Hey, my name is Casey, I am in twelfth grade at high school. I like to sing, draw, paint,and...well, anything to have to do with the arts. I am seventeen, and have a job as a cook at a local ice cream and hamburger place. I like rock music, but not that emo crap that's all jacked-up. I am thin, and trying to get abs... which will probably never happen ( no conviction whatsoever), I am figuring out alot in my life right now, and am still looking for that special person. I am kind of a heart breaker... which sucks, but people say I am a good kid, so whatever. I plan on studying Musical Theater, having my own band, and moving to London within the next two years. But yeah, later!
Bands:
Evenescance,
Lilly Allen,
Amy Winehouse,
The Flaming Lips,
Bob Dillon,
Beyonce,
Elton John,
Imogen Heap,
Sheryl Crow,
Beatles,
Joss Stone,
Cursive,
anything sweet basically lol,
Modest Mouse
Emily Haines
A Fine Frenzy
Lisa Germano


Artists:
John Singer Sargeant,
Matisse,
Van Gogh,
Rembrant,
Warhol,
Picasso,
Cassatt

Movies:
My Own Private Idaho,
Y Tu Mama Tambien,
Donnie Darko,
American Beauty,
Howl's Moving Castle,
Breakfast at Tiffany's,
Kiki's Delivery Service,
Spirited Away...
alot of other stuff...
Charade
Funny Face
Memoirs of a Geisha
Curse of the Golden Flower
Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon
The Squid and the whale
Notes on a Scandal
Juno

This is a story I wrote about my grandmother. Writing is my life, writing and love. So if you don't like either... I will try to persuade you, and I am very persuasive. :)

Ardis Grooten

The rain hits the window by my bed. I lay motionless, scared stiff by a dream I just awoke from. I had been running, running through a forest. A forest of purple trees, with yellow leaves. The clash had driven me crazy.
My bed was pretty soft. The blankets cushioned my body in a way I had never thought possible. How could a bed be this comfortable? I had been in this bed for about three months now. The days meant little now. I felt like some frail creature, sitting here, wasting away. The sun was the only thing that kept me alive. However, when it rained, everything fell apart.
When it rained, the window fogged, and I had to wipe the moisture from it to look out. I knew what was out there, but felt the need to look regardless. When it rained, I felt alone. More alone than I felt normally I mean. Seriously, how social can one feel in a bed for three months?
The bags under my eyes had been made permanent, and the sleep on the inner corners of my eyes just kept building up. I never looked in a mirror anymore. It had been three months since the fall, and every morning when the aid came in, I just told him to stop bringing the mirror. I didn’t want to look in it. Look at my reflection, decrepit, pale, hideous… and my eyes. The men had always loved my eyes, blue, but now they were red, and watery. Cataracts.
Don’t even get me started on the wrinkles. When they do begin to show… Oh! Do they begin to show!?! Part of the reason I didn’t want to look in a mirror anymore is because I didn’t even know what the hell I was looking at. It was sad really.
Perhaps even more sad, is the fact that my family hasn’t visited me since the fall. Didn’t anyone feel the need to check up? Or was I too old… “Oh, she’s gonna’ die anyway.” They say. Well, I’m not dead yet. I didn’t live eighty-six damn years for nothing. So now I sit, wasting away in a “home”. They really shouldn’t call it that, you know? Home is an affectionate term. There is nothing affectionate here. Sure, sometimes the nurses and aids are nice, but I know that when they go home at night, they complain about us. Us, puking on our clothes, losing our waste all over the floor because we can’t hold it in anymore. I was actually quite proud of myself; I could still hold my bladder for the whole day if I needed to.
Anyway, the rain. The rain meant no more sun. No more release from this never ending waltz. Maybe my kids would come in tomorrow, but probably not. At least there was dinner to look forward to. We were having beef and noodles. A knock at the door brings me out of my thoughts. There stands the aid, Michael, holding a towel, and the mirror.

Here's another story I wrote. I have never written anything like it before. I like it, I think. Send me a message if you read it, and let me know your opinion.
Only a Memory

His hair is red.
Well, a medium shade, dirty red. It hasn’t been washed in a few months.
Leaning close to the neck, long, pale, one could smell cigarettes, dirt, old cologne… and sometimes, even the faint smell of loving.
He hasn’t been home in a year. He’s only eighteen. Just a boy, no matter what the law says.
Laying on the side of a road, in the grass. This is where you found him. You pulled off the side of the road, in your old red Chevy truck, and woke him up. You shattered his dreams, the first he’d had in two months.
He hates you right away. You stole his sleep.

