They were mine. In my head rather. I didn't know how it happened or why. It just did. I never thought that something so vivid in my imagination would ever have flesh or a heartbeat. Or does it?
Hollywood. Hollyweird. I was there. In my stupid little apartment with no friends. Screenwriting. All day. All night. I created these people. In my writing. On my laptop. They became real. To me at least. I'd go to work and no one else could see them. I'd talk to my creations on a regular basis like a proud parent. Sometimes I didn't even care that they weren't real. It was nice to know that people depended on me for something more than coffee. I couldn't tell anyone about my new friendships.
This town may be a little off kilter but I was going off the deep end. Didn't wanna end up in some mental hospital reliving childhood Halloween nightmares of haunted houses at amusement parks. Was I crazy? Was this secret actually bad? I'll never know.
I can't tell a soul. I want so badly to talk to my creations about the impossibility of their reality but I don't want to disrupt some sensitive time warp problem like in an old 80's movie. I didn't want them to think they weren't real. In all reality, I didn't even know if they were real or not.
They go to work with me. They are in the car with me. In my shitty apartment with me. Yet I'm so fucking alone. They won't leave me though. I have all the answers when it comes to them. I carefully crafted their scenes and their embattaling emotions.
I know what makes them tick. But what makes me tick? I don't think I'll ever know. So, I'll just sit in my shithole apartment and ponder what is real and what is not. Keeping it my secret for years...and years to come.
Created: Jul 24, 2012brittlovesmovies Document Media