And I know that sounds cliché, and I know saying it sounds cliché sounds cliché. Maybe I’m being cliché, I don’t care.

I took this writing class in high school and our teacher once gave us the assignment to write a cliché paper. Which is exactly what it sounds like. A story with a bunch of clichés in it. I collected clichés for days, carrying my journal with me everywhere in case I thought of one. I mentioned this paper to Abigail back when she wrote about how much she hates clichés and then! I went home and found it. And so, since I have nothing else to write about, here is my high school cliché paper, creatively titled . . . Cliché Paper. Keep in mind that I wrote this in high school. Which explains why it sucks so hard. But seriously? If you don't read this, you're going to have to go back to doing some actual work and nobody wants that.

It was a dark and stormy night. A young couple stumbled away from their broken-down car. They strained to get through the rain and mud toward a dark house looming behind the fog settling over the soft ground.

"I'm scared stiff, Jim," the girl whispered, looking like death warmed over.

"I know we're in a pickle, Jane, but you know what I always say. Every cloud has a silver lining and when the writing's on the wall, we'll be fit as a fiddle."

Jim and Jane peeked in a dusty window. Jim grasped the rusty doorknob with a clammy hand. The door slid open with a loud creak that resounded through the windy night. Jim and Jane entered the house in the blink of an eye. The dark and dank of the house quickly enveloped their tired bodies.

"Help me!" a voice cried.

Jane turned as white as a sheet and said, "maybe we should just let sleeping dogs lie."

"Looks like the lights are off but someone's home," Jim quipped.

"What's wrong?" Jane shouted. "And please try to make a long story short here."

"I'm hanging on by a thread here. I think about to kick the bucket. To tell you the truth, I may have already bought the farm," the voice screamed.

Jim decided to go with the flow and answered, "you can shout until the cows come home but we won't be able to find you!"

"Help! I'm stuck between a rock and a hard place. I've really painted myself into a corner. This is straight from the horse's mouth, you know, we're like fish in a barrel here."

Jim decided he'd had enough shooting the breeze, so he quit while he was ahead.

"You really put your foot in your mouth this time," Jane said. Jim kept Jane at arm's length as they bit the bullet and went to explore the house, but it was the blind leading the blind.

"I think we jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire," Jane whispered.

"You're preaching to the choir. This is just small potatoes compared to what could happen and no pain, no gain, you know. Even so, we may want to walk on eggshells or that . . . voice will surely hit the ceiling. I can read him like an open book." Jim obviously had a mind like a steel trap.

"This is a real headache, but I'm sure we'll soon be as snug as bugs in a rug. I'm sorry if I was crying like a baby. I'll try not to rock the boat again," Jane apologized.

"Look! There's a car out there by that lake!" Jim shouted.

"Wow! You're as smart as a whip, Jim!"

"I guess every dog has his day."

"You were dead right. Now let's blow this Popsicle stand," Jane said.

They ran out the back door toward the car. Out of the blue, someone came plummeting off the balcony and plunged into the cold lake.

"Is he dead?" Jane asked.

"I won't beat around the bush. He's as dead as a doornail. He must have been crazy as a loon."

"He must have had some chip on his shoulder. Why is he still floating there?" Jane asked.

"I guess there's a moral to this story," Jim said.

"What? Patience is a virtue? What goes around comes around? No use barking up the wrong tree? Two people breaking into your house is no reason to jump off the balcony?" Jane suggested.

"Nope," said Jim. "You can lead a corpse to water but you can't make it sink."

"You're one sick puppy, Jim."

"I guess we just don't see eye to eye, Jane."

THE END.