If you knew what to look for, you would notice his eyes. Red around the lids, green and blue. The color of the sea.
A sea which he’s never seen.
You either.
Give the boy a chance.

“Need a ride?”
“No.”
“Want one?”
“Sure.”

You notice his sneakers.
Faded black, broken. Striped socks… grey, black.

“What’s your name?” Turning the steering wheel.
“I haven’t thought up one I like yet.”

Smiles, “Okay… are you hungry?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“I live up around the corner.”
...
He lays his head out the open window. Hair blows back… his wrists are so thin.
The rest of the drive is quiet. You can feel him look at you every now and then. You know that feeling.

The drive leads to a big house. Old, farmy.
You’d never been able to afford it if your dad hadn’t left it to you when he died. Rustic. Chipped white paint. Wrap around porch. Like a picture out of some old book.

His eyes, they flicker open when the car sputters to a stop. He turns to you, and leans his head back against the glass. The eyes scrutinize your face. You feel self-conscious for the first time in your life.
“Do you like the wind?”
This time, you decide not to answer. It is your turn. Who asks a question like that anyway? You both step out into the breeze. It smells like corn. You push the screen door open. It needs to be patched.
“You can set your bag on the table… So, this is it. Mi casa.” You feel really lame for inserting random Spanish phrases into your conversation, “Do you want the tour?”

“Sure.”
“Well, this is the living room.”
“Nice.”
He just waits for you to keep talking. He’s looking at you. This is when you notice his lips, and the scruff. Down the neck, above the upper lip. Gives away his age.
“How old are you?”
“Eighteen. You?”
“Twenty. I’ll be twenty-one next month.”
A normal person would have responded.
“Well, come on.” You lead him down the hall. The smell of him, his clothes, his body, it all comes into you when you stop before the stairs. The breeze
“Do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?”
“I don’t know yet.” Too many wrinkles.
“Upstairs are the bedrooms. There’s a bathroom at the end of the hall, to the right.”
“Do you have a kitchen?”
“What? Oh, yeah.”
“Can I cook you dinner?” His eyes were blue now.
“Um. Yeah.”
“I have some stuff in my bag.” His walk is aged, like someone who has been everywhere in the world, a wise walk. He gets his pack.
“Okay. So what do you have?”
“I have some tomatoes, some corn...” He shuffles the contents around, “and an apple.”
“A feast.” Shit. Wrong thing to say. He doesn’t understand sarcasm. He looks up at you, and scrunches his eyebrows together.
“Yeah, I guess.”
Change the subject.
“You could make soup!” Wow, way too energetic.
“Okay.”
You both enter the kitchen and he sets his bag on the counter. Your kitchen is small, but nice. All light, sky blue.
“Here, I’ll get you a pot, and the spices and herbs are up here.” As you open the cupboard, he walks so close to your back. The smell his breath. Just like his walk, aged. Not like the coffee breath of most adults, but like a sweet... a sweet something. It was just good. Better than you thought it would be.
He looked dirty.
“Thanks.”
“Okay, well I’m going to go take a shower.”
“Alright.”
Heading up the stairs, you hear him start to sing, quietly... but it’s still there. His voice was so pure. Maybe it was just your sudden infatuation, but it was still beautiful. Even what he was singing was just so different. What the hell brought this kid into your life?

The bathroom. White, again. A wooden fan in the middle of the ceiling, running. Turning on the hot water in the shower, you sit on the edge of the bath. Look in the mirror.

You have scruff too. You look good. Be glad, the first time this week. Your eyes are yellow, with freckles in them. Black. Your skin looks cleaner than usual. Tan from being outside too much. You wonder if he thinks you are cute. He’s probably not even... Sucks. This happens every time.
The water feels cool on your skin. The water is hot, yes, but something inside you had made you feel so warm today. Lay down, you’re so tired. Your mind hasn’t stopped running at all today. The dirt goes down the drain, swirling in the water. 

Knock-knock-knock.

You hear the soft rap of someone’s knuckles on the old door.
“Yeah?”
“Soup is ready.”
“Oh, coming. Sorry.” No response. You fell asleep, “Stupid... stupid.”

Dress now. Wear those jeans. That shirt. There you go.

