Holy shit, two stories in one week. What happened to me? Did I suddenly -GASP- stop being lazy? Oh man, if I'm not careful I might, horror of all horrors, start becoming a productive member of society!

Can you guys hear my sarcasm? Can you?

I have a face that is easy to forget, and a presence that is easy to ignore. I have always been this way, ever since I was born. My mother forgets me, my father forgets me, even my own brother forgets me sometimes. It's almost like I don't really exist. I could stand right next to you and you would never know I was there, as if I were invisible. And often times, when people do notice me, they confuse me for my twin brother, although we're nothing alike.

Maybe you believe I am over exaggerating. Dear reader, I assure you, I'm not. When I was a little boy, only four years old, my parents took my brother Alfred and I to a carnival, along with their friends and the children of those friends. After a long day of child wrangling, each set of adults struggled to get their excited children into the car. My own parents had the same troubles getting Alfred into the car as all the other parents. When they finally managed it, they drove directly home, only thinking of the warm bed that awaited them after they put their son to bed.

They did not spare a thought for the child they left behind crying in the parking lot. They only remembered my existed the next day, when I was delivered, scared and sobbing, to our doorstep by a police officer.

But I'm was used to it, really. I don't mind. It doesn't hurt when people would forget me, or would leave me behind, or would confuse me for my louder and brasher brother.

(Except it does.)

Over the years, I have become fantastic at playing games by myself. Games of pretend, mostly. They are the easiest to play by yourself.

I am fine only having one friend, my stuffed bear Kuma. Kuma is my guard bear, after all, the one that mother and father gave me for Christmas when I was six.

(That was the first year that they remembered to get me something)

There has been exactly one person in my young life that never forgot me. She was my nanny, the woman whom I have taken the last name of. She was a kind, lovely woman, who never forgot me or mistook me for my brother. She would remember to chase away the monsters under my bed, stitch up Kuma when he got a little worn, pack me a lunch, tuck me into bed, read me stories. She even remembered that pancakes were my favorite food. To me, these little things meant a lot. They made me feel worthwhile.

After she died, I began talking to the monsters under my bed instead of chasing them away. They never talked back, but I knew (I hoped, oh how I hoped) that if I just looked under the bed, they would be there, menacing as always. But I am always afraid to look under the bed at them.

Not because I am afraid of what they would look like.

I am afraid that if I look under the bed, I will find that they have forgotten my existence and have left. Just like all the others.

Just like my mother and father, who always forgot me and left me behind, or my brother, who abandoned me at school cause he couldn't bother to remember that his brother was there, or my teachers, who always forget that I am in their classes.

But I don't mind, really. You don't have to worry about me.

I'm fine on my own, and I don't want to bother you.

You'll only forget me, anyways.

And besides, I'm good at playing pretend.

...Let's never write something that is both this awful and this sad again, yes?