Why do you always think I’m the source of the chaos? I haven’t done anything too terrible in weeks!

Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 3rd Generation
Current Date: November 11, 2058

Character: Natanael Draxelis
Race: Halfling – Elf (forest) / Human
Age: 37, physically about 25
Current residence: Atheria City, Eresiel
 

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Every time I think I’m done thinking of Wen, they surface. It isn’t all that common. As of early last year, I felt as though I had truly finished writing, I had managed to put down into words both on paper and in the system, what I remember of this unseen-to-others friend of mine. As it turns out, however, every few months, I find myself spotting something and that something will remind me of Wen in some way. Mostly, it’s a memory I know I’ve written down before, but just this morning turned out to be a little different.

We’ve had just a bare smattering of snow so far; that being, there was one morning a week and a half ago when we woke up to a snow cover that was barely an inch deep. Otherwise, the temperature has been fairly comfortable. Not enough for short-sleeved shirts, or to go without a jacket, but still. It’s been comfortable for this time of the year.

My first pit stop in the mornings is usually to head to the stable to take care of my big, loving idiot. I let him roam freely with the others most of the time, though, once a week or so, we go on rides. This morning was not a ride morning, it was mostly a clean-up-stall-and-feed morning. A morning when I give this big and strong ball of slobber and love a treat. He knows my routine so well that he comes up to the fence when I step up and I don’t even need to fight with him to get him inside for his treat.

I’m not sure why the sight of him eating through his treat triggered a memory. It’s not as though I haven’t been in this situation weekly for years at this point. Maybe it was the weather, though the memory put me back closer to very late spring when the snow was mostly all gone. At this point, I’ve stopped trying to figure out the triggers and I just go with the flow. It is a slow flow, but it is a flow, nonetheless.

So, as I watched him eat, I took out a little notepad I always carry with me—not for these memories specifically, but to note down anything at all that might make its way through my mind—and I noted down the few details of the Wen-memory. Enough that I could transcribe it back into the bigger book properly without being too confused about it, and I still few enough words to not take too much space. I didn’t want to start writing paragraphs in this notepad, that wasn’t the point.

But really, with just a few words, it was enough for me to know which memory had been triggered and what it had been about, and with just these words, I could write out more details later.

We’d been out in the fields, in that memory. Not too far from the fence and it hadn’t actually been that great of a day. It had been one of those days during which Wen seemed to be feeling under the weather and there was some nastiness to their tone. Not enough to make me cry, but it made me uncomfortable. I do remember that much. There had been a break in the face—that I do remember bringing up to the adults—and I remember how, just as we neared that break in the fence, Wen had turned to me and glowered, told me that I had to stop blaming them for all the chaos in our lives.

Mind you, I hadn’t said a single word yet and, most of the time, they were the sweetest and bestest of friend I could have ever had. They huffed when I blinked at them, I’m fairly certain that blink could have been considered owlish, and they went on to remind me that they hadn’t done anything too terrible in weeks. Which, that hadn’t been a lie, the last few weeks had been very calm, chaos-wise. So, I truly have no idea why that glowering had come through at all.

In the notebook, though, all I did write down were a few words. Grumpy Wen, fields, broken fence, chaos. It was more than enough for me to recall the memory in enough detail to note it down into the system and archive it with the rest.

In a way, I guess that I might be remembering these memories for a time to come; there’s no putting down into an exact count just how many, or few, of these memories I do truly remember, and no one knows what triggers them. On that same note, I don’t know for certain if I’m making up any of these but, you know? At this point in my life? That’s fine. Wen is in my past, and writing about them won’t bring them back. Not that I’m looking to do that, either.

Final Word Count: 826

Why aren’t you buried in a bunch of books like usual?

