Post by sandrea nicole cassaway. on Feb 22, 2009 12:45:47 GMT -5
* SANDREA NICOLE MARIOETTE CASSAWAY ,
wasting away s i x t e e n summers in the sun.
when the lights go off, watch the way i take the stage by storm.
Sandy, i see my name in the lights.
if only i had the heart for you.
* MAKE I T COUNT ,
As I look in the mirror, what do I see? I see a tall lean girl of 16 staring back. Brown hair to the small of her back, and ice blue eyes hiding her past. I see scars dotting her arms and hands, and I see the callous on her fingers from drawing so much. What do I see when I look in the mirror? I see a girl who usually only wears jeans and converse, I see that her pale skin is due to the fact that she only really wears long-sleeved shirts to hide the scars. But occasionally, what I see changes, because occasionally I see the girl in the mirror smile.J U N I O R
I'm looking at the girl in the mirror again, she's quiet no matter what, having been taught that children should be neither seen nor heard. She is quiet by nature, of course, but it's simply reenforced by her past. The girl in the mirror wasn't always like this though, she used to be a spunky, free-spirited girl who always had a smile on. Now, as I look in the mirror, I can see that there's still a shadow of one, it comes out occasionally, but rarely now. But there's just something about that sweet girl in the mirror, something that says she won't get angry at every simple thing, she'll hear you out, but, it says that if you really make her mad, she'll make you regret it. The girl in the mirror is holding a book in her hand, so she must love to read, and behind the book she holds a sketch pad, so she loves to draw. It seems as though she can escape into both activities, but I can tell this all by looking at that girl who's looking back at me when I look in the mirror.S T R A I G H TSo the girl in the mirror can't talk much about what she enjoys to do, but I know what I like to do, it doesn't take a reflection to tell me that. I like to read and write, it truly is my escape. If someone gave me a book, I wouldn't be able to not read it. But also, I enjoy being around my friends, and, if I can cook, you have me entertained for hours. Thirdly, I love music, what with playing so many instruments, I think it comes naturally, but just as of late, I haven't been able to go for more than about... oh... 6 hours without listening to some form of music. I'm not really sure why this is, but it is what it is. And lastly, I love nature. If I can be outside, I'll jump at it. Most of what I draw has something to do with nature and wildlife. The girl in the mirror didn't have to tell me that.
* GAMBLE W I T H DESIRE ,
I'm no longer looking at the girl in the mirror, I'm watching myself grow up. I see my mother standing over my crib in Forks, Washington, the rain is beating against the window outside, something that I would just have to get used to. I slept peacefully under the watchful, protective gaze of my mother. I see myself as I learn how to walk, and begin school, my mother would always be the first parent outside the school a little overprotective of me, something I'd found annoying at the time that I would soon miss. Until one day in oh... third grade I believe, she didn't show up alone. She was holding the arm of a handsom enough looking man, his shaggy blondish hair and strong arms were wrapped around my mother. That was the first day that only one of the Cassaway girls was smiling, because I just didn't feel comfortable around that man.
My mother introduced him to me as Hank, she'd met him a few nights earlier at the bar after work, and he'd asked her out. I knew my mother had whims like this, and it would soon blow over and return to me, but, she never did. My mother slowly grow closer and closer to Hank, slowly forgetting me more and more. She stopped asking about what I did at school that day, stopped having some sort of snack on the counter when I finally walked home. She didn't even notice when I came home with a scratch running down my cheek where a kid had pushed me down. She completely forgot about me by the time she and Hank were married. She and Hank were a happy couple at first, until my mother died. Something about a heart condition set off by her drinking. Hank and I got along fine if we never spoke to eachother, I would come home every night later and later, just trying to avoid the man, and he would bring home a new woman every other night. But one night when I was in 4th grade, I accidentally walked in on him with another woman, despite the fact that they were in the only bathroom in the house with the door open. He ordered me to go to my room, where 20 minutes later, I was unconscious on the floor. Granted, he'd been drunk that night, but I still never looked at him the same.
