Disclaimers: Richie's not mine, Mac's not mine, Tessa isn't mine, Joe isn't mine, the idea of immortals isn't mine . . you get the picture, they're not mine.

What is it about me that says kid? I know I still look like I'm nineteen, but I'm not. And there isn't much I can do about it, either. I can only cut my hair so much and change my clothes so many times. And plastic surgery is not an option. So why does everyone always think I'm a kid? Sure, I'm cocky, arrogant, a little selfish, sarcastic, and a little on the immature side. . . guess I answered my own question there.

But it's not my fault. It's not like one day I just decided to stop growing up. Unlike Peter Pan, who has a warped idea of a good life I might add, that decision was made for me, and there was nothing I could do about it. Death tends to be pretty final. Just ask Tessa.

And as far as me being cocky is concerned. . . it's like a defense mechanism. Look at the people I hang out with. With the exception of Joe, who's almost old enough to be my grandfather, Mac's the youngest. And there's almost a four hundred-year difference there. Talk about a generation gap. But the age thing isn't what keeps the smartass remarks coming out of my mouth; it's the knowledge that any one of those people could kill me if they ever felt like it. If I let on how incredibly intimidated I get when I'm around them, who knows what could happen. They could get drunk and just decide they don't want me around, then that's all she wrote in the book of Richie.

And I'm a little selfish, but who isn't? I'm just not afraid to let people know that I like my stuff and I want it to remain my stuff. I didn't have a lot growing up, I still don't have a lot, but what I have is mine, I earned the money to get it and it pisses me off when people break into my apartment and break something.

That's another thing. You know what? If you want to kill Mac, go for it. Have fun, fat chance, but good luck just the same. But don't drag me into it! Mac can take care of himself, and if you challenge him you're going to die. Threatening me just pisses him off, and then he gets all protective, and the next thing you know you're head's gone. You're going to die either way; I just don't see why people insist on getting me involved. Unconsciousness is a way of life for me now. My memory skips two and three days at a time, because of all these stupid immortals and they're vendettas against Mac that somehow I get sucked into. Mac is not Batman, I am not Robin, so stop treating me like his sidekick!

Although, I guess I kinda am. But that's not my fault either. I blame circumstance, stereotyping, and comic books. When you are the one with all the witty sarcastic remarks, that gets kidnapped what seems like at least once a week, and somehow always get volunteered to be the decoy. . . I guess that makes you the sidekick. But if anyone wants to switch roles I'd be more than happy to trade.

I'd also be more than happy to trade women. Why do I get all the psycopaths? Being chained to a bed is not my idea of a fun time. Does that ever happen to Mac? No. Why? Because life sucks and it's not fair, that's why. I can be charming, and I'm cute, that can only keep a woman interested for so long. Then after they're done with their little romp in the daycare center it's off to someone like Mac. Sometimes it's off to Mac specifically, but it's never back to Richie's place.

Speaking of romping in the daycare center. . . what am I supposed to do in twenty years? You know when I'm still nineteen, twenty if I'm lucky, as far as appearances are concerned, but I'm really forty something? Am I still going to be hitting on twenty-year-olds? Or am I going to want to be with someone my own age? What then? I didn't have the good fortune of dying at a decent age. Sure I could have been twelve (now there was an awkward stage in life), but just the same what does fate have against me? Why couldn't I have been, twenty-five, or even thirty? That would make my love life a little easier in the future. I don't want to be thought of as a college kid my whole life. One: I didn't go to college, two: I'm already getting too old to share they're sense of humor and three: well, there isn't a three. . . yet.

Yeah, life sucks when you have to constantly fight to keep your head on your shoulders. The idea of living forever is appealing, but I only want to kill people so often. The killing part is the only thing that I'll never get used to when it comes to immortality. And the quickening isn't that enjoyable either, but I figure as long as the power is going in instead of out it's nothing to complain about.

What am I talking about? A hang nail is nothing to complain about. Surges of power and energy in the form of very painful lighting bolts running through your body is something to complain about. It's just hard to come up with the right words to express my feelings about it coherently. The first word that comes to mind is, OW! It is a very painful experience. The yelling is not something we immortals do to be funny. You couldn't keep your mouth shut if you tried! Screaming is the only thing you can do. That and convulse. Having your muscles randomly triggered is not something you want to happen very often. I don't know how Adam can still willingly get into a fight with someone knowing what comes at the end, expecially when he's done it so many times. Five thousand years of survival is nothing to sneeze at (whatever that means). I can only hope that I'm going to last that long, hell I can only hope that I'm going to last as long as Mac has. And when you get right down to it, I can only hope to last another day. But isn't that what every immortal does? Hope to last another day?

I guess I just proved I'm not so much of a kid anymore. At least to myself. I can take things as they come, sure I might complain a little. . . okay a lot, but deep down I know this is the hand life delt me and this is what I have to work with and I have to make the best out of it. Which I can. Now could a kid do that?