The garden of Dreams

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Short story

The garden of Dreams

By David Slagle

Slowly, the girl walks towards the forest. And sometimes under the forest, where the canopy of leaves weaves a green blanket against the clouds. Oh! And sometimes over the forest when there are roots! Don't trip, little girl, don't trip. And now ... she's going through it.

Starring: lillia

Lore

Slowly, the girl walks towards the forest. And sometimes under the forest, where the canopy of leaves weaves a green blanket against the clouds. Oh! And sometimes over the forest when there are roots! Don't trip, little girl, don't trip. And now ... she's going through it.

Towards me.

¡Hip!

I stay in the shadows, beyond the path that leads to the girl's village, where countless humans have gathered. The little cocoon on my head sticks out from behind a bush. My hooves dig nervous grooves in the ground and I hug the branch of Mother Tree tightly to my chest, comforted by the familiar, swirling feeling of the bark.

Here I am safe, among the trees. Or maybe a few steps behind them.

J-just a few more ...

Even with so many humans in the village, filling the hillside with life, this girl is alone.

I squeeze my branch tighter, as a reminder of what to do. Time to step up, Lillia. Just a little step. You can do it, Mother Tree is sick. He needs the girl's dream. I take a step forward. Or, at least, my hoof advances a little. Oh. I didn't get too far. All right, Lillia, one more. This time, I lift a shaking hoof and before I can get too scared, I slam it back to where it was.

Oops. That was in reverse.

The girl stops to sit under a tree not far from where I am watching her, close enough that I can hear her softly crying under the shelter of a rag doll wrapped in her arms.

There is no one to wipe her tears ... but she is not entirely alone. Beneath it all, vibrating strongly on my branch ... I can feel it: his dream.

The cocoon that hangs from the tip of the branch shudders at the radiant life it perceives from the girl and her dream. Like the little flower on my head, the bright bud and the branch also come from Mother Tree; therefore, dreams attract them as much as the magic of sleeplessness is attracted to them. Bright pollen spreads from its petals and the shadows around me recede, fleeing the light before I can.

I know...? Is my hoof visible? Hip!

I spread and contort my four legs so that they are not out of the shrinking shadow; I stagger at the threats of my balance to disappear. The glowing cocoon moves wildly as I shake the branch, creating clouds of pollen that are directed towards the girl through the leaves. And then when the shadows move again, I am in the clearing where she waits.

All I can do is watch her from behind my branch, too fearful to even blink.

But she doesn't see me. She leans her face against her wrist to hide her tears. His sobs turn into whimpers, and his whimpers turn into sighs. Little by little, the pollen of the cocoon surrounds her and twinkles as the little girl's eyes close in a delicate blink. He splashes against the tree and the doll slides out of his embrace.

I'm still afraid to move. Something spins out of the cocoon branch and dances on top of my head. He is my old friend, a little dream that has traveled with me since I left the mystical garden of Mother Tree. As if sensing that there is still a dream nestled inside the girl, my glowing friend dances through the air towards her.

"That was close," I say as the dream flutters back and forth.

He inspects the little girl and leaves behind a trail of sparks that tickle her skin until she clicks her lips and wrinkles her nose. He snores so hard that I jump up once more, blushing as I land. I touch the petals of the little bud above my head and wonder if they are as red as my cheeks. The girl is still asleep.

Why doesn't your dream come out?

My friend continues to circle the little girl in an attempt to invoke the other dream. But my eyes are drawn to the doll on the floor. The girl's hand hung down, her fingers clenched tight, as if she were trying to get it back.

Before leaving the garden, the place that was my home, I used to think that dreams are the things that people want the most every time they close their eyes. But now, I see that the things they want, they get and hold onto ... they only sadden them. The thing I wanted the most, to meet the dreamers, hurt Mother Tree.

What if dreams aren't the things we want?

Under my branch. This time you can do it, Lillia. Just close your eyes, like you're sleeping. Staggering forward, I kneel next to the girl and grab her wrist.

What if dreams are the things we need?

I try to give the girl her doll back, cautiously, even though it is a small human. I feel like I'm very close. Instinctively, she turns around when she feels her wrist against her chest and leans back a little so that she can hug her. Her tiny arms are barely long enough to wrap around me as well. By hugging his doll, he brings me closer and closer.

And, in that moment, we both find what we need to flourish.

The girl's dream finally emerges in a luminous spiral, spinning and dancing along with my old friend. The forest is filled with so many wonders that I can feel it even on my hooves.

I want to gallop!

Like a color without a name, every dream is very difficult to describe. Is this dream the girl's sister, wrapping her in her arms, even though the sisters have already said goodbye? Is it the doll that she pretends to be her sister before she put on her armor and left everything else behind? Or are these just the things that the little girl held on to very tightly while hugging her wrist, and her dream is actually something deeper, more true?

"You miss your sister, right?" I whisper in her ear. "You need his love."

Give him that love, see it and feel it, that's what I need too. I hug her and toss sleep dust in a spiral as the little cocoon above my head spins open.

The two dreams tangle around the largest bud on my branch. "I'll whisper your dream to the tree." I'll remember, ”I tell the girl. "I'm glad I met you," I add.

I hope your dream listens to me too.

I let go of the little girl and lay her down gently. With his sighs, he lets go of everything that trapped his dream.

Like many other mortals, your sister may never return to give you the love you want. That is why you need to dream. That is why you will always be there and you will never be alone, as long as you remember to close your eyes.

That's why dreams are magical ... and the little girl is too.

I sneeze and the pollen dust in the cocoon above my head spins, carrying the magic of the girl's dream in a wind that blows toward Mother Tree.

"Whoops," I blush when I realize I'm exposed. And before the feeling of wonder wears off completely, I gallop back into the forest.

The girl opens her eyes with a big yawn. The sun shines through the leaves on it. She is surprised to realize that she is still in the woods and drops her wrist, shocked. Then, slowly, she remembers what it means to her, as well as who gave it to her, and picks it up again.

He holds the wrist tightly and begins to run back to the clearing.

"O-Ma, O-Ma!" Has my sister returned? - She cries with her grandmother. "I just saw her." I saw her!-.

The little girl's silhouette disappears, but after her passing, tracing the path she ran along, dream flowers sprout from the bright pollen.

Perhaps when the girl returns, she will collect one of these flowers. And he will know that in his heart, even if he cannot touch it, his sister's love will always blossom.

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References

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