In a profession of narcissists he rose to the top by virtue of having the biggest ego of them all. When the courtroom crossfire began he was everything you hoped your lawyer would be; vicious, captivating, intensely detailed and completely lacking in moral fortitude. He would happily persecute the most innocent of victim to bring on a win. Francesca loathed him.
Her arms were ramrod straight at her sides, knuckles bloodied and fingertips steadily growing numb. The crossfire had only just stopped a minute ago; the night still rung with the memory of the gunshots. She drew a shaking hand up to her matted hair and shook her head in disbelief, eyes wandering up to the starry sky, wondering where everything began to go wrong.
In the middle. Unable to escape. They hate–each other, themselves, the world–but not me. Never me.
I am their downfall, but I can’t stop loving them.
Either of them.
Both of them.
I am left stuck in the crossfire.
I came out swinging with my pent up accusations and he, as always, returned with his own critiques. Under his crossfire I retaliate immediately, spewing hate and planning burning comebacks quickly. But after the dust has settled and the fires are put out, his words “We broke up because of your bullshit, Erin” are ringing in my ears.
Crouching on the ground, knees buried in the mud, she tried to protect herself from the crossfire. She didn’t understand it, but she knew one thing for certain. She had to reach her brother.
Standing in the crossfire. bullets flying by you everywhich way. will you uck and hide or will you grab yu gun and shoot back. theres no time to think. act now before its too late!
Bullets whizzed. The girl sat in the corner. Hunched, balled into herself, concieling her thoughts from the mass of noise and blood. There was blood on her hands.
Her blood? His blood? The blood of the man with the gun who’d been shot so mercilessly.
Grantaire bristled. He hated being caught in the crossfire of an argument. No, that wasn’t true — he hated being caught in the crossfire of a /fight./ He could take it when Enjolras and Courfeyrac were going at it, debating one political subject or another; hell, he sometimes even played devil’s advocate when that was happening. But this was different, this was almost /violent,/ and Grantaire flashed back quite powerfully to his parents when Enjolras roared that he couldn’t “just duck out without saying anything.”
My uniform ripped as I dove to avoid the crossfire. I saw my fellow soldiers being murdered. But that was our jobs. To murder. I wasn’t the only one losing my family and friends. The other side was too.
In the moment the cross fire happened between the two men, they both instantly knew they would die. It was bound to happen. And in that moment when they looked into each others eyes, they could see every waking moments in each other existence.
In between is a deadly place. I hear the rumble of tires on rock coming closer on my left, and smell the remnants of acrid ash on my right. It won’t be long before I join the ranks of the incinerated.
The child scurried to his place in his bedroom closet, like he always did when they started this way. He listened to the loud voices as they carried down the hall. He knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty, that this couldn’t have anything to do with him. But when his mother had sat him down at the table that morning, and told him to make a decision. Told him to choose between the two most important people in his life. He just couldn’t do it. How could anyone make choice like that. It wasn’t his fault that they were always fighting. He was just caught in the crossfire. And now he was expected to enter the fray, to become exactly what he had always feared. The reason for the madness.
Gunfire blared through the halls, children were screaming behind the locked doors as teachers pushed them under tables and pushed desks against the door.
Soldiers were yelling in the halls as enemy after enemy came through the doors, the students tall enough to see out the window could barely stand after seeing an already wounded soldier hit in the crossfire and fall to the ground.
Alex advanced cautiously, her arms raising over her head. There was only one way her involvement could count, and it included walking into the crossfire and venturing forward with no regard for her own life and danger. She continued.
Caught in it. Wasted on the tracks from the incoming train being hacked by the processor server gone whack because it was malnourished. Never understood. Kept in the dark when it should’ve been told what it was, not treated like a machine. Disgraced by the organic creatures it serves, too bad, it had a name. The servers name was jack and now its destroyed you.
The girl ran across the dirt street, under crossfire, holding her doll in one arm and her mother’s hand in the other. Run, run, keep up! her mother screamed as bullets whizzed past, kicking up dust by their feet. At once the girl was brought to the time she was playing tag on the playground only a couple months back with her brother of the same age. Run, run, keep up! he yelled as they jetted across the playground to the slide, in close pursuit by the other boys chasing her, laughing and screaming.
I don’t wanna put you in my crossfire, can’t have another casualty of my own internal fight. In the right place at the right time, gone sour. Maybe I’ll try harder tomorrow.
“Caught in the crossfire again,” spat Raychol, perched on a crate near the jutting of rock where no one could see us. She lit a cigarette feverishly before tossing the still flickering match over her head.
