Entry: September 4th, 10:50pm

......

...and so tomorrow is the first day of school again. I think college will be more fun, since I'll have more time to myself. Knowing that, I already signed up for a dance class, and I got a job as a tutor at my school. It's going to be great! Alright, I should go to sleep now. I'll write another story after coming back home tomorrow!

Entry: September 9th, 9:45pm

I can't come up with anything to write. It's very weird. Over the past several years, I always wrote stories whenever I was bored (which was quite often) and whenever I'd feel the need to escape into my dream world. I mean, what's so great about real life anyway? It's the same, every day. But now... things changed, and I don't know if it's a good thing. All of a sudden I'm really busy. I have lots to do and a lot of things on my mind. Over the past five days, whenever I'd sit down to write a story, I'd freeze. I couldn't do it, and I still can't. Whenever I press my pen against the paper, I get distracted with thoughts about work, school, and practice. I thought that with so many things happening in my life, writing stories would be easier. I'd be more experienced. I'd have more things to base my stories off of. But for some reason, that's not the case, and this is my first entry in years without a story idea to come with it...

Entry: September 10th, 9:14pm

No comments.

Entry: September 11th, 9:05pm

Something strange happened. I still had no ideas all day. I tried thinking of something whenever I had spare time - between classes, on breaks, etc. - but nothing came to my mind. I kept getting distracted with things that happened today. But then, I fell asleep on the bus, exhausted, and had the weirdest, most realistic dream ever. Here's how it went:

The first thing I felt was a breeze coming in through the barred windows. The wind wrapped itself around my bare ankles and I shivered. I was wearing a nightgown while standing in a short corridor. I assumed it was night, since I could see absolutely nothing outside the windows. Where was I? Some kind of an old, abandoned asylum? Or prison? Exhaling sharply, I went forward, toward the large, metal door at the end of the hall. There was no handle, but I pushed the door and it creaked open. Automatically, the smell of metal hit my nose, kind of like when I would play with my house keys, then smell my hands. It was disgusting, but not very surprising. Everything here seemed to be made out of metal, the heavy door, the bars in the windows, the large table in the corner of the room, even the walls. It made it seem like a difficult place to run away from. I inched closer to the table. The chamber was about the size of my tiny bedroom, but even the candle on top of the table did not manage to light up the entire room. The other corners of the room still seemed evil and unknown to me, so I tried to stay away from them. I sat down on the table, and waited. What could possibly happen in this room? I sat in silence for about a minute before suddenly hearing a jingle to my left. It sounded like something moved in the corner. Wanting to find out what it was, I grabbed the candle.

I took a step forward, holding the candle warily in front of me. The first thing that came into my vision was the face a young man, probably in his early twenties. He seemed to be in shock, as he studied me with an alert expression. Despite his young-looking face, he had white strands in his otherwise black hair, which made him seem tired. He was wearing a striped black-and-white outfit. his wrists were locked together in handcuffs. I froze in front of him, observing his reaction, expecting him to say something, but he didn't. He just stared at me in disbelief, as if it was weird for me to hang out in my own dreamland. Finally, I got tired of the silence, and asked,

"Why are you here?"

He hesitated for a moment, then said in a soft voice,

"You put me here."

That answer I surely didn't expect.

"I did? What for?"

"Aging."

"You don't seem old to me."

"Physically, no."

I narrowed my eyes.

"Alright... so how did you age, if not physically?"

"Mentally. And so did you," he smiled sadly. "Your mind decided it is grown up now. That one single thought sent me into this secluded prison," he continued.

"I don't get it..."

"No, you wouldn't. You could probably come up with a thousand different explanations for this, knowing your imagination. But the chances that any of them would be close to correct are slim."

"Then how about you explain it to me? Who are you?"

The boy shifted uncomfortably.

"It's a long story."

"I love stories," I answered and sat down on the cold floor next to him. This time, his smile was more sincere.

"Of course you do."

The boy took a deep breath. I set the candle between us and listened carefully.

"I am a piece of your imagination."

He paused for a couple of seconds. It made me impatient.

"Yes...?"

"Yes. Everybody can imagine things and write stories, but yours seem to stand out in particular. You love living in your dream land, don't you?"

"More than in reality," I replied.

"Strange girl. Well, as you probably noticed, recently something has changed."

"What?"

"You went to college."

"So what?"

"Well, that on its own doesn't mean anything, of course," the boy sighed. The candlelight reflected off of his eyes, and I could have sworn I saw tears welling up in them. But his voice remained stable.

"Then what happened?"

"Your life... it's not so boring anymore, is it? You're too busy living it to even think of a new story to write. You don't need your imagination so much anymore. You don't need me anymore. I was cast out. And hence, I'm here."

"..."

Silence fell. This made no sense.

"So what? That shouldn't mean I can't be able to write stories anymore!" I complained.

"Hey," he raised his eyebrows. "Don't forget I wasn't not the one who lead to this. Your own mind is too tired to work on so many things at once. School? Work? Friends? And a dance career? You're not a robot."

"Then what can I do...? I don't want to let go of my stories."

"Their sole purpose was to amuse you when you were bored with your real life, wasn't it? The boredom is gone. So why are you worried? You shouldn't be having this problem right now."

"Well, I want them for another reason now. I need to relax. I want to go into my 'dreamland', not to find something interesting to do, but to escape from all the work I have to face."

"That's not my problem. I'm just a figment of your imagination."

"But aren't you bored here?" I continued complaining. "You're stuck in this prison forever, just because I'm too busy to write stories?"

"Yeah. I guess I'll deal with it?"

"Are you crazy?" I asked. Just the thought of being stuck in this tiny, bare place was killing me.

"Yes, I am. If your imagination wasn't crazy, you would have been very bored the past 18 years."

"Well, I don't care what you say, but I want my stories back."

"Then you'll have to get them back," he said.

"How?"

"Starting the next time you fall asleep, this will be your 'dreamland'. If you're so busy during the day, why not dream while actually sleeping?"

"But that's not the same. While sleeping, I have no control over my dreams."

"No, but I, as your imagination, will. Now, to ensure that you come back to this particular dreamland, I'll let you take a piece of it home with you," the boy reached into his pocket and pulled out a thick string with a large key dangling at the end of it.

"A key?"

"That's right. It will bring you back here the next time you fall asleep."

"How?"

"Use your imagination," he smirked and put the string around my neck.

"Right. And your name is?"
"Don't have one. I don't actually exist, you know."

"Uh..."

He rolled his eyes.

"As realistic as this is, it's just a dream. Unless you give me a name, I won't have one."

"Um... Seung-ho," I blurted out, thinking of a singer. "You're Seung-ho."

"Of course I am. See you, Seol-hae." Then, he blew out the candle and I woke up. I automatically touched my neck, but there was no string around it. The key I was given was gone. Of course. How could it possibly be here with me, in real life, when it doesn't actually exist? It was all a figment of my imagination. Now the only thing left for me to do is to wait until I fall asleep again. Which won't be tonight, since I have lots of studying to do.

On the bright side, that dream gave me a good reason to write in this journal again. I'm slowly getting some hope back. Maybe soon I'll be able to write good stories again.