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So dark is the night, With things crawling around. Noises come and fight, With your mind with out a doubt. Footsteps are heard wherever you are, It does not matter if they are far.
Hello again, and today is Thursday, February 14, 2013.
On the 2nd of January 1968 a crime was committed which brought shock to everyone but the only problem was that the killer was so good he hd left no evidence it was up to detective Stanley brown to...
#colourchallenge @sjw The lonely stones by the sea, The grim concrete, The crumbling wall, On which I fall. The eyes of danger, The blade of a knife, A forgotten treasure, A forgotten life.
#Colourchallenge #oldgold. The old house on the hill. Is cracked, faded, and gray. No smoke comes from the chimney. No cars in the driveway. No mail is in the postbox. The residents are now deceased.
The bedroom smelt of sex and smoke, Of old cigars and passions broke. A broken bucket by the wall, Tangled sheets to break a fall. A splash of red against the bed, A book discarded, yet unread.
"Through here detective" said the officer, as i was lead in to a small room in a seedy hotel by the river.
Body beach 11 I ran over to Larissa who was in state of nearly being unconscious. Her stomach had a huge cut across which was bleeding terribly.
Body beach 4 "Lilliana?" Said detective Winslow as he strode confidently towards me. I looked towards him as if I acknowledged his call.
I was about 7. Waking up to another day. Though it wouldn't be just another ordinary day. I heard noise outside my window, so I looked outside, and I saw 2 policemen chasing a guy.
It's a game of whodunnit, And a very vivid scene, Was a murder in the kitchen, And she didn't even scream, Was it candlestick or poison, Was it dagger or a gun, And we can not help but wonder, Was it...
[The Bronx. Early Fall. It's dark, rain is falling the streets are empty, security lights from shop windows reflect on a steaming manhole cover in the road and a pink Cadillac parked nearby.
Little white frosts, Cling to the macabre scene... Trying to make it purer To cover up what's been. But not even snow can cover it. The bloods too much to bare.
Blood on the ceiling, Blood on the floor. Splattered on the walls, Smeared on the door. What happened here. I do not know. Any witnesses found. Doesn't appear to be so. Well do we have any leads.
Before my stomach conveniently decided to be sick on the rear bumper of the car, all I really had time to glimpse was her face. It looked as neutral and silent as it had a few hours earlier.
I close my eyes and gag from the taste of constant clots of my own blood. The police car is racing towards the man, but the man runs, as quick as lightning, to god knows where. I open one eye.
It had been two years since, Mr Collins, ended his secret not that any knew it. Mr Collins awoke one raining, gloomy Monday morning, when he realised that he wasn't in his own home.
Handprints on the wall... They scream bloody murder. A bullet had been shot, She falls. No one even heard her. Her scream was only a whisper. The gun, it couldn't be found.
Hermione grabbed her car keys and off she went.She knew the way to the suspect's house as she had been told this morning.13 Butter Way.She arrived at the building,and surprise,surprise the crime...
The digits of her fingers had turned a plum colour; her once curvaceous legs now appeared as if they belonged to a fragile, broken elderly woman.
A police detective was investigating a homicide. As he questioned the on-scene officer, he learned the body was that of a young woman.
Miranda Wood was channel six's local news reporter. It was her job to go out into town, and report back on all the exciting news going on. Sadly there was hardly ever any actual news.
'There's been a murder, a woman was killed, found in a bathtub, partially filled. A pair of policemen went into the house and questioned the poor woman's spouse.
Detective Wood ducked under the crime scene tape cordoning of the horrific scene which lay before him.