Hank never even acknowledged that he'd done anything, but, he would hit her or something of the sort every so often, if he was drunk or angry. I began to get quieter around school, began failing quite a few of my classes, wouldn't talk to anyone though because of my pride. I would try to stay later and later at school, or with my friends, until finally, I didn't have any friends to hang around with. I stayed around Hank and took his beatings for years, until 7th grade, I was in band, played the flute. I had a teacher who loved me, simply because of the fact I could supposedly write. But one night, I returned home to find Hank all the more drunk, drunker than I'd ever seen him in my life, and he was furious. I reached the top of the stairs, and was about to turn into my room when Hank came storming around the corner and punched me hard in the chest. I was sent tumbling down the stairs on my side, and was lying at the foot of the stairs, not a tear rolled down my cheek, but my eyes bore into him as he came down the stairs. He kicked me hard in the side, and I heard my arm snap as it broke. It took all of the strength I had, but I stood up, and hit him as hard as I could, nocking him over. And then I ran. I wanted... needed, to get away from there. My teacher had noticed that I hadn't been very attentive the last few days in class, and was coming by to check when she saw me leaning against a tree, cradling my arm, and ignoring the blood that dripped from my nose, mouth, and the back of my head. I was a block away from my house, and I never went back.
I stayed in the hospital as long as I needed to be, and then was sent to some foster parents, although I liked them, I never spoke. I stayed there all through my 7th and 8th grade years, and then Hank got out of jail, the first thing he did, despite his parole, was he came and found me. I was in the hospital for two weeks, a coma for the first of those weeks. He was thrown back in jail, no thoughts about parole this time. But, I was moved away from Washington. They shipped me off to a place called Lubbock, Texas. Somewhere in the panhandle. I was placed with a family who had a daughter about the same age as me, but was still quiet, and always looking over my shoulder in case Hank came back... again. But, he didn't, and finally, I needed to just leave, get out and be on my own. I told the government that I could check in with them every month and give them an update, and they promised me that they'd tell Hank I was elsewhere. So, I went to Maine, it was more like the town I'd grown up in, so I liked it a lot more than living in West Texas. I found a little house that the government would pay for, and was able to just be on my own, but, that was my Sophomore year, so, I've officially been here for about a half a year, and am not planning on leaving.M I D D L E
* TENSION L I K E FIRE ,
Erin AnneS.A.N.D.R.E.A.C.A.S.S.A.W.A.Y.
x. Sandrea stood quietly at the enterance to the graveyard. Her backpack positioned over her shoulder, holding her drawing pad and a pencil. Her dark brown hair hung around her shoulders, she'd been to lazy that morning to do much else with it. Fidling with her necklace with her fingers absent-mindedly, she hesitated before pushing open the heavy wrought iron gate. It opened with a groan, noting to her mind that it wasn't used often. Closing her blue eyes for a moment, she stepped over the thresh-hold, almost feeling as though there was some force there, welcoming her.
x. Her black converse crunched softly over the dead leaves. A soft wind blew, but it didn't cary any sign of bad weather. Her jacket was a mixture of blue and grey, but she didn't really need it, under it, she had a simple maroon long-sleeved shirt. As she stepped over yet another stick laying in the middle of the almost non-existant path, she heard the gate close behind her. In an almost paranoid fasion, she spun around, scanning the area for any other person. No one was there. Sandrea couldn't help but wonder if anyone even knew that this cemetary was here.
x. Moving more towards the back of the graveyard, she left the path and went to a small bench that had been left there for a family to sit with their deceesed loved one. But the layer of dust proved that it, like the gate, hadn't been used in a while. Sliding her hand over it, she took a seat. Moving her backpack in front of her, she pulled out the drawing pad. Setting it on her lap, she oppened it to a blank page, pulling her pencil out of it's natural place at the head of the notebook. Looking around the average sized area, her eyes settled on one subject that was perfect.
x. Her pencil landed on the paper in such a natural motion, it was no surprise that Sandrea had been drawing for more years than she could call a single place home. The pencil began to sketch small lines that would be the main outline of the tombstone. Closing her eyes for a moment, she let the details come to her. When she oppened her eyes again, she could see where the picture needed to go. And then she commensed to drawing. Watching the basic lines of the tombstone appear was always magic to her, and no matter how often she drew, it always would be.[/blockquote][/blockquote][/size]
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PLAYEDBY;
Alexis Bledel
i, Erin Anne, hereby comply with all forum rules, and Proboards terms of service. I understand that if my character is innactive for over a week my character will be deleted.
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