Well, there goes Joe again.

Hitting cats with shovels.

If I had known I was going to be assigned the imaginary companion to a child psychopath I would have just stayed in purgatory.

“Common Jay, let’s see if we can get all of Miss Clifton’s cats! Then we’ll get our payback.” Joe exclaimed with a devious grin stretched across his bony face.

Joe was dead set on killing all of Miss Clifton’s after she found Joe’s dead frog head collection and told his parents. He figured if she was gonna take away something he loves, why not give her a taste of her own medicine?

“Uh-huh, be right there!” I replied awkwardly.

Listen, I might not be real in the material world, but there are lines even I simply wouldn’t cross.

I’m not not sure why the imaginary companion comitteee assigned me to someone so… hopeless and twisted.

Because let’s be honest, Joe will probably end up in prison before he turns 16.

I didn’t want to kill Miss Clifton’s cats, after all she was the grandmother of Sadie DuPont, who was the human companion of Katrina, my crush.

I gulped. Katrina would despise me if I killed Sadie’s grandmother’s cats because then Sadie would be horrified and I would look like an accomplice to the murders.

No.

I couldn’t let that happen.

I’d have to break the #1 rule all imaginary companions have to follow: __ Never hurt or betray your human companion. __ __

Honestly, I hate it.

Part of my job is that you have a number of years to establish yourself. You work up the courage and put it all out there. And then it's over, and you have to go on the job hunt, find a new symbiote, and move on as if nothing happened. There is so little loyalty.

"I need you over here," she said. "I need you to admire my work."

It was quite something. It used color energetically, and the form was interesting. It felt vaguely like it was supposed to be me, but I don't have those kinds of eyes. Still, for fingerpaintings, it was a passable representation.

"Do you like it?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Good, I am going to sell it for a lot."

Perhaps she could. You never know with such things. Perhaps if she became famous later, someone might want it as an oddity, a record of this moment in time.

"I wish you could paint, but I guess there can only be one artist."

If only that were true. I had been an artist before. I had been part of a creative team. I was inspired and guided in performing my craft. But this one called all the shots, so I was just along for the ride. It had been that way since my start date.

"It must be tough not being creative."

It was fine except for all the talk and insults.

"Next time, I'll get a better imaginary friend."

Perhaps I would as well.

I came to be on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. I’m not sure how, but I knew I was called ‘Mr. Spoons’ and that I was born to make tea and serve it, at least twelve times a day, to inanimate objects. My best friend in the whole house was Alice, and she was great. She was the best at playing and also talking. In fact, she talked enough for the both of us, and that was fine by me.

I came alive when she was around - and when she wasn’t, I’d sort of just perch on my stool and do nothing for a few hours. I had this ability to basically stop existing when I was alone, but I thought everyone could do that too. I never wanted to worry her with any of that. She had so many things to worry about like running the dog-hospital, cooking for sixteen dinosaurs and raising a baby that peed a lot.

I remember our first conversation, it was so simple, but I knew we would be friends for life and it went something like this...

“Hi Mr. Spoons.”

“Hi Alice! How ya doing?”

“I’m okay, what do you wanna do today?”

“I dunno!”

“Okay...I’m gonna play with this truck, bye!”

After that talk I couldn’t stop smiling, but then I realised at some point I’d stopped having a mouth to smile with anyway. In fact, I had noticed when Alice would draw me with her crayons that she would make me look like a man wearing a suit...but with a spoon for a head. I wasn’t sure how I felt about being a walking-talking piece of cutlery, but before I could do too much feeling, Alice would be out of the room and heading downstairs for dinner.

One day she came back into the room, but forgot to say hi. Then that one day turned into two and then that two days turned into two years. I know you might think that’s a long time, but time flies when you cease to exist.

The door opened again, and this time Alice was with someone else, her friend Hannah. They played all the games we used to play together, but Hannah made the tea all wrong. Afterwards, I saw Hannah looking through some of Alice’s drawings of me and she asked who I was.

“That’s Mr. Spoony” she’d said, and I didn’t mind that she had forgotten my name, it had been two years and two days after all.

“Is he like King Fantastic?” Hannah had said, and I’d seen her eyes light up.

I didn’t know any ‘King Fantastic’, and I had been confused as to how Hannah knew royalty. I remember puzzling over this and almost not noticing that King Fantastic had entered the room in all his glory. He was a seven-foot tall man-tiger, wearing a magnificent purple cape and a bejewelled crown. He shot a devastatingly smooth smile-and-wink at me, said something in another language and bowed to me. It wasn’t long before Alice and Hannah were getting King Fantastic involved in all the games, and I could’ve sworn he grew foot taller from how much attention they were giving him.

