I’m only human. I am not some kind of superhero or strong athlete or especially ‘life of the party’. I’m just an intelligent guy with two hands and a keyboard who is quite familiar with these two. I may not be the best guy a girl would go after, but I still do get some. But that’s not particularly the point. I didn’t believe in love, and I don’t think I do now. The world has become such a monster and there are so many reasons not to believe in it. But we all have to survive somehow.

My name is undefined. I was never given a name as a child seeing how my mother was abused at 13—so I came into this world by force. And she didn’t have me with doctor’s care, either. She didn’t want to have me, but she was a half-hearted lady; she let me live, but she forced me to live on my own. I grew up with little food and little care. I waddled around the streets, and nobody cared to pick me up. Not even the just and kind policemen who I walked directly by without them noticing. Was it because I was small, or was it because I was made to be the one to not survive somehow?

I saved up money year by year by seeing it on the street—every once in a while you find a wallet on the ground with a credit card and $500–1000 dollars. I gained my intelligence from watching TV inside stores, theaters and all the other places I could reach. If knowledge was a product for me—it’d be in high demand.

I love to know everything about the world. I’m extremely observant, but yet I plan to spend my days inside my little box home, on this old Windows XP I found laying out. Wandering around all these years and luckily finding everything I need to survive is abnormal. Something or somebody is helping me survive somehow. Maybe God is giving me survival somehow.

After I got about $2000, I started school reluctantly. I used forgery to make myself look like I was a completely new 6th grader from Russia coming into the States. Luckily, my school couldn’t search into international education records, so I was safe. I was weird to everyone—almost everyone made fun of how I looked and how smart I was.

I always made perfect scores on everything, always making ‘straight A’s’ on my progress report and report card. They would ignorantly call me harmless (although they did intentionally meant harm) names like ‘nerd’, ‘no-name’, and ‘trashcan boy’. I had no idea on earth why they did this, but it didn’t mean a single thing to me. I knew I was special. We don’t all survive somehow.

I may not be the most handsome 6th grade guy, and by all means I have right to my opinion, therefore I can be judgmental towards other people. Supposedly ‘hypocritically’ stating someone is ugly is… your opinion. Both about the ugly part and the hypocritical part, seeing how we have a right to judge people and give our opinion, so it’s not legitimately 'hypocritical'. I don’t want to say an entire paragraph based on my opinion yet, so I won’t hit the enter button just yet. So, excuse my opinion: 7/8 of the girls in my grade are not so good-looking. That’s all I have to say about the subject, because I don’t want to anger people.

So taking that into consideration, you can either call me a hypocrite, my entire school a hypocrite, or just say everyone is kindly giving us their opinion. Seeing how the previous statement was not my general message for this paragraph, I know I’m going to have a lot of errors in the future of this piece. Oh well, I’m sure you’re an intelligent-enough person to understand this if you’ve read this far.

School was boring yet somewhat fun at points. I think it was boring because I basically knew everything they taught me and I was a good test-taker. I have a small little box home behind a McDonald’s building I made out of bricks I bought. I guess you could have even called me rich for my age, $870 is what I had in 6th grade, I believe. I had very few friends and in my opinion I was quite the comedian. Whoever I was friends with I made them laugh a lot, and I could always make them smile on their worst days.

But I don’t even know if I believe it when they say they’re sad, because I’ve been through way worse. Every day at school, I sit there throughout their so-called ‘sadness’ and just long of getting to my desktop computer in that tiny house of mine. I actually learned a lot with that thing, learned everything about networking, web design, and I’m working on a bit of C++. This will be useful if someone angers me enough, but I doubt anybody will. I like being nice.

I remember parts of the day when I would stumble over to my blue table in math class with the fish jar in the middle and I watched it swim around, wouldn’t pay attention at all to the teacher, and when she called on me by force I looked at the board and made a legible answer according to what was relevant to what she wrote. Everybody would stare at me like I was the smartest person that ever existed. Some would even attempt to bully me to do their homework for them. I never did, because I knew that they weren’t as tough as they thought.

I think music is how I survived. I bought myself a little iPod Nano and put songs on it constantly from time-to-time. I like two main genres: metal and instrumental. Most metal songs have a great message, and instrumental will inspire me every once in a while. It’s interesting to see how complex our minds are; receiving ideas via music. It just so abnormally perceives of the science and history of us humans. Music may not be yours way of surviving, but we all survive somehow.

Enough of my life story—it’s time I get to the point.

At the beginning of the school year (actually the first day), I had seen a girl in the hallway. Mark my words: it was the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen. I’m positive every guy in the entire school would want to date her. Nobody ever looked at me, but my friends. They told me how much I had changed and how I look better and older. Then everyone ignores me and continues their grudge against me for being the smartest, loneliest kid out there. The girl had the prettiest green eyes, blonde hair, and overall a perfect face. We don’t all survive the same way.

We almost never talked. To this day, I still think she’s perfect. She acted like I was nothing, and the more and more I slept on it I felt like I was no good for her. There was no point in obsessing over something I’m not sure of. I didn’t even know what her personality was like, except for a few things. I don’t know if it was because her looks or her personality why she had so many friends, but I knew that I liked her for her looks—at the time. We all survive somehow.

I soon found out she was in my Physical Education class. She would always yell a few times, but she was calm. She was really nice from the looks of it. I decided to go after her. And the only thing was that I had to get her to know me. I asked for help from friends, but they weren’t my friends. They figuratively killed me about it; teased me, yelled at the girl, and tripped me around her. I decided to lie and say I didn’t like her. That was the best lie of my life.

I remember one day I was walking to P.E., and she came up to me and asked me what my name was. I told her that I didn’t have one. “Ha, no really,” she said. I said I didn’t have one, and asked why she wanted to know my name. She said she was going to random people asking their names. I thought she ‘liked’ me. Of course my assumption was wrong. I asked her what her name was a week later from that chronological point and she said Hannah. I then realized I had no chance for her.

Until one day I made a Facebook account because I was fascinated in how Mark Zuckerberg created the thing. I looked up everyone I could and added them as my friend. I then saw her name on one of my friend’s account. She recognized me as a stranger when I commented on the status she posted, because I had a misleading name. She said I was pretty cool, and then I said my name. She said, “Oh… I shall add you!” This began the friendship. We talked, and talked, and talked. We had a lot and common, and we slowly became the best of friends.

At this point I knew I wanted to go out with her. I knew she had a boyfriend though, so I waited it out. After a few days, I heard they broke up… but they were still in love. I told her I ‘liked’ her the night they broke up.

I asked her out. She said no because she still missed her ex-boyfriend. Life suddenly became drowning in hell. I spent nights up crying for her, pounding my fists against the walls in anger and grief. I just closed my eyes and died. I have this empty feeling that rings my ears and puts me in a mental coma. I’d do anything for her.

So here I am as I write this outside her house.

Just remember these people you call ‘stalkers’ might have sold their souls to love as well.