To take a lake life is to take something that cannot be refunded or returned. While forgiveness is the way to go, consequences still remain. A life for a life. The judge does not bear the sword in vain.
Gene Anderson
Murder. Thats what it was. Blood was all around me. The smell of it made me want to gag. Eventually I had to unload my stoamach in the river. I looked around. Night. The worst time to be out. I couldn’t be out here alone. Couldn’t. I looked around for a familiar face but there was none except for the pale faces of my enimies with one word written on there faces. Murders.
Spasm chickn
Murder is a beautiful thing. The way a mans blood can gush a red fountain. The way a face looks seconds before it exhales it’s last breath. Murder is beautiful.
Kimmie
“Murder!” The Constable took off down the square at a run, not noticing the small girl that was keeping pace behind him.
Pippa kept the bloody knife behind her back as she ran after the police officer who sprinted down the cobble stones.
She only had one chance to strike, and if she let him alert more men, she would bew in big trouble.
Kimmie
Murder is the act of killling someone it’s actually a bad thing to do. Ahh I only have 30 seonds left… umm Murder can involve lots of BLOOD and mess. People who murder often go to jail! And then you could go there for life which is really bad. But oh well becaus eI have to finsih up now.
Hannah
Every day, like clockwork, they used to gather on the massive dead oak outside the classroom windows. No matter the time of year, they always looked well fed with glossy black feathers and dark, intelligent eyes. I would while away my time with watching them. I used to wonder what they were saying; the sound didn’t carry through the glass. It always looked like an argument.
Once, he had stopped at the vacant desk next to mine, attention caught by the scene outside. Winter light cast a sharp relief across his long nose and slanting cheekbones, shifting eerily through his black hair.
“Murder,” he had said with a faraway look in his dark eyes.
“Excuse me?” I was certain I had misheard him.
“That’s what a group of crows is. A murder.”
I could think of no intelligent response. “Oh.”
Our conversations were only ever that long. But the view outside the window gave him a reason to change his seat to the empty desk next to mine. For the rest of the year, I watched him watch the crows with that same indecipherable look of yearning, like he belonged perched and arguing with them more than he did in classroom.
Every day, like clockwork, they used to gather on the massive dead oak outside the classroom windows. No matter the time of year, they always looked well fed with glossy black feathers and dark, intelligent eyes. I would while away my time with watching them. I used to wonder what they were saying; the sound didn’t carry through the glass. It always looked like an argument.
Once, he had stopped at the vacant desk next to mine, attention caught by the scene outside. Winter light cast a sharp relief across his long nose and slanting cheekbones, shifting eerily through his black hair.
“Murder,” he had said with a faraway look in his dark eyes.
“Excuse me?” I was certain I had misheard him.
“That’s what a group of crows is. A murder.”
I could think of no intelligent response. “Oh.”
Our conversations were only ever that long. But the view outside the window gave him a reason to change his seat to the empty desk next to mine. For the rest of the year, I watched him watch the crows with that same indecipherable look of yearning, like he belonged perched and arguing with them more than he did in classroom.
What’s more than dead though? There’s no such thing as absolutes, so there must be more to death than just the act. Conversely, there must be more to life than just the act. There must be more to nouns than just the verbs that accompany them, and vice versa. All these thoughts were held by the small marmot, pondering whether to traverse that asphalt ribbon.
I see you and it reminded me of the time I relapsed. It happened because I watched you murdering that dog. The murder ruined me. You ruined me.
Dayton
I wil kill you. Making me feel like i am a psycohathic killer thats waiting behind your curtains for when you get home. I slowly slice your throat with the edge of my sharpened knife and see the blood splatter all over the floor. I lick my knife and enjoy the taste of death. Who o
dexter
i’ve murdered things before. bad, awful deserving things. murdered these things in the most graceful, gruesome manner. i stare at these things once murdered. and smile. smile at a job well done. the perfect murder.
At first glance, this word makes me hurt. It makes me think of the end of something, or someone. Basically it means taking something away from someone that doesn’t belong to you, but it could also mean new life.
