the unimaginary

so, this is the beginning of.....well, i'm not sure yet. it's a beginning,..... of something. I just felt like writing something fictional one day and this came out. it's kind of about humanity in case you didn't pick up on that.





I used to write, long fairy tales filled with adventure and air you could barely stand to breathe-but not for want of anything, only because of the amount of reality it contained-it was too concentrated, and filled with themes that are sometimes deemed imaginary simply because they are unseen. The air pounded with them; I used to paint, sprawling scenes of the obvious, and yet somehow people missed it in the midst of the ugliest chaotic greed. They saw only their lust and neither the destruction it caused, nor the beauty it violated. Staggering imagination was lost to the eyes of the sleeping; I used to sing to the heavens, one resounding theme…the echoes of the birds and streams and sky. The sun and moon and trees spoke their various notes, and it all became one mixed melody of aching good and heart-breaking melancholy.
And one day the music stopped.
The paint didn’t flow.
….and the ink ran dry and cracked.
I lay staring in the early morning grey at the reflection of a face I didn’t know. I knew whose face it was, but I no longer knew the person staring back with an expression void of wonder. I had become one of ’them’. Call them what you will, a ‘member of the human race‘, ‘an adult‘, ‘responsible‘, ‘successful‘….and most dangerous of all ’normal’; All the adjectives fit, even when the definitions did not. The very words in their heresy made me want to rip modern dictionaries apart….. The dictionaries people carry around with them constantly. The ones they use as a reference and scale to measure themselves upon. The one they treated as law, and the people who dare violate it, as much worse than the ordinary criminal. Those dictionaries. They all deserved to be burned til even the ashes blew themselves out of existence. For those who would defy the monotony and days void of color- those who would dare actually live with wide open eyes-there lay a far worse type of scorn. Scorn built of fear. And I had escaped that scorn, only just, so that I might have the pride of staring into this empty face.