Imagine That

Imagine a girl sitting on a simple wooden bench in the middle of a picturesque park. To us observers; she's just a girl sitting on a park bench doodling, writing, enjoying the sunny day. In her mind there is so much more going on; the park is not only picturesque but filled with lyrics streaming across the sky in puffy cloud letters to be captured by her pen, dragons flying around gracefully whose essence shall be shown with her charcoal, poetry floats through her head to be entrapped on her papers. She creates art using the world around her, while all we see is the girl on the bench. But what would happen if we saw in real life what she saw in her mind as she created these works of art?

Take a moment and imagine her lyrics played out in a real life situation. Take a look at this verse and imagine;


Simple verse, yes? Complicated situation. The real life version: A lover plots her revenge.

Now completely aware that all she had ever been was a doxy. She laced the special order champagne, brand name Black Lace, with cyanide. His Cuban cigars have been injected with nitroglycerin. If he sips the champagne, a slow painful death. If he lights a cigar, he'll explode. The wife can say goodbye to the cheating bastard while the doxy says goodbye to the using ass. He walks into the room and she runs and greets him with a flute of champagne and a cigar. Cheating using ass bastard takes both. A small sip of champagne, and he decides it tastes funny; the cheating bastard begins to feel sick. He lights the cigar, thinking it might help settle his stomach, just as his doxy begins to walk away. The room explodes; the cigars and the bottle of Black Lace champagne fall into the doxys' newly dead arms. Bastard dies as well. They have both fallen into irreversible comas.

Too gruesome? Too bad!

Now imagine what would happen if the dragons on her sketch pad came off the paper and began to roam through real life:

As they start climbing out of the paper the girl looks shocked. Her face is filled with a mix of terror and awe. She's not entirely certain what's going on, but she finds it thoroughly amazing. The dragons leave her paper in the original sizes that she drew them in. As soon as they're fully out of the paper and on the ground they grow, reaching the size of what she imagines a brontosaurus was in just a few seconds. One of the dragons is a motherly type, it bends down and curls its' wings protectively around the girl and hums to her a dragon lullaby. The warmth of the dragons body gives her a sense of love and security; something she hasn't had in a very long time. Another dragon wanders around: It's a tree-eating vegetarian and it's hungry. However, the trees around here are not to it's liking so it begins to set fire to it's surrounding angrily. A dragon nearby takes this as a challenge to its authority and it charges at the vegetarian dragon. They both fly up and begin to tear each other to pieces with claws and teeth and flame. Close to the wondrous and destructive marvel of dueling dragons is another dragon flying around searching for meat to eat. It considers fighting with the motherly dragon to eat the girl, but it knows the girl is its creator and it had no real desire to eat her; so it sets out and begins to terrorize the city. The girl feels responsible for the destruction and terror her dragons cause, but there is nothing she can do about it. She lets it go, still loving her dragons, as they are her creations, but she cannot bear the weight of two dead dragons and one terrorizing the people of the city. The motherly dragon flies the girl away to gorgeous island where it cares for the girl until the girl dies of old age; the whole time it gave the girl something she'd never truly had before: Love.
Sad? Good. Happy? Possibly bad.

Now imagine what happens if her poetical ponderings ever happened:


Just another day in the whole boy meets girl story. Typical really; they met, they found they had similar interests, they went on a date, they went on another date, and so one and so forth. Today was typical, they went on their date, it was for the fact that they made it six months into a relationship. Six months, how quaint. Their date went rather well, they smiled and laughed. However; throughout the whole date the guy was holding himself in reserve, and the girl didn't really notice; and if she did, she chose to not bring it up. As far as the girl was concerned, the news she gave him earlier was great. Walking up the stairs to their apartment we see that they live rather well for a young couple fresh out of college: It makes us wonder about their social status, not that it matters for much longer. The girl is sitting on the bed as the boy walks around talking. She seems upset, tears are welling in her eyes as she listens. She's to shocked to say anything, and too afraid of this sudden action to get up and do something other than cry. Pacing around the room, the guy is yelling, he's angry at the girl. He goes on and on, and the girl can't help but let the tears fall down her face. Her body is shaking in fear; she's never seen him this upset. Both their hearts are racing, neither one can stop what's going on. He approaches her and she cringes. Grabbing her purse, she wraps an arm around her stomach protectively and runs out the door. The boy sits on the bed, eyes wide. He can't bring himself to run after her, he can't bring himself to get up and force her into something like that after seeing her reaction. He approached the subject wrong, he didn't think it through, he never thought about the positives. All he could do was feel regret. Regret lingered in the room, making everything reek. A few weeks later, boy meets girl, girl looks at boy with wide eyes and tears begin to form. Boy looks at girl, the regret from the room clear on his face. They both know, nothing will fix what had happened.

No matter what we imagine, how real we can make these things seem with out imaginations, how real they can be to her; they're simply not. The doxy and the man may have existed; but maybe the doxy could never bring herself to harm him, or maybe she killed him in a less gruesome manner. Dragons may have existed in a parallel universe or somewhere in the past, there are still several hundreds of thousands of years where we simple and rather close-minded humans don't know exactly what went on.

All this brings us back to our original situation, a girl sitting on a park bench. Just a normal girl with a sketchbook on a lovely day. She's lost in her daydreams, sketches, and other artistic happenings. Perhaps we notice the girl and wonder what goes on in her mind. Perhaps we don't notice her at all as we sit, taking in the breath-taking view of the sunset. If, maybe, perhaps, imagination. We play a game of fiction; creating stories about those around us to cure our boredom. Even if we don't notice the girl on the bench, we notice others and we possibly wonder about them, or we make up something about them to ease the sense that never ending feeling of mystery and intrigue we get from life. However, we will almost never stop to think that maybe, just maybe, everything around us is fiction: A story created in someone else's mind; a paradox of time that never happened but could have, or did and shouldn't have; a story written down for others to read. Perhaps… Maybe… Is it possible that all we are is an artistic work of imagination?

This is .. extraordinary. Definitely something different. Part poem, part prose. In a weird way, I could see this being a play. A simple set, with a girl sitting on that park bench .. but then the scenes that leap off the paper are so radically dynamic.

Really loved this. It felt like it leapt off the page and started dancing in front of me, which, given the subject, is rather fitting. What inspired this, I must ask?

Firstly; thank you. Secondly; I really don't know what inspired it. It's random writings from late nights, lazy days, and park/beach days that I went through and found ones I liked the best and matched them up in a way I thought made sense and started to make a real story out of them. Simply put; it's random thoughts that happens in my mind when I'm not concentrating on something else in an actual story format.

Hah. That's sometimes the best way to write, ya know? When you're disconnected from everything, that's often when the most clarity can occur.

It really is. I love it when I'm just sitting there kind of bored and then I just suddenly get an idea. I've noticed that most everything I write tends to turn out better that way.