"Are you hesitant to share these feelings with your family?"
I contemplated telling the truth but ultimately decided against it.
"No. However, my impulses are not very strong anymore. Our sessions have really helped me, Dr. Elliot." I said with a beaming smile.
I was aware that Dr. Elliot was, despite all of her schooling and qualifications, oblivious and unobservant. I pitied her.
Dr. Elliot smiled. “Well, that concludes our session for today! I’ll see you next week.”
I drove home and walked up the long pathway to my house. I observed the tire marks in the soft dirt and noticed that they were not that of a vehicle that I recognized. Still, I continued towards my home. As I approached the front door, I saw that it was slightly ajar. I opened it to find the floor of the entryway spattered in blood. Panic began to rise in me as I began to understand what this meant.
Cautiously, I ventured into the kitchen to find such a large puddle of blood that, whomever it belonged to, couldn’t have survived losing so much. I wondered which of my family members this puddle belonged to. I reached in my purse to retrieve my knife and pressed my back to the wall. A man wearing a black robe that covered his entire body and half of his face appeared, clutching my father’s head by the hair in one hand and a rope in the other. I gulped and my hands began to shake. I knelt to the ground to vomit, still tightly clutching my knife, despite the now violent shaking.
The man approached me and dropped my father’s head at my feet. He began to wrap the rope around my neck, but I grabbed the rope and yanked it, and due to the blood on the floor, the man slipped and fell to the ground. I, knife still in my trembling fingers, walked over to him an...
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...eel resentment against them for allowing this to happen. I know, it’s horrible. They were murdered, and I’m mad at them. But this could have been prevented. For about a week prior to this, we had been receiving a bouquet of camas lilies on our doorstep every day. I’m no expert in floriography, but I’m pretty sure that those mean death. My mother loves flowers is very educated about them, so I know for a fact that she had to have known that. I know it seems silly to resent her for not looking into flowers. But maybe if she had, she wouldn’t be dead.
I guess I’m upset because in not caring enough about their own protection, they risked me and Mo’s lives. I’m upset because they have never been caring and thoughtful parents and because of it, Mo had nowhere to turn, except me. I raised her. I love her more than anything. But that’s not how it was supposed to be.
Rather on the news or a friend telling you of a murder, you feel sympathy towards the person who died and the family of the victim. There’s only so much you can feel about the murder, only because you either don’t know the victim or you don’t know all the details of what happened when you hear about the person and who they were before they died you start to connect, just like a character in a book that you slowly develop in your mind.
I was interupted by a man who cleared his throat. I turned around to see what was going on, he growled so I turned back around. I was now terrified. I noticed that my father had fallen to the back of the pack I was curious as to why he did such a thing. I was finding the trip very difficult as my legs hurt when I took a step. I heard the same man clear his throat I looked behind me and I saw his machete unsheathed and raised in the air, I knew this was not going to end well for me. The man slashed at me with his machete. The pot I was holding fell and broke. I was running to my father and while I was doing so I cried, “My father, they have killed me!” as approached him Okonkow, my father slashed at me with his machete.
“How are you today and how do you feel since our last session? What went well?
I can see a crack of light coming from under the bathroom door. I keep hearing a strange sound, almost like a hurt puppy. As I walk closer, I see a dark puddle on the floor. Suddenly, I am very afraid. I slowly open the door. “Mommy, Mommy, are you ok?” My mother looked at me and cried, “Dial 911, Darling! Hurry, Honey, Hurry!” There is so much blood—on the floor, on her clothes, and on her hands. I can hear the sirens now. Mommy goes for a ride in the ambulance. My three day old baby brother and I have to stay with the neighbor until Daddy comes and picks us up. What happened to my mother?
I was crushed when Tris’s mom died, let alone her dad died the same day. I don’t think it's right not only to kill someone but have the guts and courage to kill someone. Although I haven’t seen or known anyone who has killed one another, I still have had loved ones pass away. I know when my great-grandma and great-grandpa both passed away only a few days apart from each other. It was a rough time for my family. My grandma was crying for days, my grandpa was sad, and both of my parents were heartbroken for awhile. All of the depression going on was upsetting. Your book changed
Why me? Nothing like this had ever even happened to me before. I was so shocked I could barely shed a tear. My life had been normal and uneventful and happy, and now it was turned upside down and I was lost. I remembered when I was a little kid and he would send me to my room for stealing those little sugar packets that were in a bowl hidden in the cupboard and eating them. I would get so mad and wish for him to disappear or die or leave and never come back. For some reason those thoughts were running through my head. Somehow I was trying to make myself believe that I was at fault and that I should have or could have done something to prevent what had just happened. I didn't know what to do. Was there anything I could do? Was this really true? How are we going to survive on my mom's paychecks alone? How will this affect my life? Then I saw them. They had just heard the news. They were screaming and crying. I wanted to scream and cry and give up and die, but I had to stay strong.
Disappointment, disbelief and fear filled my mind as I lye on my side, sandwiched between the cold, soft dirt and the hot, slick metal of the car. The weight of the car pressed down on the lower half of my body with monster force. It did not hurt, my body was numb. All I could feel was the car hood's mass stamping my body father and farther into the ground. My lungs felt pinched shut and air would neither enter nor escape them. My mind was buzzing. What had just happened? In the distance, on that cursed road, I saw cars driving by completely unaware of what happened, how I felt. I tried to yell but my voice was unheard. All I could do was wait. Wait for someone to help me or wait to die.
