COMMON ROOM: A Short Story Anthology

Imagine by Aisha (Wattpad user name: Metaphorphosis)

IMAGINE

by Aisha (Wattpad user name: Metaphorphosis)

Mentor: Lee Kelly, author of CITY OF SAVAGES, releasing February 3, 2015, from Simon & Schuster/Saga Press

 ***

Most people will never admit to being crazy.

I used to think I was “most people.”

Yet here I was, about to check myself into a mental institution for the summer. I glanced at the nondescript, gray building in front of me. It stood awkwardly out of place amongst the acres of forest surrounding us, its deserted parking lot showing no indication of human life.

 “Uh . . .” I scratched my head. “You sure this is the right place?”

Stig walked up beside me and raised an eyebrow. “Looks kooky to me. You should fit right in.”

“Thanks.”

Bells came to hover by my other side. Her pink nerd glasses and frizzy green hair did her worried appearance no favor. “I still think you should’ve brought your parents with you,” she said.

“Because every parent wants to see their son get admitted to a madhouse instead of college, right? Ha, no thank you.”

She pursed her lips in response.

Like always, Bells was right; I just didn’t want to admit it. My parents weren’t the ones to blame for my predicament. It had been my fault for slipping up.

So their son still had imaginary friends at the age of eighteen. So what?

I took in a deep breath and started for the metal door at the entrance of the building. Stig and Bells followed. When I pulled the door open, I came upon a lobby almost as deserted as the parking lot outside.

There was a lone, gray-headed receptionist at the other side of the room, typing away at her keyboard.

She looked up when I approached. “Name?”

“Joshua Walker.”

“What brings you here today, Joshua?”

 “Dr. Ramsey from Memorial Hospital said I was supposed to check in at the—” I paused, pulling out a crumpled business card from my jeans pocket. “S.I.B. Center today at nine o’clock?”

Her eyes widened.

I shrugged sheepishly. “Standard case of schizophrenia. I’m here for a month of psychotherapy rehab.”

She didn’t nod or respond, just pressed a call button on her phone modem. It buzzed for a few seconds before I heard a male voice answer.

“Dr. Jonathan,” she said, looking at me. “I have an S.I.B. case waiting for you here at the lobby.”

Stig snorted at the word “case.” I had to stop myself from kicking him in the shin.

“Please wait here, Mr. Walker,” the receptionist said, gesturing to the lobby. Then she resumed her typing and the room fell back into its empty silence. The three of us walked to a nearby bench and sat down. Bells put a knobbly hand on my arm for comfort.

I knew that others couldn’t hear, feel, or see them, but Bells and Stig had always been my closest friends; they were more real to me than anything.

On my left side, Stig picked at his large canines, idly staring off in the distance. He was an eight-foot giant who looked like the love child of a black-haired Sasquatch and Beast from Beauty and the Beast. He also had trunk-sized biceps and a cocky ego to boot. The damn bastard loved to point out my illustrious future as a self-sustaining stick figure.