatically think about the people the crime detectives find, but there is something else we need to look at. We need to look at the inanimate culprits—the things or the factors that cause the problem—as the most important suspects.
criminals. suspicion. jail. prospectives. dangerous. wanted. hated. angry. emotional. cops
Suspects is who we look to for the main crime. The ones who admit that they know something. We pray that those who had anything to do with the shooting is punished. They knew everything while those in the movies knew nothing. We pray that they know that its harmful and a waste of human space. Please pray for those who didn’t make it.
It’s an appropriate word for today. The nation watches as the events of last night in Colorado are revealed. Sympathy. Peace. Love.
I see the suspect.. walking around me.. their world may be similar to mine… but maybe they are just me… other me,s… maybe me maybe we all fit together to mesh into one world… one person… suspects fitting into one life
Suspects are full of lies and non belief. They hunt the innocent and fear the worst for them. They cannot live without hurting other and making sure that they never see the end of the world. Suspects live in fear. They fear that they will never be reconized for their work.
Suspects are people who are always living in fear. Fear that they cannot earn respect.
i suspect something is odd in my room for a week now, things will change its places and i keep losing some of my clothes. even though i live alone !
the i keep hearing this sound under the bed, so i went to check it out.
the suspects were lined up against the wall. they all stared as the deputy paced up and down the line. he looked each person in the eyes. “None.” He said finally. “None of these are the man.”
The cops all gathered around the body, trying to figure out possible suspects. Alexander backed away from the crowd.
“How do you suspect he was killed? And why do you think it was murder?”
“I don’t think it was murder, I know it was. You see any need for rat poison in yuppy’s apartment six floors up? Now do you follow? He would have immediately become sick from ingesting the poison, which I…suspect the killer put in the flour here. But he couldn’t call for help because…the phone line was cut. Now why would he do that? Because it was a forced entry therefore I can rule out your little ‘allergy’ theory. The killer would have to have access to this place, so we can say it was someone in this building….and due to a buildup of mail in front of that door that person’s hightailed out of the city, or even the country by now. After all, he has killed a posh little dandy. Why not just a vacation? Most people don’t wish for others to know they’ve left. And who owns this apartment….ah, the Butler, of course. Damn stereotype.”