Prompt:
And she cried for him—my God did she cry for him—the boy who never existed at all.
Dimitri Vancouver did not exist. Well, let me rephrase that: Outside of Elizabeth Branson's mind, he did not exist. He had dark skin, golden hair, and two different colored eyes, one pink and one orange, her two favorite colors. He looked older than her, even though he was a few years younger due to being a product of her imagination. He was tall, like her, and his smile was untainted and crooked, with ivory teeth sticking out every which way. They played together every day of her childhood, staying outside in the sunshine on fair days, and playing hide-and-go-seek and checkers on the few days when foul weather kept them indoors.
She was fifteen when the war came. By that time, they'd both grown up a fair amount and had tired of fantastical games and daring explorations of the land around her home. Instead, they took walks through the woods, sat in the drawing room and spoke gentle, serious words about the world and all things in it. When her loves and interests changed, so did his, and as her mind and body matured, so did his. He was still her best friend, despite being imaginary, and he loved her more than anything in the world. He was a full head taller than her now, and his eyes had evened out and darkened to the color of oak tree bark in the winter. Both of their minds were grayer and heavier, burdened with death, disease, and darkness. And as Eliza's playful, innocent nature vanished, he began to fade into mist.
By her seventeenth birthday and his thirteenth, the war had stolen the life from two of her brothers, and the leg of another. She and Dimitri rarely spoke, and if they did, there was no joy in their exchanged words. She had become thin, pale, and sorrowful, and all the color had been leeched from him. His eyes were like rainy mist, his hair the pigment of boot-trampled straw. She withdrew into herself, turning away all those who attempted to comfort her, even Dimitri, who no longer shared enough of her mind to speak aloud.
Most days, she was not lucid enough to think about speaking to real people, much less him, so he slipped away from her life autumn slipping away into winter. She was in a constant state of mourning, her mind numbed by the pain of loss and growing up too fast. He tried to take a pen and paper and write her notes, but he wasn't real enough to grasp them. He was both imaginary and real, not existing enough to be corporeal, but not so counterfeit to become nothing. He existed in the loosest way possible, only the smallest fraction of her mind still admitting he was there to help her. And even though he couldn't touch her or speak to her, his heart ached for her, for the beautiful mess of a girl she used to be. He missed the crooked grins still sticky with syrup from breakfast, the uneven tangled hairdos that she created for both of them. He longed for the feeling of her soft hands in his, the soothing warmth of her body against his when they laid in the backyard and tried to count the stars. His dwindling mind scrambled for the memory of her fourteenth birthday, the day after the Fourth of July, when she wore a brand new white dress with a robin-egg blue ribbon that made her eyes pop and sparkle like diamonds and she kissed his cheek under the fireworks just to see what kissing was like. That was the first time he had ever allowed himself to think more of her, to hope for a future with his creator. But it disappeared, all of the hope, joy, and love, when the war exploded in their world only a year later.
Months went by, then years. They had won the war, and some light returned to the people's lives, including Eliza's. She began to heal from the past, and some of her old liveliness returned to her. There were some days that were shrouded in storm clouds and dark rooms, but for the most part, she was becoming happy again.
It took her five years to remember him.
She was looking through an old trunk in her room, searching for a dress she had stowed away and never retrieved, when she discovered a small, worn book with her initials on the front. It was one of her childhood journals, in which she had recorded all of her adventures.
Feeling a flash of nostalgia, she opened it up to the middle and laughed at what she read there.
Had a wonderful adventure today. We found ten ladybugs and twelve grasshoppers.
Wondering who 'we' was, she flipped to the next page, dated her birthday. When her eyes skimmed over the lengthy paragraph and caught on his name, her heart skipped a beat.
Today was the most beautiful birthday anyone could ask for. Mother and Father had a huge party for me, and all of my friends were invited. There was cake and ice cream and fireworks that lit up the night like a thousand lanterns. We all danced and sang and ate until we could do so no longer. The celebration lasted from the morning until nearly midnight. I had so much fun with all of my friends, but I spent the most time with Dimitri, who complimented me on my dress and made me dance with him. He is such a wonderful friend, always there for me and supporting me. I don't know what I'd do without him. I kissed him on the cheek. I think he blushed and walked away so I wouldn't see it. I do not think I feel for him in that way, but I at least know that he will never think of me like that. And I know that no matter what happens, he will always be my friend.
Tears gathered in Eliza's eyes as she realized she had lied in that final sentence. She had not thought of him in years, and she had abandoned his friendship and comfort in favor of her own grief and self-pity.
Fool. She could barely remember his face now, his warm smile with the crooked teeth and his choppy yellow hair and his dark skin gleaming in the starlight each night they sat under the sky. Why had she ever let herself forget him?
Feeling a glimmer of a breeze, she turned around, her arms going slack at her side and her mouth trembling as she saw him, cold and gray, standing in the doorway. He was translucent, merely a ghost of her past, a tortured remnant of her childhood. Cautiously, she stepped towards him, reaching out with a trembling hand for his somber face.
"Dimitri." It was a whisper, only a wisp of sound, but he began to sob at the sound of her voice saying his name. It had been so long since she had said his name, since she had even acknowledged him. His heart shattering into a million pieces, he shook his head at her, tears and silent cries still coming from his eyes and mouth. He loved her. He always had, and he always would. But he could not stay forever, not as long as she grew older and more mature. She was too old now for an imaginary friend. He had to leave.
Panic and regret filled her features as he shook his head again, and she seemed to understand what he was saying. It was time. His release had been put off for too long. She stepped closer to him, looking like a lost lamb.
"Dimitri." The pain in her voice nearly killed him. "Dimitri I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." Both of them were breaking apart now, ripping themselves to pieces. They did not want to say goodbye. They did not want to separate.
He did not want to die.
In a final gesture of love, he opened his arms wide, and she ran to him, throwing her arms around his quickly fading body. He was just solid enough to hold her tight and kiss her cheek one final time.
She would not let go. Not this time.
But he was gone. Her last link to her childhood was dead, gone forever. The pain was too much, and Eliza crumpled to the floor, howling about the unfairness of it all, about losing the only one who had ever fully understood her.
And she cried for him-my God did she cry for him-the boy who never existed at all.
