Imaginary Can Mean Real Part 2

Maybe they're right.

They are right.

Nobody else believes in me. Why should I believe in myself? Easier to let the childish dream fall apart by itself than to be destroyed with it.

Writing is not worth it. This isn't worth it. This frivolous fantasy I've concocted is merely that, a fantasy. A game, a dream, a romanticized version of reality that would get me nowhere.

I can't keep up with the famous authors out there. Who am I even kidding?

My chest is starting to ache, my breathing becoming hitched. As I descend into the agonizing spiral of angst and despondency, I am unnoticed.

It is not, however, due to my character's negligence. They're all standing when I manage to lift my head off the ground for a moment, their eyes fixed on something to the left.

My sorrow is momentarily stopped, curiosity taking over instead. What are they staring at?

I turn to the direction of their gazes, peering out as something crosses my field of vision. It looks like . . . plot bunnies? But there are so many. And why are they running?

The mass of fur is frantically leaping forward, slamming into each other in panic.

Something is wrong. They don’t ever act so terrified. What is making them so scared?

I see the answer. Cresting the edge of the valley are five dark, ominous figures. Even from here, I can tell they writhe when they move, contortions unnatural and violent. Darkness flickers off of their skin, shadows dissipating around their form. The closer they get to my view, the more they look lupine.

They're loping after the rabbits, predatory grace in every bound. What are they?

I watch in horror as one of the wolf-like creatures catches up to a rabbit, brutally entrapping it within its jaws. The rabbit twists, desperate for escape, but it's too late. The poor animal wilts upon contact with the ground when it's tossed aside, the glow surrounding it fading away before it crumbles into nothing.

I can't breathe. They're chasing after the lifeblood of this place. The very ideas I love are being systematically hunted down. How did this happen?

Lucy turns to me.

"What did you do?" she asks, fearful of the coming creatures.

"What? I don't understand."

"Everything in this world is affected by you," she explains, hurried. "What were you just thinking about that brought them here?"

"I-I don't know what-"

"It's your soul!" she screams to me, both of us flinching as another rabbit falls prey to the hunt.

"You have to fix it," she pleads, all the strength in her voice gone. "What were you thinking about?"

She used to be one of those rabbits. All of them did. Lucy, Minho, Aaron, Maddie, Simon, Veronica.

Each and every one of them started out as a rabbit, transformed through writing to who they were now.

My future friends are being killed right now.

And that's killing me.

One of the rabbits is speeding towards the rock, a shadow right on its heels. They can't keep dying. They just can't.

I take off running to the edge and drop when I get there, sliding along on my stomach. The height is the last thing on my mind.

I can't reach far enough for the rabbit to leap into my arms. I can tell before it's even made it within 20 yards. I squirm along further, ignoring the protests I can hear behind me. I lean down with my leg pressed against the butte. I think I can reach it! Now it's scrabbling up the rock. My fingers brush against something soft, but then it's wrenched away.

I cry out as the loss of the rabbit registers.

Then I'm jerked backwards by my leg, sliding off the ledge.

I scramble to find purchase on the side of the cliff, knowing that if I were to fall the consequences would be dire. Fake world or not, there is something very real about the danger awaiting me below. I manage to grasp the edge of the rock with my fingers before I sink further down, but only barely.

The sound of fabric tearing captures my attention, and the force pulling me down stops. My pant leg must have ripped.

I look down and immediately understand that to be a mistake. All five of the dark creatures are surrounding the butte, attempting to claw their way upwards. Their teeth are now visible. Sharp and white, a contrast to their obsidian silhouettes. Rows of them line what would be their mouths, each one ready to be sunken into another being.

A mass of shadow, they don't have any features besides their teeth. But then the smooth surface flickers once more, this time forming into what appear to be faces. They're not clear enough to really make out, but all of the expressions are twisted into scorn, disgust crossing the hardly there eyes.

They bark, throaty sounds emanating from them as they slam into the wall, all chase of the rabbits forgotten. It's obvious I am their real target. I can feel the hot breath just a foot away from my ankle.

My fingers scream in agony as they start to slip from the ledge.

Voices are coming into my head. Whispers, malevolent and cruel. Shivers of revulsion go down my body as they invade my mind.

