(This is a work in progress by my beautiful friend Misty. She hasn’t really figured out where to go with it, but I think it has the makings for a great story and I can’t wait to see where she takes it. -Julie)

Harrisburg

Once upon a time—wait hold on, this is no freaking fairy tale. Hell, it might not even be a good story but, I am not writing this for you. This one is for me.

My name is Misty. I live in a small, country, wanna be gangster, drug-induced town called Harrisburg. Some say “you will always come back,” I say “kind of creepy.”

Harrisburg is a southern town with a mix of all kinds.

First there are the rednecks. They are the deer huntin’, big truck muddin’, “you can have my gun when you pry it from my cold dead hands” kind of people. These are also the hard working, get shit done, been working since they were 9 years old folks.

Then there are the wanna be “gangstas”. Their pants are saggin’ and their mouths are running. They dream of a “gangsta knot” in their pocket, but for now it’s just a bunch of $1’s with a $20 wrapped on the outside. Harrisburg is their hood, ghetto, their Chicago or Watts, although they have probably never been to either place. They talk about “running up on people”, when in reality the only thing they are “running up” is their parents’ and baby mamma’s bills. News flash, this is not Chicago, it’s just little ole’ Harrisburg, Illinois.

Let’s not forget the God-loving Christians. Of all social classes, this is the one I dislike the most. These are the holier-than-thou, bible thumping, religion pushing, “if you don’t follow who we follow then you are going to HELL” crowd. They dance with the Devil on Saturday and sing with the Saints on Sunday—AMEN! I guess I my attitude was molded because I was shoveled this shit since I came into this world. Not to mention, I was born out of wedlock; born of sin, they say—but of course not to my face.

Don’t forget the drug crowd. Pills, meth, crack, heroin—you name it, Harrisburg has it. Addicts stay where they can find the shit, so they aren’t leaving soon. Don’t let them get caught by the police. They will handcuff themselves, jump in the back of the squad car just so they can get to jail faster than their buddy so they can tell on the other first. Drugs have killed more people in this town than the gangstas toting gats. Drugs have also made more people turn against each other than religion. That is quite an accomplishment considering more people in the world have been killed in the name of God than any other act of violence known to man.

Let’s just say in this small town everybody knows everybody, and everybody’s business, or at least think they do. People around here are cool face to face, but as soon as you are out of ear hustling distance you are just the next victim on the social chopping block.