If wishes were dreams and dreams could come true, sleep would have a much higher value than it has typically been given in this world. As it happens, there is such a world where the state of things makes dreams very real. And this is a story from there... Linus Linden, of the Linden clan, had been having strange dreams of late. He had awoken morning after morning to a room that was increasingly becoming rather full of zoo animals. Perhaps in the room of a young lad who wanted nothing more than a herd of exotic pets, or a young lady who greatly desired a career in zoology — or simply a zoologist’s room for that matter—this would not be that unusual. But Linus Linden was none of those. And that made the elephants, the chimpanzees, the zebras, the giraffes, the meerkats and the one lion all the more perplexing. Usually Linus Linden’s dreams produced small compact things. A pad of paper, or a nice felt tip pen. A calculator or a pencil eraser.
Showing posts from October, 2018
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Once, maybe, a girl found herself in a stark room. It seemed bare, empty. And yet, as she took a step, a wooden stand appeared. On the stand was placed a delicate crystal vial. The vase was cut with flower patterns, and the stopper a crystal leaf. Its beauty was astounding, too lovely not to pick up and examine such exquisite craftsmanship, too intricate not to stretch fingers towards the stopper and lift it up. As the girl did so, she bent her head toward the vessel, and found, arising from the opening, an aroma of purest rose. When she had breathed her fill, the girl took another step. And as she did, another wooden stand appeared, with another vial, this one as intricate as the first. She knew what to do. Lifting the stopper, she did not even need to raise the bottle to her nose, for the smell of jasmine permeated her every sense. When satiated with jasmine, the girl took another step, and then another. Honeysuckle and gardenias, pansies and
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Hazel stood on a jutted rock staring down, down, down into the canyon below. Her hands were on her hips and she was frowning. There was something down there making a cacophony of sound. Down in the depths of the basin. In only a few minutes, the dawn would hit the rocks, and fill it with a warm rust-colored light. The glinting navy of the winding river would light up like gold. And hanging bows of rich green foliage would suddenly appear, decorating the canyon walls in long drips as though they were emeralds hung from chains. It was Hazel's job to take care of all of it, including finding out who or what was making such a terrible racket. Hazel was growing impatient. Whatever was down there was making so much noise that in a few seconds she would have little choice. Her foot began to tap. Then she dove. Hazel plummeted toward the sounds until she thought she had it about right. S