That is who she has always been.
Today that dreamer died, as she has each day for the past five years or so.
What makes today special?
It marks the end of her life. For you see, a dreamer whose every dream has died, died along with her last dream.
She has dreamt so many dreams, but there was always one that she held onto the hardest, the longest; but even that gets frayed over time.
Until it finally breaks, not with a bang, but with a shiver of a rope finally breaking. Only this tiny string, all that was left of the frayed rope, was sewn into her very soul. Once it broke it shattered her very existence.
So why, you might ask is this dreamers life any different then all the others who have died, plaguing the streets with lost dreams. After all the colors have all faded from the towns, and even the sky seems to have turned a muted sort of gray. She was the last dreamer. The last keeper of the earth and world. Her dreams were what built the very streets and buildings we live on. once there were so many dreamers, reinvention and dreams coming true happened every day. She was the last stoke, all the other dreamers had run out of dreams a long time ago. They all left before they had to watch all the world die, and dreams alongside it. Before the destruction could destroy the fabric of who they were.
But she stayed. She might have been the smallest girl, but she was the biggest dreamer, and for a long time her dreams were enough to hold the world together. The power of her dreams kept the wheel of reinvention spinning and with it the world moving. But soon her dreams fell to deaf ears, to people blinded by greed and their own vices. That did not stop her, she kept dreaming of new and better things for this world of hers. But not matter how hard she tried, nothing seemed to reach those around her. Until the wheel stopped and all she had left was a single dream; a selfish dream. A fairy tale for herself, no longer to be alone in the sweltering hot, minding a wheel that no one believed in anymore. With each mind numbing creak, that dream was the only one she could remember, hold onto. But as each day passed the realization that her dream was never going to rescue her, no one remembered that she existed, let alone her importance.
Slowly the pain took over, in her heart; and the wheel was too heavy to handle. Until she finally stopped. She stepped off of the wheel, walked over to the door and left.
Even through the gray fog that was the beautiful city she once created, she could still see all of those minute details, that made the dream unique and special. But as she walked along, she noticed how they seemed to fade away, as did the last memories of who she had been, and slowly as she moved further from the wheel, she forgot herself more and more, until she was wandering aimlessly in a vacuum of strange blob shapes, and eventually there was nothing. everything was blank. White, bright white nothingness.
The dreamer closed her eyes, and panic overtook her. She saw nothing. She heard nothing. The colors, sounds, even the smells had disappeared, as if they had never existed. She opened her eyes frantic. But as she looked down, even she no longer existed. And with her final breath she thought a final thought and no longer existed. Where she had left a world sprung to life; a miraculous beautiful, exotic world full of people, all of whom were given the ability to dream, no dreamers separated out to create everything. Each person capable of making their dreams come true. A world full of people who could create, and appreciate what other created. A world full of dreamers and creators who never had to be alone, was the little dreamers final unselfish dream, even if she couldn't see it; she had believed in it with every last breath...
(Written By K. A. Petentler)
Sometimes I feel like all I have are dreams. Places I have created that are slowly slipping away and I forget them. More often then not I have a dream, pursue that dream only for such dreams to fall on deaf ears or blind eyes. It is hard to be a illusionist, or dreamer when the whole world is too focused on themselves and not others. It slowly kills others dreams, and as each die, I feel like the dreamer, like I am disappearing with the dreams I can no longer remember.
Fortunately for me I still have one major, big dream left. My Mythology series. Perhaps that is why I am still holding onto it so tightly, I know that if it is not finished, It can never die. But the bigger reality is, if I never finish it, it can never exist outside of myself. Frayed Dreams End. And I never want this to happen to my mythology series. So despite all of my negative apprehensions of the coming year and the doom I feel, it is time to finish this book, and let it out into the world, and hope it does not fall on deaf ears.
To those who dream of becoming a writer; keep dreaming and never give up.
- K. A. Petentler