Tell me your story…No wait! That doesn’t seem right without you knowing mine. I’m from California, so I’m used to sun, which makes hanging around here strange. I’ve never seen so much rain in my life. Is it always like this? Anyway back to my story. I was born in California around Moro Bay. It’s a smallish town; has that kind of small town, homey feel. There was this one café that I would always go to. It had the best ice-cream and amazing tea! The Chai was great: very spicy. My best friend worked there. She was from Canada, so she was used to rain. We would eat at a bay-side restaurant after her shift. She always had the craziest stories, like her brain was a collection of fairy tales. They all connected, but I didn’t see that until much later. She was the most carefree girl I ever knew; no one would ever guess that she had it so tough. Casey, that was her name, Casey always had something magical to say. I should have noticed that all her stories had a melancholy ending. Not in a huge way, her stories were all beautiful, but they never turned out just the way you hoped they would. I would find myself wishing that the characters could have the things that their circumstances taunted them with, but they were always missing something. It was kind of like Casey, I guess. I always thought that she had everything a person could want, but it turns out she didn’t have that much after all. I couldn’t see it until she turned up at my house one night. She was a mess. She stayed at my house that night, but her problems didn’t seem serious. They seemed like normal things that any other teen had to deal with. Actually, I myself had experience all of them. You know, stuff about boys and school. Little things like that. Nothing serious right? That’s what I thought. Turns out that there were a lot of things wrong with her, and even more wrong with me. Casey started to say strange things, well stranger things. She had always been very strange, but she was getting scary. She started to talk about demons and the way they were hurting her. It’s ironic really, now that I think about it. Demons were haunting her and she was haunting me. That’s why I’m here. Casey wasn’t real. Her stories and face and…well everything else about her was just a part of my imagination. I couldn’t tell. She seemed so real; understood everything I was going through. She understood me too well. Everything about me. The things even I didn’t understand. She read me like a book and told me the things that she found out. I didn’t want to hear them. It’s a scary thing knowing that what you fear about yourself is true. Denial doesn’t work when someone is always there to remind of the truth. But I’m getting better. Casey and I haven’t talked for months. I really think that things are going to be better now. I really do.