A House on Clover Street.

Thanks Star-Fish!

Jojo and Marcus Crane stood in front of their house, their past, they were moving on. As they stood arm in arm looking up at the massive three story home they had lived in for the past 15 years, a home they built from the ground up, a home they raised their children in, a home they fought, cried, but above all loved in, their parting was bittersweet. The Crane's would take with them those wonderful memories as they moved to a house on Clover street.

Clover street was in a newer part of town, the answer to the over crowding schools, parks, and stores in their current neighborhood. Years ago, everyone flocked to Mill Town because it boasted to be the all American town that every other nearby neighborhood promised to be but some how fell short. Mill Town got it right, so every couple with the hopes of raising a family in a nice, safe neighborhood came to Mill Town, and they came and came and didn't stop coming until the town was filled to capacity and the Town Association had to do something so decided to build more, but they would so it even better this time.

They named it Mill Mount because they had to build higher and this new section truly did reach new heights and did not disappoint. Everyone who saw the appeal of the original Mill Town saw Mill Mount as their savior, the relief that their old town desperately needed.

The Cranes had out lived their old house, with their children grown and moved out, they needed a smaller space and found their perfection on Clover Street.

Any Town USA.

I'm doing script frenzy this month! I've committed to write 100 pages of script in 30 days. I chose to use the comic book format. Writing a script is different from what I'm used to, it's the structure that I'm trying to figure out but I'm getting the hang out it. I have a very rough idea for my comic book and I decided to also write it in a story form, hoping that it will help to organize my thoughts.

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Thanks MyEyesSee!

There is a town in the United States that looks very similar to the suburban neighbor where you live right now. In this town there are row and rows of houses that look very similar, only the most discerning of eyes can tell them apart. The lawns are well manicured and the white picket fences glisten brightly in the sun. There is a nearby park where children play and moms and dads laugh, live, and love.

There is a town center where the family can find everything they need from groceries to household supplies to new shoes to a good book. Ah yes, the good book. There's nothing like curling up with a good book that tells the story of people just like you, people you can relate to, so you know there are people out there just as insane as you. But the book is a work of fiction, a made up story about people who don't really exist. Your life on the other hand is real. The madness that surrounds your perfect little town is actually happening. The paranoia you feel because you think you're being watched is not just the voices in your head you try to ignore, there really is a man outside sitting in a parked van watching your every move. He know when you sleep, what time you wake up, he even knows about those dark thoughts that fill your mind when you think you're all alone. He isn't Santa Claus, but he does have a surprise for you. The question is are you willing to stick your hand in the bag to find out what it is?

The Deep Cut.

Thanks nordlichter4!

The second time I tried to kill myself there was blood; a lot of blood, so much so there would forever be a stain on the carpet in the living room where I attempted to slice through my skin. The scariest part was making the first cut into my wrist. I felt like I was sawing back and forth for the longest time before the blade finally gave way to the pressure and sank deep into my arm. I didn't feel any pain although the blood did make me a bit whoozy, I had been in so much pain before that that this seemed like the release I needed to start healing. Later my shrink asked if this attempt was a cry for help and perhaps I didn't really want to die because I did it wrong, I cut the wrong way even after I looked it upon the Internet. I told her that I did really want to kill myself and cutting the wrong way was just another example of how I fuck everything up. She asked if I saw the irony on the situation. I laughed.

The most disturbing part of it all that still rattles me to this day is the memory of lying on the floor in a pool of blood and through half open eyes I saw my cat sniffing at my blood and licking it up. My cat, Q-tip, was never the same after that, her pure white fur was stained a burnt orange, a constant reminder of my failed attempt to end my life.

Until the day I died I never realized that there could be other definitions of right and how to do things the right way and maybe my right was actually wrong. I am beginning a slow realization now that had I thought outside the box my life would have gone in a completely different direction and I might still want to be alive.