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     "Ohhh! Gross!" My tiny fingers poked at the small, pink bundle of slime. I was 5 and he was 7. The year of 1836. His mess of black hair had always made my cheeks turn hot. When he glanced at me and our eyes met, his ice-like eyes made my heart skip.

     We spent many days in the field, climbing trees, swimming in the creek, or even just walking through the forest. The first time I saw him, he had come walking down the road with a dreadful look on his face. I didn't bother him with silly questions like 'What's wrong?' or 'Where did you come from?' I simply asked if he wanted to play. After that, it was official. We were tied together at the hip. Where he lived, I didn't know or care. All I cared about was having him around to play with.

     He giggled, knees on the ground. "It's just a worm!"

     I scrunched my face up. "But it's gross!" I said in a squeaky voice. He picked it up and dangled it in front of my face. It knotted and twisted, trying to break free of his grasp. My eyes went wide with shock and my bottom jaw almost brushed the ground. I screamed and ran while he chased me. We played the day away and I ruined countless dresses.

     But on my 12th birthday my parents Sat me down to talk. They said that there are some things in life you had to let go of. They said that a 12 year old should not have imaginary friends. It then struck me. They couldn't see him. Of course they never paid him any mind when he followed me like a dog around the house, but I thought they simply didn't mind. But, I was wrong.

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