When I was younger, my imagination was incredible. I didn’t have any friends – so I created one, Hobbes. I constructed entire planets for myself. Â Â But as I grew up, I tried to leave childish things behind; my imagination had other ideas. And my daydreams, once harmless, slowly turned into a frightening reality.
It knows I’m growing up. It’s fighting back. Evolving. And I don’t think I can stop it. Things are getting worst: Hobbes is gone. He’s somewhere inside my mind. I’ve got to go after him, or my imagination will take over.
I wake up suddenly.
”Calvin, it was just a dream. Go back to bed.”
That was Hobbes: the same stuffed tiger I had since I was 5. He was my only true friend I ever had.
”Felt so real though.” I respond.
A spark flew and hit my cheek, I look at where it came from.
”The house is falling apart, Hobbs” I say in the most calmest voice.
Hobbes grabs my shoulder and squeezes it.
”Calvin, stop! Calvin! Calvin!! Calvin!”
The hole becomes bigger as I stare into it. Why is this happening? Â I’m a grown adult. I should leave these fantasies.Â
But it’s only began.