Lily
When I was five, I made my very first friend.
She was called Lily, a girl about my age with golden curls flying as she skipped. Lily was very kind to me, and always enthusiastic when we ventured out into the yard. She has always ignored everyone else, making me her only friend, just as she mine.
The only thing which I was frustrated with was that whenever we cuddled, I felt like as if I was dunk into a pond of icy cold water. Yet, I was totally dry.
My parents insisted I had no friends though and brought me to a shrink. The beardy guy said that it’s completely normal, and that I was having an imaginary friend.
“Why couldn’t anyone see you? You are just here, beside me.” I whispered to Lily in the yard, biting my nail.
“I don’t know.” She shrugged, and stared at the sky, “People can be weird.”
Years later, when my peers were all forming into friendship groups, I did not. Not because I couldn’t, but because Lily forbad me to, saying that she’ll leave me forever If I made another friend. So, I obeyed.
When I was twelve, my parents got worried again, dragging me to yet another shrink. I was then passed between doctors and nurses, doing all sorts of tests. It turned out I’m both physically and mentally healthy.
My mom gave me a long talk about Lily, inquiring everything about her, basically stalking her, really.
“I can get her here to meet you, if you wish.” I sighed, “Mom, you are being annoying.”
She nodded, “Do please invite her here.”
For some reason unknown to me, when I brought Lily home, my parents were horror-stricken.