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Description
Sometimes I feel like my life is a movie.

A movie that hasn’t yet been cut, so it’s lengthy and dull at times. Well, most of the time. Like one of those movies that has potential, but the interesting scenes are surrounded by so many pointless and boring scenes that you stop watching midway.

I mean, there are highlights, lowlights, love affairs, even a musical score.

But right now, it really seems to be lacking a plot.

I don’t really know where to start.

Maybe the scene opens with a view of a clock, reading 3:40 am. Rock music is playing softly and the room is bright, though window’s dark. Then the camera might pan to the right to show a red-haired teenage girl typing away on a laptop. There’s a kitten on her shoulder, and one on her arm. Well, maybe that detail is insignificant. In any case, she has kittens curled up with her.

Then she’d look up slightly, tapping one finger on the keyboard. She would close the document, and in a new one, type slowly, “Sometimes I feel like my life is a movie.”

Actually, scratch that.

A better opening: The girl (brown-haired) is sitting in an office, talking to a pregnant woman.

“What do you want to accomplish here?” she asks.

The girl thinks. “I really don’t know.”

No. That won’t work. I never say anything worth filming in therapy.

The first thing you see is a performance of some sort… A musical. The lead female and the lead male are singing a duet, and the look on her face is one of pure desperation and deep sadness.

At the end of the song, she sinks to her knees.

Cut.

Next, you see her, still in costume, sitting backstage with a red-haired guy. He’s looking at her with concern, as she tells him she just hasn’t had time to eat and she’s not hungry.

Cut again, and in the next scene she’s staring out the window of a car, headphones in both ears. A tear is working its way slowly down her cheek.

Wow. Either movie writing is one hell of a hard job, or my life just wouldn’t make a good movie.

Wait! Wait! I’ve got it!

She’s laying on a couch, wearing an oversized tee shirt and leggings.

From another room, you can hear a girl cussing and screaming. But this doesn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, from her expression it seems that it’s a normal occurrence.

The guy sitting next to her is shuffling cards, trying time and time again to complete the bridge.

“I need out of here,” she says finally, looking around at the adults with name tags and walkie-talkies and the other teenagers in the room. One girl has green hair, another, bright blue. One of the boys is curled up in a corner, avoiding being talked to.

“We all do,” the boy with the cards finally answers.

Oh my gosh. Even the most dramatic part of my life, I can’t put into words.

Well, maybe these snapshots have helped you understand me… just a little bit.

You can put this book down if you want to.

I will tell you this, though: If my life were a movie, the characters would be phenomenal. (Well, maybe not me, but everyone else.) The plot would need work. The conflict, a mix between addiction and the psyche. The views and the camera work would be incredible. And most importantly, it would be a tale of love and survival.

My name is Kymberly Elizabeth Lockhart, and this is my story.

Description
Sometimes I feel like my life is a movie.

A movie that hasn’t yet been cut, so it’s lengthy and dull at times. Well, most of the time. Like one of those movies that has potential, but the interesting scenes are surrounded by so many pointless and boring scenes that you stop watching midway.

I mean, there are highlights, lowlights, love affairs, even a musical score.

But right now, it really seems to be lacking a plot.

I don’t really know where to start.

Maybe the scene opens with a view of a clock, reading 3:40 am. Rock music is playing softly and the room is bright, though window’s dark. Then the camera might pan to the right to show a red-haired teenage girl typing away on a laptop. There’s a kitten on her shoulder, and one on her arm. Well, maybe that detail is insignificant. In any case, she has kittens curled up with her.

Then she’d look up slightly, tapping one finger on the keyboard. She would close the document, and in a new one, type slowly, “Sometimes I feel like my life is a movie.”

Actually, scratch that.

A better opening: The girl (brown-haired) is sitting in an office, talking to a pregnant woman.

“What do you want to accomplish here?” she asks.

The girl thinks. “I really don’t know.”

No. That won’t work. I never say anything worth filming in therapy.

The first thing you see is a performance of some sort… A musical. The lead female and the lead male are singing a duet, and the look on her face is one of pure desperation and deep sadness.

At the end of the song, she sinks to her knees.

Cut.

Next, you see her, still in costume, sitting backstage with a red-haired guy. He’s looking at her with concern, as she tells him she just hasn’t had time to eat and she’s not hungry.

Cut again, and in the next scene she’s staring out the window of a car, headphones in both ears. A tear is working its way slowly down her cheek.

Wow. Either movie writing is one hell of a hard job, or my life just wouldn’t make a good movie.

Wait! Wait! I’ve got it!

She’s laying on a couch, wearing an oversized tee shirt and leggings.

From another room, you can hear a girl cussing and screaming. But this doesn’t seem to bother her at all. In fact, from her expression it seems that it’s a normal occurrence.

The guy sitting next to her is shuffling cards, trying time and time again to complete the bridge.

“I need out of here,” she says finally, looking around at the adults with name tags and walkie-talkies and the other teenagers in the room. One girl has green hair, another, bright blue. One of the boys is curled up in a corner, avoiding being talked to.

“We all do,” the boy with the cards finally answers.

Oh my gosh. Even the most dramatic part of my life, I can’t put into words.

Well, maybe these snapshots have helped you understand me… just a little bit.

You can put this book down if you want to.

I will tell you this, though: If my life were a movie, the characters would be phenomenal. (Well, maybe not me, but everyone else.) The plot would need work. The conflict, a mix between addiction and the psyche. The views and the camera work would be incredible. And most importantly, it would be a tale of love and survival.

My name is Kymberly Elizabeth Lockhart, and this is my story.