He smooths his hair back calmly, as several reporters surround him. They ask him questions, so many questions.
"When will you act in another movie?"
"Are you planning on settling down soon?"
"What's your opinion on the most recent politics?"
He continues to walk, and they follow, eager and impatient.
"You must have mistaken me for another. My name is Uriel Buck, best lumberjack in the northwest. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must find my way to my lovely wife, Liliana."
A hand grips his shoulder, and he swirls around.
The woman is thin and slender, her black hair barely reaching her shoulders. "If you would please exit. Mr. Pratt must be ready for his close up by noon."
All of them slowly recede, but not before they snap a few parting photos. He stares at them. What strange people they were. And that woman!
He speaks quickly. "Who is't art thou? And who is't art they?"
"Sil-" she stops. "Alexas, you must listen to me."
"How doth thou know mine name? Why does thou speaketh so odd? And why shouldst I trust thou? Did mine father sendeth thou?"
"Alexas, your father did not send me." The woman visibly sighs. "In one hour, you're going to go out and promote your new movie, Once Upon the Future."
"I know not what a movie is. Tell me, scurvy fustilerean!"
"Look, you need to switch."
He tilts his head to the side. "Switch?"
She starts to wave her arms in overly exaggerated motions, only confusing him more. "Like, you know, switch people. Change from Alexas to Leif Leveigne, like in your newest movie."
"I know not of this Sir Leif."
The woman throws up her arms. "I give up." She storms away, down the corridor. He follows her, intrigued. There was something wrong, and he was going to find out.
She wipes some sweat off her brow, then approaches a man in a brown coat and oversized glasses.
"He can't switch his personality. I already tried."
The man looks up from his clipboard. "He has Multiple Personality Disorder, Jean. He literally thinks he's a character in his movies. It's a rare condition, and he'll switch when he switches."
Jean bristles. "I had to try."
"Poor Pratt. Always so detached."
A name that was so foreign, yet so familiar at the same time. What did it mean?
He lacked a sense of identity now. He was drifting out in the waters of his mind, with no way out.
Who was he? Uriel Buck? Alexas? Leif Leveigne?
Or someone else entirely?
The next morning,
they couldn't find him.
Or the next.
On the third day, they found him, dead, with a note, a suicide note.
I have no place in this world. I only wished to know who I really was. Farewell to Liliana, my father, Jean, anyone. I can only hope that after this life, I will finally know who I am. Signed,