Status: Not done writing this? But like, you know, some things happen. Maynever be finished. ;d
Still Life.
Chapter Eight: Brick by Boring Brick.
I really have never noticed how many bricks they put in jail cells. four-hundred-and-twenty-seven to be exact. Uneven numbers bugged me, I guess you could say I had a OCD problem, but I'd argue that fact. Its just... Uneven and annoying. Sighing, I turned my attention to the small little cardboard box that held some postcards for me to doodle on with chalk. Chalk! The nerve the security guards had. I won't try to kill myself anymore, and I'd swear what's left of my life to them.
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Okay so, sorry but like this is a preview I guess of chapter eight? I quickly wrote it- and I'm at writer's block D;