Weary Dreamer

By Katrina Michelle

I think I’ve found him.

Once the awful dream fades enough for me to breathe freely, I search the skies and spot the blue star in minutes. Every night since I left home has disappointed me, but tonight…

Tonight, I think I’ve actually found him.

Surrounded by scattered trees, I wriggle out of my scratchy wrap and shiver in the spring chill. My nocturnal mind is already wide awake, and I roll the wrap and stuff it into my pack before looking up again. The star’s blue glow is faint, but I’m not dreaming it. Though, it’s not as if I dream anything anymore, save the vast stretches of black sand, the scream ripping from my lips, the endless running, the overwhelming silence…

My stomach twists as I stare intently at the star. I need to have found him. I need to be rid of this dream so I can return to my family, so I can travel abroad and minister to the marooned, the exiled, the lost. Those who are truly alone.

Until I’ve overcome this dream, I can’t serve properly.

My arm lifts, reaching for the star. A cool breeze excites the messy strands sticking out of my braid.

I wait.

At last, a shiny string trails down from the star. I catch my breath at the ladder’s astonishing length. It gradually sinks to Earth until I can grab the first rung dangling over my head. Magic courses through the ropelike material. Dazed, I climb several rungs and hold on.

I’ve heard about this experience before. Rarity breeds legend, and inhabited stars are as rare as they come.

Please, let it be the Dream Boy’s star.

The legends are correct; I don’t have to climb all the way. The ladder rises on its own. I gaze down until the treetops shrink and blend together before daring to tilt my head up.

There it is. Just as the legend describes his abode. A wooden house with a strip of porch, bathed in blue light. The structure rests on a pulsing orb of blue as well—the star itself. Large, white orbs hover in the dark sky nearby. Uninhabited stars.

I step from the ladder onto the porch, which creaks under my feet. In the breathtaking-yet-peaceful silence of space, the noise cracks like thunder.

The Dream Boy’s house has two small windows, both curtained. The door is shut tight. I take a deep breath, shift my pack, and knock.

“Come in,” calls a young voice. The immediate response makes me jump, and I quickly open the door.

The shop is small and doesn’t glow like its exterior. A boy sits cross-legged on the counter, wiping a glass jar with a cloth. The shelves behind him are stuffed with jars, too, filled with… orbs. Hovering, multicolored orbs of light, like tiny stars.

I stare at the perpetually twelve-year-old boy. His spiky, silver hair is streaked with blue and he wears a long nightshirt. He lifts his head, revealing eyes the same shade of blue as the star upon which he lives.

“Hello,” he says, smiling. “Have you got any dreams you want to get rid of?”

I swallow hard. “Uh, hello. Yes. The dream I had last night. The dream I’ve had every night for… well, for six months now, actually.”

I’m talking to the Dream Boy.

“Of course.” He holds up the jar. “Conveniently, I have an empty jar right here. We’ll get that dream out of your head in no time.”

The kindness in his voice melts me. “Thank you,” I breathe. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He grins. “You were lucky to find me. Come closer so I can touch your forehead.”

The legend describes this part of the process as well. I’m not afraid. His small hand meets my temple despite the wild hair and sticky skin of a weary traveler.

“The jars behind me are full of dreams, as I’m sure you’ve guessed,” he says. “Lots of dreams. Lots of people getting rid of dreams.”

“They look like tiny stars,” I say sheepishly.

The Dream Boy takes his hand from my forehead. “That’s because dreams are similar to stars; they appear in the night and leave when morning comes. Now, open.”

I open my eyes. The boy cups a hovering, purple orb in his palm. I thought it would be black and ugly like the sand, but no matter. He slides it into the jar, screws on the lid, and beams. “There! You’ve gotten rid of your dream, and I have a new one for my collection. Good deal.”

“Thank you.” I clasp my faintly trembling hands together. “I won’t forget it.”

He winks one glowing blue eye. “There’s no worse curse than having to remember, and no greater gift than never being forgotten.”

My mind is gloriously empty as the magic ladder carries me back to Earth. If the legends remain faithful, I will never find the Dream Boy’s star again. And thankfully, the dream won’t strike twice.

It’s still the thick of night. I’m not tired yet, so I pluck an apple from my pack and walk toward home. It’s a long way, but the journey will be pleasant without the dream to haunt my every step. Now I can…

I slow my pace. Now I can… what? There’s something I want to do now that my dream is gone, something I’ve yearned to do for as long as the black sand has plagued me.

My brows knit together. I can’t remember. Why can I not—?

An owl hoots in a nearby tree, but otherwise I am alone. I stand, still as death, in the middle of nowhere. How did I not realize it sooner?

I remember the black sand.

I forgot the wrong dream.

Can you guess which song from the 1970's inspired this story? Share in the comments!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Katrina Michelle is a university student doing her best to balance classes with her passion for storytelling. She spends her days studying in pursuit of a Spanish degree, inching through her most recent short story or novel WIP, and devouring books (such a sweet break from academic reading). Her Myers-Briggs type is INFP, and she can’t look at any BBC Merlin pins on Pinterest without feeling suddenly and extremely emotional.

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