Albert was strolling through the school corridor when he dropped his cellular device.

 "No!" he cried. His heart was frickin' pumping, drumming his ribcage so hard that it felt like it was shattering—actually: it was galloping like a horse with missiles strapped to its feet, running away from a tigress with rabies on steroids.

If he'd dropped his cellular device, it meant his arm muscles were weak, and therefore, he was going to be a pathetic weak man who couldn't take care of his family in the future.

If his arm muscles were this weak, he wouldn't be able to hold a pen—so how was he going to write his exams? How was he going to obtain a degree then?

He was hyperventilating, his frosty breath filling the air. He pulled his inhaler out of his blazer pocket, but as he pressed the pump—he noticed six pairs of eyes locked onto him like sniper lasers.

 "Are you okay?" a girl with green hair asked, her yellow eyes paralyzing his heart.

 "Y-yeah," he said, stuttering.

What a stupid idiot he was! Stuttering was the most certain way to sound like he didn't have a plan in life! And how dare he look her in the eyes for more than 1.5 seconds? What if he'd made her uncomfortable? Actually, she probably thought he was weak for not holding eye contact longer!

If she thought he was a weakling, that meant her other two beautiful lady friends thought he was useless and an unsuitable guy to rely on!

Suddenly, a thought struck his brain like a sudden bolt of lightning: the other week, when his mother sent him to the store, he forgot to bring a pencil in case he needed to write something down! The memory chewed through his soul like a vile worm with fangs that decayed and eroded his esteem.

Also, every time the full moon was out, his dogs would bark! If he wasn't good enough to control his dogs at night, he wouldn't be a good driver!

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How could he let himself become so unbelievably, wholeheartedly, and completely (absolutely, in every essence of the word) useless?

Not to mention, he put too much salt on his macaroni last year on the eighth of August! Worst of all, the sun wasn't there at night, so he couldn't even feel its hot rays whenever he went out to listen to the crickets.

 "Whoa! Your face is really red, we need to go to the nurse—you’re even sweating!" a girl with brown eyes and curly hair said with hot urgency.

 "Yeah, Laiken's right," Erin said. She sounded like her voice was made of sweets. She put her arm around the panicking Albert’s shoulder. He seriously looked like he was about to blow up and destroy the Earth with how frickin' red he was.

Why did she have to touch him there?

He didn’t apply enough lotion there in the morning, so his skin wasn’t super silky ultra soft! And if it wasn’t omega ultra maximillion super duper soooooft, then he couldn’t tend to his dad’s farm whenever he visited!

Why?

Why was he: such an unbelievably, unfathomably, indescribably, unforgivably incompetent and incomplete individual even alive?

Albert was quaking, trembling, tremoring, rattling in his timbers. His uniform was damp (DAMP) and humid from all his sweating...OR MAYBE: it was the first symptom of sun fever! Or worse: Neptune fever!

He felt like he was breathing through a hole the size of a needle prick. Nine years ago at his grandmother’s eighty-ninth birthday, he pricked his thumb on a cactus! Her favorite cactus!

(How could he?)

He'd crossed the line. Seriously.

What if in the future he couldn't eat nachos with his hand because every time he tried, it’d tremble violently like a bumblebee’s wings because of how weak his muscles were? How was he gonna shovel snow in his backyard for his future daughter's friends to play if he couldn’t even eat a single nacho or hold hands with a girl without sweating like a hog in a furnace?

Why?

Why would anyone allow such a catastrophic failure, a fantastically idiotic and all-around (like hands on a clock) unhelpful person such as himself even be around them?

His dad didn’t comb his hair on the nineteenth of January, the night after his prom date drove to Nebraska to study Law! Perhaps that’s why he felt so closed off from his father. Maybe that’s why his father was so ashamed of him!

 "What’s wrong with him?" Nurse Hulett asked.

 "We found him in the corridor and he didn’t look too well, so we brought him over," Laiken explained.

 "It looks like he's having a panic attack..." the nurse said.

Too well? Didn’t look too well? Like his report card in kindergarten! He didn’t get first place in the toddler sprint-off back then, and that’s probably why he’ll never be a great athlete!

Why?

Why did he have to be so hopelessly, utterly, magnificently (like actually) horrendously, hideously, and straight up (curve down) useless?