Marilyn Clark
Clark Residence
September 3rd, 2017
It was a rather quiet day in the sole Cul de Sac of Noheresville. Trees were swaying, birds were chirping, the Robinsons were currently screaming at one another. This was not typical screaming however, an odd cathartic measure they took was to have whatever arguments they had with one another by inhaling helium. Marilyn couldn't help but notice that the town didn't have any marriage counselors.
Shaking her head she continued to sip her coffee. Anna -her sweet little daughter- wasn't up, and she made sure not to wake Tamara when getting out of bed. It was a Sunday after all, and the only reason she was up was because of her eight year stint as a Navy Corpsman before she pretty much ate an IED. She was still dealing with that issue, mentally that was. The gentle and mechanical whir of her right arm bringing the cup to her mouth slightly echoed through the kitchen. she looked at the grey and black prosthetic she wore. A medical miracle in all honesty, hand was full articulation, even though it was a slight bit slower than a human arm. She was greatful for it, and it let her live normally, but there were times it was a bit clumsy. At least it was waterproof.
Regardless of her physical state, she returned to simply stareing out the window, at the new lawn they had, and the Cul de Sac's bulb. The old guy across the street, one Jacob Klein, son of Dorothy Klein, chopped away at his lawn with an electric push mower. A cap on his head emblazoned with 'Vietnam Veteran'. They had a number of things alike, they also had a damn good respect for one another. He gave a wave, and Marilyn replied in kind with her sole biological arm. At the head of the bulb, a suited man stepped in to a sedan and drove off. Highschool principal, Anthony Cross, apathetic as all hell, but smart, had common sense, knew when he should be apathetic and when he should try to be a bit caring. At least he wasn't a complete asshat.
Yeah. So far, there was nothing to say that moving to the sleepy fishing town was a bad idea. At least within the first week, God knows someone could throw a curve ball or two in the coming days, but until then, they would keep unpacking.