The reality of fantasy

Looking at a half-filled page, the words seem so hard to find. It’s been so long, too long maybe, to find those words that once flowed so freely. The world that once was so open to me seems lost behind a veil. A veil so thin, surely I could lift it and move it away. Move it to let me back into that world of colour and creation…. But yet when I reach out it seems so far away. Too far to reach. As I try and move closer, I only get farther away. Until suddenly I am there, reaching to the veil, touching it to only find solid crystal, growing in the doorway. Stronger than diamond, yet having the illusion of being so thin.

Why must my world be blocked from my mind? Why must I be the one cast out when I am that one who created it? I know now how all deities must feel. After creating their worlds and being there for it, they are cast out and forgotten.

And yet, there remains some hope, for the more I look back on my creation, the more I see it has grown. It started so small, with a seed of a thought. It grew. First, it was guided and moved in the right direction, allowing it take on true life. And then, before I knew it, it was growing without me. I know not what scares me more: that I created something so fantastic and incredible; that I can scarcely convey my world to others so that they, too, may see it in its splendour; or that that which I created no longer needs me to guide it.

No more am I the creator. No more am I the writer. No. Now, I merely relay that which occurs, with no thought. I cannot change that which has happened. And the door opens for me, granting me access to this new world and every world I can dream of.

The bubbles that contain the realms. All are there, floating miraculously in the Void. The characters so scattered around them. They are no longer characters, they are people in their own right. Their struggles, their tests. They are all so real now. More so than they ever were before. They can only succeed if they find themselves, for even after all this time, there is something they are missing … I know this, but I don’t know what it is. There is much I still need to learn, and I can only learn through watching and writing, for it is through watching that I can write and through writing that I can watch … Neither can happen without the other.

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