It was 3 o’ clock in the morning, October 31st, “the night of the living dead” as my mother had told me when I was a kid. I never believed her. I could never believe that one dead body can come back to life, and that was one of the reasons that New York’s crime lab selected me. But then it was different. A cold breeze was blowing outside this house –rumor had it that it was haunted- and three bodies were lying on the floor. I was alone in this dark room, while the other investigators were processing the seconde floor and everything was calm and quiet.
I started collecting evidence, but not many minutes later, a strange noise was heard. It was just like a dripping tab. But the bathroom was on the seconde floor. I tried to concentrate on the sound, I moved some meters further down when the noise stopped. Suddenly, something wet fell down on my face. It was a trail of blood. I looked on the floor and realized that I was standing on a small lake made of blood. However, there weren’t any other bodies found on the seconde floor. And the DNA didn’t match to any of our victims. Where did this blood come from? For a minute I was really scared, I wanted to scream, but I overcame this fear on the spot. A crime scene investigator shouldn’t be afraid of crime. But, this wasn’t the end of this story.
I calmed down and I finished my work. The only thing left was to supervise the transportation of the bodies from the crime scene to the lab. The first two victims –killed par a gunshot- were already inside the truck and the third one –killed par a cœur, coeur attack- was on its way. It was freezing out there. I was again alone with this body, desperate to finish working and go to take a nap sleep. But all of a sudden. This huge black bag where the victim was in, moved. In two minutes, the “dead body” which was inside started struggling to escape. I opened the bag nervously and the victim stood up and opened his eyes. He was hale and exhausted. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move. He fainted and never moved again.
The suivant jour when I narrated this story to my colleagues, noone believed me. And the forensic’s rapporter was clear: the man was dead four hours before this event. I still can’t believe it. Everything happened so quickly. I have tried to give a logical explanation to all this story, maybe I was too tired and I was hallucinating. Who knows? The only sure thing is that both times, I was really terrified and I couldn’t sleep that night. “The night of the living dead” came true…
I started collecting evidence, but not many minutes later, a strange noise was heard. It was just like a dripping tab. But the bathroom was on the seconde floor. I tried to concentrate on the sound, I moved some meters further down when the noise stopped. Suddenly, something wet fell down on my face. It was a trail of blood. I looked on the floor and realized that I was standing on a small lake made of blood. However, there weren’t any other bodies found on the seconde floor. And the DNA didn’t match to any of our victims. Where did this blood come from? For a minute I was really scared, I wanted to scream, but I overcame this fear on the spot. A crime scene investigator shouldn’t be afraid of crime. But, this wasn’t the end of this story.
I calmed down and I finished my work. The only thing left was to supervise the transportation of the bodies from the crime scene to the lab. The first two victims –killed par a gunshot- were already inside the truck and the third one –killed par a cœur, coeur attack- was on its way. It was freezing out there. I was again alone with this body, desperate to finish working and go to take a nap sleep. But all of a sudden. This huge black bag where the victim was in, moved. In two minutes, the “dead body” which was inside started struggling to escape. I opened the bag nervously and the victim stood up and opened his eyes. He was hale and exhausted. He didn’t speak, he didn’t move. He fainted and never moved again.
The suivant jour when I narrated this story to my colleagues, noone believed me. And the forensic’s rapporter was clear: the man was dead four hours before this event. I still can’t believe it. Everything happened so quickly. I have tried to give a logical explanation to all this story, maybe I was too tired and I was hallucinating. Who knows? The only sure thing is that both times, I was really terrified and I couldn’t sleep that night. “The night of the living dead” came true…
My type of emotions conveys
onto how i'm really feeling inside,
my thoughts mainly consist on the
back-ground of my poetry.
As my addictive persona
starts to silhouette every-
word that i've written out
the nature of my emotions
starts to unravel at every-
line,
My poésie has a piece
of imagination within it-
self, the artwork of
each line has it's own
significant meaning.
Where the beauty is
that's where the poetry
lives, it lives within my soul,
as i carry each and every-line
with care, i start to share a
piece of me inside every-
lyrical line that i compose.
onto how i'm really feeling inside,
my thoughts mainly consist on the
back-ground of my poetry.
As my addictive persona
starts to silhouette every-
word that i've written out
the nature of my emotions
starts to unravel at every-
line,
My poésie has a piece
of imagination within it-
self, the artwork of
each line has it's own
significant meaning.
Where the beauty is
that's where the poetry
lives, it lives within my soul,
as i carry each and every-line
with care, i start to share a
piece of me inside every-
lyrical line that i compose.