You'll never be anything.

You have no talent.

Go back to the real world, little girl.

Your efforts will fail.

You have no place here.

The five acidic voices creep through my thoughts. As my fingers give way a little more, I realize that these figures are a materialization of my self-doubt. They are the representation of what I've been feeling.

They're here to take me away. They want to eliminate this world's existence so I can never indulge in my fantasy again. I am resigned to this fate when my hands slip off the ledge and I begin to fall.

I'm stopped, not moving. Why am I stopped?

I look up to see Maddie struggling against gravity as she holds my wrist tightly in her grip. She's sliding down. Not her. Not any of them. They can't get hurt too.

Then Minho is there. He's calling for my other hand. When I give it to him, he starts to hoist me up. The others join him. Hands at my waist on either side, more added to my arms. Six pairs of them working together. Six characters I made trying to save me.

Of course they are. They wouldn't leave me there.

They finally lift me back onto the solid ground of the butte.

"Are you okay?" Aaron asks, concern in the question.

Is he serious?

"No, I'm not okay!" I scream, emotion pouring from my voice.

They start, now regarding me with wide, unsettled eyes.

The wolves continue to lunge at the wall, guttural growls coming from their mouths. Thankfully, they seem to be too heavy to maintain the grip needed to travel to the top.

I face Lucy.

"I was thinking about how my writing was never going to get anywhere," I confess, my voice shattering as a fresh wave of pain invades my heart.

"What do you mean?" she asks quietly, cocking her head in confusion.

"How am I supposed to get anything done when all my ideas suck and none of you want to help me?" I ask bitterly. "Do you seriously think I'll be able to cut it as a writer with this?"

"Is this about that harsh comment you got last week?" Simon interjects, green eyes wilting at my words.

"No!" I hiss. "Well, yes! But not just that! It's everything! What's even the point of me doing this anymore? I'll never be an author!"

I can feel warm liquid cascading down my face, caused by despair and anger. Maybe even more by the sense of hopelessness, so crushing it’s like I’m losing all lung function.

I wipe my face with my sleeve, furious and ashamed to show them the moment of weakness.

There's silence from them as they study me, the only sound coming from the still present shadows below.

Minho's the first to move. With a determined look on his face, he strides forward and wraps an arm securely around my shoulders.

"I'll help you," he promises, eyes smoldering and voice intense. "Just stop crying. Please."

His voice breaks on the last word.

"Me too," chimes Maddie.

"Me three," Aaron and Lucy announce at the same time. They laugh slightly instead of their usual arguing, like they understand this is not the time.

"Veronica and I would like to help as well," Simon says, the little brunette bouncing beside him.

"Us too! Us too!" she cheers.

I look up at them, surprised, and when I see the support on their faces I am reminded of what we all have gone through together. Changes in scripts, edits, praises, criticisms. People trying to change them entirely. People helping them become better characters. They've been here since their creation every time I've written something. They've always answered my calls when able, even if it was interrupting them or they didn’t want to talk.

They've believed in me. I had been wrong. The only ones who needed to believe in me are already lending me support. The characters of the book make it worth the read. If I have the characters, the rest should be able to be achieved through research and work.

It's quiet. I can't hear the pawing against the wall anymore. Have they gone?

Of course. Lucy said everything was affected by me. So when I removed the doubt, I removed the wolves.

It was over.

"I'll go scare off any of those lingering, infuriating pests if there are any," Minho says, removing his arm, "stop them from killing any more ideas. We may have lost three, but the others are still present and alive."

As he brushes past, he places a gentle hand on the top of my head, comforting me for a moment until he's moved away.

"Be careful," I call, worried for him. "Don't get yourself into any trouble."

I can't lose them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

He gives me a grin.

"As long as you have faith in me, no stupid self-doubt can even touch me."

I do have faith in him. I tell him so.

The remaining characters usher me to my chair and crowd around it, this time around perhaps a bit too helpful. But their eagerness and sincere attitude make it seem less like an inconvenience and more like a celebration.

They're talking to me about different personalities of the someone new about to join their ranks. Who they have met recently, what they have seen that would help me make a new story.