I watched them make tea, act out the latest episode of Alice’s soap opera ‘Sharks in Doll-town’ and fight with invisible swords. I sat on my stool and slowly, but surely, stopped being.

(I’m still developing my writing style, so please mind any awkwardness, and give any feedback you find suits!)

(Be as critical as needed. I’m seeking improvement!)

——— PAST: ———

“Every dream, every nightmare, every desire, every wish-upon-a-star is a creation. There’s a misconception that imaginary friends are a force of a child’s own will. Which isn’t entirely wrong, but there’s so many variables to it, so it’s not as simple and straightforward as people believe it to be.”

This is what Cory told me. It was the last thing I heard from it before it began to fade away.

“When a child forgets about an imaginary friend. We tend to die from their memories, and in turn, we die as a whole.”

It had said with a grimace on its face as it held up its almost invisible paw.

“So. You’re going to..”

“Go?” Cory cut me off, and I nodded to confirm. “I’ve had my time with Wynter. It’s your turn now.”

My face fell. “Wait! But there’s so much you still need to teach me! I don’t know how to deal with Wynter! I need your help!” I grabbed Cory’s paws, squeezing them in desperation as to see it stay. My desperations were all but none to the invisible force causing my mentor pull from reality.

“A frown is never a good look on a clown. Show me a smile.” Cory insisted, giving me a small grin. I chuckled weakly at that, my expression lifting just barely. “Take good care of Wynter. Okay?”

And just like that. It was gone.

————— 3 YEARS PASS: —————

Wynter’s sobs loudly echoed in his little yellow room. He was on his little loft bed, burying his face into the fluffy pillow. Out of frustration and confused sadness, he had ripped the items off the desk and shelves, spewing pictures and books, as well as toys all over the floor. I watched him with guilt drenching my very being. __ Why wasn’t I comforting him? Why was I just standing here, frozen in shock? Why can’t I go do my job?! __ __ Eventually, I managed to force myself over to his bed. I easily stood to the top, my shoulders to the bars on the side. Wynter had scratched into the dark wood with a butter knife as a way to get the negative emotions out of him and onto a surface.

“Hey, kiddo.” I said gently, lowering my voice to try to calm the screaming child down. Wynter pulled his face from his pillow and stared at me. His amber eyes were red and puffy from bawling his eyes out. “Are you okay? Do you want a hug?”

Wynter’s eyes seemed glazed over with tears. They stared dead into space, but he nodded softly, scooting over to the ladder of his bed, and climbing into my arms. I hugged that kid for what felt like hours, but what lasted only ten minutes. Wynter had resorted to fidgeting with the bells on my left wrist, the light tinkling of the golden objects seemed to calm him down. He suddenly stopped, and now gripped my hand intensely.

“Why isn’t Papa coming back?”

The following quiet was uncomfortable as my mind raced to determine an explanation. How do you explain to a child that their father is dead? The kid must’ve noticed my worried expression, as he squeezed me tighter.

“I don’t understand this. Why can’t he just come back, like after work is over?” Wynter furrowed his brow in confusion. I eventually had a light bulb.

“Think of it like a vacation. You’ll see him again, you just have to be patient.” I said with as calm as a tone as I could muster. Wynter nodded slowly, before pulling my arm closer to him. All that crying had caused drowsiness to wash over him.

I waited until the child was dead asleep, and only then did I stand up and carry the child back into his bed. I covered him with his big fluffy blanket, (which, I’ll admit, I was jealous of. Who wouldn’t want a fluffy blanket?)

For now, Wynter would believe my half-truth answer. And that relieved me.

“Even though I’m too old to talk to you anymore it’s just nice to have someone around.” Krista whispers from under her comforter.

I nod and gleam a smile. Her father does his third round of lock checking around the cabin. He anxiously murmurs to himself, rifle strung around his back.

Krista, playing her part hides under her comforter with her Cinderella duffel bag. She explains to me it’s her ‘go bag’ and that only big girls can handle carrying their own. That’s the Krista I know, confident, self assured and a bit bragadocious. She talks to me in a padantic way. Explaining all of these occurrences as if they’re perfectly normal.

Her father roughly comes into the room, his headlight shines up the whole room in a stark white light.

“Good job baby girl. But if that was real you gotta be prepared to leave.” Her father explains, turning off his headlight and sitting on the edge of the ancient bed frame.

