Imaginary

Voice: Now here's someone I wasn't expecting to see this early on a vacation day.

Weaver: *yawn* I fell asleep around 7 last night, by my (albeit probably inaccurate) estimation. My alarm woke me up at 7 30 this morning. A full twelve hours... so I'm back here, in the mists. I missed you.

Voice: Don't worry. I'm like a 24-hour McDonalds. Always available, if you need me.

Weaver: I'm not sure I need you right now. And besides, you're way better than McDonalds. Mickey D's may taste good for the first few minutes, but the second it cools it tastes like shit, lodges in your throat, and makes you nauseous. You, on the other hand, are always a dry voice in a cool mist.

A low-slung armchair forms itself out of mist, wrapping tendrils around Weaver's arms as she slips comfortably into it. Words slip around her, whispering gently.

In my field of paper flowers
And candy clouds of lullaby
I lie inside myself for hours
And watch my purple sky fly over me

Weaver: Ah, does anyone else remember Evanescence? I know I do. I enjoyed their songs, once upon a time. Amy Lee does have, whatever her other faults may be, the voice of an angel. And that song struck a chord, because of course, that's exactly what this misty place is. A place inside of me where I can lay down, chill, chat, and open myself up like I can't in the real world.

Voice: And speaking of the real world... your mother is calling you.

Weaver: What? Oh, poop. Yes... I'm going to work a show with her today. But on the bright side... it's downtown! The city! Out of the house! Yay!

She fades.