 
Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 3rd Generation
Characters: Natanael Draxelis
Race: Halfling – Elf (forest) / Human
Age: 35, physically about 25
Current residence: Atheria City, Eresiel
Final Word Count: 762 words
 

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Over the recent years, I feel as though I’ve written down all I could remember of Wen. There were so many little things, little blips and passages. It’s hard to put it all down into words. I mean, I’m still not even fully sure why I started writing everything down. In a way, I might have wanted to remember this strange little friend of mine who wasn’t as real as they should have been.

Even now, when I think about it, I’m still unsure what was real and what wasn’t, I still don’t fully know if Wen truly was just a figment of my imagination or something with a little more history behind its nature and presence. Something that had been alive before but no longer was. I know there is also the possibility of Wen being just about anything and everything and I might never know.

I do remember just how many books I’ve read through with Wen at my side, I don’t know if it was its presence or something else that made me such an avid reader. Even now, I spend much of my time reading books and I don’t know that this will ever change. There is something magical in being transported into a completely different world every time you open a new book or open an old one that you’d read before and loved.

Amusingly enough, if I am to look at it in this particular way, I remember how Wen would tease me every time it would come around and I wasn’t nose-deep in books. One of the things I can’t pinpoint is the emergence of Wen. I just don’t know when I truly began to spend time with this strange, unseen—to others but myself—friend of mine. I’m sure my parents couldn’t complain that I was reading so much.

But truly, a common theme to our meetings, from as far back as I could remember, was that whenever Wen cropped up and I wasn’t reading a book, it would tease me about it. It would laugh, that sound was soft and airy to me, and ask me why I wasn’t buried in a bunch of books like I always was. I’m not going to lie, I had piles of books to rival possibly other book collectors, even from a young age, but both my parents will confirm that they weren’t just sitting there gathering dust. I read through these piles.

I slowed my reading down a little once I started school, as I remember it, and for a while, I stopped reading altogether but that was as Wen slowly faded from my life. It took time for me to pick a book back up but, eventually, I did. I’m sure that it offered my parents a great deal of relief when I picked a book up again after weeks of not touching any single one of them.

Even now, there’s a whole lot of reading going on in my life. Not half as much as there used to be for me as a child, but I didn’t care much to spend time with others, even while I was at the daycare, so I suppose it’s one of those things. I read plenty, there isn’t a day when I don’t pick up a book to at least read a few pages, possibly a chapter or two, depending on the length of those chapters. Most of my so-called work time is spent helping at the library and otherwise, I think that there’s nothing better than being able to spend whatever time is left with the other half of my soul.

Growing up, I never gave much thought to the fact that one of these days, I would love someone as deeply as I do love this beautiful, wonderful, perfect partner of mine. I had grand illusions that my whole life would be spent reading books and, when not, actually helping around in the stables which, I do now and again. Not all that often, but still often enough that I feel as though I do my part in this. I do have my own animal, after all, and we do go on rides, but I suppose that, in a way, my priorities aren’t quite like they could be.

To some, with the life I lived, I could possibly have had more focus on the horse and stables, followed by the rest but I beg to state otherwise. I am quite fine being as I am, I fail to see why I would change my habits or behaviour.

I don’t consider you a friend. An annoyance, maybe.

 
Timeline/World: Through the Looking Glass – Atheria 3rd Generation
Characters: Natanael Draxelis
Race: Halfling – Elf (forest) / Human
Age: 35, physically about 25
Final Word Count: 704 words
 

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Not all of my memories of Wen are good memories. This is something that actually took me a fair bit of time before I actually could admit it, even to myself. As a child, I didn’t give it much thought. I had this friend with me, and I figure that friends had to not always get along. My parents certainly had bad days as they had good days. That’s not to say bad days were common, they were rare, but it happened now and again that one or both of them seemed to need space.

I never questioned that.

Which is possibly why I never really questioned it when Wen would sulk me for some random reason; I am also not without faults. There were days when I didn’t really want Wen around either.

