Imagine That...

What happens when 'Imaginary' friends become more than imaginary? When a girl and a boy are given a blank canvas as their world, free to make it their own? When dreams become reality, and a thought becomes much more than just that? Well, that's the story of Ghost and Sketch. And though it seems like it'd be wonderful, it isn't all fun and games.

***PROLOGUE***

The boy looked down at the two, though they were worlds away, galaxies even. The first, Sketch, sat awake in her room, listening to her father's drunken rage through the thin walls of the manor. The second, Ghost, sat quietly on the sidewalk, feeling abused and unwanted. He felt like he didn't even exist.

"Do you think they're ready?" The boy said, turning to his father. "They're quite unhappy where they are..."

"I know son. And you're right, we've kept them long enough. I think their imaginations are capable enough for this."

The boy instantly was filled with excitement, strands of his multi-color hair falling in his face. He'd finally get to meet them. No more waiting, no more watching their lives crumble right before his eyes, unable to help in any way. Now he'd be able to help, he'd be able to rekindle their lives into something fantastic. He'd be there to help them paint their canvas. He was, after all, the living form of imagination. He was made especially for Canvas. That's what their world was to be named.

He liked the name. Canvas. To him, it meant endless possibilities, reaching beyond the stars. His eyes were always filled with the wonder of creation, even if on the outside they were but a soft brown color.

He smiled up at his father, who had already began to fade away. That was the trade. His father had to sacrifice himself for the creation of Canvas, and his own son who would become the overseer of the whole operation.

"You know what to do from here, my son." He echoed, voice a ghostly whisper as his own multi-colored hair began to shimmer into nothingness. "Take care of them, as you know what they will have to do when their times."

"Yes father." The boy smiled, reaching out to touch his father one last time. As he did so, his father swept away into multi-colored dust. The boy caught a couple specks of it, sprinkling it into a container shaped like the wings of an angel, shutting it before looping it through a chain and letting it rest on his neck.

As he stepped away from the rest of his fathers remains, he also left behind the two chosen. But not for long, rest assured. Within the next nightfall, he'd be with them. Not through some low-tech galaxy slicer. Low-tech for someone with such a broad imagination, anyways. No, he'd be on Canvas, creating majestic figures with the chosen.

He felt so honored to be the creator beside them. He was their imagination. He was their creator. He felt pride swell in his chest as he walked farther away from his past. This room would mean nothing to him after he stepped through the dimensional portal to Canvas. He could be so much more in Canvas, and so could the chosen. He knew they'd enjoy it there, and so would he. Not only was it their escapes from pain, it was their own world, with no rules. Who wouldn't love it? But there was a special reason they were chosen. But he'd never think of it or speak of it ever, because though his thoughts were a beautiful and strange creature, they could also ruin everything. They were also his worst enemy. If he slipped up in the slightest with his thoughts, it'd corrupt Canvas in ways unimaginable. Well, unimaginable for a feeble human mind like yours.

The boy now stood in front of the dimensional portal. He took a last glance at the room around him, before stepping through the portal. He instantly fell through a vortex of white, swirling through whiteness until he saw the faint outline of a white sphere before him.

It was the most glorious thing he'd ever seen. He could think of endless ways to paint and adorn the planet all his own, but he restrained himself and his thoughts. That wasn't his job. He had to wait for the arrival of the chosen, and see what they painted Canvas to be. He was simply the inspiration and their imagination. It was their job to paint.

He closed his eyes and shut the wonder in, imagining ripping the chosen from their dimension. He felt his power surge around him, now literally ripping the two into Canvas. He opened his chocolate brown eyes, only to see a hole tear in Canvas. A beam of multi-colored light shot from the tear, shaking the atmosphere around him. Out of the light he saw two figures fall, and quickly imagined a soft landing for the two. He felt adrenaline surge through his every nerve as he approached, knowing this was the beginning of it all.

The painting of Canvas.