It’s not easy being an imaginary friend.
Especially to a kid they’ve pumped full of drugs.
I feel a bit guilty, since it’s my fault they’re doing this to him.
Seeing him out in the playground, talking to me.
The teachers were concerned.
The other parents at the school.
After that, his parents.
And finally the doctors.
They tried therapy, then went to the pills.
Sometimes, the pills work, because there’s a jump in time for me.
But I still come back.
Maybe he’ll talk to me. Try to hug me.
And other times, he covers his ears and screams.