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Essay about conspiracy theories
Essay about conspiracy theories
Conspiracy theories for Essays and Research Papers
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Myra Lipton's murder ignited conspiracy theories before her corpse cooled to room temperature. To Myra, that would have been a tribute more tender than any eulogy. “Adam could tell she was gone as soon as he went in the front door.” Lynette's son was the first to arrive after the UPS driver reported someone on the floor at Myra's house. “There she was, crumpled like a stillborn calf, like a broken bird, with her head bashed to bits.” I attributed the embellishments to the postmaster and not her EMT son. I was almost home from my monthly excursion into Riverton to get my roots colored, stock up on cream soda, and scarf down forty bucks' worth of sushi. Mail waited in my P.O. box, but the huddle of damp flannel on the porch shared with …show more content…
Lynette shot him a glance and went on with her story, dropping her voice to a loud whisper. “The most horrible part...” she paused, “she had cow manure crammed in her mouth.” A couple of women gasped. “With that silly wig half off and all the damage, Adam could hardly recognize her.” “Musta been the bullshit comin' outta her mouth that made it a positive ID,” a calm voice said. For a moment, I was afraid it was mine. But the dozen or so heads swiveled to a man seated on the pew beneath the store's plate glass window, a Marlboro sign casing a pink halo on his stringy white hair. Someone snickered. The man lifted his 40-ounce beer can in a toast to his own wit and took a long drink. “Now, Junior, this is no laughing matter,” Lynette warned. “No matter what anyone thought of Myra, I mean, they don't know who did this yet. We all need to be on the lookout.” “On the lookout for what?” Junior raised his substantial eyebrows in exaggerated disbelief. “Someone who hated Myra. Hell, swing a dead liberal and you'll hit ten of 'em. Sounds like somebody finally shut that old …show more content…
All eyes went to the thick figure on the bottom step, camouflage cap pulled down to the upturned collar of his camouflage jacket. He nervously wiped at his nose with a camouflage glove, as if embarrassed by the sudden attention. He probably thought all that camo made him invisible. “Why on earth---?” A woman with soft blond curls spilling from under a crocheted cap began, but the invisible man cut her off. “To scare the occupiers and push through the monument. It was a political assassination, a political assassination,” the man insisted, enunciating each syllable as if teaching a six-year-old the Pledge of Allegiance. “It sounds personal to me,” the blond woman said. I felt myself nodding in agreement. “I'm sure the police---” “Ain't no police around here, Sweetie,” Junior said. The blond's brows wrinkled. She must be a newcomer. Junior explained the situation. “Sheriff's office is gutted, jail's got a revolving door. Only detectives are Staters out of Medford. If we're lucky.” He took a swig of beer. “You can thank Myra Lipton for
“When Mr. Payne was alive…” “Mrs. Payne, a pain in the butt, a punch line of the joke to every fifth grader. Yesterday she’d been as flat and clear as a pane of glass. Today I gazed through her sagging breasts and jowls and saw her as a young woman, as young as Ms. McDaniel, a mystery slipping out of her nightgown and into the arms of her beloved” (Perabo) It is 8:30 on a Wednesday night at Dunkin Donuts in North Haven. I am sipping my latte as I finish Susan Perabo’s “The Payoff”.
Another example of Porter’s use of specific details is how she describes the dead rabbit. As
As the coach dropped me off at my house, I realized something was terribly wrong, I saw my sister, Lizzie, sitting on the concrete steps in front of our house talking to the police, against her will it seemed, I saw our maid sitting in the shade,away from the scorching sun of August, under an old oak tree in distraught, and then I saw them. I saw my Dad, and my step mother … dead. They were being carried out by paramedics, on a stained off white stretcher, one at a time, my dad first, and then my step mother, Mrs. Borden.
