~~~~
He was all alone in his large home, his
tutors had left, and his mother would not be home for another two hours. The
boy ran through the house, seemingly dancing and jumping at random. To the
outside observer, he’d simply be an overly energetic boy burning off energy in
the quiet home. However, in his own mind, he was far from alone.
In the boy’s mind, he had a whole
universe as his playground. A vast and infinite field of stars where he could
pilot any vehicle he chose. Perhaps a grand spaceship, staffed by a crew of
close friends, flying through space to defeat evil villains and armies of
monsters. In this place, he was not a simple boy, but a man, a superhero, a
legend.
In reality, he was alone, the house
was dead quiet and the neighborhood equally so. Within the world of
imagination, he was surrounded by close friends, modeled after the characters
he’d admired from television. The world was alive and filled with color and
sound. From pitched battles of good versus evil to bustling worlds of every
description.
This was his world, his peace, his
time to be alive. Nothing could touch him in this world, nothing could harm
him. He was invincible, and all his concerns from reality would just float
away. Then, at the drop of a hat, it’d be over, and he’d return to being a
normal boy again. It was like a switch, with a flick he’d pop in and out of his
fantasies.
Sometimes he’d simply had enough, or
others would approach, and he’d need to return to reality. It’d frustrate him
when he was forced away from his fun, but as time went on, he eventually
stopped caring. He’d find the time, he always could.
The boy continued to dance through
the halls of his home, lost in the realm of fantasy, month by month, year by
year. He grew older, more experienced, more invested. The simple play sessions
of his youth became genuine stories to him. He couldn’t stop them, he wanted
them to grow, develop, and become greater.
The boy was no longer a boy, he was
a man, yet he still hungered for the same play sessions of his youth. He wished
to be lost in his imagination and play with imagined characters. The man wanted
to watch new stories unfold, he desired to see these creations of his grow with
him. Yet, he was an adult, was there any real excuse for this to continue?
The thoughts, the stories, the
imagination, he didn’t want it to go away. Where, would it channel, where would
it go? The answer was simple, he realized. He sat down at a desk, a computer’s
keyboard at his fingers. With a quick set of fingers, he typed out the phrase,
“Chapter 1.”
Through the course of the day, the
man wrote out a story of close friends fighting villains and monsters. Tales of
spaceships in a boundless universe of superheroes and legends fighting for
justice. Stories of familiar characters, of people finding their place in the
world.
To the outside world, he was but a
man alone, typing away at his computer, writing a simple story. Inside his
mind, he was but a boy, and he was not alone.
~~~~
Some people are born storytellers, they just don't realize it at first. Until next time, Read, Comment and Enjoy
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