Once upon a time there was a girl. She wasn’t pretty nor was she ugly. She was average at best. What she was though was a wannabe. She wanted to be so many things but none of those things were plausible because of who she was. Either she wasn’t focused enough for that, pretty enough for that, smart enough for that, musical enough for that, tall enough, short enough, fat enough, skinny enough, and the list goes on.
She had a million dreams and only two options. Either stay-at-home wife or to forever be some ***** in a cubicle. Of course, she wanted neither of those. She wanted to travel the world, take pictures and sell them, write music and make money off that *****, draw or paint and not **** at it, to write and have it actually be interesting. She wanted to be talented and to live life doing what she loved. But who doesn’t want that?
She lived between two worlds. Reality and her dream world. Unfortunately for her, her dream world seemed more realistic than her real life. But only to her. She would spend hours pretending and living so happily in a world that no one but her could see. She’d be so happy and then suddenly reality would come knocking at the door.
“Who is it?”
“Ice cream delivery!”
“Oh wonderful! I’ve been craving ice cream.”
She strolls over to the door and opens it to find a person in all black.
“Where’s my ice cream?”
The person throws a wicked smile on and pulls out a bat before proceeding to beat the girl with it.
“WHY?!”
“You’re long overdue for this.”
Once the person is finished the bat is dropped and the door is shut.
And the girl is left laying ****** and beaten on the floor until someone from her ******* imaginary world comes to ******* save her worthless and pitiful ***. Why? Because in her dream world they care. But only because she dreams them to. Only because she makes them.