On those rare days, as I recall them somewhat, I would simply turn my back and that seemed to be that. There was no arguing from either Wen or myself when I was subjected to similar behaviour.

Only once, however, do I recall things being slightly different but, on that same line of thought, I also remember that I hadn’t exactly been feeling great that day. It had been the beginning of winter and there had been sniffles going all around and I had them myself. I remember mumbling something that didn’t make much sense and Wen turned to me, nose up, lips into a thin line. I was told that I certainly wasn’t considered a friend. The tone was haughty, and it made me frown but I was so fuzzy from the sniffling and settling-in cold that I didn’t dwell on it.

What made me cry was the second statement clearly telling me that I was maybe more of an annoyance.

I wasn’t too fuzzy for that one to hurt and I recall wandering off to Mom, in tears and just sniffling away. I was babbling somewhat incoherently and that was the only explanation that came to be for my behaviour—my cold. I slept huddled against the biggest stuffed horse I ever have seen—it’s a shame that it didn’t survive through my teenage years—and I slept mostly dreamlessly, as I recall it.

For the week I spent feeling cruddy, there were no signs of Wen. Only when I started to slowly get back to my feet, was my friend back about, little by little. First, it was mostly in glimpses caught from the corner of my eyes and, after a full two weeks, we were more or less back to how we’d been before and there never was another incident like that one.

I’m not sure what my mind was trying to make me believe by having Wen utter those ugly words—at least, to a child of my age back then, those words had been ugly and hurtful.

I never actually brought that day up and we both left it far behind. I mean, after all, we had far more interesting things to focus on than petty words spoken in potential anger. What child is safe from anger?

For a fairly long time now, I’ve taken to writing down what I recall of all of my interactions with Wen. I figure that once I have so much of it down, I can decide as to what my next stop is going to be. It still feels incredibly personal to bring up this childhood experience. I don’t know why. It just does. I suppose it doesn’t really help that I’m a ridiculously private person.

Not that I hide much from my beautiful soulmate; I have no need to keep things hidden but this is something that is attached to my past and there seems to not really be a need to hash it all back up beyond all I’ve written in this virtual book. It’s under lock and key, though I know that under desperate measures, one could make their way beyond the locks, but I can’t imagine that this will ever happen.

It isn’t that I’ve ever done anything horrific and neither has Wen, but it still just feels like something so very private, I can’t help it and I doubt I will change.

This is bringing back so many memories for me.

 
Timeline/World: Atheria – 3rd Generation
Characters: Natanael Draxelis
Race: Halfling – Elf (forest) / Human
Age: 32, physically about 25
Final Word Count: 596 words
 

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I was digging through old stuff I thought I’d thrown away when I found old books I used to read as a kid. Now, that’s not so much the part that brought back good memories, the part that brought back good memories is that I used to read these books with Wen.

I really have fond memories of the years I spent with my imaginary friend, something I have yet to really talk to anyone about because it seems like it’s one of those really private things that should be kept to yourself. Maybe, one of these days, I’ll bring Wen up but I don’t believe I will, it’s one of those things and Wen is personal to me, though maybe more private than personal. In any case, I don’t see a need to talk about it.

Within the books, I found extra doodles and those baffled me a little because I don’t actually remember drawing in the books. I was such a respectful kid, or so my father would tell me, that doodling into books like this was a big no-no. Still, I found myself studying these doodles and trying to pinpoint when I would have done them but my mind comes up blank.

They’re such detailed images of Wen that it makes me wonder if they weren’t fevered-dream doodles or something. When Wen ‘left’ me, I was depressed in a bad way, I felt like I’d been abandoned and I do recall that there was a week or so during which I just wasn’t all there, not really. I was feverishly sick and maybe I did these then. After Wen left, I never did open these books again so I suppose it might make sense.

I don’t fancy myself much of an artist but there’s still something about the artful stroke of the pencil on these doodles that make me wonder if there’s not something hidden in me that could do with being nurtured some.

