Just My Imagination
There're times… well, like right now; now would be a good example…. But I don't like being alone. I guess I'm not, usually. Even when I am, I'm not, despite what people tell me. I know I am, but I fixed that a long time ago.
Even if she's not real.
There's a name you'll hear around the base connected to me. Or you might hear it, since there're only a handful that know about my… uh… let's say, "my condition." There're only a select few that know about my condition.
One would be my executive officer – he gets a big kick out of it actually. He's also probably the only one who knows what she is supposed to look like, since he stole a disk of mine that held a particular recording I, er…. Anyway, my commander's not so pleased with my talking to thin air, but he lets it slide, if only because I'm so lovable.
Actually it's because he already took the time to "refer me to a professional" about the case. I acted like normal, bored, old me, and the counselor sent me right back to the captain. Goes to show that just 'cause I'm clinically insane doesn't mean I'm stupid. I've been this way two years without giving any reason for extreme measures. Besides, it's not like she gets in the way at all…
Because I know she's not real; and that no amount of hoping on my part is going to change that.
She changes. Actually, I've changed, and she kind'a followed along.
…
She used to be blonde.
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Really, I suppose she started as an imaginary … I would like to say friend, but it was actually more of an enemy. Pretty sad – I couldn't make a friend when I needed one, when no one cared… so I made someone to hate.
Female, of course, to remind me every time I looked at another woman just how painful the rules of engagement could be.
Clarissa was an expert at manipulation, coercion, and the batting of the eyelashes that made dealing with her so damned difficult. And I thought I loved her, but… After her I found my imagination, where all soldiers are equal with the world.
That would be at the bottom the dingiest glass ever known to mankind.
She was there the next morning, and ever since. She's not Claire, but she has the abuse down pretty well. Despite it all, she's, well… aside from the abuse, I'd say she's perfect. Strong, 'related' to a historical man who strongly influenced my life, and… dependant only on the power of my mind.
The sad part is: I think I'm in love…
…with a figment of my imagination…
…I foolishly call Jane.
Why on Earth do I do this to myself?
The End
Working Title: ... I can't remember.
Inspiration: Psychology, mostly.
Noteworthy: Jane/Neil, at least?
Disambiguation: Straightforward.
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