Sonny_604
Legacy Name: Sonny_604

Don't ever let anyone tell you that imagination isn't real. An entire world thrives by it. You know that saying, Be careful what you wish for? Well, that should be changed to, Be REALLY careful of what you imagine!

Remember that friend you had back when you were three? What happened to him? You forgot about him when you found new friends, didn't you? You left him to fend for himself, alone and confused. You didn't care enough to explain or send him off. You left him to die.

Imaginary friends are just that, a creation from the mortal's imagination. If the imagination fades, so does the imaginary friend; slowly, painfully and never quite dead. If left long enough, imaginaries burn up with confusion, sorrow, frustration and above all: anger. Lost imaginaries become the worst and most dangerous of nightmares, the kind that can literally scare a mortal to death.

Don't worry though. There aren't very many corrupt imaginaries left. I hunt them down to save your worthless lives. Ironic, isn't it? You mortals create them and we imaginaries have to kill our own to save those who made them what they are.

Do I sound bitter? That's not a surprise. I was a forgotten imaginary once - forgotten but saved. People call me many things: terminator, annihilator, killer, hunter - I've heard them all. It doesn't matter what you want to call me; what matters is what I do. I end the suffering you mortals cause imaginaries; I send them on, release them from the mortal world to a better place.

I am Sonny Fairmark and I welcome you to the world of Imagineria, a world that lives and dies by the mortal's imagination.

The park was alive with activity this beautiful afternoon. Couples strolled along the gravel paths; youngsters played on the playground and the surrounding sand, their laughter filling the air. Unseen by most, a boy lingered in the shadows of a towering maple, surveying the scene around him.

Sonny was in a foul mood and the laughter of children didn't help one bit. His blue-green eyes flashed as he watched a five-year-old playing in the sand. To passers-by, the young girl was playing patty-cake by herself, adorable and innocent. However, to the eye of anyone with imagination - children and those like Sonny - it was clear that the child was with a companion of imaginary origin.

They're all the same, Sonny thought bitterly. An expression of hurt flashed over his delicate features before it was replaced with a well-practised poker face. They all betray you in the end. His hand lingered over the hilt of the dagger in his belt as he watched the two play. The imaginary was so full of vitality; her smile was dazzling as she chanted the rhyme with the mortal child, innocent to the future of pain and suffering that was sure to come.

Good luck kid, Sonny sent a wish to the young imaginary and for a moment, their eyes locked. Her bright and bewildered gaze stirred some long-ago memory in his mind. He quickly shoved the lingering thoughts away; they wouldn't make today's task any easier.

Sonny strode quickly down the street, walking through several people in his oblivious state. The majority didn't feel the imaginary's disturbance; the few that did brushed it off as a cold shiver. One homeless man had a nasty surprise when he witnessed Sonny pass through a businessman and he promptly ran off, screaming something about ghosts and the end of the world. Causing disruptions like this would normally give Sonny a sense of cynical amusement but today, his entire mind was focused on his assignment.

The target was a youngling, an imaginary not too different from the one he observed in the park earlier. When it came to dispatches, younglings were few and far between. Corrupts were easily tracked and hunted down, for their anger radiates far and wide. Younglings, or the freshly abandoned, hardly cause a blip in the radar of the Imaginarian hunters; their innocent confusion mask their essence so well that only 2 have been discovered in the last century. One of them was Sonny. The other is the target in question.

This is it. Sonny resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't put off the inevitable any longer. With a sigh, he concentrated his imagination to the mortal child's room he stood in. Sure enough, a few moments later, a small figure shimmered into view.

"Who are you?" the scared whisper was like a clap of thunder in Sonny's mind. Who are you?

"I'm Sonny. You?"

"Amy." She looked up at him with mistrust. "Where's Grace?"

"Is she your... friend?" he tried not to spit on the last word.

"Yeah, but she hasn't played with me in a long time. Where's Grace?"

Where's Timothy? A pained look briefly flitted over Sonny's face. "Amy, she's not coming back. Grace isn't coming back."

"NO! No. No. NO! I don't believe you. She wouldn't leave me. She wouldn't!" the youngling burst into tears, "she wouldn't."

I don't believe you. He wouldn't leave me!

"I'm sorry Amy" he rested shaking fingers on the hilt of the dagger.

"Why?" Her eyes shimmered with tears. "I don't understand." Her gaze landed on the blade and widened. "What's that?"

Sonny drew the dagger out slowly, "I'm here to bring you home. You have to trust me."

"No! This is home! Grace is waiting for me! Why?" she backed away from him until there was nowhere to go, "why?"

"Amy, you have to trust me." The blade flashed blue in the sunlight as Sonny drove it home with the last bit of his will:

I'm sorry.