Their thoughts were stricken with, “worry, grief and fear of the unknown.” How else would a parent react if their kid’s life were not entirely guaranteed? My dad told me that my car accident was a, “life changing ordeal, not knowing if your baby will live or die, will he ever get over the accident and the many set backs that you eventually had to go through because of this,” I feel like this wreck affected my dad more than me. His reactions were those of extreme remorse and guilt. But why be guilty? How could he have known that this was going to happen? No one did and I certainly do not blame him for these terrible events. Based on the way he talked to me about his reactions I would say that his overall feelings from that night were those of guilt – but these were entirely unwarranted, he was at no
There was a flash of lightning and immediately after a bloodcurdling howl from the old man's cabin. I lunged back to my chair in front of the fire. The sound lingered in my ears for a unfavorable amount of time, and it echoed awfully in the warm night air. Although, a moment later, everything stopped. The night was again quiet and dark, except for the buzz of the rain. I immediately bustled toward my children's rooms, only to find them fast asleep. I consequently ran to my husband, who was lucky enough to have the same pleasure. I awoke him in a panic, but he told me I was dreaming and that I needed to go back to bed. Nevertheless, I raced out to the barn and galloped my horse toward town. It was a half an hour's ride during the ungodly course of the morning, but it was going to be worth every moment of it when I knew that my children would be safe from what or whoever caused such a commotion. I strode into the ghost-like town, only to find one storefront light up; the police station. The light flooded from the window into the street, and made the rain glisten. I tied my horse in front of the station, and cautiously walked up the creaking steps, which the fog hindered my view to some extent. I hurriedly opened the door, giving more and more light to the street as I rushed inside.
You put on a nice dress and cardigan before walking out your house. You Lived in an area where it wasn’t really cold. You walked out your house and got on your bike. It was dark and you rode through a sketchy area. It was bad enough to get kidnapped in broad daylight, but it was the fastest way to your school. The time was 5:40pm and you took your time enjoying the scenery of graffiti. To your luck there was nobody outside; this always made you happy because the people in this neighborhood were really intimidating, so you always tried to block them out from your head as you rode through. You were halfway down the street until you heard a scream from alleyway closest to you. Slowly and quietly you rode past trying to see what was happening. Your eyes widening at the sight in front of you. The scene of a man hovering over somebody’s limp body slowly tearing the person apart like a hungry wolf. The man or THING was was pale and skinny. You looked a little longer to notice the mans unusual hair color. “No” you whispered to yourself. The man had hair as orange a pumpkin. “Doyoung” you blurted out; you quickly covered your mouth knowing that your mistake could cost you your life. He looked up at you. Your eyes widened in shock and fear. You must be crazy you though to yourself. Right in front of you; your best friend stood covered in blood. His eyes were a deep red and his teeth had fangs. He slowly walked to you, but you hightailed your way to
Suddenly, I feel rough hands on me, pulling me away from her. Jamie screams and falls to the floor. I look over and see the family of my best friend. His mother has on a black dress and is standing up staring at me with venom. She is on her feet, clapping. The last sight I see as I’m getting dragged to my deathbed is Jamie, crying on the floor, her mascara running onto her now pale cheeks.
“I was dragged to a fence covered in leaves, and they took the blindfold off. I could see the other girls bleeding and sobbing in pain. I saw an old woman holding a knife so sharp I could see the drops of blood sliding down the edge. It was the blood of the other girls. Three other women were holding down my arms and legs, and another was sitting right on my chest, covering my mouth. They try to put pressure on you, so you don 't cry for the next girl to hear. I can still feel the weight of her today. I can still visualize all their faces as I talk about this. I can see what each one of them looks like and the emotions that they had — so empty, like they didn 't see me as a human being.The cutting happens very fast. What the cutter does is
I stumbled downstairs and dragged my feet along the dirty, cracked hallway floor. Another day in this pathetic excuse of a city. Yelling and loud thumps resonated through the building from the apartments above. I adjusted my winter coat and mentally prepared myself for the hellish crime ridden streets of Brooklyn. I tugged on the door handle again, the stupid thing was still stuck. Rubbing my hands together for alittle warmth I got a good grip on the handle and leaned back, putting all of my weight into one final heave. The rusty hinges snapped loose and the heavy door flung open, smashing me in the face. Blood poured from my face like a faulty water fountain.
We as parents always have hopes and dreams that our children will grow up to be doctors, lawyers or someone successful and a law abiding citizen. Not until life throws a curve ball and we get that dreaded call that your child has been involved in something so unimaginable you never thought he or she was capable of and that crime is murder. We as parents always want to believe that our children are not capable of doing such a deed, but often timer we tend to see the things we want to see and not what is really in front of us. Most people like to call it “turning a blind eye” meaning sight unseen. When tragedy as this happens and its either someone we know or our own children, find ourselves not wanting to deal with the problem or the issue.
“I hope so and thank you for this adventure.” I said yawning. I was really tired I had to go to sleep.