It should be noted the author does not actually agree with the opinion of the narrator, lest people try to call psychologists. If the author did think this way once, thank God he doesn't think this way anymore.

My name is Fred. But I hate that name. It's so damn common, and being the fragile and insecure teenger that I am, I need every shred of individual identity I can get. So I prefer being called Lukav. Fairly stupid, yeah, but you could argue that I'm just a geek who wants his pseudonymn to be spread throughout cyberspace, gaining fame and good repute, all the while hiding his true identity. A really sucky one: the geek named Fred. My friends don't call me Lukav, anyway. I just get weird looks whenever I mention it, so I figure I'll let it go and not worry about it. Just a pseudonymn. An incredibly stupid one, too. But I don't think too much about that, at least not anymore. I'm more occupied with trying not to think about certain areas of social politics that always end up doing nothing but adding up the crap in life I have to trudge through, and I have enough of that already.

Who'm I writing this to? No one's reading. I just lately realized how horrible I am at everything I thought I was good at. And I looked like such a big idiot the whole time. Sometimes I wish that I had always felt like nobody cared about me; it'd have saved me so much humiliation to have just kept my mouth shut and stay in the corner, a silent observer. I always thought that it would be so awesome to be the recluse, the rogue, the callous and enigmatic guy with the streak of silver hair or the ninja shurikan or whatever. I thought I was, for a while, too. And then I met my friends.

And life has been good. Very good. I got over most of the obstacles I faced before. I even learned how to laugh at myself, something I really sucked at doing previously. But there's always the small things in life that make my mind wander. I lose focus. A small catastrophe pops up every once in a while, and I lose a friend. Or just become distanced. And I always end up hurt, not to mention my friend who probably suffered more than I did.

I used to think I was a great poetic guy. I was the guru of writing, second only to some guy I met on the internet who works as a plumber in the daytime and a DJ at night. He has some wild stories. But the point is, all I ever amounted to was an guy with an immature social mind who had some pretty unrealistic thoughts about stuff. So I was the melodramatic, hypochondriac, whining kid. And nobody liked that. So I stopped. But it hurt to know that they really hated it. And I insulted myself, night after night, staring up at my bedroom ceiling, wondering why I was such an idiot.I blamed my old school. I can't. It was my fault.

So life has been a roller-coaster, but so far it's been great. Life was great, I was carefree, didn't think much about writing, romanticism, or anything of that sort. It really didn't matter to me. I had friends, I had health, I had music; life was so bitching. And then it happened, one more time. I became an invisible guy. Something happened at school, I guess. I said something that people just took the wrong way, and then blew way out of proportion. An innocent question, nothing pertaining to anything...who knew? So my friends leave in one of their cars, and I start to head toward the bus stop. Before they leave, though, and before I head off, I say "Bye, guys" and wave. And I wasn't far away, either. But nothing. They continue their conversation, oblivious to the fact that I'm even there. Hey, they were having fun, I don't expect them to pay attention to me every second, but at least acknowledging that I was there? And leaving? And existed? I was forgotten, but I wasn't even gone yet.

So the roller coaster sucked. Once again, not even thinking what I thought before...with this whole new mindset, I get depressed again. I walk to the bus, and I look up at the graying sky. I can feel a bit of dampness in the air, and what I can smell of it smells like rain. And it'd start soon, and it would pour. And it did. But I felt like walking. So I did. And in that rain, I thought...and thinking never leads to any good. Brought down again, this time by my friends. I've had bouts of this before. It's nothing new to me. I probably have a medical problem of some kind, but not a chance in hell I'll ever get treatment for it. I won't get help, I want to do this on my own, I'm alone and lonely anyway. By the time I get home, drenched, you can't tell I've been crying. No one needs to know how I feel.

Nobody knows how I'm feeling. And I want to keep it that way. I don't want anybody involved in this. I snap when I feel like this, anger gets the best of me and I vent endlessly. I hurt myself, others, and I don't ever think about what I say. But thinking about this stuff won't help me, and so if I don't want anybody else there to help, and I can't help myself, I just have to deal with it until it goes away. It always does, eventually. So I slump down in front of my computer, open up my little illegal internet file sharing thingy, crank up the volume and get my own version of a high on the music I have. It's all I have. And I'll keep it that way. I'm just the common Fred, one of the most common names in America. Or at least, it should be; it's so boring.

A person decides to be lonely, I think. Even when you're alone, you can always just be happy and be content with only yourself to talk to. Or you could go schizo and hear voices. But I could never do something so Herculean. I'm just a loser music junkie. And while my life means nothing, and I don't give a good fuck about college, especially because of all those stupid brochures they send. Yeah, you know what I'm saying. Whoever "you" are. I don't know why I'm writing this. Anyway, they make college like the climax of life. What about the rest of it? Isn't there kind of a whole life ahead of a person after college? It's important, sure, but it's all about college. I've heard of taking things one step at a time, but sheesh. It's way overdoing it...

...I'm so lonely...