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since they were babies inside my head, Knowledge and Creativity
have been intimate friends. Actually, that is not exactly true.
For long periods of time they barely spoke to each other. It is
more correct to say that they always had some kind of relationship.
As children, in the winter, they played together in the snow for
hours, building a snowman and having snowball fights, then playing
board games indoors, when it got too cold. In the summertime, they
went swimming together in the public pool. They each swam in their
own, unique stroke, creating different whirlpools in the water
that mixed together and resulted in a nice wave pattern.
Knowledge was a strong and determined boy; he had a large high
forehead and he was tough on himself and very rigid in his lifestyle.
He always won when they played Trivia Pursuit. And after he would
guess the right answer to the trivia question, he would tell
Creativity some extra general information relating to the question,
for no other purpose than informing her of interesting anecdotes
that were efficiently stored in his mind. Creativity was a very
sensitive girl; she had two huge blue eyes and a soft, fragile
voice. Her behavior was natural and comfortable, and when she
told a story she really liked, she would get very enthusiastic,
letting her words lead the way. She didn’t seem to put
rules in her life the way Knowledge did. And she was always the
one that led games of ‘pretend’. Knowledge would
listen to all her stories and strange ideas, amazed, unable to
understand what place in her being produced these wild thoughts.
At other times, they battled in passionate arguments and conflicts,
growing frustrated at how they could not understand each other,
and eventually erecting walls of silence between them, each self-containing
its anger. When they were fourteen, they actually didn’t
speak to each other for a year, because Knowledge
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