the indifferent fate of Casey Tessler
Casey was just another Casey in the crowd.
She would be baffled by how simple and yet unfindable her name would come to be and yet everybody seemed to know which among all Caseys they were talking about.
She would grow up to hate the summer, she dreaded small talk, the horrendous feeling of sweat sliding downhill between her breasts and how people loved hydrogenated frozen fat (who a smart ass would come to call ice cream).
She would come to love looking at the stars, sneaking out to smoke flavored cigarettes, playing with a handheld radio pretending to be an Apache gunner and trace her birthday back to the pilots that were killed during the Battle of Normandy.
Risk mitigation was what Casey would grow old into. She ditched her secret dreams for a safe career. Would pretend a lot in front of many in a faint attempt of making sure no one questioned beyond her pre-programmed answers. Sometimes she would take the long way home, trying to assemble this stupid puzzle life had laid in front of her where every time the picture would finally come to make sense, she would start over again. She never really knew why.
I never met Casey. But if I did, I would slap her in the face for being such a goddamned coward.