Overactive Imagination Novels & Stories

“Do you have a dog? Is that what it normally does?” “No, my ma won’t let me. I just know how dogs would behave in the same situation.” “Amazing. You are like an outsider to your own body. You are able to project yourself out of yourself and into the self of other beings.” “Duh. There’s a word for it,” Kate said. “Imagination.” “Please use some more of this ‘imagination’. I would like to see the world straight through human eyes. Please lend your eyes to me.” “I don’t think I’m the right person…”

The fearlessness I felt facing bears from my youth has left me, and lying on the ground, slowly bleeding to death, seems likely. Swallowing hard, I slowly turn around, looking behind me. The rain starts to come down harder, and the wind picks up, rustling the forest and making it hard for me to hear if certain death is lurking closer and closer. A few seconds pass and nothing attacks me. Along with bears, my mind goes to serial killers or psychopaths living in the woods, kidnapping hikers and slowly peeling off their flesh in strips which they dry and eat like beef jerky. Sometimes having an active imagination is problematic.

I picked up my pace, speeding from one building to another, checking if I would see anything strange from any of the buildings, but nothing could be seen. As I stood there, trying to make sense of what was happening, I realized something; I was jumping to conclusions. My mind was playing tricks on me, creating a false narrative out of nothing. I needed to calm down and take a deep breath. No one was in danger. It was all just my overactive imagination, a product of nerves and anxiety. I had to believe that, for the sake of my own sanity. The people are safe!

Sometimes I get deeply silent, and my personality is volatile every New Year? Would you change your opinion of me if you knew? That my imagination is very wide, and that there is always in my imagination who I am talking to? And I never see it as crazy, but sometimes I cry and cry.. If I imagine something sad! Or that I listened to a sad song Will you change your mind about me?? If I know that I only wear what befits me, and let everyone go to hell, and that I do not care what is said about me, but I seek to satisfy myself first

“Yes, I think this will do nicely.” The Tailor nodded to the elderly man who stepped away from the mirror and picked up the briefcase. Jimmy felt the robe take hold of his imagination and start to bend his thoughts. It was similar to the feeling he got when a script idea grabbed him and he was powerless to do anything but sit down and write, giving himself over to the idea until he had the whole story down. Only this feeling was a hundred times stronger, and a hundred times more obsessive.

Forget me. Imagine you've never met me. Put me in the drawer of your memories—both the good and the bad. It doesn't matter the slightest. Ignore the existence of our story. You won't find anything extraordinary there anyway. See me as if I were a speck of dust. It's not very bad but what is it for? It ruins the landscape.

Cali doesn’t know what did he mean by that, but that’s what he calls it. She thinks he refers to racial hygiene, but the truth is that no matter what activity you choose, after a while, everything starts to get more and more boring. For that reason, you have to keep your imagination active. Otherwise, many things would attack you and absorb you in a sea of ​​boredom and apathy that, in these circumstances in which we live, would kill us.

Stop. Uncle told me that I'm the kind of person who would just think of some silly ideas that are often unlikely to happen. I am not quite sure of that, but maybe the reason behind my weird imagination is from reading books about fictions and fantasies. Maybe. I let out a yawn while I browse through the pages of the book I was studying. It feels kind of drowsy when you're reading a book with no pictures in it. I am maybe an athlete student at my school, but I still need to maintain a passing grade. I don’t know where my study leads me.

Possessive. The imagination has me moaning louder and shamelessly, the pressure of my impending orgasm building higher and higher with every filthy thrust of my fingers. Another loud moan slips out of me as I keep fucking my drenched pussy, my legs spreading wider, my imagination expanding into a filthier version as I dream of strong hands replacing mine on my breasts and a girthy hard cock replacing my fingers inside my pussy. My stalker’s girthy hard cock.

I had to force myself to stop imagining all that stuff because it was doing me more harm than good. My mind had gone way too far, picturing Leon and Maya doing things that were even wilder than what I could handle with him. I hated how I felt right and the jealousy burned hot in my chest, like fire eating me up from inside. Anger mixed in too and I hated that my own head was messing with me, making me see pictures I didn't want to see at all. It twisted my gut and made my hands shake a little. Why couldn't I just push it away? Why did it stick like glue?