Welcome to Gaia! ::

The realizations of reality are never pleasant for anyone. But there is one type of fantasy that is so powerful, the return to reality is said to tear someone apart from the inside, the most dangerous part of one's mind and soul. This thing, though seemingly simple and mediocre, is the thing we hope for as children as we hear our parents telling us of the gallant Prince Charming. In movies, it is portrayed as daring and forbidden, or deep and unbound. It has its own genre in novels and poetry, and the only thing that keeps us from pursuing it is our own mind.

This thing is called romance.

Don't get me wrong; I have known the shame of heartbreak before, on both sides, but even five months after I ended a relationship with one of my classmates, it refuses to leave me. There were so many things that I expected to come from him, but at the same time I was afraid that they would come. Now I feel as though I can't even look at him. He is poison to me, and no amount of "love" can change that.

The poison, you see, has no antidote, and slowly kills me a little more every day.

"You don't have to keep blaming yourself, you know," a voice whispered. "It was over before it even reached that point."

I didn't bother looking at him at first, but agreed nonetheless. I could picture him in my mind almost perfectly even before I turned my head, standing there with that same sympathetic look he always had when I thought about Chris. Jeez, he was infuriating like that!

He called himself M, even though I knew his real name. He was a swordsman, even though his appearance and attitude told otherwise. You see, M was the type that could be described as a "wild child"; the tattoos on his wrists and ankles were proof enough of that. His ensemble consisted of a short-sleeved red shirt that was open at the front, a muslin undershirt tied with black cord, and what could only be described as Bermuda shorts that looked as though they had been stained with mud. Shocks of dark-brown hair stood out every which way as though he had been in the wind for too long, and his dark eyes glittered with pure roguishness at their best.

I stared into those eyes and let out a long sigh, my anger disappearing. "You know darn well it's not that easy."

"Maybe, but life's not supposed to be easy, is it?" He paused for a moment to brush some of my hair aside and then smoothly added, "But you'll get through it. I know you better than anyone. You've had worse before . . . Actually, you're not even completely through that yet, are you? I guess I'm not, either."

I stared at him. "What do you mean?" He tried to say something, but the words never came. That's when I knew . . . He had broken the most important law in being an imaginary friend. "You're hiding something from me!"

M shook his head slowly, and then whispered something in his native Japanese. "You're not going to like this."

A shiver went through my body as he traced his finger over the scar on my right leg, and our minds connected for a moment, as all imaginary friends can do with their creators. I wished he had chosen a different memory, though; out of the thousands of memories locked away inside me, why did it have to be that one?

And then a single word echoed in the space between us: Abandonment.

There is nothing imaginary friends dread more than Abandonment. From the very moment a child casts them away, they are said to become terrible demons that feed on feelings of rejection and hatred.

But why?

Why did he allow that one word to slip past?

"M . . ." I tried to say more, but the memories he revealed overshadowed everything, and I found myself reliving every last second of terror.

A deafening crack rattled through the night as the vehicle slammed into Chris' black Geo Tracker. I found my world flooded with red light, and sirens tore through the air like knives. Voices around me blended into each other like colors in a sunset. It was almost like a movie, or one of those documentaries you see on the Discovery Channel; I'd even go so far to say it was like a dream, and I kept waiting for myself to wake up.

But the night that changed everything for my boyfriend and me was no dream.

"Shannon! Shannon, can you hear me?" M called out as loud as he could, but I couldn't even feel him there. "Shannon, say something!"

More people came, including an officer out of an unmarked police car. A stranger actually came up behind me and started pulling my hair out of my face to calm me down. That's when I became aware of the spot of blood on my jeans, almost feeling more like thick red water.

He was beginning to panic. In this moment of fear and pain, he couldn't stop asking, would I forget about him completely? Would he be forced away to become one of those demons?

"Say something! Onegai . . ." he pleaded again.

The cut on my leg was deep, and looking at the exposed skin through the new rip in my jeans, M could see the blood that streamed into my shoe. It was too much to look at; his stomach was twisting itself to pieces and he had to clasp a hand over his mouth as he turned away from the horrible sight. He heard the paramedic say "stitches," and felt as though the entire universe was bearing down on him, a lowly figure of someone's mind.

Now there was no question . . . This was Abandonment.

“Shannon, don't leave me . . .” he whispered, spitting out the last bits of vomit. "I don't want to be alone . . . I love you."

Warm tears fell from his eyes, warm like the blood pouring from my wound.

Firemen and paramedics alike pulled me onto the backboard, strapping braces around my head and neck as they did so, and then lifted me onto the stretcher. The inside of the ambulance was nothing like I had seen before in movies; it was too frightening. Even holding Chris' hand wasn’t enough to calm me, and I entered the Emergency Room in tears.

"But I called out to you in the hospital . . ." I said. "You held my hand while they stuck the needle in."

M nodded. "I guess I just panicked."

I was quiet for a moment. "You cried yourself to sleep that night; I heard you. Why didn't you tell me this sooner?"

"I didn't want you to think that I was accusing you of that, like you were . . ." He hung his head. "No, you're right. I promised. I should've said something. Gomen-nasai."

But he didn't have to apologize; I would have forgiven him even if he hadn't. M, above all else, was my friend. He was everything I wished I could be; he was adventurous, strong, brave, and held nothing back. He was the very part of my being that wanted to break away from myself and never look back. He was a novel to be written, a song, a single spark that ignites the flame. He was the absolute letter-perfect personification of passion.

Speaking thus, I didn't even realize I had kissed him until our lips parted, and I knew at that moment, as much as I needed him as an imaginary friend, he needed me just as much.

To be needed, you see, is a feeling deeper than any cheap romance.

Sugoi! blaugh

I really liked this:

I liked the idea of the imaginary friend becoming a necessity for a teenager and not just a child.

I love the fact the I.F., once abandoned becomes a demon and feeds off of negative emotions.

I loved the fact that the I.F. holds/stores important memories and can share them with its human friend. And I liked the way you showed this moment in time of when he thought he would be alone.

And I loved the overall theme of abandonment and being loved. I felt the use of the I.F. made the theme work very well. (And I liked the tone and pace of the story)

Basically, I enjoyed reading this. It's a shame it's so short crying (I can totally see things as some kind of novel (Or what have you)

If you add to it let me know. 3nodding

PS: It had no comparison to Foster's home... I felt it was original in it's own respect.

PSS: Long time no see, but you returned with a bang! xd