Chris McIntyre
I harbor murder in my towards one thing, and one thing only: injustice. Lack of mercy. Lack of compassionate. Disdain for the needy, weak, different, marginalized, and less fortunate. Contempt for the “other.”
jade
She hadn’t had the desire in months. They had told her she would never get better, that she would be committed and medicated for life, and yet she now watched them, the professionals and so-called regular people, walking outside her window, with a faint smile, with a contentment she had been told was impossible.
It murdered everything I considered my reality. As the lights strobed and the music flowed sensually through my veins, my eyes blurred. Soon enough my vision focused again, allowing brilliant apparitions to warp into my surroundings. My brain slowly coming to acceptance of this new life I was going to be able to live. A disturbed peace settling over me with a tangible texture of determination adhering to my dreams. I think I’m ready now.
The murder of her heart began three days ago, when she found out her best friend had been sleeping with her husband? No biggy, right, they come and go, move on.
The murder of her family began when her mother succumbed to cancer. She managed to still keep a grip on herself, but still, it hurt.
overlordy
The murder screamed and stared at his bloody palm. He had just killed someone by stabbing them. He saw the dead body of a somewhat handsome 23 year-old man wearing jeans and no shirt. He was drenched in blood. A cigarette hung still lit in the corpse’s mouth.The murder gagged, dropped his knife and fell to the ground. What had he done?
Dahlia
The woman gripped the gun tightly in her hand, shaking so much that even her teeth chattered. “D-don’t make me do it,” she stuttered out, furrowing her eyebrows.
“You’re going to kill me? On a train?” He almost laughed, but knew that even one more sound from him– actually, one sound from ANYTHING, seeing as she was so nervous — would make her pull the trigger.
“Forgive me.”
Stephanie
The murder screamed and stared at his bloody palm. He had just killed someone by stabbing them. He saw the dead body of a somewhat handsome 23 year-old man who was drenched in blood. The murder dropped his knife and fell to the ground. What had he done?
Dahlia
Regret… Or not… I guess it depends if he deserved it. Did he? He must’ve, because it was gruesome. It was done without care. It was done out of rage. He deserved every thing that you did to him. Don’t feel bad. You did what you had to.
Alex
Blood slipped down Ryder’s arm, breathe hitched in his chest, panic rose in his throat. It didn’t matter that he’d threatened Milo and Melanie and Sugar, it hadn’t mattered that he’d threatened everything Ryder held dear. The Initiative would only see it as murder, and there would be no way to escape this.
I wiped my hands on the towel and looked over the kitchen on e last time. Every corner, every nook, every divot in the vinyl had been scrubbed and bleached and scrubbed again. The candle hid most of the antiseptic smell.
Danielle La Paglia
pain, sadness, hostile, horror,
al
murder is not cool. murder is wrong. I know this. This is why im becoming a rabbi. Because i have such a strong grasp on right and wrong. I was destined to not worry about murder because my rabbi said it wouldnt happen to me. Murder.
Heven Blickest
today i sat outside for once
and the clouds rolled by
this does not happen to me
or to me in my bed
my bed is dreams and memories and tears
outside is adventure, danger and you picking me up
in my arms
to your door
where you take me, and i have been taken
and i will be forgotten when you leave me
for someone new, and someone unused.
death and is an end of ones life .love and happy ness and also can be a renual a new beginning. fear is with in the very words and an actions kills with in.sadness.
chaline parras
no further than can
and closer than can’t
no murder can span
no living chant
I feel like I murder part of myself daily. A chunk of heart I break, upon every look I glance into the mirror. My heart callouses over. I am an accessory to the pain. Help me. Save me from myself.
Im not surprised that the most murders happen on Valentines day. That’s sort of an oxy moron. But vengeful ex’s, lonely people, heartbroken woman, angry men.. all sorts of people find a reason to be angry on Valentines day. But only singles. I’m single, you’re single No single single survives for long. So it’s said , so it seems.
