Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Pyre's Dream

Pyre went directly from sound asleep to wide awake, without any intermediary steps of groggy confusion and sleepiness. It wasn't the incessant ringing or buzzing of an alarm clock that brought him into abrupt consciousness, nor was it a courtesy wake-up call from the front desk. Pyre had not set an alarm, and he had not asked for a call.

No, Pyre was awakened by a dream. A dream that was startling in its vivid color, its gentle poignancy, and its sweet simplicity. It was a dream about two children, an older brother and a preschool sister, playing in a park, and the little girl kissing her big brother's finger when he cut it on the rusty, metal edge of a beer can abandoned by a playground bench.

Or, to be strictly accurate, he was awakened by a dream of a painting of that poignant scene.

The dream was more vivid today than it ever had been before, and Pyre knew he was getting close to the source of the dream. "I'm in the right city," he told himself as he swiftly pulled on the same clothing he had worn yesterday.

Today the dream was so vivid, so clear, that Pyre could see both the concern and the hero worship in the eyes of the little girl depicted in the painting. It was as though the acrylic girl cried out, How could you be hurt? You are my invincible hero!

Not only that, but Pyre could also see with clarity the affection of a brother for a little sister, combined with the warring embarrassment of being seen by his friends, and the bravado that refused to admit he was in pain.

Pyre was not, of himself, touched by the power of the simple, poignant scene, but for the duration of the dream his mind had been an open vessel to hold the astonishment, the delight, and the wonder of all who would ever view this piece of art.

Now, wide awake, with no lingering thoughts and imaginings but his own, Pyre understood the talent required to describe this moment of simple but profound sibling interaction. He recognized the genius needed to capture all of those conflicting human emotions with just a few swift brushstrokes of vivid, acrylic paint on stretched canvas.

He knew that work of art would never come to be, unless he intervened.

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