The Creatives

The Commutable Discovery

It was a cloudy day in November as I rode the Metro home from work, headphones in, totally lost to the outside world. I couldn't help it, my music was hitting just right. That's when I started feeling myself more than usual, in a fuzzy-happy-but-i'm-in-public type of way. I brushed it off as the Monday mopies leaving my body, it was Monday night and there was no class, so that meant free time for me!

The yellow line passed over the Potomac river, I looked out of the window that was diagonal to me, to check on the water levels and general well-being of the river. Unfortunately, that's also when I watched the man in the cap and sunglasses draw his gun. I'd always imagined myself to be a kick-ass fighter in these scenarios, saving peoples' lives and taking down the bad guy. But, my fight-or-flight response did not work the way I wanted, my body stiffened, and I watched in horror as the man stood from his seat and walked towards me.

That's when I realized that no one was making a scene about this.

No screaming or shouting, no running from one side of the car to the other, and I swear that no one even blinked. Everything was frozen in time, was this my adrenaline? Could the human brain truly trick you into these scenarios? My mind was flying at a mile per minute, until it exploded.

Now, it didn't explode because I'd been shot or attacked. Which would make more sense than what actually happened. Benedict Cumberbatch appeared, floating, outside of the metro doors. He was dressed as Dr. Strange and somehow opened the doors with a wave of his hand. This had to be the afterlife, but if it was, why was there still a gunman approaching me and why was I on public transportation? Was this how everyone got from the world of the living to the world of the dead? I shook my head, blinking a few more times, only to watch the gunman get violently tossed against the back of the car, gun clattering to the ground. Benedict Cumberbatch, now within the car, he turned to me.

"Well, Madison, it's time to get you home. As safely as possible." His voice was just as deep and enjoyable as it was in the movies, my jaw fell agape, not hiding my shock well at all.

"Mr. Cumberbatch, forgive me, but I think I'm hallucinating a little bit. I don't think it's safe to... leave where I am." I was shocked at how calm my voice sounded, my heart was pounding in my throat and my clammy hands were out in full force. To my dismay, Benedict reached out for my hand.

"I'm not who you think I am, but I can explain later when we get back to your base. Quickly, my master sent me here to protect you, the Seventh Creative." My mind went blank, I was definitely stuck in some transitional phase between life and death, if I ever came back to life, I was going to have one hell of a book deal: "What a MARVELous life: A journey to the afterlife and back again" or something like that, They'd probably make a Lifetime TV movie out of it, great book but horrible movie. I was ready. I wiped my palm on my dress pants and clasped hands with my hallucination. If this was the end, at least it was with my brain's version of Benedict Cumberbatch?

But, once we stepped off the metro and into the air, I wasn't plummeting into the Potomac.

"No, I'm not a hallucination. Nor am I all knowing, where do you live?" The apparition asked me.

"Uh, float us that way?" I pointed in the direction of my apartment. Instead of a gentle float, he flew off, with me in his arms, until we were outside my apartment's balcony. He magicked the sliding door open and there we stood, me and my hallucination.

"So, if this is real... then what is happening and why'd that guy try to kill me on the train?" I set my backpack down and sat on my gray, plush couch. Dr. Strange closed the sliding glass door and then proceeded to pace from the dinner table to the coffee table, about 2 strides for the tall man.

"Well, you see... it's so much harder to introduce this to your branch... none of you were raised like the rest, you just receive the gift and have to deal with it." I cocked my head to the side... Gift? "Well, it's better I tell it to you straight. So sit down. Oh, you're already sitting." He finally stopped pacing and sat on the arm chair across from me.

"As you know, Stan Lee passed away earlier today. He was the 7th Creative, which is the family of Creatives that aren't related. You're his heir, and therefore have inherited the 7th Creative's powers. Does this make sense?" He pauses to look me in the eye, and despite feeling a bit unqualified, it made perfect sense, so I nodded my head.

"Good. Now, stay with me. There's an ongoing Creative War. All seven Creatives have chosen a side, the Creative Good and the Creative Chaotic. We did call them the Creative Bad, but it's better to describe their actions and end goal as chaotic instead... I digress. Where was I? War. Ok. They're fighting over The Book, and for the majority of Creatives to join one side or another. This can be done by either killing the Creatives off and keeping their successor weak and unaware or by forming alliances. How about now, still following?" He paused, as he'd noticed my eyes had glazed over just a bit.

"Uh... Great War, big book, and death. I think I've got it." For some reason, I was retaining the information and it made sense. Almost as if his words were settling in my bones.

"Close enough. Each Creative has its Collection. They're the warriors, thinkers, and support staff imagined by the Creative. So, the man on the train who was going to kill you, was a member of a Chaotic Collection. I'm in the 5th Creative's Collection. So I solely serve the 5th Creative. You can imagine your own Collection, but you can't bring someone into existence that is already in the world. So you couldn't create a Dr. Strange for your Collection. Still with me?"

"Ok, this makes sense. But you keep using "imagine" like it's more than a figment of my imagination... are you saying that the other 6 Creatives... have created armies and staff and things... with their imaginations?" It made sense, despite everything being absolutely bonkers, it made sense.

"That's precisely it. Your magic power, and every Creatives' power, is their imagination. The stronger the imagination, the stronger the Collection and the better the Creative. It's wonderful you're taking this so well, usually Heirs panic a little bit more." He sighed and magicked himself a glass of water.

"So, Creative. We need to strengthen your defenses, as I've been ordered by my Creative, you cannot die. So let's get training." He downed his water and abruptly stood up, his hand was outstretched towards me.

I began to laugh. I couldn't believe it, my imagination was my source of power? If that was the case, then the world was en route to a very strange future.