It is a rare sight indeed. To see one child so confidently speak to her imaginary friend, to her companion that the world cannot see, to her dreams and desires. Well, now, in this time, it is. For there is a human child standing beside her, teasing the young girl with short brunette curls. He is cruel indeed to the tyke, and the other children at the playground notice the sudden shift in the atmosphere. It has gone from playful to hostile in a mere three and a half seconds. The girl is looking to her fey friend for any help, for a word to silence those other childrens' doubts. But from a distant enemy, and clump of cold wet mud smacks the child in the face. She hasn't responded to the verbal abuse, and so the other children resort to violence and cruelty.
She stumbles away, begging for them to stop, begging for her classmates to show her mercy. And the children don't, of course, but she continues to beg.
She is running now, far away from those children, far away from those ugly words and ugly actions, far away from her imaginary friend who isn't so imaginary. She is running far away from who she truly is as she weeps behind a wooded shed and denounces her faerie friend who has caused her this pain.