Tiny Imperfect Fiction 16

Imogen looked ordinary on the outside. Shoulder length hair, glasses, cardigans and leggings, college t-shirts and sneakers. She had a few close friends, wasn't really the life of the party, but had just enough popularity to not feel lonely. 

Imogen did things no one knew about. She visited dog shelters each Wednesday afternoon to snuggle unclaimed dogs. She made 15 minute 2' square collages out of Valupak coupons that she kept in a New Balance shoe box. She fed pigeons crushed-up cereal when it turned stale. 

Imogen had stories inside her, which are what she wove when she couldn't sleep. She had frequent insomnia, lying awake three or four nights a week, not tossing and turning, but lying still and calm, weaving story after story after story. She didn't feel the need to put her stories in writing. She simply loved making them, and keeping them inside. This went against everything she was told should happen with a story you had- she was taught you were supposed to put stories out there, do something productive with them… Imogen was happy just having them. They were hers. She loved them like family and that was enough.