The path back home

Chapter 1

         Imagination is a beauty only shown to a single individual. This gift varies from person to person. It's unique to every person. Some receive an endless amount to leach off of for hours on end. But on the other end, some are left with nothing but a speck of it. 

         Those who are blessed with this gift often share their gift by using their imagination for creativity.  They create things only they can create thanks to the imagination they were given. They invent things that only they can invent.

         But sometimes, imaginative people keep their imagination to themselves. They fear rejection from those who might insult their work. They feel the ideas spawned from their imagination aren't good enough for the people they're meant to entertain. They especially feel their creation isn't good enough for other imaginative people. And so, they keep everything concealed. The fear of getting criticised prevents them from showcasing their fantastic work. 

         Those without any imagination rely on those with imagination for everything. Entertainment, consumption, relief, the list goes on. These people, instead of being able to escape to a made up world, are instead dependant on things created by others to avoid the boredom they were born to deal with. 

         And yet, these people never thank those with imagination. Instead, they complain about little, irrelevant things. These people are so drained of the happiness that comes from imagination, that they spread their sourness to those with imagination. They discourage them, depress them. 

         They comment on almost anything a person blessed with imagination does. They've become so picky and selfish that they hold themselves to standards so high, that they consider themselves too good for content made creatively.

         I've been drained of my imagination. The magic I once had powering me through anything has disappeared into nothing but dust. Non-imaginative people have deemed themselves too good for me. And so now I'm non-imaginative. I rely on others to cure my new found bordem.

         The only thing keeping me sane is the fact that I can return to a world in which I'm not in with the click of a button. I am unhealthily obsessed with the show "Naruto". Everyone made fun of me for it back when I went to another school, so I made sure to hide it when I got to my current one. I none the less still draw things from Naruto. It's the only imagination I have left.

         I know it's stupid. It's pathetic. But when you feel so alone in a world of billions of people, what else are you supposed to turn to. At least I don't have any destructive habits.

        But maybe being lonely is a destructive habit.

         "Michelle!" At the sound of my name, I break my vision from the window and onto my teacher. It's only then I realize I've zoned out. 

         "Sorry," I murmur, turning my attention back to the lesson. I want to leave. I want to go back to binge-watching Naruto for what seems to be the hundredth time. 

          "I need you to start paying more attention in my class," Mr. Anglette says, crouching down to meet my level.

          "I'm getting the work done and I understand everything perfectly. I honestly shouldn't even be in fifth grade-"

         "I know you're upset that you got held back last year, but that's not a reason to hold yourself at a higher level than others. You're not smarter than anyone else just because you repeated a grade." 

           I furrow my eyebrows, obviously unamused with his response. "I never said that I was better than anyone else. What I'm saying is-"