The Beginning
Well, well, well... let's just say my life is full of messy, trashy, and hilariously unfunny chapters. If it were recorded in a book, it'd probably be the worst book ever written.
Hahaha—
Okay, maybe I'm being dramatic, but hear me out. Of all the interesting things in this world, am I the only lazy, tired bum who doesn't care about anything remotely related to... well, anything?
sigh
I don't know what's gotten into me, but—wait—did I forget something trivial? What could it be? Oh, right! I forgot to introduce myself. By the way, I'm Jason Fisherman, the main character of this story. So, without further ado, dig in and let's get this show on the road!
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November 25, 2002
That's the day I graced the world with my presence. I still remember my parents' faces, Ben and Martha. They were so happy back then—unlike now, where they bicker non-stop. They argue all day just to prove their undying love for each other. Cringe.
Look, I get it—people change, and life isn't all butterflies and rainbows. But seriously, they're overdoing it. Even at night, it's too noisy in their room. And yeah, they always make up after their arguments, if you know what I mean.
Now, I'm sure you're wondering how on earth I can remember all this when I was just a little baby nugget.
Well, here's the thing: my IQ was over 180, even as a fetus. Yup, I remember everything—even the weird stuff. Like why my dad kept putting his "eggplant" in my mom's "donut." Yeah, I went there.
Anyway, I believe I have a photographic memory. Cool, right? Except it's not. This gift came with a curse. Every embarrassing moment of my life replays in my mind like a bad déjà vu.
I developed faster than other kids my age. My mind was too advanced for them to keep up. No bragging or anything, but I'm just him.
At just one year old, during my first birthday, I said my first words in front of all my relatives after my parents helped me blow out my candle: "Mama. Dada."
Everyone's faces lit up, and they called me adorable. Some even pinched my chubby cheeks.
By the time I turned two, I had learned to walk. Fast forward to pre-school through middle school—I was the top student. Same responsibilities, no changes.
I joined extracurricular activities and various clubs, but nothing really interested me. I excelled in every subject. No pun intended.
Oh, and I had a stalker—a girl who constantly said she'd surpass me. She worked hard and vowed to do better, while I just nodded and shrugged it off. I forgot her name, but hey, at least she had motivation, unlike me.
I wish I had a purpose. Maybe some close friends. Maybe a normal life. Just because I'm smart doesn't mean I don't feel things. If I didn't get sad sometimes, I'd probably be a sociopath. Or worse, a psychopath.