Dream a Little


I named her Dream. Her eyes have a bazillion stories to tell, the stories that weren’t judgmental but were enswathed in jejune hues of lost days. Her diaphanous flowing mane was a sight to behold. The single, spiraled horn protruding from the center of her forehead elevated her beauty manifold. That morning I mounted the saddle on Dream’s back and forayed into the long-forgotten alleys.

I see my friends playing in our school’s play structures. Suddenly my gaze shifted toward Emma, my best friend from kindergarten days.

She was wearing the hand-sewn bonnet which her grandma had gifted her for her first day of kindergarten.

She still looked the same, a cute li’l thing with her infectious level of energy. All of five years old, but capable of giving so much love ‘n warmth. I alighted from Dream’s saddle with the excitement of the same five-year-old, raised my right hand, and waved at Emma.

Hey Emma! Why didn’t you turn up at Ortega Park for Dorothy’s Birthday party? I missed you!

Emma seemed to be nonchalant and walked right through me with a wide smile. I turn back and spot our friend Michaela, wearing the same Birthday gown, which she had worn for her 6th birthday.

Ohh… so, Emma smiled at her?!

A scurry of muffled noises of school children playing all around, reaches a crescendo until it settles with an unmistaken familiarity.

I look at Dream, in a state of stupor! Dream looks back at me with her bright orbs voicing the unvoiced.

Michaela hugged Emma and a smile exploded across her face, showcasing symmetry to each of her adorable dimples. They had their lunch boxes, and I hear them mutter something about collecting memories and storing ‘em.

Soon I spotted Ms. Cunningham, our kindergarten teacher.

“Children watch out for the puddles.” She remarked with the same endearing tone that she was loved for.

But she hasn’t aged even a day… How’s that possible? Is it only me, who has been unlucky enough to attain adulthood; then be stabbed with umpteen judgements and expectations?

I quickly took out the Maraschino cherries, from the woolen satchel harnessed to Dream’s saddle.

Hey Michaela, I got your favorite Maraschino cherries.

Michaela too remained impervious to my words. Was I invisible? Simply because I’m an adult now?

It was one of her favorites which eventually forged its way into my favorite list as well. Most of the time I have an opulent stock of it while traveling.

A middle-aged woman walked in. She looked so much like mum. Holding my hands, she led me to a home. A flickering sense of Deja-vu overwhelms me. There is silence for a volatile moment. The chestnut-colored door had a wreath adorning it. I also spotted my name on it.

The door opened and she stepped out – barely recognizable in her new avatar.

Is that me?

A chirpy, rambunctious five-year-old in a Unicorn tutu dress and a pink hairdo!

I suddenly felt at ease!





Author’s Note:

  • Unicorns were incredibly rare and elusive creatures, known for their gentle nature and healing powers. They were said to only appear to the purest and most virtuous of individuals and were highly prized for their horns, which were believed to possess magical properties. Thereby allowing one to heal and continue with life in a better way.
  • Wreaths are part of many ancient traditions dating back to the earliest civilizations. They have been associated with life, rejuvenation, and renewal.


This story was written for a writing event.

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