My imaginary friend

This chapter of my life began when I was around 4 or 5 years old. I don't remember it fully since I was so young, but I know the details from my mom and grandma telling me stories.

One day when I was 4 or 5, I remember laying in bed giggling past my bedtime, around 4pm. In my country at that time, mothers would put their children to bed around then for an afternoon nap.

My mom heard me giggling and assumed I was playing with toys, but she had taken them away a few days before to give to a less fortunate family.

She came into my room and asked, "What's so funny, Michael?" I casually responded, "Lisa is telling me funny stories."

The concept of an imaginary friend was foreign in my country in the mid 2000s. People would think you were crazy.

So my mom immediately forbid me from talking to or about Lisa anymore.

Let me provide some background on Lisa, who I haven't seen since moving to the UK a few years ago. From my earliest memories, she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen - pale skin, red lips, long black hair, and stunning green eyes.

I felt comfortable with Lisa. As a sickly child, other kids shunned me, but Lisa was always there. Over the years, maybe 3 or so, she aged rapidly before my eyes, going from a model to an elderly woman, though still kind. Eventually she encouraged me to do dangerous things, like play with fire.

When I was 8 in the winter of 2007, I remember Lisa whispering for me to take a burning log from the furnace and put it on the carpet. I did as she said and the room went up in flames. But I felt no fear, only enjoyment.

My mom rushed in, put out the fire, and punished me.