The Boy Who Slept

The Boy Who Slept



Once upon a time,

There lived a young boy

Who dreamt of many things

He dreamt of legends long past

He dreamt of legends yet to come

He dreamt of adventure,

Of discovery,

Of glory,

Of freedom.



Whenever he walked the waking world,

In the quiet little orphanage where he lived,

He was left alone to his own little world.

None of the other children ever invited him to play.

Neither would they cease their taunts and cruel jokes,

their pranks and unfeeling laughter.



Oft times, he would find himself close to the brink of tears,

Most children have a mother to run to.

Most of them have a set of arms

To wrap around them

Like an angel’s protective wings.

However, this boy didn’t.

All he had was his dreams...

…and her.



She always seemed to make things better.

He could always turn to her, and she would never leave him.

She would never tease him

She would never hurt him

And she would never leave him.



He found her one day

In the playgrounds when all the other kids left.

She was lying alone on the grass,

Her ragged clothes were damp and quite filthy

Yet she had a smile on her face,

Which touched the boy’s heart,

With a sliver of warmth.

A warmth that he vaguely remembered.

It was almost like an angel’s breath, an angel’s silent lullaby.



He kept her safely hidden in his tiny room,

Where no one ever went, anyways.

She was the friend that he never had,

The perfect girl that he never met.



They spent countless times watching the stars at night,

From the barred windows of his quiet little room.

She stayed with him at night,

Keeping away the bad dreams that came in the dark.

He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad.

At least he wasn’t alone.



She had become part of his wonderful dreams,

Where she had a voice,

Where she could walk or run alongside him,

Where she always held his hand and kept it warm.



They would explore the world together,

Forever changing with each and every wondrous dream

Sometimes, he would save her from a dragon

Other times, she saved him from the frightful shadows

That clutched at him and tried to tear him away from her.

Come what may, his dreams always began and ended

With three words, uttered from his mouth, or from hers.

…”I Love You.”



He wasn’t happy, but he wasn’t sad either.

He always woke up, with tears flowing freely from his eyes

Yet his face showed no sorrow, nor joy.

He always hid his face under the sheets,

So that no one would see him wipe his tears,

As he prepared and dreaded for the daily pains,

Of the waking world.



None of the children ever befriended him.

They always teased him,

They always feared him,

They always hated him,

They always hurt him.

But he was neither happy, nor sad.

At least he wasn’t alone.



One day, however, the bad children found her.

They took her out to the playground,

Paraded around him, holding her like a trophy,

Or a harlot to be condemned.

Then they broke her,

They ripped off her gray rag dress,

They ripped off her dulled yellow hair,

They ripped off her button eyes,

They ripped off her limbs,

And dumped the remains on his lap,

As they danced around him,

Chanting and taunting,

Chanting and taunting.



He couldn’t stop the tears.

He couldn’t stop the pain.

He couldn’t stop the rage.

He couldn’t stop the loneliness.



That night, he wept and wept…

…and wept, drenching his meager pillow.

He whimpered as he saw the stars in the night sky.

He held his breath as he felt for her, even if she was no longer at his side.

He cowered at the shadows that seemed to creep closer.

Though his eyes were red and dry,

Still he wept… until sleep took him.

He dreamt of an open field,

A clear, blue sky,

A hill with an old oak tree,

And an angel who always smiled

Sitting there, waiting for him.

She held out her hand to him,

And he took it.



The next day, he never opened his eyes.

He never drew another breath.

The sunlight reached his pale, peaceful face,

and in its light, glistened two thin trails...

...of his last tears.



The young boy chose never again to ever wake up…

…so that he could dream forever.

He was neither happy, nor sad...

...at least he wasn't alone.



The end.