Hello. For the period of time you are reading this novel, I would like to let all other things from the outside world fade. It's just you and me, right now, through ink on pages, or perhaps an LED screen, casting pixelated specks of red, green, and blue into your eyes. Either way, focus only on the text you're reading.
I feel as though I should give an introduction. The trouble is here, I am in no existence to give an introduction. I do not exist. Well, not in your world, anyway, with your iPods and loud stereo systems. I'm here, in your imagination. I take you on this journey, through memories and current events, to tell you the story of the person I was, I am, and maybe, just maybe, who you are.
I've never been one to be content with my surroundings. The room was always too room temperature. The coffee always too hot. The ice always too cold. I'd sit for hours, curled into a ball, writing down poems, paragraphs, short stories. I liked to express my feelings on paper. My opinions and beliefs always sounded more intelligent when they were out of my head. Sometimes, I'd just scribble. Letting my spastic little hand jerk the 0.07 mm mechanical pencil around the blue lined paper until the lead broke with a sharp crack. The crack of lightning, it seemed to me.
I'd always been fond of the sky. I loved the gentle paint strokes of pink and orange as the sun slowly crept its way back under the horizon, hiding from the moon that signals darkness. The thing was, the sun's bigger than the moon. The moon reflects the sun. So why would the sun be afraid of the moon?
Aren't we all afraid of our own reflection?
I never liked riddles. Sure, I tore through Sherlock Holmes mysteries, amazed at Conan Doyle's deductions of extravagant scenarios, but such petty jokes as the ones on the wood stick hidden in popsicles repelled me. I had a thing against stupid.
Never had a girlfriend, never had a boyfriend. The mere thought of romantic human contact made me nauseous.