General View In Crime Scene Photography

Walang mga lalaki sa aming nayon. Kapag umabot ng 18 taong gulang ang isang babae, sumasailalim sila sa isang seremonya ng pagdating ng edad sa ancestral hall. Suot ang mga damit pang-seremonya, pumila sila para pumasok, at paglabas nila, ang mga mukha nila ay may halong sakit at saya. Noong ang panganay na kapatid na babae ko ay naging 18, pinagbawalan siya ni Lola na dumalo. Gayunpaman, isang gabi, lumusot siya papunta sa bulwagan. Paglabas niya, hirap siyang maglakad, at may dugo sa pagitan ng mga binti niya.

Three days before my wedding, my younger sister staged a scene—one where I supposedly abandoned her in the mountains. She claimed I locked her in a cabin, left her to be nearly assaulted, and that she barely escaped with her life. Furious, my fiancé dragged me up the mountain and locked me in that same cabin. He said, "Wendy, a woman as vicious as you won't learn her lesson without punishment. I already told you I'd marry you. Why go after Chloe? Since you're so desperate to climb your way up, you can stay here until the wedding day." I begged him, over and over, but my scorched throat could only force out hoarse, grating sounds. Three days later, Mickey O'Brien stood at the altar in his suit, waiting for me. What he got instead was my remains.

When I was ten years old, both my parents passed away. My sister, Brianna, and I only had each other left. We were tormented at the orphanage before the Larsons adopted us. They doted on Brianna and me, and even allowed their daughter, Vivian Larson, to get engaged to me when I was 20 years old. It was a wonderful tale of love. Vivian didn't let any of us down. She would have given me the moon if she could, and she loved me with all her heart. During the ten years we spent with the Larsons, Brianna and I led a good life and never suffered at all. The night before we got married, Vivian took out a treasured bottle of vintage wine. It was to be served at our wedding. However, I poisoned the wine and killed everyone in the Larson family, including my own sister.

There are no grown men in our village. When girls turn 18, they participate in a coming-of-age ceremony in the ancestral hall. Dressed in ceremonial clothes, they line up to enter, and when they come out, their faces show a mix of pain and joy. When my eldest sister turned 18, Grandma forbade her from attending. However, one night, she snuck into the hall. When she came out, she was limping, and blood was dripping between her legs.

On the fifth year of our hidden marriage, I died on the operating table of a hospital belonging to Allen Jones. Before I died, I called him ninety-nine times, begging for help. The last time, he finally answered. His voice was heavy with impatience. "Enough already. First, it's pregnancy, now it's liver cancer. Can you stop making a scene? I'm exhausted from work. "Mia, when did you learn to lie? Do you know how disgusting you are right now? "I'm warning you—if you keep this up, I'll divorce you. Don't even think about coming back home until you admit you're wrong." But this time, I could never go back. Just before the call ended, I heard him comforting Sadie with a gentleness he had never shown me. "Don't be afraid. The surgery will be over soon, and you'll be fine. Once you're out, I'll take you to see your favorite movie and eat at your favorite restaurant. I promised you, and I'll make it all come true." After he hung up, I called him for the hundredth time. He didn't answer. Later, when Allen saw my body on the operating table, he broke down completely.

My boyfriend is a forensic artist. He was forced to make a harrowing decision to save his first love. At the killer's demand, he created a portrait from a photo—he never realized that the young girl in the photo was me in my childhood. Two weeks later, the police investigate a grisly bomb explosion and dismemberment case. The victim's identity was unrecognizable, and the investigation dragged on for days as the authorities desperately searched the blast site, looking for my remains. After three days and nights, they finally recovered enough of my remains to reconstruct my face. When my boyfriend unknowingly brought the shattered fragments back to life with his art, he was confronted with a horrifying truth—one that drove him to the edge of madness.

On the eve of a surgery, I voluntarily resign from my position as lead surgeon. My colleagues sneer behind my back and mock me openly. "And this guy's supposed to have a PhD from abroad? Looks more like he bought a degree from some no-name university." "Can't even handle a challenge without running—what kind of doctor is that?" In my last life, I gave up competing in a general practitioner skills competition to take on this very surgery. But because the other lead surgeon violated protocol during the operation, it ended in a serious medical accident. My sister, the head of the department, pinned all the blame on me. Even my girlfriend stood firmly on their side, accusing me of incompetence. Overnight, I went from being a respected medical PhD to the disgrace of the hospital. I couldn't prove the mistake wasn't mine. I was fired and faced criminal charges. My parents, once so proud of me, pointed at me in rage. "We don't have a son who plays god with people's lives!" Crushed by shame and despair, I spiraled into deep depression and jumped from the hospital roof. But now, I open my eyes again. I'm back—back to the night before the surgery.

The Hawthorne Effect sets a story of a F.B.I survey into the criminal lives of certain individuals identified with a Crime Boss, Ron Druman whose identity the Bureau is unsure of. While the story goes on, a look into the immigrant lives of these individuals forced into crime is looked at.

My mother-in-law gets into an accident and is taken to the emergency room. I call my attorney husband, but he only answers after over 20 missed calls. "What are you on about this time? Gigi has a bit of a problem, and I'm helping her. Stop being unreasonable." I suppress my grievance and say, "Mom's gotten into an accident. Transfer 100 thousand dollars to me." However, he believes Gigi Norris' lies and snarls, "What does your mother getting into an accident have to do with me? Don't even think of getting money from me to provide for your family. Now, leave me alone. I'm busy!" He hangs up, and my mother-in-law dies. Three days later, I see my husband in court. Gigi has been taken to court for driving under the influence, and he's there to defend her. He speaks eloquently and manages to get her off based on a lack of evidence. I lose hope in him and ask him for a divorce once the court is out of session. That's when he panics. "Think about how well my mother treats you! You'll break her heart by divorcing me!" I sneer. I throw the hospital bill and death certificate in his face. The idiot doesn't even know he no longer has a mother!

I had been married for five years, but my belly remained flat—no sign of a child. Then, on my 35th birthday, I suddenly found out I was pregnant. When I shared the good news with my husband, he flew into a rage. Instead of being happy, he accused me of carrying someone else's baby. Only then did I learn he had a mistress. He even claimed he wanted a "real" child—one that truly belonged to him—with her. I thought he was just being irrational and would eventually come to his senses. After getting an amniocentesis, I immediately brought him the paternity test results to prove the baby was his. He came home acting like a changed man—hugging me, kissing me, claiming that he didn't cheat on me. The very next day, he booked a hotel and threw a banquet, announcing to all our friends and family that he was going to be a father. However, when his mistress saw the news, she completely lost it. She showed up with a group of people, blocked me in the street, and—despite my pregnancy—started punching and kicking me. "You shameless woman! How dare you carry my man's child? Are you that desperate to die?"