“Sorry, I must have fallen asleep.” It smells so good. The aroma that filled the small kitchen was amazing, thick. “Oh, you found the bowls.”
“Yeah, not the spoons though.” He sits down and looks at you, eyes wide. His jaw is not too square, not too pointy.
“Here.”

The soup tasted as wonderful as it smelled. For a little while, all the conversation was gone. Food, need I say more? Finally.
“Um. You never told me your name?”
You look up, mouth full. Swallow.
“Cory.”
“Nice name. I had a dog named Cory.”
What? Come on.
“Oh. Cool.” Stagnant.

Eating.

“So, how did you come to lying on the side of the road?”
“It’s where I slept last night.”
“No really?” Again. Wrong thing to say. His face was so easy to read.
“I meant, do you do this a lot? Do you have a home?” He looks up now. Puts the spoon down into the bowl, empty so fast.
“I don’t have a home.” Something’s wrong.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Alright. Later?”
“Yeah, can I spend the night?”
“Yes.”

The rest of your dinner consisted of him asking you questions. You have two older sisters. Both live in Lisbon. Your favorite color is green, same as his. You like oldies. You like the rain; he does if he has somewhere to stay.
After dinner, it was seven o’clock. You both sat on the couch in the living room. Nothing on T.V.
“You want to go for a walk?”
“Yes.” The way he said things were so matter of fact. As if in that very second, the only thing he could ever dream of doing was to go for a walk with you.

Down by the creek, you lay in the road. It’s already dark out. Everything about today is just so different.
“I’m glad I met you.” Your hands were so close.
No response.
“I’ve never picked up anyone on the side of road before. It’s different. I had no idea what you would be like. Have you thought up a name yet?”
“The moon is so big. If you look closely, you can see the face.” You’ve gotten used to the abrupt.
“Show me.”
“Come closer, sit up.” As you move closer to him, he puts his arm around you, and lifts his other into the air. “There, the nose, the eyes... the mouth.”
You can feel him looking at you. Look back.
“I know this seems a little weird, but I mean... what do I have to lose?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I feel really... really, hot around you. Wait, that came out wrong.”
“I know.”
What? Even through the darkness, you could see his eyes. Green now.
“You know?”
“Yes. I never ride with anyone. Truth is, I haven’t talked to anyone in a year. That’s just the way it is I guess.”
Move close. Closer. Your hands are touching.
“What do you mean?”
“I just felt like I didn’t belong. Like any normal kid, I guess... but with me, it was just... just so much clearer that no one wanted me there. I had a family, a church, friends. Not anymore. I try not to get close to people.”
“Why me?”
“I don’t know. I guess I just got lost.”
“Lost?”
“Yes.”
I wonder what he meant.
“Do you want to go back to the house?”
“Yes.”
The walk home was silent. You were holding hands. It was weird. You hands didn’t fit together right.

“Can we sleep in the same bed?” He looks at you.
“Yes.” Be sure.

The lights in your room turn on. You walk over to the large window to the left of your bed. Open it. The moon, it shows. It sees. You sit down on the bed, and untie you shoes. Chucks. Dirty green. Don’t take off your shirt or pants, it might be too much. Just let him sleep. Control. So much control. You hear him shut the door. Turn.

“Do you want some shorts or something?”
“No.” There it is again. The look in those eyes. He watches you as he takes his hands... Unbuttons the shirt. Down. He takes it off. Places it neatly on the ground. Back up. His skin was so pale. He had a good body. Rough. A scar running down the right side of chest. He had some semblance of abs. It didn’t matter though. His eyes were enough. You look back up, he’s smiling. No teeth though. Half a dimple, right cheek. His hands go down his stomach, and undo his pants. Button, then zipper. They fall... As he bends over, he takes off his boxers too. Black. His body was perfect. Every thing. Perfect.

Every part of your bodies was pressed up against each other. Warmth. Heat. Again. Again. He slowly takes off your shirt. Your pants. Your boxers. Blue. Almost making a point to touch every part of your body. So, so hesitant. Beautiful.

His lips are soft. The breath, almost making you drunk. Pulling, you crush him up against you; he is a little bigger than you. Struggle. His hands move down your back, and pulls you over top of him.... rushing. Your waists are pressed up against each others; you can feel his hips on your hips. He’s nice. Straight. Long. It feels good. Never before... never before. Just let go...

Lying there, side by side. Holding.
“Sing for me.”
“What?”
“I don’t care. Anything.”
The moon is lucky it was in on this moment in time. The words came from those lips, as you touched them, smoothed them with your fingertips. 
The words. Something like this.

