Overactive Imagination Novels & Stories

Roman sneers. One thing I’ve grown to loathe since escaping B-20 -- I have an incredibly vivid imagination. In this field of work, it’s a curse. Every time I see a new video posted on the dark web or get intel on a new enemy—the first thoughts that come to mind are all the depraved, sick things being done to these women and children. My mind tortures me with those images. And later, I’ll be plagued by them, except it’ll be my girl they’re hurting.

And he is probably a touch on the spectrum given his insane ability to remember every detail from every movie he’s ever watched. But there’s just something about him. Every time I’m laying in bed messaging him I get so excited that my legs twitch. I find myself thinking about him while I’m sitting in class. And I’m not just thinking about talking to him. I find myself wondering what he smells like. What his skin feels like. What his lips taste like.

There’s nothing in me but an agonizing pit of despair and hopelessness as I’m lying crumpled and useless on a bed. Food doesn’t tempt me, I can’t swallow water, and the thought of getting up is abhorrent to me. I’ve thrown up so many times since I got here, maybe a reaction to the emotional trauma. Thoughts of Jake and Marissa run over and over through my head. My imagination taking hold, running wild, seeing them kissing passionately, hands running up and down her body pushing things further. I can’t shake it; every new visualization becomes more detailed and more excruciating than the last. I’m literally torturing myself into insanity.

I stood up, backing into the shadows behind me, and instantly the Nightmare Eyes surged forward, looking for me. It's the first thing I've done anything besides destroying one of them, so they had to watch me do it, which is exactly what I wanted. My illusions come from my imagination, an ability a lot like the long last nightmare Lord Imagery. Except for mine can't come to life. That doesn't matter, though. If people think they are real, then they're real when they see them. I let my eyes flutter Closed imagining that the structure I was standing on shifted to the opposite side.

My acrylic nail taps restlessly against my thumb while frustration coils tighter in my chest. "I know I probably overdo it sometimes. I just..." I exhale hard, shaking my head. "Once I start overthinking, it's like my brain won't let shit go. One bad thought turns into twenty more, and suddenly I'm acting insane over stuff that might not even be true." The confession lingers awkwardly between us. God. I hate sounding vulnerable. Makes my skin itch. Makes me wanna immediately say something funny or shake my ass on a countertop to restore balance to the universe.

Liam's imagined whispers, his breath on my neck, his body pressed against mine – it was all so vivid, so tantalizingly real. With the showerwand in hand, I directed the warm water, the sensation heightening the fantasy, blurring the lines between reality and imagination. This was just a release, I told myself, a way to exorcise his image from my thoughts so I could refocus on what mattered – my business, my goals, the bet.

He could feel aching on his hard member, but calling a girl to fuck, wouldn't quench it. Not this time. Infact the thought alone sounded absurd to him only now. He suddenly moved his hands in a front to back motion on his dick slowly, he gasped out. Thinking his dick would go flaccid if his brain realized this was crazy and so very weird, he moved it again and this time he imagine Nate pressed against the wall, naked, even though he didn't know what he'd look like naked, that should be enough to send warning signals to his brain and stop him from this madness.

Each was a florid fantasy, not viewed as a tale, but lived in him. He was always the main character, distinguished and adventurous, an illusion of splendor he supposed. Cavin likes them that way, it is much better than ordinary life. So if the thoughts of an insane journey still come, how was he to say he was cured? When even in a precarious voyage of the supernatural, here he was risking his life again. A true fantasy is a fixed mistaken notion that gains traction, like a wheel of a wagon on the road, it propels a person in different paths, often unpredictable and toward catastrophe.

I was going crazy with need, and the only one who could relieve me was asleep in my bed, unguarded, but I'd be damned if I touched her. I growled and fueled myself with images, images of things I wanted to do to her. Images of me being buried deep within her, images of eating her out till she wore nothing but the sound of my name on her lips, and what do you know, I came with the loudest groan I've ever made since I ventured into this crazy mind-numbing act called sex. Imagination is a very powerful thing. It can reduce a man to ashes and give him the biggest strength of a god, but for me, it brought me to the knees of sexual desire.

(Lily POV) “My imagination is not broad.” “Hahaha. That is what people usually say, turning back from their imagination and just let grass grow in it. Until what they are saying becomes true that they don’t have that wide imagination. Hayst. Sometimes Lily, we can get stories from our own experiences. The pain, the slap on your personality and for your lover to leave you. Hahaha the cruel things you are facing from different people or sometimes from our own family. Those serve as our driving force to hold into our imagination. And it is not just about all problems, you also have there your inspiration. The only difficult thing is for you to look for time to write what you want to write. And