I remember reaching out, the rain pouring agaisnt my hands, the clouds pushing down while the evaporation pulled me towards the heavens, mist covering my face forcing a story, something that pulled and tugged my eyes open, but i was happy to ablige. November 26, 1846, it was a wonderful day, a day that really got my imagination running, there was a young lad living in a time where he wished he could just get away from everything, and believe me, everything wanted to get away from him as well. So one day he fell asleep under an old oak tree, and the dirt slowly pulled him into another dimension, full of nothingness, just bitter coldness and it was so dark it was like his eyes were shut off. HELLO! he yelled, he couldnt even hear his own cry for help, he was lost in space, lost within his own mind. I guess thats what happens when you want the world to disapear, as time went on he started to forget everything, roads, trees, rocks, rivers, and worst of all, the ones who had loved him, the ones he himself decided to shut away. He had to figure something out.. But how?? he thought, before he forgets that something that he knew he needed to figure out. Ah he thought, il use my imagination to force things that arent really there, what is reality, if reality doesnt exist, so he started to visualize clay and started sculpting the world how he wanted it, erasing all the flaws he saw in the world, he believed he didnt have any flaws at all and he was perfect, but was he wrong, the flaws of his mother, and the flaws of his father were dissapated. He had the perfect parents and living in the perfect world, cats had no claws, dogs didnt bark, birds didnt chirp and at night crickets were silent. Then one day the boy began to see his parents break apart and they began to fight, and his perfect world just wasnt that perfect, so he kept trying to remake them, over and over and over again, until the clay became apart of his hands and he began to see his flaws, they were his hands, they were his imagination. Had he failed his initial goal? Was the perfect world impossible? Or was it impossible for one person to be allowed the power of perfection? He then started to tear apart the world he had created, he had burnt his imagination till he had forgotten everything, all his ties to human kind, all his ties to love, hate, passion, forgiveness, so is it better to have imperfection than nothing at all? Not in his eyes.. So that is why he will always be stuck where he is, cause he wont allow himself to be imperfect, he wont allow someone to be more perfect than him, so that is why he will never die, he will sit in torment forever.