Minho comes back half an hour later, a lone plot bunny cradled against his chest. He’s gentle when he lays it down on the table.

"Here's the one I thought seemed like it had the most potential," he says softly, "and it has that theme you wanted."

I take the still slightly shivering creature into my arms, gazing into the words splashed across its fur.

"I'm sorry," I coo, running my fingers through the silky hair. "I shouldn't have worried so much. I won't let those wolves hurt you anymore, okay?"

"Make sure you don't," Aaron comments from beside me. "You are what makes us who we are. You made us, you've helped us, and you're the only one ultimately who can decide what to do with us."

Lucy is nodding.

"But you better not make me wear any dresses," she interjects, a lilt in her voice, "because I will hit you."

"I know it's scary to be a writer," Maddie says, "but it's what you care about, we can tell by the effort you put into us and our lives. It'd be a shame if you stopped because you didn't know where it was leading you."

"Hey! Hey!" Victoria chimes. "Simon tells me that stories are about the journey to see what's at the end! That's what's fun!"

"That's right," Simon replies. "The best part of reading a book is that we experience it as we go, not knowing the end. Just like writing. You don't have to know where it'll take you."

Tears are pooling up in my eyes. I'm not sure if it's that I'm tired, or that I've been scared, but as I lean down to nuzzle the bunny with my nose, I realize it's something else. These characters are my best friends. They've been with me through thick and thin, and they know me as well as I know them. Perhaps even better. This, yes this is what makes writing worthwhile. Sharing these people with the world. It isn't about reaching publishers. It isn't about having to appeal to everyone. It is about expressing the thoughts, hopes, and dreams of the loved ones I have presently standing in front of me. I am proud of each and every one of them, and I can tell they feel that.

"You see?" Minho asks, stepping beside me to scratch the bunny's ears. "Don't worry so much. If all else fails, we'll still be here for you."

He tilts his face to see mine more clearly, and smiles.

"I can't guarantee I'm not going to sass you," he says cheekily, "you made me this way after all. But I can reassure you that I will always be here if you really need me. The same goes for the others, and any characters you create in the future. If you believe in the fact that there's something there, something inside of you that makes you a writer, then you'll never have to feel alone and doubting again. Skill can be honed. Love of a craft is forever. And when you made us, each and every one of us, you infused that love into our very beings. So don't ever doubt you have that love, and by association, that you are made to write."

"You're feeling unusually eloquent today," I breathe, my heart in my throat as I try to hold back even more tears. This time happy ones.

He reaches over to flick me in the forehead, appearing to try and make his twinkling eyes harden into a glare. It's not working.

"Don't make me avoid you," he says, pretending to sound annoyed, "because I will just leave with Maddie."

"What happened to being there if I really needed you?" I ask, a bit more playful.

"Shut up," he answers, not harshly, and bumps my shoulder lightly with his.

"Look!" Veronica chimes. "Look at the bunnies!"

A golden and orange sunset casts warm, shining rays on the creatures now creeping out of hiding places.

They have all returned to the valley splayed out below, calming down now that the threat has disappeared. They huddle together, noses and whiskers brushing against each other affectionately. All of these would one day join the family I have now gazing out at them with me. The smiles are heartfelt and buoyant on everyone's faces.

This too, is a reflection of myself.

We take in the sight for a while longer, appreciating the ephemeral warmth of the moment.

Then we settle down into the cushions of the chairs, all peering forward to read the markings on the white plot bunny Minho brought. Once they are recorded, the rabbit scurries down the side of the butte, now pristine and unmarked. It's rejoining its friends, ready for a new idea to come its way.

Jokes are made, laughter is shared, and a character begins to form on the pages. We decide we'll name her Stephanie.

I look at all the friends I have been invested with over the years, and I don't think a single one of them fails to notice the beaming smile that's made its way onto my face. They all return it.

As we delve deeper into Stephanie and her adventures, I come to truly realize for the first time why it is I come here. To the world of the imaginary, the place that separates from fact to go into fiction. It's because to me, it's realer than anything I've ever felt outside of it.

The love, the bonds, the way the lines are blurred between dreams and waking life. These are all reasons I belong here, with the people who have worked alongside me, even when they were only ideas themselves.

I am home.