For September's FanBBS competition, prompt: Imagination. Rewritten slightly because FP's word count keeps messing with me. :|
My world is bright. It's simply amazing. The colours are vivid, every single detail is amazing, everything is the way I want and everything leaves me in awe. The landscape is beautiful- over there are the most awe-inspiring mountains you'll ever see, over here are the most serene forests to ever have existed. The lakes are flawless glass mirrors, reflecting the perfect sky. The animals are majestic- elegant swallows sweeping the skies, lions that lie in the flat plains. The trees are tall and cast perfect shadows. The green, green grass is dappled with patches of wildflowers, like the ones I see in books. Bluebells. Cowslip. Meadowsweet.
The thing that makes it so incredible, utterly wonderful, is that it is mine. Nobody else lives there, and nobody else can trespass. I'm all alone, staring at the sky and I'm free to go wherever I want. Do whatever I want.
I couldn't do that if anybody else came. The rigid, pathetic rules of society would follow. My world would be spoilt, completely ruined. The disease of humaity would wreck my world, and I wouldn't have anywhere to escape to. Escape from everyone else. They lie and cheat and steal and I'd rather create and spend time in my own imaginary universe. Usually I just wander, trying to remember every detail as I escape from the details of my own life. The screams and violence from outside my house. All the little things that just don't make sense. The arguments that shake the foundations of my home. The weird looks I get in school.
Even the adults are no good. They just yell and get mad when I'm not interested in what they have to say- and why should I? I don't care about them. I don't care about what they have to say. When I tell them that, everyone else just looks exasperated, annoyed, angry. They mutter to each other and I know they're talking about me. It doesn't hurt like it used to.
"Would it kill him to act like a human being for once?"
Then there are worse people. They're usually my own age, new kids or something. All fake-happy and all too calculating. They tend to sit next to me and try to talk. I don't. They try harder. I don't. They're always surprised that I don't want to talk. Some of them- especially the girls- look sad. I don't know why- putting on a hurt face isn't going to make me like a fake friend. A wolf in sheep's clothes is still a wolf. People always talk to me about friends, but I don't need them. I mean, seriously? Pretending to be interested just to get close to you? Then crushing you as they walk away, telling you they can do better?
No thanks. I want to live my own way. In my own world. Away from the violence and hatred and forced niceness of 'reality'. Whatever that's supposed to be. If it's where all the fake faces and wannabes are, the dreary grey world I run to escape from, then I reject it. My world is better than that. My world is perfect.
It is mine.