My Imaginary Reality
- Reads 38
- Votes 0
- Parts 5
"I don't think I am longer imagining things. I used to think it was imagination, but apparently it has always been real."
All Rights Reserved
#922
mcr
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
You may also like
Polly
In that place, Frank’s days mean nothing, weeks are fleeting and hazy, flying past with little regard for his sensitive mind. Not like living in the real world at all, he knows day and he knows night and he knows that somewhere, not far past the bricks confining him, there are people and places and clocks and watches, schedules and schools and offices and homes, busses, trains, cars, people waiting and people going places. But in Frank’s solitary cell, it’s hard to remember all of that, real life becoming almost like a dream he once had; distant, fabricated. In the present, it’s only him and Gerard and his little house and habits, pet names and homemade soup.Complete
a purge and vampire au
'It can't be him, I thought Gerard died, but here he is. Alive.' Frank has lived a nice long life he doesn't know when he'll die but he's content with everything, his two best friends finally got married, his son Jack doesn't resent him anymore, his grandaughter doesnt deal with as much bullshit anymore and his great grandaughter is living her best life. It gets better when his best friend that everyone assumed to be dead returned, but so do the feelings he tried so hard to abandon.Complete
![.toxic lips. [a frerard fanfiction]](https://img.wattpad.com/cover/169165239-256-k668167.jpg)
In that place, Frank’s days mean nothing, weeks are fleeting and hazy, flying past with little regard for his sensitive mind. Not like living in the real world at all, he knows day and he knows night and he knows that somewhere, not far past the bricks confining him, there are people and places and clocks and watches, schedules and schools and offices and homes, busses, trains, cars, people waiting and people going places. But in Frank’s solitary cell, it’s hard to remember all of that, real life becoming almost like a dream he once had; distant, fabricated. In the present, it’s only him and Gerard and his little house and habits, pet names and homemade soup.
More detailsContent Guidelines