Keara
The blood splattered hallway was the first piece in this showcase of horror. This museum of the macbre. Detective Johnny Sanders sloshed through the thick pool of congealed innards, making his way to the coup de’ grace.
It made even his stomach turn. A steel stomach that had withstood many atrocities cast over him by the sickness of mankind.
Max Ryder
you cant justify the taking of any life for any reason although some threats need to be neutralized, we need a better systiem of containment that requires self preservation and not care
steve grok
Everything was so still, surprisingly, and light. And comfortable. And not at all horrifying. I was still there–god, why was I still there? Probably not my best idea, but this entire thing wasn’t.
Run. I’m running and laughing all at the same time. It was like getting away with murder. It was getting away with murder.
There was a scream from behind the house and then then a second noise shattered the lost silence of the night. THe bang of a gun echoed through the night and resonated in my ears. Murder. Thats all i could think as i realized i had lost
Robin
the night was cold, like the kind you read about in a book. okay, maybe not this kind of book, but a book all the same. A scream echoed through the house at the end of the street and a wild looking woman with white hair came running out, her feet pounding on the black pavement. “He’s dead!” she sobbed, collapsing to her knees in the rain. “He’s dead and gone! I can’t get him back!”
Kelsey
Felicia curled in the corner of the room, red stained the walls all around her as her twin brother lay motionless in the center of the room. A strange, dark man who looked exactly like him loomed over the body, than turned his dark, glowing violet eyes toward her.
witnesses to the murder were so upset. they were calling loved ones, calling authorities, calling newscasters, calling everyone. one woman pulled out a paper sack to help her breathe. it was not that the scene was greusome; instead, it was that the scene happened right there on their street. right under their noses.
Yasmin
Shelve the tip of the nail
The snake venom, the clenched fang
Gummy tooth against glass beaker
Seeking the best taste from the worst liquid
A group of crows is called a murder. A big group of crows near by is scary enough already but now I have to know it’s called a MURDER!? I’m surrounded by a murder of crows. Everything’s fine. No big deal. Just me and a murder
A group of crows is called a murder. A big group of crows near by is scary enough already but now I have to know it’s called a MURDER!? I’m surrounded by a murder of crows. Everything’s fine. No big deal. Just me and a murder…
To take a lake life is to take something that cannot be refunded or returned. While forgiveness is the way to go, consequences still remain. A life for a life. The judge does not bear the sword in vain.
Murder. Thats what it was. Blood was all around me. The smell of it made me want to gag. Eventually I had to unload my stoamach in the river. I looked around. Night. The worst time to be out. I couldn’t be out here alone. Couldn’t. I looked around for a familiar face but there was none except for the pale faces of my enimies with one word written on there faces. Murders.
Murder is a beautiful thing. The way a mans blood can gush a red fountain. The way a face looks seconds before it exhales it’s last breath. Murder is beautiful.
“Murder!” The Constable took off down the square at a run, not noticing the small girl that was keeping pace behind him.
Pippa kept the bloody knife behind her back as she ran after the police officer who sprinted down the cobble stones.
She only had one chance to strike, and if she let him alert more men, she would bew in big trouble.
Murder is the act of killling someone it’s actually a bad thing to do. Ahh I only have 30 seonds left… umm Murder can involve lots of BLOOD and mess. People who murder often go to jail! And then you could go there for life which is really bad. But oh well becaus eI have to finsih up now.
Every day, like clockwork, they used to gather on the massive dead oak outside the classroom windows. No matter the time of year, they always looked well fed with glossy black feathers and dark, intelligent eyes. I would while away my time with watching them. I used to wonder what they were saying; the sound didn’t carry through the glass. It always looked like an argument.
Once, he had stopped at the vacant desk next to mine, attention caught by the scene outside. Winter light cast a sharp relief across his long nose and slanting cheekbones, shifting eerily through his black hair.
“Murder,” he had said with a faraway look in his dark eyes.
“Excuse me?” I was certain I had misheard him.
“That’s what a group of crows is. A murder.”
I could think of no intelligent response. “Oh.”
