An original song-fic by Paperclippe
Based on the song "Imaginary" by Evanescence
Quick little disclaimer: I didn't write the song, obviously, and I didn't
perform it, either (though I would have like to...). I just took the
words/idea and made a little story out of it.
"I linger in the doorway..."
There is a bright light before me. I can see it...But my eyes...They
aren't open. I'm moving toward the light, then away, and I have no control
of this vacillation. Am I moving forward? Or back? Where do I want to
be? Not back there, that's for sure.
"...of alarm clocks screaming, monsters calling my name..."
Back there, where I came from. It's so noisy. I hate that noise. Like a
never-ending buzz in my ears...It makes me want to cry.
"Let me stay where the wind will whisper to me..."
But here, where I am, in this nothingness that becomes? It's quiet. There
is only the sound that I want, when I want sound. Sometimes I want sound.
That's when they talk to me.
"...where the raindrops, as they're falling, tell the story..."
Everything here has a definate past, present, and future. I know the
history of this place. Everything here is right, and just for me.
"In my field of paper flowers..."
When the nothingness becomes something? It's a vast field. So many
colors, so many beatiful things to see. Like a painting.
"...and candy clouds; a lulabye..."
The grass and blossoms soften the earth as I stare at the miscolored
heavens. I always liked blue...And purple. Like cotton candy. It makes
"I lie inside myself for hours..."
Though sometimes I don't see what's going on around me. I just think.
Think about myself, and how happy I am to be here.
"...and watch my purple sky fly over me."
But sometimes outside is best. The puffy blue clouds that float in their
lavender sea above me...It's so much better than back there.
"Don't say I'm out of touch..."
I can come away from this place, too, and know all too well what's going on
"...with this rampent chaos, your reality..."
It's the noise, and the flashes, and all the people trying to tell me
what's wrong, trying to give me the pills, the shots, trying to make me
better when there is really NOTHING wrong! It's them, but they can't see
"I know I would rise beyond my sleeping refuge..."
They can't see that because they've never been here. If they would only
let me show them, let me prove myself, they would see just how wonderful
this place is.
"The nightmare; I've built my own world to escape..."
They're trapped, though, the doctors, the psychotherapists... They think I
don't know what they are and they treat me like a child, Just because I've
found the only true cure for what they tell me I have - insanity.
"Swallowed up in the sound of my screaming..."
But they give me the shots and the pills and treatment, even if they have
to strap me down to do it. And then I can't go back to the world I love.
"Cannot cease for the fear of silent nights."
I have to scream and scream, until finally the pills wear off and I can
"Oh, how I long for the deep sleep dreaming..."
But those hours, days, weeks, with out my place... Sometimes I think I've
died, but I wake up just to find that I've been sleeping 'normally', as
they say, in a darkened hell without words or pictures or sound.
"...in the goddess of imaginary light."
Slowly, though, I regress, back into that wonderful place, that makes me
feel like I'm a part of something huge, something all-powerful and loving,
some one or something that will take care of me, as long as I return.
And I shall.