Imagination Is Everything

How's It Goin' In The Afterlife?

The Guardians won't be meeting her until a few more chapters. I'm sorry if I'm boring you guys. I know I'm not as quick with the Guardians and the mystery bunny meeting as the other stories you've probably read.

But please stay with me.

BTW, if it IS too long, let me know in the comments or just comment on my page. Thank you

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Centuries later . . .

It was late winter now. A few more days and then it would be Easter. Snow was slowly melting into mere puddles and flowers were one by one peeking out from the thin blankets of white.

Ah, Easter. The gateway in which spring would use to replace the cold days of winter. I was up in the oak tree, the same old tree stump where I first found out who I was and the place where Manny left the cloak, keys and earring for me.

Yes, it had been a very long time. The very tree stump back then, all those centuries ago, had grown to become a majestic Oak tree. It had survived such a long period of time with the help of my magic, it was practically my special spot up here, other than my Burrow.

I was watching the whole 'Winter to Spring' process unfold, readying my pen and paper I never went anywhere without. I got ready to capture any special moments that may happen, in either words or drawings. Snow melted, flowers peeked out from underneath the snow, animals woke up from their long period of hibernation and children were playing, trying to savage what was left of the remaining snow, which was now squishy and soggy.

I would watch the kids everyday, smiling at their fun and games. It was lonely, but what could I do? Kids couldn't see me nor hear me. No one knew who the heck I was, let alone believe in me. In spite of that disadvantage, I did what I could to give children all over the world amazing childhoods and happiness.

I remembered my love for writing as I went through the fragments of memories I had, bringing my stories to life as I read them to the orphaned kits back home when I would often visit them and volunteer. But now, I couldn't read them to children, I could only write, send them to a good children's book publisher and hope that it gets published. I published them under numerous names. I couldn't possibly use my real name. They surprisingly got published, which was more than enough for me. Seeing the faces of children after their parents read them the stories before they went to bed was enough to warm my heart.

I gave them stories. I gave them fairy tales. I gave people myths. I gave them legends. I gave them something to believe in. I gave them the power of make-believe. I wove stories out of thin air, transferring the words and ideas in my mind into the black and white pages of my notebook. And the results were breath-taking.

I could write what I thought, the words flowing out of my pen like a river and onto the notepad I carried everywhere. I could write anything at all, and it would come true. I could just think of the words, and poof, it's real. But it was rather energy-consuming, so I preferred to write, instead.

All throughout the dark times and the good times, I gave children something to look forward to everyday. They would create their own games of make-believe, fueled by the stories I wrote. I gave them something to look forward to every night, when their parents would often read or tell them stories.

My stories.

And that was all that matters to me.

I knew about other spirits, so I didn't feel completely alone. I knew about The Guardians, Legends and other spirits, I knew them all by name. But that was it. I never interacted with any of them. I never even bothered to stay when one of them would start to approach my direction, in fear of being spotted. I don't know, I guess I was just anti-social.

I had been here forever. I had been there when Tooth was chosen, as well as North's, they just never found me in my hiding place. When Pitch was on the loose, destroying the hopes and dreams of mankind, filling their minds with terror and shattered dreams, filling their hearts with fear, I wrote like I had never written before.

I wrote about each and every one of them. I wrote about the Sandman, when all children ever seem to think about were the negatives in life, that the dreaded time of 'tomorrow' would soon be there to put them in another day of torture and misery.I wrote about the Easter Bunny when the all the faith and hope in the world was slowly getting sucked away, when they thought that spring after winter meant nothing at all but another day of dread. I wrote about Tooth when people were forgetting about who they were, when fear controlled their hearts and not affection for the ones they loved. I wrote about Santa Claus during the winter time, resulting in a holiday just for him, a day when people could be able to spend the day merrily with family and friends instead of cowering in fear in the comforts of their homes. When they would learn the meaning of giving and sharing instead of selfishly hoarding their goods for themselves. A time when the almost seemingly dead eyes of the children would suddenly light up in joy and wonder. And lastly, I wrote about Jack Frost.

The Guardians may be doing their jobs, but people and children were too scared to actually take them seriously, thinking that it was just another phase that was going to blow over soon. But I helped them believe, chased away the fear their poor hearts clung so desperately to, since there was nothing else but fear to hold on to.

Frostie was having a hard time, I've been through it myself. I wrote and wrote, waiting for the day when he would have his first believer. And only then will I release the stories I've written into the world. Getting the children all over the world to believe in 'The Master of Winter' was hard work, but the happy faces everywhere made it all worth the trouble.

Especially Jack's.

But once my job had been done, I was left empty all over again. I didn't have a purpose anymore. I was no longer needed.

Not like I was ever really needed anyway.

I suppose I could write about myself, but what was there to write about? The melancholic and awfully boring story of my afterlife?

No, thank you.

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I'm so sorry things are running so slowly. I promise, there will be something in the next chapter.