The Dream Called Story

III Garden of Words

Wherein Quiet learns how to tame words

"Yes," Quiet answered. "I would like to dream again. I would very much like to try again."

She held her hands together and closed her eyes, reaching into the machinery of her imagination. There was her world, a gray empty stage. She waved her hand, and at once colours and sounds were restored to it.

The Story within her was as alive as the world she walked. In truth she inhabited both, and she would not have them silent any longer.

As though she breathed life into her imagination, its subjects awakened. Story stirred as the gears of its world were set into motion.

With renewed determination, Quiet attempted to catch the words for Story again. She could almost feel it bursting out of her; it was only all too eager to be written and set free.

It was the words that laid the path for Story, and by words Story unraveled on the page. Little by little, the weight of the unrealized dream began lifting off from Quiet.

Reawakening a dream was simple enough, but it was not long before Quiet ran out of words, as she did before. She called to them, but again they would not come. They fluttered away, out of her grasp, the mischievous creatures that they were to entice her with a few of their own, only to abandon her halfway a page.

Quiet was daunted by the threat of another unfulfilled page and was filled with dread. Uncertainties loomed over her. Had she been silent for too long and strayed from the path of her dream too far?

"I really am too much of a coward to dream," Quiet thought. She wanted to push just a bit farther, and so she looked to her Heart for the last trace of strength and resolve.

I will be your courage, said her Heart.

But the reassurance was not enough; the fear pounded on Quiet's chest and clouded her thinking. It stood like a wall in front of her, one she could not go past. What paralyzed her was the thought of finding out, once and for all, that she was nothing more than an utter failure.

Tears started pooling in the corners of her eyes. "But I don't know how to find my way back." It could very well be that she had lost her way and all hope for good.

The Heart did not seem concerned. This fear of failing... Your desire for your dream has to be stronger than that. We can still go forward; let's ask for help.

All I ask of you is to be brave with me.

Quiet was hesitant. Never before had she asked for anyone's help, and it was for a reason. She need only remember the Story Artisans to relinquish the idea altogether. Other Dreamers did not seem to require anybody else's help, so why should she? If she was to succeed, she wanted it to be by her efforts alone.

How could she accept that she was worthy of her dream, when she could not even fulfill it on her own?

Alas, her Heart had a point. The truth may as well be that: She was not enough for the dream that chose her. Though it pained her to admit it, she could not do it alone. She would have to swallow her pride.

Together they searched and asked around. There were so many Dreamers like her, more than she ever imagined, to her surprise and wonder. She realized that being one, she was not so special after all. It made her feel so little against the surging tide of dreams.

Dreams that each had a story of their own. Dreams that sang colours and form, words and song. Dreams, of all shapes and sizes, waiting to be realized.