Imaginary World

A world built straight from your imagination, where everything is up to you and you can roam- and create as freely as you like!

The mind and a new, fresh world are the same: blank, devoid of any glimmer of life, as white as fresh snow, or a new piece of paper.

Yet there is one spark that sets it off. It may be a word, or a simple scene created for amusement, or something to make others feel better; it is the starting point, the foundations for a new world of the mind to thrive in. And, if one waters the roots, that could be the pen that starts off a whole new story.

Take, for example, a girl who does not have a Christmas tree. She tells a friend, who, suddenly, creates a café with her mind. In it, is the required Christmas tree and, although fictional and not necessarily an important part of the following story, the Christmas tree has made the wheels of the mind run.

Angel thought she was a simple girl, she thought that life, too, was uninteresting… That was until she walked into that café one day.


Padfoot smiled at Angel as the latter handed over pennies for the Christmas tree; with one hand she opened the till, with the other she sipped a steaming cup of hot chocolate.

“You have a café, Padfoot?” Angel observed, slightly shocked because it was news to the simple girl. She gazed, wide-eyed, out of the large glass windows into the street. The road was dull, matt cement, but it seemed to swirl as other objects popped up as Angel looked around. It was as though she was shining a light into a dark room, revealing a new entity at every term.

An apple tree popped up on the curb, displaying its juicy round, red apples.

“Ooh look, imaginary apple tree!” Angel giggled, skipping outside and plucking one of the apples from a branch. Padfoot followed her outside, still holding the cup of hot chocolate.

“It’s wonderful! We can shape this world however we like,” said Padfoot, gazing at the sad space across from her café. Suddenly, a shop grew out of the ground, books filing onto its tightly-packed shelves automatically, and doors and windows growing straight form the ground.

Padfoot laughed in delight.

“I’m going to own that!”

Jealously sprung up inside Angel a little, for she owned little more than an imaginary Christmas tree.

“Fine,” she said, as a golden car sprung up onto the road beside her. It had comfy black leather seats, a top-of-the-art high-fidelity radio, and even a pair of those furry dice dangling from the top mirror, gold to match.

“I’m going to drive over to your bookshop in my new car,” she said smugly, as the keys shot into her hand.

“Let’s explore first!” Padfoot laughed, “I’m excited to see the imaginary world that we just made!”

Angel slipped into the driver’s seat and Padfoot got into the passenger’s seat and turned on the carbon-free engine. The car purred happily like a cat.

Angel drove down the Roman road, past many new shops that popped up as quickly as the girls thought of them: food shops, another bookshop, a shop for paper, pens and many notebooks, a lovely prim dress-shop. As they started to drive into a countryside filled with apple trees, Padfoot noticed a random guy on the street.

“Wow, who’s that?” She pointed him out to Angel (who was able to multitask in driving the car and gazing out the window at the same time), “He’s got a pet weasel!”

“Weasels are cool,” observed Angel, stopping the car at the edge of the country-town divisions.

“So… Where shall we go next?”

The End

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