I never believed, not even for a single second, that I was anything more than a fragment of somebody's thoughts. A figment of the imagination that was destined to rot away under false circumstances. I always wondered who thought me up, of course, but no answers ever came. I wanted to scrounge the world for my creator back when I was eight. But the feelings flew out the window like most of my other emotions. It was never easy to live in this way; I'll tell you that for the sake of lacking an important piece of knowledge. The women who claimed to be my mother and sister couldn't recall who I was most of the time and those who knew me at school asked if I was a transfer student every other day. It was tedious work being unreal. One of the girls at my old school, an aged junior college facility nestled amongst the hills of my tiny town, had referred to me as 'fake' two days ago. When I thanked her for understanding my predicament, she only made crude hand gestures at me. One of my so called friends tried to stand up in my defense, but she forgot my name. I've met people who are memories before and I will tell you it's much easier being a fading recollection than a shadowed illusion.

"Um... Would... Would you like to come in for supper?" the shakily concerned voice of an older woman called me from my thoughts. I realized I had no idea how long I'd be lounging about on the swing outside. My first impulse was to glance up at the sky and check for weighted clouds. Storm watching was the only thing we could really take any relish in and since my mother never spoke to me much, I'd made it law to look up and see where the next burst of rain and thunder was. Tonight, we seemed to be in luck. A huge amount of smoky tufts were headed in our direction. I licked my finger and held it up. The wind would be helping in this endeavor as well. That meant it was time to go inside, turn on all the lights to make it more dramatic when they turned back off on their own, and get out a few pairs of binoculars. I slipped off the wooden swing I'd been straddling and let my feet caress the warm, green grass as I walked. It felt so sweet, but not nearly as sweet as it would to someone who was real. Or, perhaps, it was sweeter because I wasn't able to take it for granted. At this point in my life, at the age of fourteen to be exact, I had officially decided that I was nothing but a fragmented dream. Someone had obviously created me in the image of someone else because while many people have features that seem very unique to them, I am completely left with the parts of a human face that have been over used and are now unwanted. People at school tell me I am ugly. I completely accept this as fact.

I followed Mother into the home we resided at. It was a two story house, not large like most would think at the mention of multiple levels, but it was so small around two stories was the only way you could enjoy it. All the sides were painted a different, and much brighter, color than the last and the roof was decorated similarly. The classic rooster weather vane we had placed on the very top spike of the shingles resting place was spinning out of control now, something that brought a smile to my very plain lips. We hurried into the kitchen, a room also being attacked by incoherent pain splatters. Our home looked more like a carnival ride than an actual place of residence. It made me smile to think how much fun it had been to paint it and how the people who wanted to buy it would one day react to the inside. The day we fixed up the house was one of the few days everybody remembered Fantasia Prusai.

"Fantasia, the weatherman says an enormous storm is on its way! I'm heading off to grab some binoculars from Finny's house after dinner, do you want to come along?" a pair of vibrant, blue eyes met with shadowy gray ones. I watched as Seraphina Prusai pulled every bit of her gorgeous, sallow hair back into a perfect ponytail. It was a luscious blonde, the same color as sweet butter, with little bits of light brunette coming forward with no artificial help. People often asked if her hair was such a beauteous complexion naturally but when she answered yes they denied the truth in brutal envy. Seraphina was the most intensely dazzling female I'd ever seen in all of my life. She was charming and sweet while still appearing radiantly marvelous. Though her grades were not exceptional, she completely made up for her lack of genius with personality and elegance. Her slightly rounded face was cloaked by perfect flesh that appeared just youthful enough you might mistake her for someone a year younger. A poised chin led down to her graceful neck which in turn led to a pair of well sculpted shoulders and exactly portioned arms. She had wound them around her chest in an attempt to warm up as it had become quite chilly what with the dark winds of the fast approaching storm rushing through our tiny household. Seraphina pulled her rosy lips into an angelic smile as she crossed one of her toned legs over the other. Her outfit was quite skimpy for the weather, made up of a pink tank top and a pair of blue shorts, but it flattered her none the less. We always dressed in summer clothing when a bout of rain was said to occur. Then, once the downpour was at its apex, we would run outside and spin around in the grass as if it was the only thing we had ever dreamt of doing. The fabric covering our bodies would get soaked with glacial water and we'd run inside for hot chocolate and a scalding shower. Sometimes we invited our friends from school too, but it was mainly just Finny, Seraphina, and I. We had been friends since birth and did almost everything together, even though he often forgot who I was. He and Seraphina were the quickest to recall my identity and the longest to record it. As opposed to the others who I must constantly reestablish myself with.

