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He usually keeps to himself, he doesn't like to draw attention to himself. He's very awkward in conversation and he never knows what to say. He often says something that is taken as rude when he never intended it to. He's often seen sitting in a corner deep in thought, sometimes reading, but never speaking, never moving except for the occasional page turn. Now, he is very imaginative and his imagination sometimes grabs an idea and takes off, dragging him behind. When he tries to share his ideas, though, most just laugh and move along, leaving poor Jack standing there with his finger in the air, mouth half open.
My name is Jack and if I had wings, I'd fly off the surface of this planet. Life has not gone the way I had hoped.
As a youngster, I was not a very happy little boy. My family abused me, treated me as a servant that just so happened to be related. I was always seen cleaning this, fetching that. I always did it tight lipped and quickly, afraid to speak up. Many often asked why I was doing so much hard work to which my family responded, "He enjoys it. He offers to do it, right Jack?" and I had always nodded silently, afraid to contradict them. My greatest regret from my childhood is not speaking up for myself. That one regret gnaws at me because I know if I had spoken up, my life would've been so much better.
In my teens, I became more snarky and I voiced my opinion when I felt it was needed, and sometimes when I knew it wasn't. I had a case of the teens. Insecure and sassy. My parents doubled the workload on my around that time and I eventually learned to shut up and get it done. In my rare free time, I was often perched on my bed with a book or a pencil and paper, doodling insane, imaginative ideas.
I moved out of my parent's home without them knowing. I was an adult by then, having just turned eighteen. The night of my birthday, I snuck out of bed in the middle of the night and grabbed my few belongings I cared about and hopped out the window and into the inky night. I never found out what my parents did when they discovered I was gone, but I guess I've never really cared. I was free. The first few nights alone were rough until I found a home for myself. I remember walking in the front door on the first day, the excitement. Eventually I settled into a routine. Wake up, eat, get ready, go to school, come home, eat, sleep. I was in college for biology at the time and I have to admit, I was pretty great at it. Once I got my masters, I got a job at a greenhouse. I have lived in the same house with the same job ever since.
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