“I thought we were trying not to attract attention?” snapped Gagach.
“Shut up, Gagger,” growled Raychol. “You try dealing with being on neither side of this war.”
a place of mixed emotions…pulled in both directions…a tipping point for any given situation…dangerous place to find yourself…rise to the challenge, make a decision and go for it…my life
make the stations
of the cross
build the fire
higher and higher
we would burn
all we can’t have
we would burn
all the beauty
outside of our control
we would burn the very notion
of burning
but instead
we try to burn the girls
and the girls
they laugh
and laugh
and laugh
I don’t know what this word means so i’m just going to fill this little message box with my own words. La la la, If you’re still reading this then Hello there. I really didn’t know what it ment and I googled it, but to no awail. I’m sorry. I’m a bad writer. I’m so sorry. Oh gosh, why am I apologizing?
I was stuck and I couldn’t move.
I herd the shouts and the explosions of compressed air
I ducked trying to avoid it
I was not the target
but I was to blame
my involvement led them to their end
now I stand tall
as acting sacrifice
the one thing i can do
to make this crossfire stop
i feel a bite in my chest
and then another in my leg
more screaming and shouting
and then silence
I’m dead.
All of a sudden all the noise stopped. Everyone looked in his direction as tears started to pour down his face. Once he started he couldn’t stop and the wails of pain came
I know you weren’t there when the soldiers flood into town warning us all to run from the hate and pain we caused the world. I know you didn’t hear the way children screamed and babies cried at the first glance of the red blood streaming in. I know you really aren’t missing much. But I just thought you deserved a final fair well in case Time took me and passed me on to Death tonight as I lose myself in the middle of Sorrow’s crossfire against the End.
Bunny Jones entered Victoria’s Secret in the University Square Mall at 9:45am with intent to shop the bra sale. At 10:00am, after having perused the panties, shaping slips and cami sets, she’d lost sight of her goal and, by 10:40am, she became aware she had wandered onto a college campus. At 10:43am, Bunny entered the nearest campus building to ask directions. At 10:45am she mistakenly entered a classroom, was caught in parliamentary debate crossfire and killed instantly.
They stood in their respective trenches, staring out at one another. Between them stretched endless craters and corpses and barbed wire; the post-apocalyptic surface of the moon, fighting for nothing of this Earth.
A whistle blew, and they fired.
I was stuck between the crossfires of what I was and where I wanted to go. I was stuck between taking the chance and getting away. I was stuck between loving you or letting you go. Crossfire is a hard thing to go through and I don’t usually want to face them, but then I realised you were my favourite one of all and I wanted to fight for you.
what does crossfire mean? i don’t know, i guess i could google the definition but that would take approximately twenty seconds of this short minute i have to write. i really don’t like this word because i have no clue the meaning behind it, and i can’t really write something i don’t know.
Caught in the crossfire. This can apply to any weapon at all, physical or verbal. People get hurt when they’re caught like that, often the one who wasn’t the intended target. Interesting how that works, isn’t it?
There was crossfire in the field, I bent down so I wouldn’t be hit, cradling Abbey into me. How did we end up here, with all this happening around us, what did we do to get in this place
Volley after volley rained down around her. Poor, defenseless, attempting valiantly to bring supplies across the battlements; a medic caught in the crossfire. A sudden cold stabbed her, and she fell screaming in mock agony. A high-pitched cheer of victory went up as her little brother and his friends celebrated. She scrambled to her feet, not bothering to brush the snow from her back. Her girl friends peeked over the ramparts of the hastily constructed barricade, motioning her inside. She sprinted the last few feet to safety, and with a groan, she heaved herself over the wall, sliding down the opposing side. “You’re losing to 7 year olds, guys.”
“Yeah, but there’s twice as many of—” her friend cut off with a squeal as another frozen volley sailed over their heads.
caught in a crossfire between the two sides was her. he knew she was dead when she flopped to the ground, her blonde locks stained crimson from her own blood pooling from the shot through her brain.
In a profession of narcissists he rose to the top by virtue of having the biggest ego of them all. When the courtroom crossfire began he was everything you hoped your lawyer would be; vicious, captivating, intensely detailed and completely lacking in moral fortitude. He would happily persecute the most innocent of victim to bring on a win. Francesca loathed him.
Her arms were ramrod straight at her sides, knuckles bloodied and fingertips steadily growing numb. The crossfire had only just stopped a minute ago; the night still rung with the memory of the gunshots. She drew a shaking hand up to her matted hair and shook her head in disbelief, eyes wandering up to the starry sky, wondering where everything began to go wrong.
