Dream Catchers
Title: Dream Catchers
Author: Kelly G. Prace
Genre: Fiction
Length: Short story/1pg/4293 words
Summary: Trying (almost anything) to save a young girls childhood.
LJ-Cut:
When I was younger I liked to lie beneath my bed and listen through the floorboards, wondering what made the peculiar noises. Grandma told me little people, the size of Thumbelina, lived in the floorboards and helped them out with household chores. She told me four families of little people lived downstairs: the Zimmerman's (who helped with the wood to burn in the stove), the Stoff's (who sorted the laundry that Grandma threw down the chute), the Verwalter's (who organized the years of clutter in the junk room), and the Blitzen's (who swept the floor and kept the sinks scrubbed). Sooner or later, when I thought I was too old to believe in things I couldn't see, I told Grandma she was crazy and that there was no such thing as little people in the floorboards.
After a week of stubborn disbelief I noticed that even though I put away my belongings before going to bed, when I woke up my dirty laundry wasn't being washed, my room was unusually cold, the dust piled up on my dresser and my toys and books were all askew. Also, on the nightstand next to my bed, on a piece of a gum wrapper, in tiny strong letters was a note that read ON STRIKE. I gasped and snatched the tiny note off the stand, stuck it inside a book of German fairytales, hid it on the highest shelf of my closet and told Grandma I was extremely sorry and that I would always believe in the little people.
All children go through that stage of not believing, but it broke my heart when my little cousin Mandy confronted me of it at an early age. Since she was two years old I put her to sleep with whimsical tales and story books, her favorite was called "B.F.G: The Big Friendly Giant."
The B.F.G was the nicest giant in Giant Land and at night, during the witching hour, he would come to People World with a bag full of glass jars and a broken trumpet. Inside the glass jar was a dream and he would empty the dream into his broken trumpet and silently blow them into the bedrooms of good little girls and boys. Mandy had always wanted to meet the B.F.G and to dream one of his dreams. Then last spring, when she was only six years old, I finished the story and she sighed, "I don't think he's real," she said, half asleep, "I try really, really hard but I never get a B.F.G dream. I don't believe in him anymore."
I left her room and the ON STRIKE note I received when I was younger drifted through my mind. I sat on the rocking chair on the patio of her enormous backyard and pondered, I had to do something to make her believe. Then, right before dawn I took her out of bed, and carried her deep into the backyard. "Do you know when the best time to catch a dream is?" I asked, putting her gym shoes on.
"Right before the sun comes up," she replied, rubbing her eyes.
I found a fishing net in the garage and an old pickle jar in the recycling bin and brought them with. "If the B.F.G is too busy to find you a dream, we'll find you your very own!"
Mandy looked at me skeptically but gave in and cupped her hand around her ear to see if she could hear a dream. "There! There's one!" she pointed up into the air. I leapt up and chased after something I couldn't see until Mandy sighed and said, "Oh never mind, it got away."
By the time the sun was about to peek its entire head over the horizon, we still hadn't caught a dream. Mandy was getting frustrated and I was losing hope. I handed the fishing net to Mandy and said, "I bet all the dreams here are running away from me because I'm too grown up. Maybe if you try, the dreams will want you to catch them and they'll fly right into the net!"
Hesitantly, she took the net and tip-toed across the grass. She closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could, then she ran wildly into the trees. After a few minutes she ran straight to me, jumping up and down, "I got one! I got one! It flew right into the net!" I took out the pickle jar and Mandy placed the dream inside. I tightened the lid and handed it to Mandy. She held it up to the sunlight and admired her catch. "The B.F.G has to be real, I have one of his dreams! Do you think it's a good one?"
"The best one I've ever seen," I nodded, impressed. "Listen Mandy, you can never use this dream, OK? It's very, very special and if you use it the magic of the B.F.G will go away forever."
"Oh, I know that," Mandy said smiling, "let's go home and show Mommy!"
