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Imagination

by on 06/27/2012

I don’t have many friends, and only a few close ones. I haven’t shared this with any of them.

I’ve always loved movies. Movies won’t leave you hanging or reschedule, except for that time at the theater when the projector broke, but I digress. I have also always wanted my life to be more like movies. I suppose a lot of people do this to some extent. I have been told I have a very imaginative mind. My problem is that I do it to where I start to exclude other people because of my fantasies, hence my lack of friends. Everyone has imagined that they were James Bond or Indiana Jones at some point but I even go so far to imagine myself as the side characters that get little screen time. My favorite movies are horror movies. Like everyone else, I find it fascinating to be scared every once in a while.

My problem started out as nothing too out of the ordinary. I would imagine myself as the killer in movies and would visualize myself hunting people. As perverse as it sounds, I guess it is pretty normal. My favorite part of the movies were the parts where Michael Myers or Jason would stalk their victims and follow them while they sometimes did not even know they were being followed. My heart would always skip a beat the moment the victim realized they were there. Sometimes I would just sit in the park and watch people while I secretly lived out my fantasy. I only allowed myself to do this every once and a while, for obvious reasons. At first I only let myself stalk the people in my imaginations. As time progressed, I would do it more frequently and eventually I started killing them.

At first, nothing bad happened. I was imagining myself killing people like in the movies; nobody was getting hurt and my mind was entertained. I got to a point where I didn’t even watch the movies anymore. One day during one of my normal park adventures, something strange happened. I “felt” a bullet enter my shoulder and “heard” a gunshot. I fell over on the park bench and laid there for a second. Then I realized that nothing had happened. I smiled and felt a little embarrassed for allowing myself to be so surprised. A new game to play. Killing had begun to grow old anyway. I went home and thought about what happened. I might have watched a movie, I don’t really remember.

I went back to the park the next day and imagined the open field as a woods where I was being hunted by mercenaries with only money on their mind. I was having a blast until one of them found me. They shot me and I blacked out.

I woke up not too long after and went home. It was still kind of early but I went to bed anyway. At school the next day, something worse happened. I was sitting in math, trying to stay awake. A masked man with a sharpened blade entered the room. I was the only one who noticed, and who could see him. It felt different that time. I hadn’t conjured him there. It felt more real. I could hear his breathing and feel him watching me. Class had just started. I somehow managed to sit through class without freaking out. When the bell rang, I basically ran. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. He was there, too. I don’t know why he wouldn’t kill me. At least if he “killed” me, this fantasy would be over. To my frustration, he followed for the rest of the day. And the next. He is still with me right now. I don’t think he likes that I’m telling you this.

 

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From → Literature

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