The Story of A Nobody

When I talk, no one listens. When I move, no one watches me. I am invisible. My story doesn't matter in the big picture of things. I am the only one who knows my name: John. John is alone. Yes, he has parents, two workaholics who say they are too busy to care. I don’t tell them my problems, my wishes, my hopes, my dreams. I worry though, because the longer I hold my thoughts in…the more they seem to vanish. The less I speak… the more I cease to exist. I am almost gone, even the mirror barely shows my reflection. Nevertheless, I have a lot to be grateful for… riches, a big house, education, three meals a day. But I am missing the most important thing of all: my identity. Here in the heart of Alabama, a twelve-year old nobody named John, will go unnoticed forever.

My invisibility started from the day of my birth, 17^th of June, 2000. Every year since that day, I have grown older, and yet, more of me has faded. I have never accomplished anything; I haven’t had the motivation to try. Nor has any thing exciting or extraordinary happened to me. Why would it? Extraordinary things only happen to extraordinary people. I am not extraordinary; in fact I am not even ordinary. I simply don’t matter.  I don’t have any friends, no legitimate family. Everyone sees right through me.

I am not special. I don’t really participate in school, or in extracurricular activities. I do nothing, therefore I am nothing. Not a single word escapes my mouth; it would be a waste of energy, my voice wouldn't be heard. So, if I did nothing, if I said nothing, why would anyone bother to notice me? That’s why I chose to blend in, because it’s safe. If I spoke up, I would get persecuted. I’m too different. I would rather take the ignorance, it’s the easy route. I know I still exist, however slightly… my name, my track record, it is all stored in the files of Richmond Middle School.  For some reason though, people don’t see my name.  All the traces of John bleed straight through the piece of paper… I am a waste of ink. But more importantly, I am a waste of space.

 I suppose this is how it is going to be in the future as well. I will remain a lifelong phantom…a ghost, slowly diminishing until the end. And what is the point of trying to get help…trying to resist? If I waited in line to see the counselor, or talk to the dean, I would never get to the front. Everyone would pass me by. Trust me, I know. I have tried it once. I look in the mirror and I don’t see myself there. Who am I, you ask? I am John, but John is no one.