In an article featured in the Philadelphia Inquirer on January 30, 1987, titled " A Woman's Wintry Death Leads to a Long Dead Friend ", the body of Frances Dawson Hamilton, 70, was discovered by police after she had frozen to death in her home. Even more shocking was the discovery of a second body, that of Bernard J. Kelly, 84, in an upstairs bedroom. Kelly had apparently been dead for about two years, based on the last sighting by neighbors. The body was found in a twin bed, clothed in long johns and socks and draped with rosary beads and palm fronds. There were also two boxes of Valentine's Day candy beside the body. Hamilton had apparently been sleeping beside Kelly as a second bed had been pushed up alongside his deathbed. (1. Kirsner, 119) (2. Pothier)
Her family life is depicted with contradictions of order and chaos, love and animosity, conventionality and avant-garde. Although the underlying story of her father’s dark secret was troubling, it lends itself to a better understanding of the family dynamics and what was normal for her family. The author doesn’t seem to suggest that her father’s behavior was acceptable or even tolerable. However, the ending of this excerpt leaves the reader with an undeniable sense that the author felt a connection to her father even if it wasn’t one that was desirable. This is best understood with her reaction to his suicide when she states, “But his absence resonated retroactively, echoing back through all the time I knew him. Maybe it was the converse of the way amputees feel pain in a missing limb.” (pg. 399)
“Her name is Vivian Blackford.” Sherlock rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes. But are they here?” He asks again, getting impatient.
Monday, the one thing even Folgers can’t make better. Things always seem to be hectic on Mondays, the precinct is busy, and the weirdest cases come through for Detective Magaidh. Reflecting upon herself in the mirror this 21 year old female grunts. When did I get old? Is that a wrinkle? Should I even bother with my makeup and hair? She ponders while examining her face in the mirror. You’ve been old Bronte, no that’s not a wrinkle that’s you’re "hung over look", well do you want to scare little children? She chuckles at herself for answering her own questions. “You’ve completely lost it." The rich heavenly aroma of her Folgers coffee pulled her out of her trance in the bathroom mirror. She put on her slippers and walked to her small apartment kitchen. Her apartment wasn’t to die for, but she made due on a detectives salary. She grabbed her favorite mug out of the upper cabinets. She poured the hot, steamy, liquid into the black gun handle mug and took a sip. Perfect. Black coffee, no milk, no sugar. She went to the bedroom and put on her standard dark denim jeans, dingy, ruffed up squ...
“It was Tuesday morning and I was picking up trash with other minor criminals. As I was picking up cups I asked the guy next to me, what was your crime? He answered with a husky voice that he had hacked a police officer’s account. I was surprised he was there for a similar reason I was there.
The door to the bridge of the ship opened and a man dressed in torn and tattered clothing stumbled in. He was one of the assassins tasked to kill Stella and her twin hunters, now that they have finally been captured.
“What is a lady like you doing here?” his partner asked in disbelief. “This is a crime scene.”
...e door slowly creaked open and everyone peered inside. Light shone over the room through the small window, illuminating the red that coated the floor. The metallic smell overwhelmed Jack making his eyes water. Everyone could easily identify the body laying on the floor with a sharp stick through its throat as Roger. Their eyes trailed over to the other body, sitting on the floor looking lifeless. The choir gasped, piecing together what went on between the two. Jack shuddered, focusing on Ralph. His eyes were glassy and dark. His lips were no longer a fleshy pink color, and his skeleton looked almost visible from the outside of his body. Jack saw a slight movement in Ralph’s eyes and was he was compelled to looked into them. Beads of sweat dripped down Jack’s temple; he felt uneasy and anxious. They stared back mockingly, devouring him in its blackness; haunting Jack.
The day had started out on a family vacation, a day that I will certainly remember for the rest of my life. Crisp and frigid, the brisk New Hampshire air breathed new life onto the foliage p...
“Shit. I worked for her for three years. How could she have killed her husband?”
“Ms… Devil is it?” the detective asked the slender, ghastly woman. She smelled of a mixture of cigarettes and very strong perfume, perhaps to hide the unpleasant stench of the smoke.
“Well, what the hell do you expect us to do? We can’t exactly go to the cops and be like ‘oh hey, we were wary of this guy, so we stalked him for a while, but turns out he knew and confronted us, so we panicked and shot him, oops sorry. But on the bright side we found out why we were suspicious’”