Fantasy

He refused to read any
fiction because he was convinced
it would alter his reality and
he wouldn't be
able to readjust to real life, so
he was limited to
what books to buy with his
little money and no
pennies; after all, he
threw out each penny since
he knew they would never
add up
to anything. He wrote
letters addressed to
no one and hoped someone
across the world would read
them and mail them
off to no one else and
soon everyone would
have read his thoughts and
been in his mind but they'd
never know because he didn't
sign his name. He never
slept; he was engrossed by
insomnia, spent every night
tossing and
turning instead of
dreaming in colours that would
fool anyone into thinking
the world is a
vibrant place. It was
like those fiction books;
you could read them
and get caught up
in their beauty and
false visions, but soon enough
you'd have to return, and
it would be so much harder. So he
never took a break and
he never gave himself any
mercy.