"Of course, I wouldn't miss a storm like this for the world. Finny must be excited!" I nodded, grinning back at Seraphina as kindly as my lips would let me. She clapped her hands together in a display of ecstatic excitement. Storm watching truly was the only way for us to entertain ourselves. This town was so minuscule it had only one school that went all the way through twelfth grade. No more than a hundred people attended and only about four left once they graduated high school. The three of us ate our dinner of homemade chicken soup and freshly picked fruit salad in silence. Mother kept glancing at me as if I were a foreigner who'd come into her house to steal her precious Seraphina. When I made a move to take her dish, she pounced on it like a furious jungle beast and shoved it at my chest. Her once beautiful blue eyes had blackened with fury and distrust. Every time she looked at me with such contempt and upset, I couldn't help but feel as though I had caused all of her pain. She had been so crushed when she discovered me as a figment of the imagination. But I can't imagine anyone wouldn't be with that sort of news. Nobody understood us, so they simply ignored our presence. It was easy, too, considering we were so effortlessly forgotten. Memories are much luckier. They get thirty years of life before fading out of existence; Figments are forced to endure a lifetime of loneliness and pain. To never be remembered does more damage than any action ever could. Walking into a room only to be greeted by hostile eyes and unwavering faces, it is cold as it is cruel. But, there is nothing a Figment like me can do. Fantasia Prusai will never be someone important or anyone noticed or anyone loved. And to know that but not have a way out of it makes me wish I could die.

But we can't. An uninterrupted Figment lives for a hundred and fifty years, no more and no less. That's not to say we're invincible, though, don't get an incorrect idea. We are able to be killed with ease just like any human, but our lifespan is greatly increased when left untouched and we cannot die by our own hands. I envy all the normal people in the world. I wish I didn't have to carry this burden of a truth. There's no use in complaining about something you cannot fix, however. I finished the dishes as speedily as possible and wiped my hands on a clean red towel. Seraphina suddenly latched a battered hand onto my wrist and began dragging me out the door. I wished she weren't so brutish, but there was no helping that. She had an extremely hands-on approach to everything in life, explaining why most of her appendages were wrecked with scars. In first grade she stuck one of her fingers into a fire just to see if it really did hurt, in second grade she played uncle so long that her knuckles would never recover, and as you can imagine the accidents just kept getting worse. One day it was knives and the next it was trees then it might morph into swords, a passion which had caused the huge gash on her stomach, and perhaps even wild animals. Seraphina believed very strongly that any want she had to learn about something dangerous had to be satisfied immediately. And because of that I had to follow her nearly everywhere and be the voice of reason when she tried to find out what a dead body really looked like. That day, we'd nearly been arrested for grave robbery.

"Finny is going to die when he hears about this storm! It's supposed to be huge, possibly even a hurricane, if we're lucky." Seraphina prattled on about twisters and tornados as she knocked furiously on the door of a very plain home. It was quite similar to ours, if you put both stories next to each other and painted the entire thing a crisp black. I turned my nose up at the lack of exciting colors. Finny refused to paint his home anything other than black. In fact, the only burst of color on the outside of the house came from plants. Cacti had been pressed into the walls for decoration and stuck straight out, showing off vibrant pink flowers with soft yellow hearts. The roof was entirely covered by the most enticingly gorgeous collection of exotic and native plants and I the very center was an apple tree, growing perfect, crimson fruit as it soaked up the first few drops of rain in our storm. I suppose I forgot how absolutely awe inspiring Finny's house was. But what was most impressive about it, even more so than the house itself, was that Finny had built the entire roof garden all by himself. And he was blind.

"Come on in," a very sweet voice chirped from behind the pure black door. Seraphina shoved it open in one fell swoop and entered as flashily as she could. I had no idea why, she knew I didn't care and he couldn't see her. I crept in afterwards, pulling the barrier closed again and locking it in paranoia that the storm was going to start full speed before we could get back to our house. I pivoted on my heels and glanced at the room we'd entered into. It was entirely furnished by gray. Gray walls, gray carpets, gray drapes, gray couches, gray counters, and even gray cabinets. In the far corner of the kitchen, which could be seen if one looked through a very gray hallway, was the only spurt of color on the inside. Finnian Traum. He was furiously attempting to spread creamed cheese over a bagel, cursing under his breath about eyesight.