(no subject)
cancelation and mini mystery
this is the paper i wrote for my detective literature class. we were suppossed to write a couple of pages of some sorta detective story for the class. tell me what you think.
Alexander Blow
“My Murder”
The sound of a knife penetrating fills my ears. SLICE..SLICE.. The cry of a lady, she shrills in pain, and the scent of blood envelops the room.
“SHIT...! Honey can you get a band aid?”
“Not now, I’m watching the game” the lazy husband replies.
I sat there and wondered how and why one person can be so lazy as to not help his injured wife. My mother moves towards the bathroom to acquire a Band-Aid.
“Mom, its OK, ill get it for you.”
I come back with the adhesive strip to find my father yelling at the TV.
“DAMN CELTICS! If they lose this one, they’ve lost a fan..”
“You say that every time you watch a game dad”
“HEY SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE I SHUT IT FOR YOU BOY!”
The verbal argument is heightened to physical fighting. Punches are thrown and hearts are broken. The only thing I could think of was fighting for me, because I have nothing else.
The fight is over, each side has attained considerable damage.
A concerned mother interrupts the boy listening to his loud rebellious music as loud as possible. She tries to justify the tyrant’s actions.
“He can’t help it, it’s a decease. It’s not him when he’s like that”
“Tell it to someone who cares, honestly how can you even think of trying to justify this, he promised he would get help, nothing but falsities”
“He has to hit rock bottom before he can seek help.”
“OH!? You mean he hasn’t hit rock bottom. Abusing his family in his drunken rages. That’s not rock bottom? Fuck him, and fuck you too if you think you can side with that barbarian.”
“why?”
“IM NOT AFRAID OF THAT ASSHOLE ANYMORE, I will fight him until he’s dead. DEAD, ILL FUCKIN KILL HIM.”
I leave in extreme anger and hatred. On my way walking, I ponder the thought of his death and how sweet it would be to feel the soft blood running out of his body. Still thinking I am interrupted by a man, a dealer.
“Hey pal, you look like you could escape, want to buy something that will help?”
“What do you think will help?”
“I have numerous drugs you could take to escape, stress relievers. Marijuana, acid, LSD, shrooms.”
Pot I have smoked before, and that is nothing out the irregular. I decided on the LSD to find out what the LSD trips are like.
I toss some money his way and set off to an unknown destination. I hold the LSD in my hand and the think of the consequences of taking it. I figured I have nothing to lose so I might as well. Taking the hit, all that came to mind was death, killing, murder.
Hate, Die, Resent, Kill. Big bold lettering, all I could see, black, white letters, Hate, Die, Resent, Kill. All in that order. Is this a dream? Is this my imagination going wild? I can’t see anything, everything is black. I feel myself moving, aggressively, I cannot tell what I’m doing. All I can see are those words. Hate, Die, Resent, Kill.
I wake up cold and wet on the ground of a park. Clueless and disheveled I fumble to a restroom and fix myself up. I nothing a black eye, then a blood nose, then.... Blood on my hands, still warm, not knowing what its origin is I wash it off and fix up myself.
Walking back home, I notice the loud sirens enveloping the streets of Nashua, a cruiser flies by and an ambulance shortly they are after. I get to the turn onto my street when I see more cruisers in route to the same destination. I run to see whether it is to my house. Surely enough, it is my house. I come to see police tape, groups of people, and EMT’s
I try to bypass the yellow lines.
“Step back sir”
“I live here.”
I am allowed in. I journey on to the front yard of my house, and I see a black long bag in the shape of a body.
-ZIP-
“It’s my dad.”
“He’s...he’s dead!?”
I see my mother frantically crying and in extreme emotional pain due to the death of that abusive husband and father. I thought of how she could miss him after all he has done to the family.
“What..What happened?”
..Interrupted..
A detective dress in a long coat and hat with a cigarette in his mouth approached.
“Are you the son”
“That I am.”
“Come with me!”
“What’s this about? Did I do something wrong?”
“Please.. Just cooperate for now”
So I am sitting her telling you what I can recall about that night. My story of that night he was killed. Yes, I had the desire to kill, but I do not know whether I truly did it or not. I cant say that if I had the chance in a conscious state I would do differently, but with what he’s done to us, his family, his blood, I think anyone with this knowledge would do the same as well.