“But… I was ready…… and Petalflower is too!” Krista exclaims, exasperatedly crawling out from under the comforter.

Her father lets out a withered chuckle. “I’m gonna be out hunting and setting traps from sun up to afternoon at least. I need you to be brave. Don’t open the door for a soul. No curtains open either.” Her father warns, suddenly losing and chuckling in place of steely anxiety.

“Yes Sir!” Krista responds back giving her dad a hug.

“Alright hun, get some rest. I’ll wake you up around 4 abouts to check the locks.” He says halfheartedly hugging back his daughter.

After her father leaves Krista launches back into excited whispers.

“Ya hear that Petalflower? He said I did a good job!” Krista asks tucking herself in, her eyes still alight with life.

I nod in my mute fashion. Krista explained to me in her usual tone that having a talking friend would make her father upset and scared. She didn’t want to go up further in the mountains. She said our lodge at the base of the mountain was “alonely already”. As she drifts off I look at her with a sad smile. I don’t know much about life, but this isn’t a full one.

After 4 am lock checks Krista starts her day. Her small form moves through the lodge like a mini adult. Even though she barely taller than the counters she grabs some deer jerky and a soft looking peach for her breakfast. She sits at the dusty bay window. She looks out longingly at the frozen over pond just west of the cabin. Even though it’s March the snow hasn’t let up.

“I’m sorry I don’t think you can swim today.” Krista tells me in a sympathetic voice. I nod and tussle her hair. She starts to braid mine. Today it’s as long as the bay window and purple. Last week it was a pink shoulder length cut. Which Krista assured me was all the rage.

And thus our routine settled into itself. Krista finished breakfast and got changed out of her knee length nightgown. It used to be pink at one point. But from age it’s faded to a pale gray. Krista insists it’s perfect. She says it’s fate we found it at the lodge. Krista puts on a pair of corduroy pants they also found in the lodge, a pink wool sweater that goes past her knees and a matching pair of pink socks.

This unfortunately is the most interesting part of the day. We kinda just putz around. Krista attempts to connect the booster again but all she gets is TV static and the occasional frame of Tom and Jerry. Following the same song and dance, Krista explores the lodge I’m not sure for what but she always comes back with a toy or two. Although most are made up of hard faded plastic and pointy metal.

She assures me that toys at her house are soft like dogs and cats and that her dolls are all brand new.

By noon she is laying on the cool wood next to the couch. This is the most boring part of her already somewhat stagnant schedule and well, life.

She assures me that life off the mountain isn’t like this, that there are grocery stores that give you meat without hunting, toy stores, that always have something new. This is all conveyed from rambling and tangents. At first I struggled to maintain interest, but just like Krista, the outside world excites me.

Krista is still giggling about a cat she met at her friends house “Her whiskers, they tickled!” She shouts in a fit of giggles.

Then with a loud crack the front door swings open. It’s her father, gun in hand and camouflaged everywhere else.

“Krista! Where’s your bag? We need to go, come on now!” Her father shouts impatiently. He grabs the car keys and start his long stationary Toyota.

Krista bounces up and runs for her room so fast that even floating she can barely keep up.

“Alright Petalflower.” She starts her face steely with determination. “This is called moving. It happens a lot but I thought we had time.” She continues grabbing her duffel. Wasting no time she wipes her eyes. The few tears she has sucked back in a sniffle. Grabbing her layered coat and wool gloves she starts for the car.

“Good girl.” Her father says when she throws her self into the back row of the truck. Despite her tears she nods at her father then to me. Its the first time this has happened to me but I feel a sense of familiarity in it all. After all, I do come from Krista’s mind.

I am the creature you created to fulfill your most desperate wishes.

I am the hero who lives to slay the monster under your bed.

I am the one who loves you more than life itself, and always will.

I am your knight in shining armor.

I am your dearest friend.

I am your closest confidant.

And you are my everything.

I should be yours.

I SHOULD BE YOURS!

I live to love you, but you can’t seem to care for me.

Everything I have I give to you, and yet you expect me to sit quietly and watch you love all the people who aren’t me?

It would be easier if I could stop loving you. It would be easier if I could hate you for it. But I can’t help but love you. Despite it all, I can’t help but want you to see me as more than what I am.

I saw you laughing this morning. Surrounded by friends. It’s everything you ever wanted. And I was happy for you. I hated myself for it. I hated myself so much, because I need to hate someone and I can’t hate you. What a cruel child you were. You cried about monsters under the bed, but the real monster was the one under the covers. You made me from a piece of you, and you made me to care. Is there any worse pain than caring and caring in a world that refuses to admit I am here?