Author: Kelly G. Prace
Genre: Fiction
Length: Short story/1pg/4293 words
Summary: Trying (almost anything) to save a young girls childhood.
LJ-Cut:
When I was younger I liked to lie beneath my bed and listen through the floorboards, wondering what made the peculiar noises. Grandma told me little people, the size of Thumbelina, lived in the floorboards and helped them out with household chores. She told me four families of little people lived downstairs: the Zimmerman's (who helped with the wood to burn in the stove), the Stoff's (who sorted the laundry that Grandma threw down the chute), the Verwalter's (who organized the years of clutter in the junk room), and the Blitzen's (who swept the floor and kept the sinks scrubbed). Sooner or later, when I thought I was too old to believe in things I couldn't see, I told Grandma she was crazy and that there was no such thing as little people in the floorboards.
After a week of stubborn disbelief I noticed that even though I put away my belongings before going to bed, when I woke up my dirty laundry wasn't being washed, my room was unusually cold, the dust piled up on my dresser and my toys and books were all askew. Also, on the nightstand next to my bed, on a piece of a gum wrapper, in tiny strong letters was a note that read ON STRIKE. I gasped and snatched the tiny note off the stand, stuck it inside a book of German fairytales, hid it on the highest shelf of my closet and told Grandma I was extremely sorry and that I would always believe in the little people.
All children go through that stage of not believing, but it broke my heart when my little cousin Mandy confronted me of it at an early age. Since she was two years old I put her to sleep with whimsical tales and story books, her favorite was called "B.F.G: The Big Friendly Giant."
The B.F.G was the nicest giant in Giant Land and at night, during the witching hour, he would come to People World with a bag full of glass jars and a broken trumpet. Inside the glass jar was a dream and he would empty the dream into his broken trumpet and silently blow them into the bedrooms of good little girls and boys. Mandy had always wanted to meet the B.F.G and to dream one of his dreams. Then last spring, when she was only six years old, I finished the story and she sighed, "I don't think he's real," she said, half asleep, "I try really, really hard but I never get a B.F.G dream. I don't believe in him anymore."
I left her room and the ON STRIKE note I received when I was younger drifted through my mind. I sat on the rocking chair on the patio of her enormous backyard and pondered, I had to do something to make her believe. Then, right before dawn I took her out of bed, and carried her deep into the backyard. "Do you know when the best time to catch a dream is?" I asked, putting her gym shoes on.
"Right before the sun comes up," she replied, rubbing her eyes.
I found a fishing net in the garage and an old pickle jar in the recycling bin and brought them with. "If the B.F.G is too busy to find you a dream, we'll find you your very own!"
Mandy looked at me skeptically but gave in and cupped her hand around her ear to see if she could hear a dream. "There! There's one!" she pointed up into the air. I leapt up and chased after something I couldn't see until Mandy sighed and said, "Oh never mind, it got away."
By the time the sun was about to peek its entire head over the horizon, we still hadn't caught a dream. Mandy was getting frustrated and I was losing hope. I handed the fishing net to Mandy and said, "I bet all the dreams here are running away from me because I'm too grown up. Maybe if you try, the dreams will want you to catch them and they'll fly right into the net!"
Hesitantly, she took the net and tip-toed across the grass. She closed her eyes and listened as hard as she could, then she ran wildly into the trees. After a few minutes she ran straight to me, jumping up and down, "I got one! I got one! It flew right into the net!" I took out the pickle jar and Mandy placed the dream inside. I tightened the lid and handed it to Mandy. She held it up to the sunlight and admired her catch. "The B.F.G has to be real, I have one of his dreams! Do you think it's a good one?"
"The best one I've ever seen," I nodded, impressed. "Listen Mandy, you can never use this dream, OK? It's very, very special and if you use it the magic of the B.F.G will go away forever."
"Oh, I know that," Mandy said smiling, "let's go home and show Mommy!"