Did I kill him? That I truly do not know the answer to.
The boy leans back into the darkness where light does not touch. It is as there is nothing but shadows and if he is in another realm of darkness, where light holds no ground. Where the dead go!?
Did I kill him? That is for you to find out..SIR!
In a very sarcastic and non-authoritative manner.
The officers leave the room and enter another room with tan folders that contain evidence and considerable facts that could lead to the verdict of the crime.
The detective thinks for a moment.
“The boy had more than enough motive to kill, and with the combination of drugs into his resentment for his father, he could have nothing to inhibit him from murderous actions, especially in an unconscious state.”
.... Lots of thought and analyzation of evidence and clues is put into the case....
The detective ventures to the morgue to hopefully find more clues to the solving of the crime. He shows his badge, is let in and starts to view the body in its abiological state.
Analyzing the body, he notices a black cloth in the victim’s hand. He retrieves the cloth. It is a patch of a punk band. Subhumans..That’s not important. It was obvious that the patch had been ripped from something. It had been sewn on. He recalls the Jean jacket the boy was wearing, and remembers the variety of patches on it. He thinks for a moment and remembers the open space wear there seemed to be something sewn there, but it had been torn off.
Making haste, the detective obtains the boys jacket and has the fibers of the thread tested to see if they match. The detective’s hypothesis is now fact. He is almost convinced without delay that the boy killed his father.
...Courtroom...
The accuses say their last speeches to the jury.
“There is substantial evidence that proves the boy is the killer. DNA, motive, thread fibers, witnesses. The boy..Is.guilty. To let him off and to walk the streets will be an unjust action to the court rooms and nation of America”
“FUCK YOU, YOU DUMB BASTERD.” yells out the boy
“ORDER IN THIS COURT BOY” the judge, says while slamming on the gavel
“You’re just like him”
...Verdict...
We find the defendant guilty as charged and is to be sentenced to life in prison with no parole.
The boy freaks out and takes one of the guard’s guns, puts it up to his head.
“FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM, FIGHT FOR YOU LIFE!”
this is the paper i wrote for my detective literature class. we were suppossed to write a couple of pages of some sorta detective story for the class. tell me what you think.
Alexander Blow
“My Murder”
The sound of a knife penetrating fills my ears. SLICE..SLICE.. The cry of a lady, she shrills in pain, and the scent of blood envelops the room.
“SHIT...! Honey can you get a band aid?”
“Not now, I’m watching the game” the lazy husband replies.
I sat there and wondered how and why one person can be so lazy as to not help his injured wife. My mother moves towards the bathroom to acquire a Band-Aid.
“Mom, its OK, ill get it for you.”
I come back with the adhesive strip to find my father yelling at the TV.
“DAMN CELTICS! If they lose this one, they’ve lost a fan..”
“You say that every time you watch a game dad”
“HEY SHUT YOUR MOUTH BEFORE I SHUT IT FOR YOU BOY!”
The verbal argument is heightened to physical fighting. Punches are thrown and hearts are broken. The only thing I could think of was fighting for me, because I have nothing else.
The fight is over, each side has attained considerable damage.
A concerned mother interrupts the boy listening to his loud rebellious music as loud as possible. She tries to justify the tyrant’s actions.
“He can’t help it, it’s a decease. It’s not him when he’s like that”
“Tell it to someone who cares, honestly how can you even think of trying to justify this, he promised he would get help, nothing but falsities”
“He has to hit rock bottom before he can seek help.”
“OH!? You mean he hasn’t hit rock bottom. Abusing his family in his drunken rages. That’s not rock bottom? Fuck him, and fuck you too if you think you can side with that barbarian.”
“why?”
“IM NOT AFRAID OF THAT ASSHOLE ANYMORE, I will fight him until he’s dead. DEAD, ILL FUCKIN KILL HIM.”
I leave in extreme anger and hatred. On my way walking, I ponder the thought of his death and how sweet it would be to feel the soft blood running out of his body. Still thinking I am interrupted by a man, a dealer.
“Hey pal, you look like you could escape, want to buy something that will help?”
“What do you think will help?”
“I have numerous drugs you could take to escape, stress relievers. Marijuana, acid, LSD, shrooms.”
