graffiti (completed)

Casey.

AN: Hi all! I wrote this story a few years ago and, though my writing has evolved, I've decided to keep it up. The reception I've gotten in amazing, and I'd love to rewrite this if I find the time. Genuine feedback is truly appreciated! Thank you for taking the time to enter this world I've created. 

- River 

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I rose from my bed, wondering how long I had been pretending to sleep. The clock had read 11:06 pm, which was an absolutely perfect time for me. Of course, any time of day was perfect to escape here for a little while.

I walked the right wall of the dark room surrounding me, kneeling down to reach a little door. There were quite a few in this house, used for extra storage, I guess. Grabbing the plastic bag I had carefully placed inside, I took it out in the same manner and quickly emptied it's contents. Paint, flurries of colors and shades, each unique one pressurized into single cans.

They were perfectly new, but they definitely weren't going to stay that way. I put them back into the bag, planning to bring it with me. I quickly slipped into Vans, being already dressed in jeans and a hooded jacket, and pulling the hood so it slightly covered my eyes, along with a bandanna to cover my mouth and nose. Carefully placing my fingers under the handle, I opened the window, allowing the cool night air to flow through the warm, dark bedroom.

"Might as well get this over with," I whispered to myself, climbing slowly out of the window and down onto a part of the roof. With a sigh of determination, I jumped off, rolling to soften my impact.

The first time I saw this place, I figured out how I would escape my temporary home. It was a rule I always had. Wiping the grass off of my jacket, I walked to the sidewalk and started on my way.

Muffling the plastic sound, I stuffed the cans and bag in my pockets, so to a passerby, I was just a teenager on a late night walk. The thing I was searching for was five blocks out, around the corner. I had seen it two days ago, when my new foster mother was driving me to my new, temporary home. She was blabbering on about some crap, and I happened to gaze out of the window and see the perfect piece of paper.

I guess you could say I was a bit of a writer. Except, instead of on paper with a pen, I write on walls with a spray can.

This, the beauty I had seen, was a perfectly blank wall, a closed down building of some kind. I climbed over the side gate of it, looking all around me and making sure nobody was looking in my direction, ears ready just in case I heard a car roll by.

Bubbl was, in a way, my second name. More people knew me by that than by my actual name. Even if they've never seen me in real life, they've seen me, and know who I am. I'm a popular stranger. An innocent criminal.

I took out and shook the first can, smiling at the marvelous rattle it gave in response. As I started my work, there was the familiar late night silence, lonely and welcoming at the same time. The only sound heard could be my light breaths and the wondrous sprays and rattles of my work.

I finished without disturbances, which I found strange. It was a new neighborhood, I guess. Yet I still found myself running as fast as I could from the scene. I turned the corner, down the two blocks, and stopped in front of the house. Grabbing onto the gutter, I hauled myself up onto the roof, going back through the window, and closing it. I then quickly took off the shoes, threw the bag back into the little door, closing it, and quietly plopping into bed. Sighing and not even bothering to check the time, because I knew it was late. I was just glad I was finally drifting off to sleep with a smile.

Tomorrow, people will look and see that somebody finally wrote on the piece of paper. That, whoever that person may be, existed in this world, whether they liked or not. Tomorrow, anyone else like me will know they are not alone.

My name is Casey Brista, and I'm just another troubled teen on the loose.