Overactive Thinking

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My day began the second my poster decided to fall from it’s place on the wall.

What would most people think? Oh, it is only the tape wearing down, or perhaps The poster is far too heavy, it wasn’t going to stay there for long.

However, I am an insane bitch. And I was still slow from sleep. So my first thought was that my mind had come for me. Again.

It was at that moment that Daniel tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the living day lights out of me once again. Bastard.

Daniel just laughed. You’d think he’d be more despondent, considering how he is a figment of my imagination, therefore he would probably inherit my growing depressive outlook on life. But at least he’s in a good mood this morning. Does that mean I’ll be happy today? Can’t say. I suppose if Daniel is happy, it means that some part of me is too.

I ask him why he is in such a good mood. He grins, and tells me about how he gets to spend this day with Rae. There’s not much I know about Rae, though I have met her on several occasions. I wouldn’t think her any more than 3 or 4 years old, and she looks nothing at all like Daniel. But when I ask about this relationship between them, he just shakes his head. Not allowed to say, he tells me once again. But as I raise an eyebrow at him, he hastily informs me it is not like that. He is very close to her mother though. Who this might be is a mystery to me, though I am certain it is not her.

Daniel is watching me type, an amused look on his face. He doesn’t tell me his age, but he looks like he’s in his 30s. He’s often made jokes about me dreaming of older men; jokes that usually end with me throwing something at him, forgetting for a moment that of course, it would go straight through him.

He has dark hair, nearly black, which now reaches his shoulders. His eyes are the same strange hazel, the type that could look green, gold, grey, or blue, depending on whatever’s around him. They’re what makes me curious the most. But more on that another time, perhaps.

What bothers you? he asks, knowing already what it is. In a smug tone, Daniel tells me that I want to ask him something, but I’m afraid to. So I ask him, and watch with cruel satisfaction as his face falls, the happiness radiating moments ago disappearing with my query:
“They still haven’t found her, have they?”

Daniel’s silent for a moment, but he quickly regains his composure. That was unnecessary, he tells me.

“Yes it is,” I insist. “I have a right to know. What news of her? Surely they would’ve located her by now, it’s been more than a few months.”

It is not that simple, he told me. And you shouldn’t be worrying about her; for all you know, she’s dead.

“Then why are you worrying about her?” I retort. “If you worry about her, I worry about her! You are part of me, and she is part of me too. Both of you are part of my delusions.”

If even your delusions are telling you that you’re worrying too much, what does that say about you? Daniel asks.

I roll my eyes. “I’d like you to leave, if you aren’t going to tell me anything else,” I say coldly.

Daniel gives a mock bow. As you wish, my lady, he adopts a posh, butler-esque tone before he vanishes.

He’ll be back, I know. He knows I’m typing this, he’s too nosy not to want to have a peek before I post this. Hmmph. Daniel’s allowed to peek at all aspects of my own life, yet I’m only allowed a slither of his own.

Then again, why am I so curious to want to know the life of one of my hallucinations?

Now who’s the crazy one?

Yup…still me.

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