Reality

Something about them intrigues me. It's how they feel what they do. And they live it. We all dream and eventually, we wake up. But them, the dream is their reality. It's as if you and I, this chair I sit on, the room I live in, the coffee mug on the side table, its all a bunch of things that accentuates their being. We are all mere accessories designed to decorate their reality, the one they think is real at least. For them, we are dreams. We float before their eyes, we move in and out of their space as if in space, sans gravity. Nothing about us, not even our touch, is real to them. No, I am not scared of them. I know I am part of their reality. Somehow, I managed to get in. And their world is beautiful. It's got all that I ever wanted to have. Everything there is magical. Its only when you step in, they turn violent.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING? take that thing off me! Chains! Chains? Why? WHY? Oh God! Why are you doing this to me?? They need me, my patients need me! I am their only solace! Please! Let go, let go of me! Please...


Mom, dad, me... We were all fragments of her imagination, she thought. In her world, she was a Psychiatrist, treating patients with various abnormal psychological disorders. Its been three years since we were told about her condition.