Recycling the promises kept in the pocket of your jeans.
Mysterious Mass Suicide Boggle's Delroy Police.
DELROY BEACH Authorities are still looking for leads that will answer the apparent suicide of four All-American quarterbacks in a Delroy Beach home last week. The four 200+ lbs bodies were found Tuesday morning, around a fallen beam, which authorities believe held them while they hung in the garage of the house. The athletes have been identified as Richard Pryce, 20; Jonathan Laydle, 19; Malik Erving, 20; and Troy Oren, also 20. Friends of the athletes say there is no reason for the mass suicide.
. . . . .
It seemed really quiet in the cabin when we heard the radio. It was the search party saying they had found her body along with some other human remains, too decomposed to identify. Where did they find her I ask, my stomach beginning to sweat under my windbreaker. Speaking to me only with his index finger, my father signals for me to wait while he listens to the radio.
His shoulders slump and he sighs. "Yes sir, I understand," he looks around the room, annoyed, makes eye contact with me and fills his cheeks with air while rolling his eyes, "Thank you. Over and out." He hangs up the receiver and begins telling me where they found Sheryl. As he described in detail a place I knew existed, and when we found it using our topography map, I realized ONE my father suspected nothing, which was good TWO how dangerous a situation I was in AND THREE I had about 4 and a half hours to do it again The lazy man works double.
Paul was talking to me-slurring-from the bottom of the tree. He might have called me an asshole. I stood a top the oak, scanning the horizon, having to go over it several times. My nerves were throbbing and Paul rested nearly motionless between two roots. The hatchet was not deep enough to reach his eye, but I doubt he could hear too well out of his left ear. I didn't want Paul dead out of fear that someone-maybe of the search party-might hike past. With the hatchet still in head, and his speech barely in place, I might still be able to explain it as an accident.
It was around 8:30. Joshua was running late for dinner. He was always staying late, practicing for the Friday Lacrosse games. As he climbed the chain link connecting the prairies and the ranch, the two boys approached. Paul and Cory were much older than Joshua, but having failed the basic skills test, they were in the same geometry class. NO MOTIVE.
Cory had spent most of the morning-since 6-digging into the roots of the large oak trees on the island. When asked why they chose Joshua, he said their intended victim was Sheryl, his older sister. The plan was to snap her neck on her walk back from the school auditorium. If the authorities found no blood, their would be no reason to search for a body-the perfect crime. That they did not kill Joshua's sister is the only reason they were not caught.
"Killing Joshua gave us nothing but luck, Paul," whispered Cory as he dragged Paul through the forest by his brown head of hair. Paul was coughing blood. Not just coughing it out, but spitting it out, almost as he would be seen drunkenly spitting sunflower seeds at Piston's Pub (The only pub on the island and the only place that would let high school kids drink).
Paul could feel the steel blade of the tomahawk brushing his left eye every time he blinked. The axe stood embedded across his left ear at a downward slant into his cheekbone. Cory planted his foot on Paul's chest, wiped his brow with his sleeve and grabbed a hold of the feathered handle. He couldn't pull the axe straight out. The wedge was caught in the bone. He shook the handle and watched as blood started spurting out the sides of the rusted blade. Paul's body convulsed as he grasped Cory by the arms and let go abruptly once the axe was completely removed. Cory stood frozen, tomahawk in hand, as his friend made shrieks not unlike the sounds heard working at the slaughterhouse after school. Paul at the end lay still-Cory panting above the corpse.
As Cory stuffed the cadaver into the roots of the oak, he stepped back into a dark puddle, where Paul's blood had saturated the earth behind him.
DELROY BEACH Authorities are still looking for leads that will answer the apparent suicide of four All-American quarterbacks in a Delroy Beach home last week. The four 200+ lbs bodies were found Tuesday morning, around a fallen beam, which authorities believe held them while they hung in the garage of the house. The athletes have been identified as Richard Pryce, 20; Jonathan Laydle, 19; Malik Erving, 20; and Troy Oren, also 20. Friends of the athletes say there is no reason for the mass suicide.
. . . . .
It seemed really quiet in the cabin when we heard the radio. It was the search party saying they had found her body along with some other human remains, too decomposed to identify. Where did they find her I ask, my stomach beginning to sweat under my windbreaker. Speaking to me only with his index finger, my father signals for me to wait while he listens to the radio.
His shoulders slump and he sighs. "Yes sir, I understand," he looks around the room, annoyed, makes eye contact with me and fills his cheeks with air while rolling his eyes, "Thank you. Over and out." He hangs up the receiver and begins telling me where they found Sheryl. As he described in detail a place I knew existed, and when we found it using our topography map, I realized ONE my father suspected nothing, which was good TWO how dangerous a situation I was in AND THREE I had about 4 and a half hours to do it again The lazy man works double.
Paul was talking to me-slurring-from the bottom of the tree. He might have called me an asshole. I stood a top the oak, scanning the horizon, having to go over it several times. My nerves were throbbing and Paul rested nearly motionless between two roots. The hatchet was not deep enough to reach his eye, but I doubt he could hear too well out of his left ear. I didn't want Paul dead out of fear that someone-maybe of the search party-might hike past. With the hatchet still in head, and his speech barely in place, I might still be able to explain it as an accident.
It was around 8:30. Joshua was running late for dinner. He was always staying late, practicing for the Friday Lacrosse games. As he climbed the chain link connecting the prairies and the ranch, the two boys approached. Paul and Cory were much older than Joshua, but having failed the basic skills test, they were in the same geometry class. NO MOTIVE.
Cory had spent most of the morning-since 6-digging into the roots of the large oak trees on the island. When asked why they chose Joshua, he said their intended victim was Sheryl, his older sister. The plan was to snap her neck on her walk back from the school auditorium. If the authorities found no blood, their would be no reason to search for a body-the perfect crime. That they did not kill Joshua's sister is the only reason they were not caught.
"Killing Joshua gave us nothing but luck, Paul," whispered Cory as he dragged Paul through the forest by his brown head of hair. Paul was coughing blood. Not just coughing it out, but spitting it out, almost as he would be seen drunkenly spitting sunflower seeds at Piston's Pub (The only pub on the island and the only place that would let high school kids drink).
Paul could feel the steel blade of the tomahawk brushing his left eye every time he blinked. The axe stood embedded across his left ear at a downward slant into his cheekbone. Cory planted his foot on Paul's chest, wiped his brow with his sleeve and grabbed a hold of the feathered handle. He couldn't pull the axe straight out. The wedge was caught in the bone. He shook the handle and watched as blood started spurting out the sides of the rusted blade. Paul's body convulsed as he grasped Cory by the arms and let go abruptly once the axe was completely removed. Cory stood frozen, tomahawk in hand, as his friend made shrieks not unlike the sounds heard working at the slaughterhouse after school. Paul at the end lay still-Cory panting above the corpse.
As Cory stuffed the cadaver into the roots of the oak, he stepped back into a dark puddle, where Paul's blood had saturated the earth behind him.