October 27, 1998, dawn struck upon the Earth as a mother held a child in her hands. The child was soon whisked away by the doctors to be cleaned. As the doctors looked at the little boy, they found a very small hole in the child's heart. The news shocked the small boy's parents. They feared they were about to lose their first child. It turned out it was okay, and it healed up by itself about a year or so later. The boy went on to love computers and his PS2. Kingdom Hearts all day at home after getting home from school, and the latest Pokemon game when on the fly. He grew into playing more video games, making a lot of his life centered around it, and of course made it his main hobby. He argued, laughed, and poked fun at other people on video game forums and online video games. This little nerdy kid even made lots of friends at school that played many video games too, and became good friends with them. Years went and passed. He got into animation and 3D Level Design. He loved voice acting and making very small projects to entertain himself, and loved doing it. He loved to draw and do really bad 5 second animations on Adobe Flash CS3 with crudely drawn stick figures. He even put together his own computer rig to run the latest games and support the latest software. Now, the boy sits here typing this while on the top of a very thin 30 foot wall, and losing his balance. He feels that one side is an unknown to him, because he hasn't planned for it, and the other side is what he recognizes himself as of right now and always has. He questions who he really is.
Right now, this boy is trying to realize if he really is who he thinks he is. He wonders if he's as charismatic and self-secure than he thinks he is. This boy question if he's had his priorities wrong this whole time. He's always told himself that he wants to make games for a living. He wants to be the next Miyamoto. He wants to be a Hideo Kojima. He wants to be recognized and loved like Cliffy B. He wants to launch the greatest game anyone has ever created. He has dreams, as foolish and naive as they may be. But this boy feels himself slipping away, questioning if he can really do that. Maybe he can, but maybe not. The boy feels odd. His stomach stirs and mind boggles as Pandora plays his Red Hot Chili Peppers station. It's like a trance. He can't stop asking questions in his own mind that he leaves unanswered.
The boy questions if he wants to do 3D animation. He remembers that he used to play Team Fortress 2 all day long. He remembers Source Filmmaker coming out and being able to make professional animations with his favorite gaming characters. It blew his mind. He learned the basics and made short 30 second animations. He loved doing it, but never showed anyone else his work. Maybe he liked being inclusive, maybe he felt insecure about his work. He stores the files in the back of his computer and his mind. No one will find it unless they really truly knew that boy. But sadly enough, no one knows very much of his true self. The boy feels that way, he knows so. The boy questions the integrity of his work. 2 years of trying, he doesn't know if he really made much progress from starting out. No matter how many half-hour tutorials from people on YouTube he watches, he feels he can't do everything just right. Something is always off. He feels his animations are awkward and not fun to watch. Maybe he should give up. He is not sure.
The boy questions if he has artistic abilities. He looks over drawings and sketches that he's done. He looks over one in particular that is somber. It feels different from the others. He feels like he actually understood what he drew. It makes him feel this high that had transported him straight to his drawing. He sees in the eyes of the only person in there. A cliff extrudes over a ocean. The only thing lighting the area was the moon. Nothing else was there, it was quiet. He looks over the edge of the cliff into the waves brushing against the side of the cliff. He then backs up and looks to the stars that twinkle in the night sky. He reaches his hand out to the stars, as the stars form into the a hand and into the body of someone who had once broke his heart because she lived so far away. Callie was her name, the boy recalled. He had only seen her when he traveled about 3 hours to visit his grandma, Granny K, who had died a few years ago. His Grandpa Tim moved out of that house about 2 months later, and that was the last time the boy had seen Callie. The boy held her as everything was sucked inwards like as if a black hole appeared. His eyes snapped open to where he was in his room. He looks at his computer and continues typing. He wonders that if his art was able to do that to himself, that it might be worth something, worth something to himself at least. He feels a little bit better, but still very bitter.
The boy questions if anyone actually understand hims. He remembers as how he would be excited over something, but everyone he told about it would kind of just be like "whatever" about it. It made him feel as if no one really cared. He didn't feel sad about that though. He's charismatic! He's a man-stallion if he says so himself! That was good enough for him! So why does he feel sad about it all now? It's odd, he feels now as if he is entirely alone. He hates it. It makes him angry. Maybe if he types more about it, maybe someone will understand... right? He isn't sure, but he prays that someone out there is just like him. Someone who is just like him. That boy just wants to plant a kisser right on the lips with that person, just because that person would make him happy.
That boy is weird, and he's self-aware of it. He doesn't want any pity. He doesn't want other people to be friends with him just because he says he feels he's alone right now. Maybe he just wants to find that person just like him out there somehow. Maybe he wants to write this because it makes him feel safe. Maybe he writes this so he can tell a story. I think the boy just wrote this to let vent. He feels a bit better now that he wrote this. He also says sorry for some spelling errors, as he has no energy to go back and check over his writing; it would just make him wonder off into his mind more, maybe even into the parts of himself he doesn't like.
For now though he just wants to watch some Cowboy Bebop and chill. Nothing much, just be concealed with only himself and a computer screen in his tiny room, the only space he can really feel alone.