Pass the Mashed potatoes,
They lie between you
and the red radishes.
Neatly next to the croissant crescents
In the middle. Unable to escape. They hate–each other, themselves, the world–but not me. Never me.
I am their downfall, but I can’t stop loving them.
Either of them.
Both of them.
I am left stuck in the crossfire.
I came out swinging with my pent up accusations and he, as always, returned with his own critiques. Under his crossfire I retaliate immediately, spewing hate and planning burning comebacks quickly. But after the dust has settled and the fires are put out, his words “We broke up because of your bullshit, Erin” are ringing in my ears.
Crouching on the ground, knees buried in the mud, she tried to protect herself from the crossfire. She didn’t understand it, but she knew one thing for certain. She had to reach her brother.
Standing in the crossfire. bullets flying by you everywhich way. will you uck and hide or will you grab yu gun and shoot back. theres no time to think. act now before its too late!
Bullets whizzed. The girl sat in the corner. Hunched, balled into herself, concieling her thoughts from the mass of noise and blood. There was blood on her hands.
Her blood? His blood? The blood of the man with the gun who’d been shot so mercilessly.
Grantaire bristled. He hated being caught in the crossfire of an argument. No, that wasn’t true — he hated being caught in the crossfire of a /fight./ He could take it when Enjolras and Courfeyrac were going at it, debating one political subject or another; hell, he sometimes even played devil’s advocate when that was happening. But this was different, this was almost /violent,/ and Grantaire flashed back quite powerfully to his parents when Enjolras roared that he couldn’t “just duck out without saying anything.”
Sitting in a dark empty cafe. Sara worried about her brother. He was caught in a crossfire. Shots from across the street traveled
No cover. Get crazy, one shot at a time.
My uniform ripped as I dove to avoid the crossfire. I saw my fellow soldiers being murdered. But that was our jobs. To murder. I wasn’t the only one losing my family and friends. The other side was too.
In the moment the cross fire happened between the two men, they both instantly knew they would die. It was bound to happen. And in that moment when they looked into each others eyes, they could see every waking moments in each other existence.
I am bound to my twin unwillingly. She and my mother fight, and somehow I am dragged into it.
I don’t like to admit it to myself, but her behavior reflects on mine, even though it shouldn’t.
Collateral damage has new meaning to me.
In between is a deadly place. I hear the rumble of tires on rock coming closer on my left, and smell the remnants of acrid ash on my right. It won’t be long before I join the ranks of the incinerated.
The child scurried to his place in his bedroom closet, like he always did when they started this way. He listened to the loud voices as they carried down the hall. He knew that he shouldn’t feel guilty, that this couldn’t have anything to do with him. But when his mother had sat him down at the table that morning, and told him to make a decision. Told him to choose between the two most important people in his life. He just couldn’t do it. How could anyone make choice like that. It wasn’t his fault that they were always fighting. He was just caught in the crossfire. And now he was expected to enter the fray, to become exactly what he had always feared. The reason for the madness.
Gunfire blared through the halls, children were screaming behind the locked doors as teachers pushed them under tables and pushed desks against the door.
Soldiers were yelling in the halls as enemy after enemy came through the doors, the students tall enough to see out the window could barely stand after seeing an already wounded soldier hit in the crossfire and fall to the ground.
Alex advanced cautiously, her arms raising over her head. There was only one way her involvement could count, and it included walking into the crossfire and venturing forward with no regard for her own life and danger. She continued.
Caught in it. Wasted on the tracks from the incoming train being hacked by the processor server gone whack because it was malnourished. Never understood. Kept in the dark when it should’ve been told what it was, not treated like a machine. Disgraced by the organic creatures it serves, too bad, it had a name. The servers name was jack and now its destroyed you.
The girl ran across the dirt street, under crossfire, holding her doll in one arm and her mother’s hand in the other. Run, run, keep up! her mother screamed as bullets whizzed past, kicking up dust by their feet. At once the girl was brought to the time she was playing tag on the playground only a couple months back with her brother of the same age. Run, run, keep up! he yelled as they jetted across the playground to the slide, in close pursuit by the other boys chasing her, laughing and screaming.
I don’t wanna put you in my crossfire, can’t have another casualty of my own internal fight. In the right place at the right time, gone sour. Maybe I’ll try harder tomorrow.
“Caught in the crossfire again,” spat Raychol, perched on a crate near the jutting of rock where no one could see us. She lit a cigarette feverishly before tossing the still flickering match over her head.
