1.1. I Wish I Was From Another Planet
I am an invisible man.
My name is Logan Jeremy Black the second, named after my bastard of a father, Logan Jeremy Black the first.
Right from birth, my life has been marked by a form of anonymity. Where I, not only, am not permitted to have an identity of my own, but I must live to the expectations and goals set by the man whom calls himself "Dad." Worst of all, I must forever be connected to the man who I loathe more than anything else within this bleak abyss of a world.
By that time I was born, my parents were young and together.
By the time I turned ten, they were no longer young and they were no longer together.
By this point, I am nineteen and I live with my mother... away from my father and trapped in this hick-town known infamously as South Park.
It is my senior year in high school and my only... companions... are two sixteen-year-olds and one thirteen-year-old.
I must be a cradle-robber.
The youngest one is a boy named Joshua Smith. He came into my life when he was in kindergarten and when I was in sixth grade. With blue eyes and the straightest hair I've ever seen, he stands alone in the "group" by not only by being the youngest but also being that he is not naturally dark-haired. From what I can see when he exits his silent spells, he focuses most of his energy concerning himself over gothic novels and writing his own.
The second youngest is another boy. His Communist-fearing father lovingly named him after his favorite movie, Red Dawn. He has an unshakable temper and, entering the stages of puberty at last, seems to think more with his fists and dick than with his actual brain. My tolerance for him is wearing very thin as of late, perhaps because I'm leaving my tormenting era of growing while he is just beginning it. His place within us is his enjoyment for shitty music and his border-line "Emo" ways.
The third and only female of our "group" is Henrietta Frost, a plump girl with dyed black hair and striking brown eyes. Alright, I will have to admit... she is more than just plump, probably a little too over-weight for her lacking height. But we are not like those Barbies that attend our school... dark, morbid beauty is more than skin deep. Of all of us, Henrietta is the most creative and the truest.
And then there is me. Tallest, oldest, and more experienced, I'm ugly as sin and could give two shits about it. Perhaps I should say I started the trend of this amongst us, but I am not that self-absorbed. It simply is not a choice, it is a progression of personality and anyone forced into it will never really belong and understand.
We learned this easily when Stan Marsh joined us for that short while.
But none of this information matters. Our names, our relationships, our appearance, our aspirations are of no importance to anyone... anywhere... at anytime in this shit-hole's history.
We are Goth and therefore we do not matter.
And with as must honesty as a black soul can muster, I would not want it any other way.
