Casey looks straight forward when he thinks. Most people's eyes drift, when they think of
memories of happy times, things they have enjoyed over the years, but Casey looks straight
forward. Some think this is because he is weird, or because he doesn't have any happy
memories, because he is a loser, who's parents dislike him, and who has never had friends.
It is wrong of cause. Casey has memories, memoreies more dear to him than anything else he has ever had. Memories of steamy nights in bed, memories of strolls through the countryside,
happy times of sitting in Zeke's garage, high on scat, those were the days. The days when he had enjoyed living, the days when he had wanted to live forever, wishing that he coudld stay in Zeke's arms till the end of his days. He had thought that Zeke wanted the same. He HAD thought that Zeke was wishing that Casey could stay with him forever. But then, it had all come to an end. The memories stopped. There were no more steamy nights in bed, strolls through the countyside, no more getting high in Zeke's garage. And now, Casey sat on his bed, looking straight forward, as he remembered the wonderful, amazing events. His eyes remain the same, and he does not look, does not even think to look, as he slowely moves the razor accross his wrists, the blood seeping forth. And his eyes still stare, as the memories go through his head one last time.
It is wrong of cause. Casey has memories, memoreies more dear to him than anything else he has ever had. Memories of steamy nights in bed, memories of strolls through the countryside,
happy times of sitting in Zeke's garage, high on scat, those were the days. The days when he had enjoyed living, the days when he had wanted to live forever, wishing that he coudld stay in Zeke's arms till the end of his days. He had thought that Zeke wanted the same. He HAD thought that Zeke was wishing that Casey could stay with him forever. But then, it had all come to an end. The memories stopped. There were no more steamy nights in bed, strolls through the countyside, no more getting high in Zeke's garage. And now, Casey sat on his bed, looking straight forward, as he remembered the wonderful, amazing events. His eyes remain the same, and he does not look, does not even think to look, as he slowely moves the razor accross his wrists, the blood seeping forth. And his eyes still stare, as the memories go through his head one last time.