I Am Figment And This Is Your Imagination
Writing Prompt: Your brother confides in you. You used to be his imaginary friend, he says, the one he wished were real. His wish came true.
My brother, Todd, broke the news to me very easily. As if he did not care.
“You were never my brother. You were my imaginary friend.”
“But what about our parents—?”
“I can’t explain it exactly,” Todd interrupted. “But the best way I can is that when I wished for you to become real, memories were put there into our parents’ minds. I always wanted a brother. After me, though, mom and dad didn’t want any more kids. So I came up with you.”
I could not believe what I was hearing. I was hoping this was a very sick April Fool’s Day joke. I looked at the calendar. It was the middle of August. No joke here.
“But all those pictures—?”
“Of you?” Todd inquired. “You mean the ones that were barely taken when we were both eight and onward? Why do you think there’s no pictures of you before then?”
“Mom said it was because of the flood in the basement.” I quickly thought.
“A convenient story, but not true. There were never any picture of you prior to you being eight years old.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I was starting to feel heartbroken.
“Well, I’m heading off to college soon. I figured when you go out into the real world that you should at least know the truth. In life, we are hardly ever rewarded the truth. You deserved to know before I left.”
I was still reeling. A couple tears ran down my cheeks. “No, this can’t be true…”
“It unfortunately is. But it doesn’t mean I don’t love you any less. I have to get some more stuff packed. We’ll talk more later.” He pat me on the knee and left my bedroom, shutting the door behind him.
I sat there, staring at the painted surface of the wall of my room. I saw every bump in the surface, noticing the tiny nuances of how the wall was painted. It always did annoy me that it was not painted right. The key to painting a wall is to do it in nice even strokes, either from top to bottom or left to right. That way the color of the wall blends together and the surface is absolutely smooth.
Maybe it’s time for a new beginning.
A new start.
Todd can’t be telling me the truth.
If I was imaginary, then what I would do would have no consequence.
How dare he try to tell me that I am not real.
How dare he.
I went out of my room and into the kitchen. I went to the cabinet above the fridge and found some rope.
I went to the walk-in pantry where we have some cleaning supplies and found a white bucket and some tarp.
I carried all this up to my room. I laid down the tarp right in front of the larger wall in front of my bed. I put the bucket down with the rope.
On the ceiling there is a wooden structure beam going straight across. I use the rope to sling it over the beam. To test it out, I exert my weight. There may have been a slight creak, but it held my weight just the same.
I went back downstairs to the garage and found a paint roller. I always loved these things. I bring it back up to my room.
I hear Todd call for me.
I hide behind the door.
“Hey there’s something—”He comes in and sees the setup. He is taken aback for a moment, but that gives me enough time.
From behind my door I pick up my aluminum baseball bat and strike him on the side of his head. He dropped whatever was in his hands. He was out for the count.
Using the rope, I tied his arms to his sides and his feet. I then hoisted up his body with the rope by pulling and having the support beam take his weight.
He is now hanging upside down, unconscious, the blood flowing to his brain.
I go to my side table and bring out my Bowie knife. A gift from dad on our first hunting trip. If that really happened.
Todd began to stir.
I looked at him and walked back in front of him.
It took him a moment to gather his surroundings.
“What are you doing?” He struggled to say. His thinking was becoming muddled.
“Proving you wrong. If I am nothing more than a figment of your imagination, then maybe this whole thing is nothing but a living day dream. Or in your case,” I brandished the knife, “a living nightmare.”
“No. There’s something that you need to see—”
I sliced his throat. His voice became watery.
The blood ran from his neck into the bucket I placed under him.
I took the paint roller and dipped it into the bucket.
I turned to the wall and began to pain over the mistake that was that wall. That horrible paint job.
Nice and evenly. I went up and down starting on the far left. I lined them up carefully and used every last drop to ensure it would not go to waste and it would be spread evenly.
I eventually got to the right side of the wall and finished. I backed up and admired the red wall. A beautiful new start to my room. And to the rest of my life.
I turned around.
Todd was barely still alive. His lips were moving.
I leaned in closer to what he was saying.
In a light tone, I heard “Pic…ter…”
“Pick-ter?” I asked.
“Pic..shure…”
“Picture?”
He nodded slightly. I looked past his body to where he first fell. There was a picture there.
On the back it said “My Brother and Me”. I turned it over and saw an eight year old Todd playing in the backyard. I looked closer at the figure next to him. It looked like it could have been a ghost.
However, it suddenly clicked.
That was me.
This was one of the instances I was becoming real.
The picture fell from my hand. I went to pick it up but I couldn’t. My hand wasn’t there. The paint roller dropped from my other hand. It disappeared as well. I then lost my footing as my right leg disappeared. I then crawled over quickly to my brother.
As his life slipped away, my existence did.
He made me real.
And I refused to believe it.
And now I lost my one true connection. The connection that made me real.
My other leg disappeared.
Todd looked at me on last time. I saw his eyes dilate then expand as his final breath left him.
“I am so sorry…” I said lightly as my voice slipped away.
And I slipped away into nothingness.
