Killers: A Narrative Fiction

Good morning everyone. Welcome to Cool Cats Cross Class Crime News. I’m Maggie Lin and I will be talking to you about a serial killer homicide case that happened in Florida two month ago. Imagine this, what if a serial killer has been going around your neighborhood and started to kill your neighbors with no motivation for doing so, would you feel safe and protected? Well, these civilians in a certain neighborhood felt unprotected and afraid when they heard the news that someone had been shot and killed in their neighborhood. There were four victims total that had been shot to death by a serial killer in Tampa, Florida in a small neighborhood called Seminole Heights. I am informing you of this important new because knowing that a serial killer is on the loose is a good knowledge to know when you are alone outside and you probably will be cautious of your surroundings. Also, the homicide rate alone in the United States has increased 4% more this year compared to last year. The first killing happened on October 9 where the victim, Benjamin Mitchell, 22 got shot and killed at his front of his house. Then two days later, on October 11, Monica Hoffa, 32 was shot to death and her body was found on October 13 when a city worker found her at a parking lot just half a mile away from the first killing. Eight days later, October 19, Anthony Naiboa, 20 just graduated high school, accidentally got on the wrong bus and took a detour to death in Seminole Height and then was shot and killed.

The dream opens with no explanation of why I’m lying on my back in what looks like a suburban backyard. It’s late, and from my quick glances at the sky, I can tell the sun won’t be lingering for much longer. I’m alone, I think. I don’t hear or see anyone. From where I lie, in a stretch of dirt behind a garage, I see shrubs and trees lining the perimeter of the yard. I motion to get up, but my arms and legs have taken on an unbearable, unexplained heaviness and movement feels impossible. The events beyond this point are dizzying and fleeting. I see Johnny hovering over me. His broad, creepy smile is enough to evoke images of a serial killer. He asks me if I’ve missed him, to which I say nothing. He kneels in front of me and shouts at me to take of my shirt. I don’t. He scoffs and yanks it off me. He struggles to unhook my bra and I give him no guidance. Maybe he’s nervous, maybe he’s just too dumb to live. He becomes infuriated,

I see the flickering shadows that are cast by the headlights, dancing in spite of my misery. I hear the soft drops of the rain pouring down and landing on the bitumen. I could feel the delightful chirps and screeches of the cicadas; insects and birds resonating in my ears .The soft crunches from the soles of the shoes follow me and the occasional splash. I could taste the petrichor emanating of the air; cool, wet and invigorating. Laughter of the children can be heard several blocks, presuming having to do with puddles. As I turn around a corner, I look down at my watch and saw the time and begin to pace my walk. The beep noise from my phone is telling me that my phone had low battery left and will begin to slow down systems in order to conserve the battery.

Every January, the American Dialect Society, gathers to select the word that best captures the spirit of the foregone year. This organization of “linguists, lexicographers, etymologists, grammarians, historians, researchers, writers, editors, students, and independent scholars” has elevated words like cyber (1994), WMD (2002), and bailout (2008) to the lofty title of Word of the Year. They conjure more than their dictionary definitions; they are imbued with a time, place, and reaction that truly reflect the societal zeitgeist. But what could capture 2014? How do you imbue the successive deaths of young black men at hands sworn to protect and serve, a justice system that acquits killers from facing trial, and the disruption of

It was a normal day, a Wednesday I recall. I was in second grade and I had just gotten back from school. As usual I walked in to see my cat, Lily, eating her lunch. It was either that or sleeping, I couldn’t blame her I wish I could sleep and or eat all day.Since there wasn’t any action in the living room, I bolted to my room faster than a race car speeding around a track, thriving for first place. But as I entered I immediately got an ominous feeling. Next thing I know I hear myself scream “Oh no,” as if I had just found a dead person. Well actually I kind of did, but instead of a human being it was my pet fish, Mr.Gill. He was a purple and blue betta fish that, besides my cat, was my favorite pet probably because it didn’t take a lot to take care of him. That sounds kind of harsh but think about it all you have to do is feed it and clean it’s fishbowl out.

It was a very clear night the night that the occurrence happened the full moon staring right through me as if it was a serial killer stalking,waiting for its next victim to pounce on. But nonetheless my stupid self went out there anyways.Call it what you will,I may have wanted social acceptance or you could say that it was stupidity that led me there that night but whatever it was it sure saved us.

