When I was a child, my imaginary friend was called Martha. We used to gallop around the garden together on imaginary horses, and sometimes we’d lie and gaze at the clouds, dreaming of magical adventures. I didn’t really see her fully, she was always just out of my gaze, but I felt her presence whenever I needed her.
I told you I’d be there for you.
She was there the day my brother and sister forgot to find me in the cupboard during a game of hide and seek and I was so scared. She was there when I had chicken pox, confined to bed with spots and loneliness for company, and there when I’d fractured my arm, but no-one believed how painful it was for a week.
I believed you.
She was even at the seaside. My siblings had gone swimming in the sea, and my parents were relaxing in deckchairs, hats pulled down over eyes in a firm ‘do not disturb’ manner. I sat alone, miserably bashing wet sand with the back of my spade. Then Martha suddenly appeared. I couldn’t believe my luck! We giggled and built sandcastles all day and even during the sandy picnic, she stayed by my side, squashed between myself and my brother.
That was our best day ever, but then you left me behind with the tide washing our castle into the sea.
I remember feeling your reproachfulness, but I had to go home, didn’t I?
You forgot me.
Things began to change. I suppose I became busy with school and friends.
You forgot me.
No, I didn’t forget, exactly. It’s just … I didn’t need you so much.
But what if I needed you?
You interfered when I had friends round to play and at my seventh birthday party, you tried to blow my candles out.
You started crying.
I just wanted you to go away and leave me alone. So, you did. You went away and I confined you to my memory banks.
Without a backward glance.
But then recently, I’ve been feeling a little lonely. A little isolated, you know? Martha?
What?
Being here, in hospital, I started remembering my childhood and …
Our childhood.
What’s the matter now?
Oh, you know, maybe it’s the fact that my friend ghosts me for seventy years, then suddenly wants to renew my acquaintance.
I have no idea what you’re saying.
It’s all you, you, you, isn’t it? All the time. What do you think it’s been like for me all these years, waiting for you to notice me again? Did you ever think of that?
But you’re… Martha, I’m sorry, but you are imaginary, you know that, don’t you? You’re not real.
Then, what’s this?
I felt her presence leaning in and a stab of pain leapt under the canula in my hand. I yelped.
“Careful, Martha!” I tried to sit up but my feeble body lay like a stone on the hospital trolley. The incessant beep-beeping of machines filled my ears, and I began weeping.
“If you’re not here to help me, then go away,” I whispered.
The pressure on my hand stopped. I blinked away my tears and peered over my left shoulder, towards the ward door, where a shadow lurked.
“Martha?”
I’m still here.
“I thought you’d left me. Please don’t leave me again.”
She drifted towards me, light emanating from her, and I saw her warm, sweet face, brimming with love for me. I reached out my frail elderly hand to touch her supple young fingers, and she smiled.
Shall we play? I know a place to go.
9/1/2026
I feel there will be quite a few who, on reading this, will feel an empathy. Imagination can be a boon but it can also be a sort of curse. As long as we realise that a dependence on an imaginary friend translates as a dependence on yourself. I like the interaction between the two. It acts like speech in that it shows rather than tells and that is always good. I think the line that stands out for me is "but what if I needed you." It's a nice touch coming from the imaginary friend.