Curious?

Stories are a guide to life. They guide us in ways that instinct cannot.

They can influence our minds into causing chaos.

But they also inspire us.

And if there is any magic left in this world, it is inspiration.

I'd like to think that inspiration is at fault for the tragedy that has manifested itself from my own thoughts; My own story. But as I write this I know I am still sane enough to understand the truth:

I caused this. And what I caused cannot be undone. Only rewritten.

In all honesty, I knew I had lost control and the only one to blame was myself.

In the beginning it was an escape-

I had created a world with people; People who were happy; People who had just started their own story.

It was a dream, but even the most marvelous dreams can become nightmares. It doesn't take much, just a touch of infectious insanity.

And in this world, for once, I had power; Power over the people and the world itself.

As if I were a god.

I had lived my whole life up to that point with out any power. It was more than I could imagine. Because I didn't know what it was.

It's dangerous to imagine things you can't understand

I thought I could control it. But as the stories of these people went on... I lost myself in this newfound power.

And only then did I realize too late, that the power came only with the price of my sanity. And this fiction was reality. It was my new reality.

I had become trapped in my own mind.