“Take some time to consider what you’ve gone through.
You’ll lose me in the morning.
Times have come, when I don’t want to be this way.
But I still wait. I still wait.”

You are crying.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Your tears were on his skin.
“No, it’s fine.”

For a long time, you both lay there. You can tell he is still awake. You both breathing. Rhythmic togetherness. Right as you begin to fall asleep, he mutters.
“I’m sorry.”
Drift.

The wind wakes you. The bed is a mess. You are alone. Get up. Find him.
“Hey- Oh shit, you don’t have a name.”
You run around the house, you can’t find him. No bag, not clothes, no note... Nothing. No goodbye.
This happens every time. You know?
The moon did see that moment last night. He saw him leave. That face knows him better than you do, or ever will.
You hope though… you hope that every time that boy looks up at the moon. Walking, somewhere, anywhere, that he will think of you. What you did. What you said. One night… so important. Only a memory.

Here's another one...
Asleep In the Snow

School was a dismal place. With its long, sempiternal hallways shooting out from every corner. Many great people had passed through these halls, but now all the greatness was gone. All that was left was hatred. Hatred for those who are different, for those who are smart, and for those who are talented. When I was little, I believed that it was impossible for everyone to hate each other this much, but here I found out how wrong I was.
In the morning I woke up at six thirty, as usual. I got dressed and began to fix myself a scrambled egg downstairs in the kitchen. Soon, I brushed my teeth and left for school. I checked the mirror as I left the house, but who was there to impress anyway? I drove to school, alone.
Having explained the inside of the school already, I will now tell of the outside. The tall, menacing walls looked down at the cold, pale faces entering from the winter chill. The walls were made of cold, grey stone. The outer courtyard was just behind those walls, where, in spring, students gathered to talk about one another. I passed beneath the walls and through the courtyard, putting my shields up as I walked into the building.
Faces, all dark to me by now, leering from every direction. They made me hate myself, along with them, but I couldn’t show my hate. If I showed my hate for all of those hard plastic figurines, I would be just like them. No, it would never happen, never.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the light. Gliding past me, as if on wings, was the one I cared for. Brown hair falling just so, and eyes the shade of the moon in winter. I stopped as they walked by me. They smiled at me. I shuddered, and smiled. I smiled. The chill running down my back made me realize that I could show no sign of love. This was here, and here was cold, so cold. So I packed up my emotions and held them in my arms, as to not show the whole world.
First and second hour flew by in rage, scattering their pages and papers, and numbers and rules all over my night. I was swamped, I left second hour ready to fall asleep. Third hour was voice, my favorite time of the day. A place where you could show emotion, a place where you could breathe. Singing has always been a release for me. The scribbles on the page led me away to a place of beauty and warmth, so different from here.
The light shone out from behind me. I shivered again. I was pleased that they saw me. I was pleased to know that they were there. There voice was clean and pure, and there interpretation so emotional. I connected.
The hour passed like sand in a glass. Too quickly did they leave, they didn’t even notice me. The light faded away then, and once again I was alone. Alone in the dark again, I said to myself. Alone in the cold, unforgiving dark.
I left school after that, no care for what was to come. I drove to the highest point in the county. Surrounded by grape vines I sat, contemplating my life. I watched as the lazy clouds flew over me, guessing each shape. I fell asleep.
I was awakened by the touch of light. Standing there, watching me, was the one I ran away from. They told me they followed me, worried.
“Worried?” I looked into the light, bewildered. “About me?”
“Yes, about you.” They smiled, revealing perfect white teeth. They were concerned about me. “ I saw you leave choir, and I just thought you looked upset. Are you okay?”
I decided to let go, we were alone weren’t we? “I am upset, but you can’t stay with me. What if people see, you and I both know this isn’t accepted.”
“What isn’t accepted? Love?” The light shined into my eyes, and took my hands, “I haven’t told anyone anything. Believe it or not, but there are a lot of people in our school who feel as empty as you do. You try your best to hide it, but you can’t. Let go with me, please. Just trust me.”
“Alright.” A haze covered my eyes, and I awoke. I was alone. The sky was dark, and I was left alone.
I sat there in the snow for a time. Waiting, for something, anything. The snow had started to fall since I had fallen asleep. It now covered the ground with a light dust. I stood, and brushed my emotions to the back of my mind. I needed to get home.