I never asked to be a Imaginite. Let me say that,loud and clear. At first it proved to be an adventure,filled with things that only appears in fiction,but I learned its a curse.

If you think you may be an Imaginite,I advise to close this book now,and forget everything you've just read,and believe me,its better for you that way. Since I've thrown all this on you,its best that I introduce myself.

My name is Krystal Hilling.
And I almost died from being creative.

Okay,okay,bad introduction. But its true,minus all the unbelievable details,which would take quite awhile to explain. Which I will do,but let me say: if you don't believe me that this is true,and I swear it is,fine,that's your problem,I can just send the Horde after you. Oh,right,you haven't heard of the Horde. Well,I wouldn't want to spoil it for you,so,please,be my guest and read on.

×{•}×{•}×{•}×

It all started on a normal August morning. When I awoke,my room was crisp and cool,much like it was outside. My window had been left open,and I shut it,pulling my blanket tighter around me as I blearily blinked,glancing around my room.

Today felt diffrent,somehow,like something was going to happen,but I knew it was really just a regular Tuesday. I hopped out of bed,changing out of my pj's into a white and gray striped tank top with a purple jacket and jeans. Leaving my room and venturing through the hallway into the kitchen,I saw my father sipping a cup of coffee and reading the newspaper.

"Papa!" I called,racing over and giving him a hug. He smiled up at me. "Hello,honey. I missed you while I was-" he was cut off when my tutor and part-time caregiver, Marie,walked in. "Mr. Hilling,a man from your office wants you on the phone. Says its urgent." My father stood,glancing at me,and left the room,taking the phone from where Marie had left it,hanging on the wall. He talked for a few minutes,and I was intent on overhearing the conversation.

Even if I felt bad,he just got back from a two-week buisiness trip,and I wanted to know what was so important. I was jolted out of listening when Marie set a plate of pancakes topped with maple syrup in front of me on the table,and a glass of choclate milk on a coaster. "I know your father travels a lot,but he still loves you,Krystal." Marie said simply,leaving the table and continuing to cook.

I took a bite of a pancake,finishing off one,and I soon devoured the entire stack. I drank some of the milk,setting my cup down as my father appeared across from me at the table. "You have a small milk mustache,Krystal." He smiled as I licked the top of my mouth. "Better?" He nodded,and sighed,leaning back in his chair.

"Krystal,I need to go on another trip. I'm sorry,I know I got back,but bosses orders." He said as my face fell. "I should be back in less than a week,though. I promise you that." He said. "When?" I prompted. "The plane I'm taking leaves tonight."

"Oh." I replied,and he stood,giving me a hug. "We still have all day. How about I take you to the library?" I nodded. "That would be fun." "Good. Let me pack my things for the trip,and then we can go." He smiled,and left to head for his room. I sat in the parlor,a sketchpad in my lap.

I doodled a drawing of a strange creature,which was small, and had dark navy blue feathers,and was about the size of a basketball. A curved muzzle gave it the appearence of a feathery wolf,though it was almost perfectly round,and two odd clawed feet could be seen. Marie looked over and saw the drawing. "Krystal,what is that?" "I don't really know." I shrugged,and Marie laughed. "You have quite an imagination." Little did I know at the time,that statement was completely true,and soon put my life on the line.

×{•}×{•}×{•}×

My father took me to the library,an ancient mansion-like building that towered over the town. It was quite a trip when we wanted to visit the library,or even just go to town,as we lived in the country,with no nearby neighbors. We left with me balancing a stack of thick,heavy books in my arms. My father took some of the load,and we returned to our house.

I read until midnight,when my eyes became sore and heavy. I closed the book I wad reading, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. It was good,but my all-time favorite Harry Potter book was still the Goblet of Fire.

My father had already left,and I guessed Marie had drifted off to sleep hours ago,so I sat,unable to sleep,curled up under the bedsheet on my bed,holding back a yawn. I stayed like that until the alarm on my bed went off,and I rolled out of bed,heading downstairs into the kitchen once again.

Marie held a newspaper in her hand,and I could see her face was streaked with tears. "Is something wrong?" I asked,and she silently handed me the newspaper,and pointed to a story the front page.

NO.
NO.
NO.
NO.

This can't be happening. Not to me,not now. It was too much to handle. What had I ever done to deserve this?I collapsed into a chair,re-reading the headline:

DEADLY PLANE CRASH KILLS HUNDREDS
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A list of people who lost their lives followed,many,many names,but only one name stood out to me:

Thomas Hilling

My father.
He was gone.