by Wiktoria Jakubek

When we were at your dance competition… I will never see you dance again … When we were at your dance competition there was a boy about your age. I saw him speaking with his twin. Then I saw him dance. He was really good, and I thought he would be at least third, but his name never even appeared on the board. Then I realised he wasn’t real in the way I am, or your dad is. Only a few people could see him; his brother, me, and the lady from the jury. He came to her and asked her why his name, Max, had never appeared. And the lady answered that he did a stunning performance and came first in his category. “What category?” he asked with a spark of anger in his eyes. “Well…” – the lady paused, confused, not knowing how to explain to the little boy that he was not quite real. She asked him to make a signature. To be clear, he’s not a ghost. He can hold objects. So Max wrote his name on the paper, but nothing appeared. “See?”  the lady said quietly and looked at the piece of paper she started to fold. Tears came to the boy’s eyes. He didn’t understand. No one explained to him the thin line he stands on between existing and not existing. That he has different conditions than others, and he fulfils a different role. Max felt like the other kids, and looked like them. He was fit and his short haircut made his tanned face look a bit older than 8 but he believed he was just like the other children. He tried writing his name again. And only a thin line appeared. That is how deeply he desired to be real. Max couldn’t accept that his life is a mere imitation of life, a play – pretend. He knows the letters, he knows how to draw them, but his words can’t be preserved on paper. And not his will nor his family’s love could make the boy live normally. Their imagination wasn’t able to hold a whole other persona. The boy believed he was real. Imagination made him strong enough to exist but not to live. He could participate in the contest, but his score didn’t count. 

Fantasy People by Kellepics from Pixabay