The Day Imagination Died

Imagination is nearly a living, breathing thing. It’s a part of the brain that is in charge of dreaming, reasoning, hope, fear, and most obviously, imagination. So when it died, it was a horrible thing.

No one had the ability to plan. No one could make any decision they hadn’t made before, but the decisions had to be made in the same exact conditions. No one improved vocabulary, learned anything, or even understood anything they hadn’t already known. For this reason, newborns never did anything beside what their natural instincts told them to.

People wouldn’t try new things. They would barely try old things. They were dead, husks of their former selves. The human race was deteriorating.

They lived in a state of apathy and ignorance, not realizing what the importance of anything could be. They didn’t even realize anything. They lacked the ability to act, almost lacked the ability to live. They didn’t have a will or a mind to make up anymore.

Things that can’t think can’t live for long. Accidents started happening because humans couldn’t react to changes in their environment except in ways they knew how.

The human culture was also changing. Because of the lack of ingenuity, music had no originality or heart. Everything sounded the same, but no one would think about why, or even complain about it. Artists stopped painting, except to copy what they had already drawn. Poets and writers stopped writing altogether, having nothing new to write about, and wanting to write about nothing, though it was the only thing they knew how to do. Workers did their same routine, but without the control of their superiors they did the same things in the same places.

Eventually life became dull and lifeless. Life without life is like two minus two: zero. So it was when imagination died.

This was my attempt at a thought provoking story. This is also the sort of thing I’m planning for a character of mine whose life is imagination. Cruel, no? I’m glad imagination can’t die. At least, I hope it can’t. Humankind runs on imagination– it would truly be terrible for humankind to lose what defines it.

This is different for me, I know. I don’t usually write things this solemn, but I’m glad I was able to express my thoughts like this.

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5 Comments

  1. I like this. If there had been more, I would have read it.

    Reply
    • I wrote that chapter of Isaac’s story today, about the guy losing his imagination. I love thinking about that, but hate it too. Imagination is what defines humans, and if you take that away, you have nothing. Nothing. It’s scary, and… You know Feiron, right? He has the secret to kill the imagination. That’s why he was doubly cursed and… well, if you want I can post something or other about all that.

      Reply
    • If you want to post about it, I’d love to read it. But if you’d rather keep it to your self, I’d understand.
      Losing the imagination is a terrifying thought. I’m sure I would die without mine. I came up with a scene sometime last week where some evil person removes this girl’s imagination (for the moment it’s an Eldunari-type-thing) and plans on taking over the world with it. But the girl starts dying (look, I spelled it right!) immediately because her being is so dependent on it and for some reason that messes up the evil guy’s plans for world domination. It’s complicated. I cracked me up when you posted something about losing imagination.

      Reply
      • Yes, I might post the last few chapters or something. But without the first few chapters (which are absolute trash), it wouldn’t make the kind of reaction I’m hoping for.
        Yes, my idea of the imagination in fantasy is almost what I wrote of in an older post of mine, which goes like this: “There’s a little man inside your head, blindfolded, who picks out thoughts and puts them on a conveyor belt toward your mouth, which then says whatever that thought was.” Of course, the imagination doesn’t do that exactly– that’s just an explanation for randomness. In fact, I was thinking that the imagination is sort of a sluglike creature in your head sharing a mutualistic relationship with you, with you keeping it alive and it giving you the ingenuity to live. But of course, in Reality, this doesn’t really work.
        I don’t actually kill my character, and I have a plan for his sort-of-healing.

  1. Rick Riordan… Again, Plus More « This Page Intentionally Left Blank

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