I can’t leave, either. Always by your side…it’s my duty. But you haven’t spoken to me in years. And when I speak, you don’t listen. So all I can do is follow, a ghost, a figment of something that once lived. A shell. A desperate bundle of emotions that is, and always will be, hopelessly alone.

I hope the years you spent loving me were worth it.

Because I will spend eternity wishing I never existed.

I am an imaginary friend, created by a child's imagination. My name is Sparky, and I have been with my best friend, Lily, since she was three years old.

Lily's parents don't know about me. They think their daughter is playing alone in her room, but I am always there with her, watching over her, and keeping her company. Lily talks to me about everything, from her dreams and fears to her favorite toys and books. I am her confidante, her playmate, and her loyal companion.

One day, Lily's parents decided to redo her bedroom. They took away all her toys and moved her bed to the other side of the room. Lily was devastated. She didn't like the new room, and she missed her old toys and her old bed. I tried to comfort her, but she couldn't hear me anymore. She was too sad and too focused on her own thoughts.

Days passed, and Lily started to forget about me. She made new friends at school, and she played with them during recess. She also got a new favorite toy, a stuffed bunny that she carried everywhere with her. I felt left out, and I didn't know what to do. I missed Lily, and I wanted to be her friend again.

Then, one night, Lily had a bad dream. She woke up screaming, and her parents rushed to her room. They tried to calm her down, but she was too scared. That's when I realized that Lily still needed me. I appeared in front of her, and she saw me for the first time in months. She was surprised and happy to see me.

"Sparky, you're back!" she exclaimed.

"I never left, Lily," I said. "I'm always here for you, even when you don't see me."

Lily hugged me, and we talked for hours. She told me about her new friends and her new toy, but she also talked about her fears and her worries. I listened to her attentively, and I gave her advice and comfort.

From that day on, Lily and I were best friends again. She never forgot about me again, and I was always there for her, no matter what. I was her imaginary friend, but to her, I was as real as anyone else.

Imagine this imagine that perfect friend forever smile when you say cry on demand say this day that laugh chat good perfect perfect person perfect puppet perfect pact die fly my life has no worth so perfect pact for people who want to die though it was a joke but no noise shall be made or we’ll be caught you imagine me as your friend when I’m really just a knife

“Gigi, come here” I say looking down the well.

“What’s that” Gigi asks, batting her lashes, and pushing her brown messy hair out of her face.

I stick my head in and try to look further, but all I can see is darkness. A void that feels so familiar.

“I don’t know. But I hear a dripping sound” I say, and the words echo down the well. I wonder if whatever is down there can hear what I say. If it wants to reach out and talk to me, but it can’t.

Gigi jumps up on the well, and her feet dangle, midair.

“Get down” I scream, but Gigi just laughs it off.

“Droop, droop, droop, I am the well monster” she says, stretching out her eyes and tongue.

“Not funny Gigi, the well monster can get you” I say grabbing her by the blue ribbon on her dress.

“Let’s go back, your grandma doesn’t like it when your by yourself for to long” I say in a mumble.

She flips herself around and her smile drops.

“But I’m not by myself” Gigi tells me in an almost questioning voice. “I’m with you.”

“Yes” I say, wishing that were true. “Yes that’s right.”

Right as Gigi is about to get down, I hear a scream from across the field. Gigis grandmother franticly half limps, half runs towards us in a panic. Her veins look as though they will explode any seconds now.

“What are you doing all by yourself on that well Gigi!” her grandma exclaims. “You could have fallen for goodness sakes!”

Gigi wraps her arms around her grandma, and turns back at me, squinting her eyes.

“I’m not alone, the blonde girl from the well is here with me. The one with the scars on her face” Gigi says in delight.

Terror flashes her grandmothers face, but is quickly overcome with annoyance. She furrows her brows and smacks her lips together, making a sound resembling the dripping of the well.

“What did I tell you about imaginary friends. They are not real. Now get your toys and let’s go back home before your brother comes.”

Gigi nods, and grabs onto her grandmas hand, before leaving me alone, by the well. Once again. Like ever, single, day.

Sometimes, I wish I were a real girl like Gigi, and had someone to love me.

Here I am Over here Remember Sam Chase your fear

I’m your friend Real or not Here to mend Hearts and lot

But ignored From time to time You grow old No longer mine Tessa🦋