Our conversations were only ever that long. But the view outside the window gave him a reason to change his seat to the empty desk next to mine. For the rest of the year, I watched him watch the crows with that same indecipherable look of yearning, like he belonged perched and arguing with them more than he did in classroom.
Every day.
Every day, like clockwork, they used to gather on the massive dead oak outside the classroom windows. No matter the time of year, they always looked well fed with glossy black feathers and dark, intelligent eyes. I would while away my time with watching them. I used to wonder what they were saying; the sound didn’t carry through the glass. It always looked like an argument.
Once, he had stopped at the vacant desk next to mine, attention caught by the scene outside. Winter light cast a sharp relief across his long nose and slanting cheekbones, shifting eerily through his black hair.
“Murder,” he had said with a faraway look in his dark eyes.
“Excuse me?” I was certain I had misheard him.
“That’s what a group of crows is. A murder.”
I could think of no intelligent response. “Oh.”
Our conversations were only ever that long. But the view outside the window gave him a reason to change his seat to the empty desk next to mine. For the rest of the year, I watched him watch the crows with that same indecipherable look of yearning, like he belonged perched and arguing with them more than he did in classroom.
Every day.
What’s more than dead though? There’s no such thing as absolutes, so there must be more to death than just the act. Conversely, there must be more to life than just the act. There must be more to nouns than just the verbs that accompany them, and vice versa. All these thoughts were held by the small marmot, pondering whether to traverse that asphalt ribbon.
I see you and it reminded me of the time I relapsed. It happened because I watched you murdering that dog. The murder ruined me. You ruined me.
I wil kill you. Making me feel like i am a psycohathic killer thats waiting behind your curtains for when you get home. I slowly slice your throat with the edge of my sharpened knife and see the blood splatter all over the floor. I lick my knife and enjoy the taste of death. Who o
i’ve murdered things before. bad, awful deserving things. murdered these things in the most graceful, gruesome manner. i stare at these things once murdered. and smile. smile at a job well done. the perfect murder.
At first glance, this word makes me hurt. It makes me think of the end of something, or someone. Basically it means taking something away from someone that doesn’t belong to you, but it could also mean new life.
I harbor murder in my towards one thing, and one thing only: injustice. Lack of mercy. Lack of compassionate. Disdain for the needy, weak, different, marginalized, and less fortunate. Contempt for the “other.”
She hadn’t had the desire in months. They had told her she would never get better, that she would be committed and medicated for life, and yet she now watched them, the professionals and so-called regular people, walking outside her window, with a faint smile, with a contentment she had been told was impossible.
It murdered everything I considered my reality. As the lights strobed and the music flowed sensually through my veins, my eyes blurred. Soon enough my vision focused again, allowing brilliant apparitions to warp into my surroundings. My brain slowly coming to acceptance of this new life I was going to be able to live. A disturbed peace settling over me with a tangible texture of determination adhering to my dreams. I think I’m ready now.
Cackling in her mirth, she misplaced the murder in the midnight madness.
The murder of her heart began three days ago, when she found out her best friend had been sleeping with her husband? No biggy, right, they come and go, move on.
The murder of her family began when her mother succumbed to cancer. She managed to still keep a grip on herself, but still, it hurt.
The murder screamed and stared at his bloody palm. He had just killed someone by stabbing them. He saw the dead body of a somewhat handsome 23 year-old man wearing jeans and no shirt. He was drenched in blood. A cigarette hung still lit in the corpse’s mouth.The murder gagged, dropped his knife and fell to the ground. What had he done?
The woman gripped the gun tightly in her hand, shaking so much that even her teeth chattered. “D-don’t make me do it,” she stuttered out, furrowing her eyebrows.
“You’re going to kill me? On a train?” He almost laughed, but knew that even one more sound from him– actually, one sound from ANYTHING, seeing as she was so nervous — would make her pull the trigger.
“Forgive me.”
The murder screamed and stared at his bloody palm. He had just killed someone by stabbing them. He saw the dead body of a somewhat handsome 23 year-old man who was drenched in blood. The murder dropped his knife and fell to the ground. What had he done?
