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How do you advertise a new product? Producuce an advertisement that makes no sense, show some skin and then finish off with the product name. It really doesn’t matter what the product is, or the content of the ad; bamboozle the viewer with imagery, then finish with the name. It’s pretty much the defacto standard. […]
I splashed water on my face and looked into the mirror. My gaze immediately met by the woman standing next to me. I forced a smile, like I always did; she stared through me. Her dark hair as wet as the day we met at the Grand Canyon.
We left for Central Park as we had done for the last two weeks since returning from Arizona. […]
I sat in the interrogation room, looking at my shaking hands in front of me; I’d been waiting what seemed like hours for the detective to return.
Beads of sweat dripped from my brow like a leaky tap as I sat in shock; I’d finally done it, I’d finally confessed. […]
As an investigator, I am tasked with getting a confession. To do this, we use the Reid Technique.
It is the standard method you see in the movies and TV programmes, good cop/bad cop exchanges, pushing the interviewee to agree and admit to the crime, as we can *help* them if they do; if they don’t, they will be thrown to the wolves. […]
The first thing I remember when I woke was the searing pain in my jaw. Next was my unfamiliar environment. Slumped up against a wall, I took my time to scan the surroundings. […]
The basement seemed like the best place to keep the “problem”. It was cool and damp, just perfect. But also, under the house, it was relatively soundproof. […]
I work as an estate agent in a very small town in southern England. I’ve probably sold every house here at least once. […]
The doorbell rang.
“Can you get that sweetie?” my Mum hollered. […]
I was in a horrific car accident six months ago where my wife, son and I died. I can remember the sound of metal as it squeaked, squealed and creaked around us, the man on the radio seemed to slow as the drunk driver in the SUV hit us full on; then everything went black. […]
I thought it was odd when my front door was unlocked.
I shouted into the empty house, “Hello? Is anybody there?” […]
“Mr Johnston, it says here that you have schizophrenia with severe violent tendencies.” The psychiatrist murmured checking his notes, his reading glasses resting on his nose. […]
Mathematically it’s the same as the difference between one and two, but from a philosophical point of view it is much larger. A quitting smoker knows the difference. […]
I’m only the janitor. I just clean the floors and slabs with disinfectant to make sure it’s spick and span for the morticians to preform their dissections in the morning. […]
The woman opens her eyes in a daze. She slowly takes in the dimly lit environment. At first she does not panic, but she does when she realises her hands and body are constricted, held to the cold surface she lies on by multiple layers of plastic wrap. […]
I noticed the door out of the corner of my eye, I wish in my heart of hearts I never did. It was small, that’s what I found odd. A lazy sign described what was to be found within. […]
I’ve been blind since birth. I know it’s a cliche when they say blind people can see things the seeing cannot, but it’s true. When you are unfettered with the blessing of sight the other senses are heightened. I can *see* our house in my mind using touch, sound and smell. […]
I woke up, my head pounding, looking up at the early morning sky. Getting my bearings, I sat up.
I was in my front garden. I shivered holding my drenched nightgown closed. […]
I sat in the theatre as a skeptic as The Great Georgio pointed at me.
“Stand up,” He said, beckoning me with his hand. […]
I watched the black and pregnant clouds for what seems like hours, praying they would not burst. […]
When my son screamed for his Dad, I rushed up the stairs and flung open his bedroom door. […]
My latest girlfriend wants me to asphyxiate her, a fetish I don’t find appealing. Now, don’t take latest to mean that I’m some sort of man-whore, I’m not. I’m just having trouble finding the right woman. […]
When I met my husband, Stuart, he lavished me with jewellery and attention. He was strong, but gentle, he treated me like a princess. […]
I fingered the last piece of the puzzle in my hand that completed the picture, finished the jigsaw. […]
I sat, with my arms crossed, in the ice cold cabin, trying not to shiver, trying to stay brave for my son. I could see his breath freeze as it left his mouth, but I could not see his face, he hung his head. […]
Handwriting can give away a lot about a person, their state of mind at the time, their emotions, even their intelligence. […]