Fred just graduated from undergrad, in May of this year. He started college late, because of a stint in the mental ward during his late teens and early twenties. Schizophrenia, probably induced by heavy drug use. The herbal kind, of course. After that...experience, Fred managed to get into a community college. He liked to credit his admittance on his personal essay on his...experience. But he knew, or suspected, that he probably got in because, well, it's just a community college.

Fred was a commuter, and he would go back and forth to school from home. He lived with his parents. Mom couldn't figure out how to hide her disappointment in him, and Dad just couldn't figure him out. Fred was closer to his dad. They would smoke cigarettes together in the morning. Not a word was said between them during these smoke breaks. Fred always sensed his dad wanting to break the ice, but he never did. And Fred felt relieved about that. Even on the medication, Fred heard his father's voice in his head, and it was pleading to Fred to try harder. Try harder to be normal. Fred didn't need his dad to confirm the voice in his head for real. He didn't think he could take it.

Fred was a math major. He figured all he had to do were problem sets and study for the midterms and finals. No need to write essays or participate in class or do group projects. Fred wasn't into people. He tried before, really, but he was either ignored, hurt, or just forgotten. The last "friend" he had was his drug dealer, and that guy just pushed drugs on him and took his money. Or rather, his parents' money. Fred eventually stopped talking with Rick and doing the drugs, because, well, reasons. But he would see Rick from time to time when he went to the deli to get a sandwich, and Rick would always push on him. Fred eventually stopped going to that deli.

Fred did alright in his first year in his courses. The general education courses were easy to bullshit through, and he actually kind of liked calculus. He didn't actually like it; he just liked that he was good at it. Or at least, better than the other students. Fred was like that. Despite it all, he was prideful. And he thought of himself as the intelligent type. Too bad he would always make bad decisions.

Fred didn't make friends during his freshman year. Sure, he had acquaintances. He would say hi, and they would say hi back. That was the extent of his social interactions.

In his second year, Fred decided to double major in economics, because he thought it would give him a better chance at getting a job. He didn't know what job- probably an accountant. Or something like that. It was a mistake. Fred just couldn't get statistics. He couldn't do the actual math part well, or quickly, and he couldn't grasp the concepts like null hypothesis and the probability and red and blue balls. Fred knew if he tried harder, he could get a better understanding of it, or more importantly, get better grades, but Fred wasn't one for trying hard. He was more studious when he was a kid, but that was to get praise from teachers and mom and dad. That didn't quite work on him anymore.

It didn't help that his medication slowed his thoughts down. Fred knew, or suspected, that they dumbed him down. But what could he do? Except take them.

So. Fred got C's all throughout the rest of his undergrad. He mostly passed by searching for answers for his problem sets online and cramming for the exams the day before. Fred never cheated on his exams. He didn't know how, and he had to draw the line somewhere. Fred liked to think he was principled like that. His GPA was barely in the B range, and only because he manage to inflate it with easy philosophy courses. To be honest, Fred was always better at writing. But he just couldn't focus enough to write papers.

It didn't help that the medication...

Fred graduated. He skipped the ceremony. His parents didn't seem to mind. His math/economics degree was worthless, and Fred wouldn't have been good at or even manage to pretend to enjoy math related jobs. Like an accountant. Or something.

So, he was a NEET again. At least this time, he wasn't in the hospital. It was summertime. Fred hated summertime. He spent his summertimes watching anime and porn. And he got sick of it. Sure, he didn't like school, but it forced him to do things. Or get out of his room. And school was over, for good. His parents told him that they wouldn't pay for grad school. So that was that.

His birthday was coming up. He would turn 27 this year.

Fred was alone in the house on a Wednesday afternoon. His parents were at work, and he was supposed to be job searching. But Fred wasn't doing that. He wasn't watching anime or porn either.

He was in the kitchen, with a small knife in his hand. The type that you peel apples with.

Fred was going to do the thing. Just jam the knife in his neck. He was 26. He chuckled. Almost made it to the 27 club.