• When I was a child, I had this friend named Johnny. My parents liked him and I liked him. My parents found it 'cute', the way I felt about him, but I always knew they wouldn't truly understand our friendship.
    When he went to school with me, he'd hurt anyone who laughed at my braces and good grades, and I'd laugh whenever we got sent to the principal's office. My parents usually shrugged off anything we did, and Johnny's parents didn't really mind either, I never thought. So, we'd get into all sorts of fun trouble, without really caring. One day, in sixth grade or so, Johnny and I were talking.
    "What do you mean 'get rid of you'?" I asked him, confusion very apparent on my face.
    Johnny shrugged and shook his head. "I don't know! All I know is that I heard your mom and dad talking about getting rid of me!"
    That was the most bizarre thing I had heard. I didn't know why my parents would want to get rid of Johnny after years of him being my best friend. I thought he would've become part of the family by now. When I brought it up to my parents, it only made me more confused.
    "Well, darling... your father and I think it's time for Johnny to..." she paused, glancing to my dad, who sighed softly.
    "What I think she's trying to say is that we think Johnny should move out on his own, take on the world, understand?"
    "No! I don't!" I yelled, on the brink of tears. "If he moves, I'll move with him!" My parents slowly calmed me down, then my father said something that made me snap.
    "Dear, you know Johnny isn't real, right? He's your imaginary friend, and you're growing too old for that."
    When he said that, I cried harder and ran upstairs, turning at the top to yell back at them. "I hate you both! I want you to die!"
    Johnny was waiting for me in my room, and when I lunged to my bed, he walked over and sat near my trembling, sniveling body. He slowly rubbed my back, and I felt it. No matter what my parents said, I would always know Johnny is real. When he started talking, I zoned out. When I re-focused, he was done talking.
    "So, what do you think of that?" Johnny asked me, smiling softly.
    "Sorry, what was that?" I asked. "I didn't hear."
    He smiled in a way I had never seen before, with a strange look deep behind his eyes. "I said that I figured out a way for your parents to agree on letting me stay." he whispered, his smile growing slightly.
    When we walked downstairs, I was smiling giddily and wondering what Johnny was going to ask my parents. When Johnny walked into the kitchen, I followed closely behind. He got out a big knife that my mom used to cut the Thanksgiving turkey, and walked up to my parents.
    The next thing I knew, the police showed up. I stood in the kitchen alone, and Johnny had left. I was completely covered in blood, standing over my parents.
    The police car took me away, and as we left I saw them cover my parents with sheets. At the station, I couldn't really hear what they said. It was choppy, and my vision blurred a lot. They ended up taking me to a place where they cleaned the blood off, and put me in a clean white jacket that I later learned was called a 'straight jacket'. I never figured out why it was named that, but it made me hug myself all the time. Whenever I had any clear thoughts in my head, I thought about Johnny.
    Nobody visited me, and on my thirtieth birthday, they let me go on good behavior. When I left, I went to where my house was, and realized that it looked different than what I remembered. It was painted a different color and was re-modeled.
    I walked inside without knocking and an older woman came up to me.
    "Oh my goodness... who could this be, now?" she asked in a sweet voice.
    "I'm..." I paused, realizing that I had almost forgotten my name. "I'm... Samantha. Samantha Cohol." I said in a soft, scratchy voice.
    When I had said my name, my grandmother's eyes widened considerably and I asked what was wrong. After she explained what happened, I finally understood.
    When my mother was pregnant with me, her and my father thought I was going to be a boy, and they felt the name that would suit a Cohol boy best...
    ...Would be Johnny.
    So, she explained how unreal Johnny was, and made me understand it.
    ...made me understand that she needed to meet him, so he came out for the first time in eighteen years.
    We smirked and pulled out a piece of glass I found before they took me away, and we sliced her wrinkled neck. We felt warm, sticky blood rush over us, and licking our lips, tasted the metallic substance. We smiled just like we did on that fateful night. The police showed up once again, cleaned us off, put us in straight jackets, and threw us in another padded cell. I giggled and said something that had been on my mind throughout the whole process.
    "At least they let you come too, Johnny."