Pot I have smoked before, and that is nothing out the irregular. I decided on the LSD to find out what the LSD trips are like.
I toss some money his way and set off to an unknown destination. I hold the LSD in my hand and the think of the consequences of taking it. I figured I have nothing to lose so I might as well. Taking the hit, all that came to mind was death, killing, murder.
Hate, Die, Resent, Kill. Big bold lettering, all I could see, black, white letters, Hate, Die, Resent, Kill. All in that order. Is this a dream? Is this my imagination going wild? I can’t see anything, everything is black. I feel myself moving, aggressively, I cannot tell what I’m doing. All I can see are those words. Hate, Die, Resent, Kill.
I wake up cold and wet on the ground of a park. Clueless and disheveled I fumble to a restroom and fix myself up. I nothing a black eye, then a blood nose, then.... Blood on my hands, still warm, not knowing what its origin is I wash it off and fix up myself.
Walking back home, I notice the loud sirens enveloping the streets of Nashua, a cruiser flies by and an ambulance shortly they are after. I get to the turn onto my street when I see more cruisers in route to the same destination. I run to see whether it is to my house. Surely enough, it is my house. I come to see police tape, groups of people, and EMT’s
I try to bypass the yellow lines.
“Step back sir”
“I live here.”
I am allowed in. I journey on to the front yard of my house, and I see a black long bag in the shape of a body.
-ZIP-
“It’s my dad.”
“He’s...he’s dead!?”
I see my mother frantically crying and in extreme emotional pain due to the death of that abusive husband and father. I thought of how she could miss him after all he has done to the family.
“What..What happened?”
..Interrupted..
A detective dress in a long coat and hat with a cigarette in his mouth approached.
“Are you the son”
“That I am.”
“Come with me!”
“What’s this about? Did I do something wrong?”
“Please.. Just cooperate for now”
So I am sitting her telling you what I can recall about that night. My story of that night he was killed. Yes, I had the desire to kill, but I do not know whether I truly did it or not. I cant say that if I had the chance in a conscious state I would do differently, but with what he’s done to us, his family, his blood, I think anyone with this knowledge would do the same as well.
Did I kill him? That I truly do not know the answer to.
The boy leans back into the darkness where light does not touch. It is as there is nothing but shadows and if he is in another realm of darkness, where light holds no ground. Where the dead go!?
Did I kill him? That is for you to find out..SIR!
In a very sarcastic and non-authoritative manner.
The officers leave the room and enter another room with tan folders that contain evidence and considerable facts that could lead to the verdict of the crime.
The detective thinks for a moment.
“The boy had more than enough motive to kill, and with the combination of drugs into his resentment for his father, he could have nothing to inhibit him from murderous actions, especially in an unconscious state.”
.... Lots of thought and analyzation of evidence and clues is put into the case....
The detective ventures to the morgue to hopefully find more clues to the solving of the crime. He shows his badge, is let in and starts to view the body in its abiological state.
Analyzing the body, he notices a black cloth in the victim’s hand. He retrieves the cloth. It is a patch of a punk band. Subhumans..That’s not important. It was obvious that the patch had been ripped from something. It had been sewn on. He recalls the Jean jacket the boy was wearing, and remembers the variety of patches on it. He thinks for a moment and remembers the open space wear there seemed to be something sewn there, but it had been torn off.
Making haste, the detective obtains the boys jacket and has the fibers of the thread tested to see if they match. The detective’s hypothesis is now fact. He is almost convinced without delay that the boy killed his father.
...Courtroom...
The accuses say their last speeches to the jury.
“There is substantial evidence that proves the boy is the killer. DNA, motive, thread fibers, witnesses. The boy..Is.guilty. To let him off and to walk the streets will be an unjust action to the court rooms and nation of America”
“FUCK YOU, YOU DUMB BASTERD.” yells out the boy
“ORDER IN THIS COURT BOY” the judge, says while slamming on the gavel
“You’re just like him”
...Verdict...
We find the defendant guilty as charged and is to be sentenced to life in prison with no parole.
The boy freaks out and takes one of the guard’s guns, puts it up to his head.
“FIGHT FOR YOUR FREEDOM, FIGHT FOR YOU LIFE!”