Regret… Or not… I guess it depends if he deserved it. Did he? He must’ve, because it was gruesome. It was done without care. It was done out of rage. He deserved every thing that you did to him. Don’t feel bad. You did what you had to.
Blood slipped down Ryder’s arm, breathe hitched in his chest, panic rose in his throat. It didn’t matter that he’d threatened Milo and Melanie and Sugar, it hadn’t mattered that he’d threatened everything Ryder held dear. The Initiative would only see it as murder, and there would be no way to escape this.
I wiped my hands on the towel and looked over the kitchen on e last time. Every corner, every nook, every divot in the vinyl had been scrubbed and bleached and scrubbed again. The candle hid most of the antiseptic smell.
pain, sadness, hostile, horror,
murder is not cool. murder is wrong. I know this. This is why im becoming a rabbi. Because i have such a strong grasp on right and wrong. I was destined to not worry about murder because my rabbi said it wouldnt happen to me. Murder.
today i sat outside for once
and the clouds rolled by
this does not happen to me
or to me in my bed
my bed is dreams and memories and tears
outside is adventure, danger and you picking me up
in my arms
to your door
where you take me, and i have been taken
and i will be forgotten when you leave me
for someone new, and someone unused.
death and is an end of ones life .love and happy ness and also can be a renual a new beginning. fear is with in the very words and an actions kills with in.sadness.
no further than can
and closer than can’t
no murder can span
no living chant
I feel like I murder part of myself daily. A chunk of heart I break, upon every look I glance into the mirror. My heart callouses over. I am an accessory to the pain. Help me. Save me from myself.
Im not surprised that the most murders happen on Valentines day. That’s sort of an oxy moron. But vengeful ex’s, lonely people, heartbroken woman, angry men.. all sorts of people find a reason to be angry on Valentines day. But only singles. I’m single, you’re single No single single survives for long. So it’s said , so it seems.
The blood splattered hallway was the first piece in this showcase of horror. This museum of the macbre. Detective Johnny Sanders sloshed through the thick pool of congealed innards, making his way to the coup de’ grace.
It made even his stomach turn. A steel stomach that had withstood many atrocities cast over him by the sickness of mankind.
you cant justify the taking of any life for any reason although some threats need to be neutralized, we need a better systiem of containment that requires self preservation and not care
Everything was so still, surprisingly, and light. And comfortable. And not at all horrifying. I was still there–god, why was I still there? Probably not my best idea, but this entire thing wasn’t.
Run. I’m running and laughing all at the same time. It was like getting away with murder. It was getting away with murder.
There was a scream from behind the house and then then a second noise shattered the lost silence of the night. THe bang of a gun echoed through the night and resonated in my ears. Murder. Thats all i could think as i realized i had lost
the night was cold, like the kind you read about in a book. okay, maybe not this kind of book, but a book all the same. A scream echoed through the house at the end of the street and a wild looking woman with white hair came running out, her feet pounding on the black pavement. “He’s dead!” she sobbed, collapsing to her knees in the rain. “He’s dead and gone! I can’t get him back!”
Felicia curled in the corner of the room, red stained the walls all around her as her twin brother lay motionless in the center of the room. A strange, dark man who looked exactly like him loomed over the body, than turned his dark, glowing violet eyes toward her.
witnesses to the murder were so upset. they were calling loved ones, calling authorities, calling newscasters, calling everyone. one woman pulled out a paper sack to help her breathe. it was not that the scene was greusome; instead, it was that the scene happened right there on their street. right under their noses.
Shelve the tip of the nail
The snake venom, the clenched fang
Gummy tooth against glass beaker
Seeking the best taste from the worst liquid
A group of crows is called a murder. A big group of crows near by is scary enough already but now I have to know it’s called a MURDER!? I’m surrounded by a murder of crows. Everything’s fine. No big deal. Just me and a murder
A group of crows is called a murder. A big group of crows near by is scary enough already but now I have to know it’s called a MURDER!? I’m surrounded by a murder of crows. Everything’s fine. No big deal. Just me and a murder…