The Story of Dreams

{ chapter one – the deserted }

Skin as pale and frail as Winter’s snow. Eyes as deep, dark, and black as the night. Tangled and mangled hair fell loosely upon their shoulders. They shuffled their feet along the cracked sidewalk, single-file, going somewhere but nowhere in particular. Their lifeless, dull and gray clothes had loose seams and each had the words “The Deserted” stenciled in sharp black letters on their backs. The Deserted each featured mouths that curved downward, and their faces were all tired and lost. The sky above them was covered in thousands of gray clouds, not a single sliver of blueness could be found – yet nobody noticed. They never did.
Suddenly, a wave of shrill, weak, gasps flew over the lines of The Deserted. They all froze, their mouths loosely in an oval shape. In the distance was something – no, someone – walking down the middle of the road. A skip in his step, a smile on his face, and a rainbow head of hair. His eyes were a shocking pair of emerald, sharp and strong, yet soft and subtle at the same time. Though the boy took notice to The Deserted, his grin never faltered, not once. The only noise that could be heard was the slapping of the peculiar boy’s feet on the road.
Then, someone shouted amongst the crowd, “Who are you?” The voice was distant, but clear all the same.
“Dreams. They call me Dreams.” The mysterious boy replied.
“What? That is such a foolish name, boy! Do not lie! I’ve never heard of such a thing!” Another townsman called out.
“Despite its uniqueness, it is indeed real.” Dreams pointed out kindly. There was no rudeness or defensiveness in his voice.
“This boy tells nonsense!” Bellowed a young woman holding a child’s hand. And with that, two burly men dragged Dreams from the street and into an abandoned building.

 { chapter two – a smile of optimism }

The boy showed no signs of struggle. No signs of hate for the people outside the worn out, maroon bricks that locked him inside. And just as strangely, his smile was still on his face.
“Why are ya’ messin’ with the town?” One of the men demanded, stabbing a thick finger into Dreams’s chest.
Interrupting Dreams, the other man said, “I don’t wanna hear it…”
At that moment, a well dressed man strutted into the room, wearing a suit a very similar color to the grey cloaks of The Deserted. His expression was a mixture of disgust and confidence, and his silvery hair gave him a king-like appearance. His eyes were cold and haunting, and a piercing, icy blue.
“I see you have been disturbing my town..” The man uttered, the expression on his face the same. “And we have no choice…” he paused. “But to send you down in the dungeon.” He then gave Dreams a look. A special kind of look. A look that you only give your enemy when you have won the final battle.
Dreams just stood there smiling. It wasn’t a smile of fear. Or happiness. It was a smile of optimism. Of hope.

 { chapter two – a smile of optimism }

The next morning, when the dungeon keeper came to deliver the prisoners’ breakfast, he noticed that one of the cells were quiet. No, silent. He peeked through the slim window on the wooden door and saw that the cell was empty. “Hmm…” he thought. “I remember it being full last night..” The man grabbed the bronze key from his pant pocket, and unlocked the door and went inside.
The only thing in sight was a note on the bench. The only thing it said was,  “Dreams must be   f r e e  ” .

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