He's gone, one way or another. I don't know if he actually killed himself, I don't know if it was a bullet to the brain, or some asshole drunk driver, but he's gone, and that's a first for our class. The class of 1997 from Cranbury School is being drowned by hopes and dreams, and we can't stay above the waterline of our own high expectations. We now consist of 1 (rumored) suicide, 1 felony-level thief, and one probable genius who blew his life by sophomore year, thanks to drugs and PHS. I don't know if Eric graduated with us, but he was a distinct part of our class. Something like this doesn't happen to us...to Cranbury...to US.

   Eric, we hardly knew you. You were quiet, smart, you were pushed too hard and you finally fell. I'm sorry. It didn't have to happen this way, but this society was never yours. Computers and fan fiction aren't enough. I may not have spoken to you in years, or even been anything more than an acquaintance of yours, but I wish I could have shouldered a bit of your burden, imbibed some of your misery, anything to stop this from happening.

   "-Anthon, a.k.a. Eric Trendell: 'I've got my horse, my sword, and my good friends. What else could I need?'"