N/A
an excerpt

Noah was a young man, considered still a boy by many because of his slightly rounded face, which made him look just a bit younger than his actual age of 17. His chin-length black hair was always lightly mussed, always dangling into his deep sapphire-blue eyes obstructively, so that he was forced to frequently push his bangs behind his ears. His skin was not quite fair, but only lightly tanned from the amount of time he spent outside; he was not, however, as burly as the other young men his age, for the time most of them spent working or playing sports, he spent reading, or writing, or even, every so often, drawing.

As far as personality went, many people found Noah rather wanting in that department. In school, he rarely paid attention, preferring instead to focus on his daydreams and mental wanderings, which he considered far more interesting than monotonous school work. To everyone around him, he seemed boring, for he rarely intereacted with others, always seeming to be somewhere other than the here and now; some even thought he wasn't quite right in the head, believing instead that he perhaps had some sort of unknown mental illness, and thus was incapable of functioning normal as a human being. But Noah could care less what people thought about him; ignorant as he was of the other students, it was almost as if they didn't even exist in his mind, let alone affected him.

Every so often, however, someone would intrude into his mental sanctuary, thinking to make friends with the slim, handsome boy, thinking, perhaps, to bring him out of what they thought was nothing more than a shy outer shell, and into the real world. They would attempt to be near him, attempt to talk with him, sometimes even asking him questions about what he spent so much time thinking about.

My world, he would answer.

What world?

My world. And they could gain no other answer from him.

Such interactions would always end the same way. Eventually, Noah, growing frustrated by their constant attendance, would begin reacting to their presence, but certainly not in the positive way they had imagined; his answers to their questions would become snappish and short-tempered, he would be rude in manner and blunt in word. And eventually, as always, they would be driven away, leaving him alone in peace once more within the little world he had created for himself. Such was the life of the dreamer.