I'll start with a shoe.

Mostly because shoes are pretty meaningless, as far as shoes go. Honestly, I could never understand why people got so hampered up over something like shoes. They stay out of your normal sight vision about 80% of the time and no one really gives a shit if your shoes looked like you just stole them from the ass end of a garbage truck. They're shoes, and they were invented so are feet wouldn't get dirty, but it's all pretty redundant since shoes make our feet stink anyway. But whatever. This is a story, and I'll start it anyway I want it to. Not my story, that's later. It's just a story.

So, anyway, with the shoe thing, shoes are pretty unimportant. They never really mattered and I don't think they ever will matter. If things came down to like and death situation, I can almost guarantee you that shoes will be the last thing on your mind. If someone was holding a gun to your face and threatening to blow you away, I can imagine you'll be thinking about your loved ones and the life you wanted to have and how you're going to get out of that dilemma, not about what kind of shoes the asshole that is threatening you is wearing. I'm digressing, but I'll get to my point. You see, most people go through their whole lives feeling like shoes. How they're never going to get anywhere in life, how nobody cares about them, and how they don't make any difference in the world. In fact, lots of people kill themselves for those very reasons, and it's all very sad and tragic, but somehow the rest of us learn how to move on. Except for certain people that I will not mention at this moment who obsess over all the horrible things that happened to them until they basically snap and decided they were going to go on a pointless killing spree, but whatever. We're not talking about him. We're talking about shoes.

Moving on.

Although shoes are still pretty meaningless in life, like some people who feel the same way as shoes feel, they still carry a small basic function. To do what they were meant to do. And although I am only twenty one years old and have had no real life experience besides dealing with the insane people that I have to deal with, I have concluded that the meaning of life is to live. Not very philosophical, but I imagine that is the basic fundamental about it all. So, if anyone is listening to me, I have this last thing to say.

If you feel meaningless, worthless, and nobody cares about you and you have no impact on the world whatsoever, that's okay. Everyone else is too. For all I know, there can be someone a million miles away getting brutally mutilated and watching their family being killed before their very eyes, and I could care less. It's the way the world is, sadly enough, and not even some childish prick with a god complex can make us change the way human nature operates. And we are selfish, cruel bastards. Nobody cares about what happens to that poor soul a million miles away, and nobody cares about me.

And that, unfortunately, is life.

Anyway, I think I've had you all waiting long enough, so I'll be getting on with the story now. My story.

See that beautiful girl over there? The one with the curly black hair, the big brown doe eyes? The one with the light blue dress hanging off her perfectly shaped body?

Yeah, that's not me.

That girl sitting by the park bench over there with her back craned over trying to stop her mp3 player from dying a horrible death? Wearing nothing more than a t-shirt she bought off of the internet and dirty jeans? With the badly died red hair pulled back with messy barrettes because she hasn't washed it in a few days? With whiter than white skin being literally bleached from sitting in front of a computer screen in like, forever? Oh yeah, that's me.

I would say I was sorry for disappointing your expectations, but I'm not. I excel at not giving a shit.

See the way I figured it, I was pretty much doomed to be an unhappy sack the rest of my life. God certainly hasn't blessed me with good looks, so there really is no point in becoming a giggly nymph for boys I thought attractive; since it was pretty obvious I would never get them anyway. Not even unattractive guys go for unattractive girls, so what was the point? I figure that avoiding disappointment was avoiding any expectations, so therefore, you must avoid interest.

The only thing God really gave me was intelligence, but even that in itself wasn't a big horn I could toot, seeing as I grew up in a place where everyone I knew was a child prodigy, and in extension, a million times smarter than I was. I guess if I was left to my normal devices in a normal society, I would be led to believe that I was pretty much the smartest person on the goddamn planet and every else is an idiot. But even then, being the smartest human being in the real world isn't good enough to be considered intelligent in the whack-job I lived in. So I decided to coast by on my God given smarts which wasn't really all that much, and when it was time for me to leave, I left.

Nothing much to it really. Up until recently, I had been living in a one bedroom apartment with my iguana Hannibal and my crazy landlord that likes to parade around in a white tank chugging down beers and asking for my rent about three weeks early. And her constant hitting on me. It doesn't help that she's sort of cute. But sadly enough I don't hate boys enough to switch to girls, and even though they can be exceedingly viscous and they have the emotional capacity of a walrus, I can't help but wish I was a lesbian, or a dude, because girls are soft and sweet and they have nice hair and they know how to make their eyelids shimmer when they flutter their eyelashes, but sadly enough I can't seem to bring myself to make that transition. So I've predicted that I will die a cold and lonely wench.

Anyway, I was happily living my less than exciting life, working at coffee shops by day and trying to make it big as a pop star sensation at night-HA! Kidding. I was checking to see if you were paying attention. No, actually, I just wander the streets at night for a couple of hours, seeing as that is the only time I like to go out because there are no people around. Once I stopped a guy from mugging a pretty 50's chick. It was pretty cool.

Oh hey! I forgot an important detail. Here I am prattling on about mundane things to start this story off, and I haven't given you my name yet.

Well guess what?

I'm not going too.

But to avoid future confusion, I will tell you that you may call me Saturday Silence. Everyone calls me that. My foster parents called me that, my siblings, wherever the hell they are now, call me that, and people that I meet call me that, so you're going to call me that too.

Saturday Silence. Age 21. Born on September 4th. The last thing I will tell you about myself is that I am Russian, and that's all I will tell you for now.

Alright, I think I've delayed this intro enough, and to get to the matter at hand.

The reason I am telling you this story is because at the moment, I am being kidnapped.

And I am not fucking happy about this.