Hello, I am Isaac Henry, and for as long as I can remember that fact has not meant much of anything. I am average in height, average in intellect, and slightly above average in imagination. I am mediocre in physicality, mediocre in personality, and slightly below mediocre in decisions. My hair is dark brown and usually matted to my forehead with grease. My skin is often shimmering and riddled with pimples. My eyes were mostly blue, sometimes silver, and always red. I had spent most of my childhood a hopeless nerd. I was the kid in your high school that although we had four minutes to walk 25 feet, I’d tuck my head and run to each class. I avoided even the simplest of social situations. I couldn’t help but fall victim to role-playing games, and preferred the world of fantasy, to reality and history. I had a lot of acquaintances, but mainly because I was simply around, and very odd. I am not entirely sure how liked I ever was, or how liked I will ever be.
I developed early, so I got to date the girls that would grow up to be beautiful, but were far too young and ugly to make that assumption. I dated them when their mouths were more metal than bone, and their tits were sharp anthills with a fluffy, inflated, crown of nipple. My physical appearance was not my only attribute that developed early. My addictive personality did as well. I smoked a cigarette for the first time shortly after I turned 12, with an older boy that lived next to my childhood best friend. His name was Gary and he has no importance in this story. Shortly after hacking and choking through my first few smokes, I tried my luck with lady Mary Jane. The beautiful, eternal, lover that could never abandon you no matter how your life turns out. She was my savior, and my demise, my mother, and my child. The enabler a young idiot like myself could so easily be entranced by. If it weren’t for Mary Jane and her unyielding, ever-warm embrace, I never would have become the fuck up I became. I cannot blame it all on her and her influence though. I was meant for terrible things and ever since I was just an infant, this was apparent. My potential had just been lying dormant.
I find it difficult to dive deep into detail about myself, and how I came to be. I just believe the other characters in the story to be far more interesting. I think the best way I could acquaint you with myself, then and now, would be to say I am a dick head. I have always been a little dick head, and I doubt I will ever be anything more than a dick head. As a child I was an ugly little dick head, but I didn’t quite know it yet. I started realizing it in my teenage years, but assumed that it was the world’s fault. By the time I was an adult, I had mostly come to terms with the fact that I was a dick head, and that it was pretty much entirely my fault. That conclusion was not the spawn of maturity, but the lack of other excuses. The excuses and pointy fingers ran with age, as my self-respect dwindled. I was from Vegas and Vegas from me. It had always been very bad for me, and now I was good for it.