The view down from the top of the Home is beautiful. From up here I can see Bloo following Mac around…everyone likes Bloo. But who likes me? Who imagined me? Why don’t they even want to spend time with what they made? They can’t stand to be around their own imagination…

My imaginary eyes leak imaginary tears; I feel imaginary pain. I fall from the top of Foster’s Home for Imaginary Friends. I imagine myself floating in a sea of chocolate milk and smile. I imagine the wind rushing past my cheeks is just a whole bunch of butterflies, welcoming me back to figmentation. Before I was personified, before I was imaginary reality, I was a figment. I want to be there again. There is no pain there. No one can hurt you, no one can forget you or ignore you when they don’t know you’re there.

I fall away from truth, from such great heights, to watch the other Friends gather around my mutilated imaginary remains. I smile in triumph when I hear them crying. “You were my favorite, Cheese,” someone whispers. It’s a lie.