An African American man struggles with the voices in his head and the fact that no one around him will assist. What do you do as a child when you know that something is wrong with you but no one is listening, no one hears and no one seems to care to help you get better. In the midst of his disorder his screams for help are finally heard, but is it too late or right on time?
- My favorite thing to as a child was to sit on my bed and watch the planes that my father had hung from the ceiling fly. It was a simple rigging of strings taped to the ceiling and when I laid in my bed and the fan was on the planes would fly all around the room and for some reason watching these planes fly around in circles calmed me and gave me a sense of safety that I would need in my life. (Beat) My name is Charles Lucas and I killed my mother and father. In therapy they say that there are five steps of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance, and 12 steps to becoming sober and a different steps to over come addiction. All these steps to get people to the top of the “Normal” ladder. I finally figured out that I never climbed the steps, I just kept running in place. And when I felt like I had taken a step up I was quickly thrown back into the hell that has become my life. I was about six years old when I knew I was different. I would stand in the middle of the playground during recess and I would just stare at all of my classmates playing. I don’t know that I was thinking anything specific but I was so captivated with the interactions that they were having and I wanted to move I wanted to play but they wouldn’t let me. (Beat, he realizes this comment needs clarification) They. (Thinks) They are the people that I share my mind and body with. And please do not call me crazy. I am NOT crazy.