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Girls…
Girls are weird, that is the only thing I think about when I see them.

Their beautiful no matter what size or what height they have, their bright smile can trance any guy who sees it and most of all we men just can’t help but love them.

But as for me…

I, James Moriarty don’t trust them, not even a bit.
Those eyes, those flaunting good looks, those gleaming smiles…
I just can’t get myself to trust them. I know most people will say that I’m just too cautious about this and a few friends of mine say that I might grow old all alone.

But just to make things clear! I’m not GAY!!!

I just have a lot of bad experience about girls growing up. I won’t get into too many details. But I think my fear of women started with my mother.

If there is a contest on “who is the worst mother” awards, my mother would probably get ether a gold or silver medal.
She lie, cheat, manipulate, hurt and even…
Kill…

My mother kills people for money; apparently she is what you call a HITMAN…hit…woman? I’m not sure what you call the girl version, but that is her job.

I was still a kid, so I naïve when it comes to her job. At first I haven’t thought that my mother’s teachings are actually…well…wrong, but like all children, I grow up.

I found out that all the things she taught me was actually the arts of ending the life of another. She secluded me from the normal common sense from a very young age of 3 to the age 14.

Just remembering everything makes me fill so damn stupid

She even gave me my name at my 6 birthday…no seriously; I didn’t have a name until I was 5. She just gave me that name because she just so happens to remember her favorite villain’s name in a book she read before. That is where the name “James Moriarty” came from.


I was 15 years old when my mother left me alone. When I finally found out that what my mother is doing is wrong. I
decided to live a normal life and go to a normal high school until she comes back.

But she never did.


3 years had passed when 4 foreign men knocked on my front door and told me that my mother died on her mission.
My feelings then…                                                                                    

Nothing…
I wasn’t sure if I was happy or sad, it was just…nothing…

Enough about her…

Lets’ forget about my mother and move to another bad experience I had with the opposite kind.
I have my fair share of relationships. I went out with a few girls. But that only lasted for 3 or 5 days.

I ended our relationship knowing that they are only after the big sum of money my mother left on her bank account or they needed protection from their Ex-boyfriends and lastly, just so they could have a laugh for their own sick and twisted entertainment.

So yeah, even though I’m already a 20 year old guy, I still think girls are beings I need to be cautious about.
But I won’t give in, I’m sure that there is someone out there, a girl who was born just so we could be together.

Or at least I hope there is a special someone for me.

STOP! Stop with the negativity. I can’t get myself feel depressed while having an important day like this.

What I’m doing right now is looking for my number on a bulletin board at the front yard of a university building.
There are a lot of people here because they too are looking for their own number and hoping to get into college, so 99% of the people here are having a hard time getting to the bulletin board.

Why 99% of people? Because that particular 1% who is not having the same difficulty like the other students, is no other than me.

As soon as I walked my way to the bulletin board. The students started to split moving in both sides, giving me room to walk straight to board.

I felt like Moses and the Israelites crossing the red sea.

One of my friends in high school told me that one of the reasons that no one talked to me when I transferred in when I was in my first year in high school, is because I looked to intimidating and unapproachable, especially my sharp scary glare.

Am I really that scary looking? I’m not even glaring at anyone.
Stop James! Don’t get yourself depressed! You need to find your number and you can finally get to a good school. Alright,
my number is 1065, so I just need to look for it.

“1054…1057…1062…1065…1068…wait…1065?”

This number…is the same “1065” number in my card.
My neck I starting to hurt, most likely because I kept looking up and down numerous times to check if it is my number.

Ouch…

But I don’t need to doubt myself anymore. This is my number!
I was about to shout from joy. But I didn’t want to disturb the other students so I just clenched my right arm and did a “ALRIGHT!” pose and gave a smile.

Huh? Is it me or the people around me back away even more?
Ahh, forget about what their thinking right now. Nothing is going to ruin this moment for me. Because I am now a college student!!!

“Hmm?”

One of my mother’s teaching is sensing the stares of someone who is looking at you, so I can’t be wrong about this.
Someone was just staring at me.
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