𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐘 𝐈𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒

27; believe

B E L I E V E

Imagine 27:

The wind woodshed around Daniel has he ran. He paced, faster and faster, trying to fight the demons that's tortured him for many months.

Daniel could practically feel his legs becoming stronger as he ran, more muscular.

His head told him to stop, but a pit in the bottom of stomach told him to go.

Let's face it, he couldn't face the demons and their magical, egotistical ways, but he could run. The only choice that the terrorized boy had was to run.

The wind picked up, slowing the boys pace. The demons weren't far away— he could hear them laughing darkly.

Daniel couldn't believe this was happening. Why was it? There is no logical answer for the pain and suffer that he faces at night, or the ugly demons he had to face, but all he wanted was an explanation.

Well, he didn't have one. In fact, no one could.

He's seen many doctors in times past, but they always thought he was making this up— that he was crazy.

But Daniel knew, he knew that he wasn't crazy. In fact, he was far from it. However, slowly, he knew that they were right— he was crazy.

He was pure and real— and so was the disgusting creatures that followed.

His lungs begged for a break, they could break any moment.

The boys black shorts swayed in sync with the wind. Leaves crutched and branches snapped as the boy ran through the deep and dark woods.

The sound of reselling mythical creatures spun around Daniel. He tried to ignore them. The thought of them winning sickened Daniel Seavey. His stomach churned at the thought of the demons finally winning the battle between them that started months before.

He dodged the old trees, jumping between and throughout them as if he was some kind of olympian.

The demons weren't far from reach— but far enough, Daniel could tell they were growing antsy and needy, but he couldn't give up now.

He was moments from winning, from being free. His face dripped with sweat, even though the temperature was well below 60 degrees— the wind was no help, either.

The many demons ached for his blood and body— they only lived for him. For his skin and bones. At least, that's what he thought.

The feeling that Daniel was dying was bubbling around him. He was too young to die.

He wondered what it would be like if he died— if the demons finally won.

Would people miss him?

Would you?

Would the fans cry and ache? Or would they nod and forget?

His family would cry their eyes out— of course. But who else? Was he alone in life?

No matter how bad he wanted, needed, to stop, he couldn't. He could see the finish line in the distance, It was right there— becoming closer and closer.

He was going to win.

He was going to live.

He was going to be happy.

But with his luck, of course, that didn't happen. As he breathed his last breath, and ran the last foot, he was grabbed.

The feeling of cold, slimy fingers stopped him. The monster laughed, happy they caught the dying boy.