Kimberly Williams

========== Off Camera ========== We open in a seedy bar just inside the city limits of Boston, Massachusetts; the seat of power of the Jones Wrestling Dynasty. Some might call this particular place a dive, but whatever you call it, this is definitely not the place where the upper class crowd gathers for a drink.  At this particular dive we find bikers, gangsters, and a few loners here and there either trying to drink away their problems or trying to pick up a woman, and failing unsuccessfully at one or the other or both.  A pool table is in the center of the bar where the bikers are gathered for a hearty game.  A few of the gangsters stand off to the side, watching from afar, while everyone else is just drinking it up and having a good time. The bar area itself looks like any other, with various patrons seated atop the plain wooden stools.  There are no cushions on these stools.  This dive either cannot afford them or the owner is just too che...

========== Off Camera ========== Whether you call it insanity, craziness, or madness, it really is the same thing; a spectrum of behaviors characterized by certain abnormal mental or behavioral patterns.  At least that’s what it says when Kimberly Williams looks it up in the dictionary.  She does so frequently.  Hell, she even has the definition written on a sticky note and pinned to a cork board in her room at Marie’s house.  It’s a never ending reminder of who and what she is.  But Kimberly isn’t really crazy.  She just wants everyone she is crazy.  She’s truly just a sociopath; a demented sociopath.  The term “sociopath” is used to indicate that the defining feature is violation of social norms.  Now that pretty much describes Kimberly Williams to a “T”… …Kimberly has had an on again-off again relationship (mostly off) with her family, the Jones family.  For a long time Kimberly’s head had been filled with lies about An...

========== Off Camera ========== The cemetery is cool and there is dew on the grass.  The air is fresh and, unlike the unloved graves further away, here they are covered in bright blooms.  The boughs of the cemetery twist like contorted bones, writhing in a silent scream. Beneath them lie the cold stones, each marking a dwelling place in which no-one is home.  All that is left of the fine people of this cemetery is the decrepit stones. Rows of tombstones stood erect in silence to the left and right, in front and behind, like a sea of the dead. Some were crumbled with the weathering of centuries, some were smooth marble with new black writing and laid with floral tributes. Most though, were overgrown and unkempt, for now even their mourners had joined them under the clay soil.  Under the soil is nothing but more soil, even bones don't last that long in the damp ground. Yet still this place is nowhere to be after nightfall. No-one comes here who means an...