It was getting dark; nearing 6 o'clock in the evening. There was a boy in a small apartment building. He sat in the livingroom, with walls painted red. There was a 46" TV in front of him. But he didn't watch TV; instead, he sat on the black, pleather couch, and looked out the window. He watched the birds tweeting and flying by. He found them to be interesting creatures, the way they spoke to each other in their own language, and went about their day, doing their business. Creating homes, collecting grubs. The boy did this often; just sat and did nothing but think, as he had a lot of time on his hands.

His name was Timothy Jefferson; though most called him "Timmy" or "Tim" for short. He was a 24 year old boy, but not many knew that. Not only because he was so reclusive, but also because he didn't look his age; he looked to be closer to 18. He was short, only 5 feet tall. He was average in weight, just a little bit extra. He wasn't muscular. Neither was he masculine, aside from his goatee, sideburns and his military-style hair cut. He was quite feminine everywhere else; he had big, bright blue eyes with long lashes. He had soft and full pink lips. His skin was smooth and milky white, except when blushing, where he'd turn beet red. He wore the clothes of a young boy; usually comic-book or movie shirts unless he was going out somewhere special. He was a kind-hearted and sweet, generous person but most people couldn't see past his odd behavior and mannerisms. All during school, he was made fun of for the way he looked and the different way he behaved. "Geek" they called him, "homo" they called him. "Why don't you talk?" they'd ask. They'd referred to him as an "idiot" and picked fun at him for not being able to play sports properly.

Timmy was a bit slow. Not that he wasn't intelligent; he was even a genius in some areas. Though when it came to living in the real world, out there with people, he had a lot of trouble. He was such an anxious, fearful person; so much so that he was put on anxiety medication and even then, the anxiety remained, just to a lesser degree. Because of his anxiety, he still didn't have his driver's license and he hadn't built up the courage to get a job until he was 24 years of age.

As Timmy watched the birds, he suddenly heard a car pull into the drive-way; his brother had come home from work, to the apartment they shared.

Timmy's brother's name was Jack. He was the opposite of Timmy; he was taller, had black hair and brown eyes. He was masculine and muscular and wasn't afraid of anyone or anything. He was actually quite aggressive when it came to certain things. He worked in a warehouse called "Greeting Cards of Tomorrow" and had been there for 6 years; he was introduced to the place by his best friend of 12 years, Sam.

Jack walked through the door and put his dishes from work in the sink. He then took a plate off the counter - food Timmy had made for him - and made his way into the living room. He kicked his steel-toed shoes off and sat down on the couch beside his brother, then turned the TV on and began to eat.

"You just sitting here?" asked Jack, almost accusational.

"Yeah. I was thinking," responded Timmy. "How was work?" he asked.

"Eh. Work. What's up?" Jack questioned.

"I ended things with that guy on the internet," Timmy said.

"Oh yeah?" Jack asked.

"Yeah. I can't be with someone like him. He wants me to move there. I can't move to another state, I've not even really worked yet, unless you count the coffee shop. It's just not meant to be. He's putting too much pressure on me. He's refusing to take no for an answer. Plus, he's just... the negativity is getting to be too much for me, and all the expectations... Like, I don't even live with him. We're just two people on the internet. He can't expect that much from me. I don't want to live on the internet just because he does. I'm sick of it. I want to live in the real world, with people around here. People I can see, and hear, and touch. Even though I don't really have anybody except you, mom and dad. No friends. I want friends. I want... I want something real. I hate being stuck in this house, in these four walls. I feel trapped, like... like I'm a prisoner," Timmy went on.

"Yeah, I don't blame you. I used to feel like that when I was unemployed," Jack said.

"Yeah. I want to start living. I'm tired of hiding, waiting for my life to start. It's not going to start on it's own. I gotta do something. I want to get things going. I wanna have money, you know? I want to be able to help you pay for this place. I feel like a mooch. I wanna be able to go out and do things and have actual friends. I'm sick of doing everything on the internet, dude, I seriously am," said Timmy.

"Why don't you get a job?" Jack responded.

"I... don't know if I can handle a job. I'm so damn anxious," Timmy said.

"Come work with me, I'm telling you. Greeting Cards of Tomorrow isn't like that coffee shop. You don't have to work with customers here, you don't have to be put on the spot. It's easy where I work. You just pick product, pack product, ship product. I'd teach you how to do all of it. They'd hire you on as a temp, we need temps right now, it's the busy season. And if you can't do it, no big deal. You can leave. It's not permanent," said Jack.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's true. I should give it a shot, at least," Timmy replied.

"Atta boy. I'll help you through it. I'll get you the number for the temp agency," Jack said.

About a week later, and Jack had helped Timmy to get the job; he was hired on as a temp for Greeting Cards of Tomorrow.

To Be Continued...

Author's Comments:

Hello. Let me know what you think of this first chapter. It'd be greatly appreciated. Thank you.