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He is one hell of a mysterious person, whom, from the perspective of a normal individual, appears to be another face in the yearbook of an elite school who had won numerous academic awards. He wears glasses. He doesn’t play football. He was rarely seen amongst the popular crowd. Teachers seemed to like him a lot, I mean, those teachers who thought they knew enough about him to actually judge. His peers thought he was just another docile version of DJ Qualls (in The Road Trip). A timid idiot he was, always got picked during lunch and was a Linkin Park’s enthusiast. A geek. A dork. A loser. However you want to pigeonhole him as. In class, he is adored by every lecturer; always the one solving theoretical problems and asking the most unthinkable questions. Give him a test and out of sheer luck, he would get the highest marks. Probably it is (or obviously) because his proficiency in English is way better than even some of the lecturers (take note that I actually highlighted the word some), that it invokes that inferior feeling within the mortal hearts of those shallow-minded lecturers, and hence this obliged decision to allow him ace his papers for fear of self-guilt. He talks with an accent. He uses words that apparently are abracadabra to his course mates. Yeah, he even outshines his mates just by being louder. And sometimes it takes him by surprise how the girls think it's cool being him, when even the seniors, whom he wants to look up to, actually makes fun of him and hurls accusatorial remarks alleging that he is a helpless fag when he is not. Welcome to the life of Hyde junior. But on the other side, nobody knows that he isn’t the person you thought he was. Not even his girlfriend. In school, nobody knew that he used to be in a band, thanks to his dorky front. Despite the books he held in his arm, he never was that clever. In fact, he would do really badly in exams, had the geeky friends he made didn’t help him to cheat. He pretended to have a lot of interest in philosophy and things that iconize intellect so he would have a lot to talk about when he had the chance to. Granted the gift at telling clever white lies and a flair at speaking with immense confidence, he always managed to exculpate himself from blame and myriad disciplinary cases (albeit the smoking and possession of pornographic materials, which went unnoticed due to the fact that, well, he’s good at lying for Christ’s sake). He would raze and slander his enemy at every opportunity he had, either verbally or physically, and was usually clandestine, resulting in the destructions of even some of his closest acquaintances. He was good at that. Playing reverse psychology, talking people into doing his wants and believing his lies. Senior year in high school; he just could not stand having two personalities any longer, but still he knew where he should tread on and where he should float. His true colours started to show, only subtly, and were only observed by his closest friends and the occasional vigilant idiots. He started to put on an outrageous manifestation to reveal the darker side of him; smearing make-ups, keeping fingernails painted black, wearing crucifix, haphazardly adorned with long hair and the dark sombre clothes. His lips started to spell out crude words. Some people felt surprised to see his new self, but he chose to not even care less. After all, that’s what the real him is. At least that’s what he thought. It did make him a little more popular though, when he actually gained some phoney followers who thought it was cool being outrageous and started to do whatever he did. Teachers started to loathe his outspoken characteristic, because he started to make it obvious to the majority that there is a real bureaucracy in this profession superficially called teaching. The prophecy came true, when he actually flunked his SPM later that year. He left high school a legend. Good riddance, he thought. Outside this entire bullshit academic perimeter, he is also an it-takes-two-to-tango sly fox. At home, he plays the innocent, naïve youngest son, always locking himself in the room where he would watch amateur sex on his DVD when his mom could only guess that he is busy studying. Nobody knows that this child has an admirable talent at acting nice and likeable. In this solitary sphere of his life, he would sometimes listen to songs like Tourniquet and Poetic Tragedy and feel sorry for existing. He would every so often get suicidal, writing songs and poetry revolving around death and pain. But outside his room, he would put on a happy façade, always smiling and telling people how pleased he is to be alive. But he rarely is home. Most of his daytime would be spent hanging out with his skanky friends. He would wake up at 12pm everyday and immediately leave home for his friends, and would only return at 3am the following crack of dawn. Strangely though, none of his friends is as close as blood to flesh to his attributes. The most common thing that they share is probably the interest in Goth music, or smoking pot and imbibing alcohol. Maybe because he is living in one of the most conservative conformist-infested nooks on earth. A dipshit he calls this place. And he is more than grateful to actually find a friend. Yes, he wishes he were born in a more liberal place non other than the USA. Good Lord. Now he is in university. An overrated life he is living, he argues. Tired and sick of the fact that he is following a boring course with two-faced hypocrites and emo fuckups under one roof, he decides that he might as well consider applying what he is best at in the interim before he leaves and tries his luck at changing everything he hates. He is now approaching the 2nd semester, and is now preparing to face the stuck-ups and the brainless heaps of rich preppy kids who shall share the same class with him next year. And he has found a sidekick to continue his legacy. As long as nobody finds out that he is the real McCoy, he should be rest assured that his cruel intention shall not be marred. Now who the fuck is this Mr. Jekyll? Time will tell.
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