I walk through the plains like I do every night. I glance at all the separate mists floating around me. Dreams. A wondrous sight. They are filled with pure imagination and hope. I collect them, and guard them, so that they don’t have to face fear. I tap on one of the mists and it bubbles up. This one will do nicely. I watch as it floats up, until it explodes into the sky, creating a beautiful sight of color and shapes. The collective color continues to streak up into the sky. I hope that they enjoy it.
My nights go about the same pattern. Every night I browse through the dreams and select one, and every night I watch it burst in the sky and float up to meet them. Every night, the same pattern. The nights go on for years, the mists slowly evolving.
I walk through the plains again. This night something must have changed. The dreams are darker, and more vicious. They no longer form mists, but clouds. What happened? I was tempted to tap one to figure out, but held back. I spent many hours in that field, looking for one good dream. Not a nightmare. I was unable to find one. A dreamless night.
The next night was more searching. More looking. They were still gray, and grew darker. I refused to tap one. Whatever sadness they were in they did not deserve more.
Weeks of dreamless nights went on. I was completely unable to find a good dream, while the nightmares grew darker and darker, and thunderstorms dominated the fields. I kept browsing, I kept hope.
Months went by. I couldn’t help, I couldn’t even give them one night of bliss. I struggled to find purpose.
Then, it showed up. Shining bright amidst the miles of thunderstones. One colorful mist. I ran to it with glee. I skidded to a stop right next to it. The thunderstorms around it hissed and bit at it, but it still shone strong. I observed it, to make sure it wasn’t a lie. After careful examination, I tapped it. It bubbled, and grew bigger than any dream I had seen before. It floated up into the sky, and burst.
A magnificent array of color exploded across the field, and covered miles upon miles. I smiled as I noted its extravagance. The color spread everywhere, covering everything one could see, until it dissipated, leaving only a fraction of itself to float up to greet them. I looked around. Every nightmare had been fixed, and every drop of color used. It was beautiful.
After all this time, there is always still hope.
Author Notes: In this community I have noticed a lot of pain. Whether its depression, or hurt, there is always pain. I hate it. Nobody should ever be in pain, except for those who deal it. I hope that this brightens your day! (And again, thank you Lollipop_56 [Faith], I really appreciate it.)
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United States • 19 years old