My name is Alfred F. Jones. Nineteen. I love the United States of America, hamburgers, freedom of speech, and a good glass of Coca-Cola. No ice. That dilutes the taste.

My mother would say I'm a good kid. My father just grunts in appreciation when I do good. I have to do good; I'm the hero. That doesn't mean I'm a nice person, just a good person.

Like everyone else, I want to be loved.

I'm nineteen. I'm taking a short break from school- nothing major. I just want to explore my beloved country a bit, get a job, earn some money so that my family doesn't have to pay quite so much. You know?

I suppose that I'm still working out who I really am. What's my dream? What's my orientation? I love a good party. It's what keeps me sane. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, right? Or rather, Alfred.

Not that people don't think I'm stupid. I get good grades, but I don't care for reading the mood. I could, if I wanted to. I could think about what I say before I piss off my friends, but it's more amusing this way, don't you think?

They also think I'm fat. I may be. I certainly eat a lot. But hey, Diet Coke works everything out, right? And for what it doesn't cure, there's always a rigorous training regime. That sure burns the fat right off. So it's no wonder why people don't want me to punch them, or go up against me in football. Someone can only beat me if I want them to, if I let them to. I'm in a very good position, there.

I'm nineteen and I just want to be loved. I have a good list of friends. There's Arthur, who, despite only being a few years older than me, basically helped raise me when my father disappeared. Turns out, we all got separated at an airport, and since he made a habit of never carrying a phone... We all lost contact. He didn't carry a phone, so he didn't bother with phone numbers. It was complicated. It was stupid, is what it was. I have Francis, who also helped raise me, though he's always been a bit touchy-feely. Then there's my twin Matthew, who, while not very noticeable, is better than me in a myriad of ways. Because he isn't noticed, he has a certain amount of freedom that I don't have.

At least, that's how I perceive things.

My childhood wasn't traumatic at all besides the sudden absence of my father. It was really very good, after all. I had a loving mother, a sweet twin, and a group of friends. I excelled in sports. I did decent in school. I tried to be nice; I rebelled majorly when I hit seventeen, but that was to be expected, after all.

I'm a good kid. What I do in the dark is only for the best of intentions. Still, my hand shakes, the gun gripped either too hard or too lose. I'm a good kid. It's all for the sake of love.

I want someone to love me, to need me. I want to be their knight in shining armour, I want them to adore me. That's why I'm in Europe. I'll bring them to the U.S. Soon, don't worry. If they really love me.

I've gone through so many like them, like him. I'm holding out, see. I won't give my services to someone who loves me; at least, not the full extent.

For the time being, use me. Abuse me. Anything. Just need me.

Please? It's not that hard. I'm a very loveable person. That's what I hope. I can be even more loveable, though, if you want me.

Come on. I'll ask only once more. Second time's the charm- if you hesitate, then you don't deserve a third chance. You need to be prompt in answering, right? So, come on. Love me?

Pretty please?