Lying in bed that night, I began thinking over what Dylan had been ranting about. It was strange, I was always the one who got Dylan, the only one who really understood him. And something was telling me that there really was some truth in his words. By the light of the moon streaming in through my curtains, I pulled my sketch pad onto my lap and turned the pages.
When I drew, I ventured into myself, and I could be drawing anything; having not looked back through it for a while, I decided to look for answers there first.
I was right.
I found random sketches of creatures I had never seen. Tiny little people blinked back at me with delicate wings and elaborate hair. There were also horses that were much to be big to be from my world, dogs that walked on their hind legs and people in strange clothes and dark faces.
Then I began to wonder what Dylan had meant. Had these strange sketches been watching me?
I had to know.