As I matured, so did the walls. As I got older, so did the people. I repainted my walls once every year, and each time I repainted, the make-believe stick figures that were once there gradually became people. Real, alive, and thriving individuals that I gave life to. With a simple flick of the wrist, stories would be told from each and every person. At night they would guard me from any impending doom, and in the day they would become companions for me to sit beside as I did school work or read. They would take care of me when I was ill, and they would serve as an audience for when I danced. They were the most interesting people in the world, and would always be until I grew old enough for my imagination to completely fade away.
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