Ever since I was little I would do crafts, it was the only thing that kept me happy knowing that I didn't have any parents and was constantly going from house to house to different people that I didn't even know. I was always crying wishing that I could have parents and live happily. My tears would fall on a cold floor forming the shape of a cold broken heart with no hope. On a cold rainy day I was looking out the window praying for a family and chance to live happily, watching each rain drop hit the floor, I felt a warm hand lightly press on my shoulder, I turned and saw my foster parent, she told me that I was going to be adopted by a family and was leaving with them that night. My heart filled with joy, all the depression and sadness gone, I was adopted and was glad my prayers had been answered.

"The Killers" by Ernest Hemingway is a story based upon Hemingway's view of the big city in the late 1920's. During the era of prohibition whoever controlled the flow of alcohol controlled the city. Unfortunately, the police were powerless against man thirst for booze. The Mafia also expanded into the bookie field, and if someone didn't pay up or double crossed the Mafia they were taken out. Hemingway was unfamiliar with this city scene and we can see a very strong correlation between him and one of his characters, Nick Adams. Nick was a newcomer to the city, completely unfamiliar with the boldness of disregard for the law that was present. The Theme that I feel Hemingway is trying to convey is how

The darkness was overwhelming, but it could feel the thump of heart beats getting closer; The crunching of feet stomping on the forest floor. It felt joy rippling through its soul. It’ll be able to spread its gold fever blood, sweat, tears; the feeling of being wanted was intoxicating. Knowing people would annihilate a race just to have it. It happened before with the Spaniards; slaughtering the Indians their cries echoed throughout the night as they fell to the bullets. The copper hit the air a delicious smell, but the miners they were something else. Murdering their own flesh, and blood brothers. The agony of some that died of slow deaths. Being eaten alive by much more then greed. It felt a sharp thud as one of the three children’s foot

I always knew I was different from the other kids not just because I seemed different or even acted it. No it was because I talked to the moon.

The first person they asked was the mailman. And he said “first thing I did on Mr.goodman’s death day. was i delivered mail to people's houses the entire afternoon. but the last house i went was Mr.Goodman’s house. WHY? because he never checks his mail i have check it for him for 365 days a year. but it wasn't enough for me to kill him. The person questioned was the milk delivery. and he said “ Every week i deliver milk up until now. Just the other day i was delivering milk to every house on the block. including Mr.goodman's house, but his was last. Because he never ever picked up his milk from the front door it was just a sight of laziness. and i didn't like so i would go throw away his milk and finish my job for the day. And that’s all officer!” then the last person questioned was the salesmen. he quickly said “ All i wanted was his land and his house for a fair price, but never seem like my deals. so just the other day i offered him my final deal 200,000$ for his land and his house, and he did not accept it. and that's all you need to know officer. then officer mike kept getting on the salesmen nerfs before he had admitted that he killed Mr.Goodman for his land. then he said “ I DID IT OK, IT WAS

The murderer feels on top of his success and invites the officers in. While talking he convinces them with his calm and cautious behavior. But then suddenly he starts to hear a noise. He identified it as the beating of the old man's heart. Feeling that the policeman must have heard this noise as well and

Erin Lindsay sat on her couch, clothes still damp from the night’s previous events, closely listening to the sounds of the storm. The rain continued to pour, dripping from the gutters unto her windowsill. Drip, Drip, Drop. She hadn’t yet changed, still bothered the actions of her boss Hank Voight. It was nearly impossible for her to comprehend why Hank had to go after Justin’s killer like that. If there was one thing she didn’t want it was for her boss, and father figure to go down trying to protect his own family; and she knew the only way for him to avoid that was with her help.

When I woke up I realized that I had been captured by “The Night Killer,”. I was on my way to see my friends when I stumbled and got mugged. Turns out I got to what looks to be a abandoned warehouse of some kind. When I woke up there was a man about 6’4 and looked to be 240 pounds give or take and then I asked.

I was gathering a cluster of pearls on the beach when hazy mist cleared over the azure sea and a gargantuan silhouette emerged before my very eyes, a dragon! On this dragon were fierce-looking warriors with eyes of solid hatred.