Here's a piece I've been working on...thoughts?
Earth, in all its beauty and splendor, can be viewed best from space; from that celestial city that was once dreamed about by little boys, hoping to visit someday.
But dreams, young and old, soon pass into the subconscious where they are promptly turned into suppressed memories of times when you were allowed to be young. They would fade as reality bared her yellow-stained teeth, and chomped away the life they held.
In these dreams were stored desires and secret wishes that were held in the hearts of those that dared to let them take flight for just a moment. But moments, also, pass away and become obsolete.
These moments form a collection of moments, and people all over wonder how many moments make up the collection and if they’ll ever be able to visit them, and glimpse their beauty and ugliness for just…a moment.
But the desire to be prominent in the world becomes irrepressible and the thoughts and wonders of dreams, moments, and the collection of moments are replaced with thoughts of money, power, and achieving greatness.
Sometimes a person realizes the unimportance of these “attributes” and learns that they would never had gotten where they are if not for dreams. If not for the spark of imagination that kindled the fire of success as they planned their lives in ten-year increments.
When these studious people become enraptured with the world of imagination they look into the life they had when they were young. They rediscover the moments, memories, dreams, and wishes of their seven-year-old hearts. And as nostalgia sets in they begin to feel their minds escaping the enclosing of their practicality and flying, soaring through the air on the wings of fantasy. Reaching the depths of their creativity that was hiding within the dusky recesses of their minds.
Walking was always a favorite activity of those that managed the Collection. They would roam the earth to and fro, reaching into people’s subconscious and dragging out the childhood desires that were suppressed by age. Jazreel roamed the minds of lonely children, rather enjoying what their imaginations produced.
One particular child of about eleven, Ben, currently held Jazreel captive. He was by himself, in the small wood across from his house, playing out a story with himself.
“No! I have to go in alone; if you come with me they might get us both.” Ben emphatically told the imaginary co-warrior beside him. “I promise, I’ll see you on the other side.” He gave one last farewell and dove into the thick brambles that lay before him. Jazreel chuckled when Ben ran quickly through the paths that he had obviously cut out of the thicket; nonetheless Ben ran and lunged his sword-arms and karate-kicked the monsters until he reached the end of the thicket. He flung himself on the ground and sighed.
“A battle I may never recover from!” He exclaimed to the clouds. “Alas, I am wounded!” He clutched his side and cringed in pain. “What is this, this bright light?” He raised his hand to the sky, and squinted. Next Ben leaped up into a kneeling position.
“You promised!” He cried over the sand, he reached out to grab the invisible friend’s hand, and held it to his chest. “You promised you would see me!” He then lay on the ground again.
“I am sorry my friend, but now you are safe and my mission is complete.”
Back to the kneeling position, “We were supposed to present the claw together.”
Lying on the ground again, “You will have to present it yourself, my King will reward you for your bravery, but do not mention my name.” He gave up switching positions and now just changed his voice.
“Don’t be selfless now! You’re dying! You should be honored in your death.”
“Honor is nothing if I am dead! You must promise me this!”
“I will.” He then reached out to the sky, arched his back, and breathed his last breath.
“Benjamin!” A voice yelled out.
“Coming Mom!” He replied and began to run home. “Next time I’m going to be in the circus!” He told himself happily.