“I thought we were trying not to attract attention?” snapped Gagach.
“Shut up, Gagger,” growled Raychol. “You try dealing with being on neither side of this war.”
a place of mixed emotions…pulled in both directions…a tipping point for any given situation…dangerous place to find yourself…rise to the challenge, make a decision and go for it…my life
make the stations
of the cross
build the fire
higher and higher
we would burn
all we can’t have
we would burn
all the beauty
outside of our control
we would burn the very notion
of burning
but instead
we try to burn the girls
and the girls
they laugh
and laugh
and laugh
I don’t know what this word means so i’m just going to fill this little message box with my own words. La la la, If you’re still reading this then Hello there. I really didn’t know what it ment and I googled it, but to no awail. I’m sorry. I’m a bad writer. I’m so sorry. Oh gosh, why am I apologizing?
When we thought that all was well and that we could return to our homes, suddenly there were a burst of gun fire, and we were caught in the crossfire.
I was stuck and I couldn’t move.
I herd the shouts and the explosions of compressed air
I ducked trying to avoid it
I was not the target
but I was to blame
my involvement led them to their end
now I stand tall
as acting sacrifice
the one thing i can do
to make this crossfire stop
i feel a bite in my chest
and then another in my leg
more screaming and shouting
and then silence
I’m dead.
All of a sudden all the noise stopped. Everyone looked in his direction as tears started to pour down his face. Once he started he couldn’t stop and the wails of pain came
I know you weren’t there when the soldiers flood into town warning us all to run from the hate and pain we caused the world. I know you didn’t hear the way children screamed and babies cried at the first glance of the red blood streaming in. I know you really aren’t missing much. But I just thought you deserved a final fair well in case Time took me and passed me on to Death tonight as I lose myself in the middle of Sorrow’s crossfire against the End.
Bunny Jones entered Victoria’s Secret in the University Square Mall at 9:45am with intent to shop the bra sale. At 10:00am, after having perused the panties, shaping slips and cami sets, she’d lost sight of her goal and, by 10:40am, she became aware she had wandered onto a college campus. At 10:43am, Bunny entered the nearest campus building to ask directions. At 10:45am she mistakenly entered a classroom, was caught in parliamentary debate crossfire and killed instantly.
Cross hairs
Crossfire
Twixt
Eyes widen
TWIXT
Shivery, shivery, simmering sigh
BETWIXT
Oui, tis like heaven in a shell
Ring her bell
Give him hell
They stood in their respective trenches, staring out at one another. Between them stretched endless craters and corpses and barbed wire; the post-apocalyptic surface of the moon, fighting for nothing of this Earth.
A whistle blew, and they fired.
I was stuck between the crossfires of what I was and where I wanted to go. I was stuck between taking the chance and getting away. I was stuck between loving you or letting you go. Crossfire is a hard thing to go through and I don’t usually want to face them, but then I realised you were my favourite one of all and I wanted to fight for you.
what does crossfire mean? i don’t know, i guess i could google the definition but that would take approximately twenty seconds of this short minute i have to write. i really don’t like this word because i have no clue the meaning behind it, and i can’t really write something i don’t know.
Unfortunately with this gun loving culture, many innocent people are caught up in this.
Caught in the crossfire. This can apply to any weapon at all, physical or verbal. People get hurt when they’re caught like that, often the one who wasn’t the intended target. Interesting how that works, isn’t it?
Russia and America stood facing each other across the Red Square.
“It’s time, commie,” Lithuania heard America’s vioce somewhere in another world.
There was crossfire in the field, I bent down so I wouldn’t be hit, cradling Abbey into me. How did we end up here, with all this happening around us, what did we do to get in this place
Volley after volley rained down around her. Poor, defenseless, attempting valiantly to bring supplies across the battlements; a medic caught in the crossfire. A sudden cold stabbed her, and she fell screaming in mock agony. A high-pitched cheer of victory went up as her little brother and his friends celebrated. She scrambled to her feet, not bothering to brush the snow from her back. Her girl friends peeked over the ramparts of the hastily constructed barricade, motioning her inside. She sprinted the last few feet to safety, and with a groan, she heaved herself over the wall, sliding down the opposing side. “You’re losing to 7 year olds, guys.”
“Yeah, but there’s twice as many of—” her friend cut off with a squeal as another frozen volley sailed over their heads.
caught in a crossfire between the two sides was her. he knew she was dead when she flopped to the ground, her blonde locks stained crimson from her own blood pooling from the shot through her brain.