Creative Writing Blood Murders

Back in the main level of the factory, Wolf and Fox find Hawk lying on the ground, pale and unresponsive, his bulletproof vest next to him and the edges of a red stain showing around a wad of gauze. A soldier that Fox assumes is N-Unit's medic kneels next to him, along with Snake and Coyote. The three medics are talking frantically among themselves. The rest of N-Unit hovers nervously nearby; the rest of H-Unit is nowhere to be seen. Dust particles dance through the beams of sunlight from the holes where windows used to be, giving the whole scene a strangely dreamy air.

“I have never seen anything like this in my life,” said Istar Mohamed, a mother of three who was penetrated with shrapnel in her arm hip and leg.” “You can’t imagine the devastation that happened there. After a few moments I fell unconscious from the impact of it all.”

No words can describe the cloud of sorrow that hangs over Halifax and surrounding areas. December 6th, 1917 will forever mark a tragedy in our history. I am very blessed that my business and I survived the explosion, but I too am still grieving the loved ones I lost. As I walk down to what once was known as the Richmond District of Halifax, it hard to imagine that a street was once here, a home there, because all that is visible now is debris. Debris that is covered with a light blanket of snow on this cold January day.

Today was different. I started immediately with the child who was missing his lower left leg. I applied a tourniquet while assessing for any other major forms of bleeding. I looked up and realized that the three children were the more severe casualties. I instructed a few of my other soldiers to tend to the wounds of the three older men. Most of these wounds were just shrapnel wounds and I had trained my soldiers, who were not medics, well enough to handle minor injuries and patient assessments. This allowed me to keep my focus on the patients that could

One of the first significant causes of the 1917 Revolution is the notorious day in 1905 on Sunday the 22nd of January, later known as “Bloody Sunday”. In the year prior, in 1904, Russia had gone to war with Japan. The Tsar went in thinking that he could win the war quickly. But, the Russian’s underwent defeat right from the beginning. The war caused working conditions in Russia to get worse factories stopped, resulting in “…angry, hungry and unemployed workers…” So, on the 22nd January, 200,000 workers marched through St Petersburg wearing their best clothes, and carrying a petition addressed to the Tsar, hoping to make the protest a peaceful one. The petition simply stated that the people wanted “…better working and living conditions, a shorter working day, an end to the war with Japan and other reforms” The workers were led by a priest by the name of Father Gapon, who led them to the Winter Palace, where they were met by the palace guards. As soon as they

as Duncan goes into Manuel’s dorm he sees his gf changing he apologized and was starting to walk away until she grabbed his hand and brought him in the room with her. She shuts the door behind them before anyone could notice. As Duncan was trying to apologize Manuel’s gf didn’t want to hear it. Instead, she went on Duncan and whispered “this is what happens when you stare” then she takes her bra off as she starts to make out with Duncan. While this is all happening Duncan wanted to leave but then he was kinda enjoying the feeling of what was happing at that moment. For some reason, Manuel wasn’t what was on her mind anymore she just wanted to have Duncan… all of him… as she takes his pants off and finds out that Duncan was excited for what

Suddenly a rifle shot rang out from a nearby sniper tower, not friendly this time. A guerrilla leading the attack fell abruptly. There was sudden panic among us as our momentum was instantaneously stopped. We all hurried to get behind something as we heard another shot, fortunately it

'Hmm, guess I'm flying solo.' Anon thought to himself, not wanting to interrupt the moment Twilight and her brother.

"Hello, this is Jimmy's pizza, how can I help you?" answers the woman from the pizza restaurant.

“To leave the trenches is dangerous”, its true that the trenches are disease and famine riddled, but no mans land is just a straight flat, the rifle men would be able to see us coming and pick us off like animals. This war is broken, there are no victories in war, all sides loose. We assemble towards the front of the trenches, all awaiting the order to charge. Its quiet, too quiet. The only sounds are those of guns being prepared and men, good strong solders having mental breakdowns as they know many wont survive. The trenches are a mess, there is dirt all around us with nothing but wooden beams holding it up, explosives, guns and ammunition laying around but no food or water. Men laying around dying, bandaged up and blood

Shells exploded all around us, peppering us with shrapnel. Over the past months, I’d watched friends, enemies, and innocent bystanders die. Every time someone fell, I felt the briefest flicker of guilt. Had it been my bullet? Was more blood on my hands? Some nights I yelled, hoping more than just God and the stars would hear me; some nights I cried, praying no one was listening. Around me, I saw grown men falling to bits, their nightmares screaming them back to reality as they echoed through the trenches. Reality was no better than their nightmares.

As the shot rang in his ears the soldier’s body slumped forward, face smearing blood onto the soldier next to him, leaving him with an expression of sheer terror as over one-hundred-fifty wehrmacht soldiers charge from the trees toward the forward trenches and foxholes screaming ”Für das Vaterland!” . (for the

But of course, there are wounds that don’t physically manifest as lesions in the skin or as a surveyable deterioration of an organ. Such unspoken wounds can be life – long and untreated. The term ‘shell – shock’ was used to describe soldiers who had mental breakdowns, who didn’t fare well when frightened, of being under fire from whistling projectiles and who can’t stand the sight and

We protested downtown and it was surprising to see how many actually showed up. It was only about 20 of us protesting, but even a news reporter showed up. We later saw that somebody had shared the article from the news reporter on Facebook and reading the comments and what people from Victoria were saying was shocking to say the least. Many grown people were telling us to die and how we deserved the worst even though they did not know us or our stories. For me it was very eye opening. I have never felt as discriminated as much as I do here in Victoria and the worst part is that I feel like there is no solution to it. It made me realize that there are things even the government has no power over and will never be able to fix.

In May 2015, Australia has seen a number of rallies, a type of collective ritual event, to protest against to proposal by the Federal Government to cut funding to remote indigenous communities in Western Australia. The rallies, although frequented by thousands of people who wish to show their support for the Aboriginal community, have been condemned by much of general society as an ineffective and disruptive way of showing disagreement with choices made by the Abbott Government. This paper will discuss the studied ritual and look at the major observations that were made, using a method of participant observation. It will also examine the relevance of this particular kind of ritual and how it connects to wider society. It will