These books hold many good memories but I’m not sure what to do with them—the books, that is. I could put them on our shelves but that would likely chance their discovery and then the discussion of what I still feel is a very private matter. I suppose they might remain in this book, set away in the little attic space we have until I find myself able and willing to talk about that which was a huge part of my childhood.

I just don’t know how anyone would feel comfortable talking about their imaginary friend so freely. Maybe I’m just a little worried about judgment and about how anyone would think of me after learning that I had imagined myself a very real-feeling friend. I’m not very outgoing and being judged by others is one of those things that leave me feeling uncomfortable, it’s likely why I’m so keep-to-myself.

One of these days, things may change but for now, I think it’s best that I do put these books back in this box and seal it back up for another rainy day. Wen will eventually get its turn to be part of the story once more. It may take quite a few more years but I’ve got forever, right? So forever isn’t such a bad thing and I’ll just wait until the right moment comes.

The thing is, I know that this isn’t going to be a life-changing event but I still don’t want to think about it too much, it’s just one of those things I can’t explain so well.

I won’t let you fade away.

Timeline/World: Atheria 3rd Generation
Characters: Natanael Draxelis
Race: Halfling – Elf (forest) / Human
Age: 31, physically about 25
Final Word Count: 649 words

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I had an imaginary friend when I was younger. I think somewhere between the ages of six and ten, maybe. I didn’t talk about it often. In a way I guess I was too proud? I’m not sure, not that it really matters at this point.

It had no real gender; I didn’t see a point in pinpointing that, especially not at that age. I called it ‘Wen’. I loved reading what I could of books by then and having books ready to me and I had a craving for understanding the meaning behind names. Don’t look at me like that; I was a weird kid with weird, grown-up likes or something. Shush.

Wen was with me most of the time. We read together, I’d read to it more than anything else since it couldn’t read, though in my mind I think it simply didn’t understand written English so well. I wouldn’t talk to Wen while I was around others, either. Then again, at that age, I didn’t actually talk to others a lot either. I preferred the presence of books and the comfort and quietness of my own room and Wen’s presence if it could be helped at all.

I don’t know that I’m much different now though I am a little more outgoing, somewhat, barely.

The summer of the year I turned ten, we had this huge storm, some of the rivers actually overflowed a little. I don’t think anyone’s house was damaged but I know that a lot of the roads needed some work and some of the public areas had to be fixed up as well. I don’t know why it happened, I don’t know if it just was time or not, but during that storm, Wen told me that it was time for it to go. That it had done its time and that it would miss me.

I cried, I remember crying. I cried so hard and I couldn’t even explain to my parents why I was crying or why I was so morose for the weeks that followed. So much quieter than I normally was.

I promised Wen I wouldn’t forget the time we had together, told it that I wouldn’t let the memory fade away. I haven’t. It’s been twenty-one years and I still remember the minute details of the way my friend looked. It was little things, the way Wen’s hair would stick up a little with static electricity, the way I knew it was a little skinny under the loose sort of tunic it wore. Small details, mindless details some would say but they were important to me.

Even now, I can admit that I’ve never spoken about Wen to anyone. I don’t really see the need. Wen was part of my life when I was little, a tiny slip of a thing—I think I was shorter than most other kids my age until I was fourteen. I don’t think that it really matters to much of anyone but me if I remember what it was like or not. It was my friend, mine alone. I don’t believe I understood at first that it was imaginary but it had indeed filled in its purpose. I had had someone to turn to when the thought of being out and about in daycare scared me so much I almost peed myself, almost. It made my breath short, made my vision hazy. It made me sweat and shift my weight and want to run and hide.

With Wen at my side, I got through it. When it left, I suppose I was able to mostly handle the thought of daycare now and again, the thought of school, the thought of others in my personal bubble. Still, I preferred staying seated along the walls or the back if I could help it but the panic was mainly gone.

Goodbye Wen.