Tag: Fiction

For eight years, Jane and I were inseparable best friends. We met when I showed up at her house one day for a play date. She was too young to remember, but I do. It was hard to forget how her biggest stuffed bear was shredded to pieces, making it look like it had snowed in her bubblegum pink room. She was devastated until I helped her create a snow angel out of the stuffing. The two of us spent everyday together after our meeting. She shared just about everything with me. When she had a hard time, I would be there for her in the blink of an eye. At her house, we would play dolls, read all of her favorite books together, but my favorite was when we played tea parties. When she started going to school, I would set up a tea party and wait impatiently for her to get home. Whenever she walked in the door, I could hear her backpack drop to the floor, she would briefly greet her dad with a hug, then run up to her room to play with me. Occasionally, she would bring a friend to play with us too. It was our constant routine throughout all of first grade, then second, and part of the third. However, one day, she didn’t run up the stairs. I sat and waited for an hour before peeking around the corner of the door frame. From the door, there was a clear view of the living room at the bottom of the stairs. She sat on the couch watching my favorite show without me. When she saw me, it was as if she had forgotten about me, like she had to process in her brain who I was and why I was in her house. When it did process, she immediately jumped up and met me at the tea table. “Would you like some more tea Mr. Bear?” She asked the little stuffed bear sitting next to me as if nothing strange had just occurred. I stared at the little brown, button-eyed bear slouched on the little pink chair beside me. I realized Jane would always be able to play with Mr. Bear, but not me. I felt myself fading from Jane’s thoughts.

It wasn’t going to be long before I would become just another childhood fad to her. Before I could truly be forgotten, I said my goodbyes to her and Mr. Bear. I also told Mr. Bear to take care of my bestest friend, Jane, then I disappeared from Jane’s thoughts completely. It was only to be expected. I was only the imaginary friend, after all. 

I never expected to go back. The thought of seeing Jane all grown up scared me. Yet down the line, I did find myself back in her house many years later with a new best friend. Her name was Annie. Jane’s daughter.

“Would you like a little taste of life?” 

I looked up from my book, smiled at the woman and reached for a sample. Once I touched it, a shiver went down my spine. I didn’t want to taste it anymore, but I felt as if I couldn’t retract my statement. The woman was staring at me intently, her smile and unblinking stance made it look more like this was poison and she was waiting to watch my soul drain from my body. 

My eyes pleaded to her. I was scared. If I didn’t take this, then I would be considered vain and cruel. I knew I was above human life, but I also knew the stories of valiant soldiers sacrificing themselves for their one true love. Or people inspiring those who felt lost. I knew humans to be good creatures. The bitter taste in my mouth made me start to think I was wrong.

Images of current events on earth started flashing through my head quickly. I don’t know what I thought life would be like. Not this.

Where is the magic? What happened to those tales of knights saving their people? The stories made humans sound like such romantics, but here they are arguing at every moment. People are dying, wars have broken out, none seem content.

Each and every one of them look for happiness, but they are looking in every wrong place, causing them to stumble back once again into a lonely depression. Then some find the happiness they desire but find everything wrong with it until they find a way to push it out of their lives. 

Is this the meaning of human life? To find something to love only to cast it out the moment something doesn’t seem perfect. Is the goal to find perfection? Because there is none as far as the oceans are wide. Nothing can reach perfection to a humanistic standard. They have conflicting ideas of what is perfect, so why is that the goal? They want a sinless, perfect society of people, yet some people have different ideas on what should be considered a sin. So tell me why they cannot reach an understanding when all of them are falling short of their own standards they set for themselves. 

They still tell those beautiful stories that made me think humans were wonderful creatures who were more powerful than other creatures of my caliber believed. Humans even live by these ideals to be the best. 

I watched a boy draw a beautiful picture, yet as he grew older, he did not continue his passion and settled for a job that he did not love. He could have followed his dream, but others were cruel to him and made him believe he was no good at anything. 

Is everyone so focused on themselves that they can’t support anyone else? Or are they too busy focusing on tearing other people down that they can’t do anything that could possibly make them happy? 

The small taste of life I tried leaves me with so many questions, more questions than answers. People spend so much time trying to figure out the meaning of life, yet I am a superior being and I can’t understand the meaning of human life. If life is about what you do and not what you say, the meaning of life is war and pain. 

But as the scene starts to fade away, two older people come to my vision. Their eyes were full of sorrow, they had experienced the pain of life that I had only just seen, yet they still appeared to be happy. There was a sense of joy in both of them, but there was also something hidden which neither would show the other. They were hiding it to protect the other’s happiness. Was that a good thing? 

The visions faded until all I could see was the woman sweetly smiling at me. “I hope you enjoyed.” Was all she said to me before walking away. No answers. No one to ask. I held my book back up on the table and ignored all that I had just seen. What was the point of asking questions there will never be a good answer for?

In the quiet of my bed, the darkness lurks and threatens to bring terrors my way and nightmares to life. Through it, I cannot be frightened. I cannot be frightened because sitting outside my window is the tiniest of stars. She shines down from the heavens to let me know that I am safe. “Oh what is it like up there, Tiny Star? You are one of many stars, but you are my star. You are a speck in this galaxy. If you are a speck, then I am nothing. Oh, the wonders you have seen of this world and all of the others around you. Can you see me from up there, Tiny Star? Or am I alone here?” Across the black skies, a glistening star flew over the house, just below Tiny Star. When it was gone, I could no longer see Tiny Star. There I was again, laying in the black room with no Tiny Star to help me fight the monsters. I tore my eyes away from the sky and looked downward. The longer I stared at the floor, the more fear built up in me over what was waiting for me when I looked back up at the room around me. Then there was a yellow reflection of light on the ground which kept flashing. I didn’t want to look up. If I looked up, I was afraid I would let myself hope in something that might be an illusion. I might look up and there is no good light, it is only a monster parading around a flashlight. Something in me told me to look up, so I did. Sitting on my windowsill, there was a little, glowing firefly. He was positioned in the same spot Tiny Star was, and I knew Tiny Star was with me.