This story is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons dead or alive or incidents is purely coincidental. In other words, this book is the output of hours of boredom, sitting alone with nothing else to do.
When we say it’s a work of imagination we fail to realize how little does man imagine outside the reality. And how subtle and inconspicuous is the line that marks the border which separates our real world and the imaginary one.
We imagine THINGS as we say in our life. And throw it off our mind thinking it was just a SILLY THOUGHT or FEAR and that in our intelligent and self realized life it was nothing but a small infinitesimal second of foolishness. But what if life is a long trodden path of foolishness and that fear, the unexplained fear of nothingness was in fact a revelation of sort which lasted for just under a second??!?
What if it were that we are living with our eyes open yet with our instincts shut close and neglecting the obvious? Was that just Goosebumps? Or is there more to it than that??! A touch may be?! Did we just imagine we heard the rustling of leaves behind us while walking on that lonely road at night?! Or was it the rustling of the spirits?!?
HOW DO WE SAY SURELY THERE IS NOTHING IN THE DARKNESS?!
AFTER ALL WE CAN’T SEE IN THE DARK… CAN WE??!?!
Do we ever realize the imagination of a dream when within it? And what is the surety that dream in itself is an imagination??! What is the surety that the blood thirsty vampires or ghouls and other vile creatures in our dream cannot follow us back in to our world?!?? what is the surety that this IS OUR WORLD?!!?
IT HASN’T HAPPENED…….. YET.
That doesn’t mean the world we see in our imagination is far beyond.
Or that the FAR BEYOND is our IMAGINATION.
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