He remembered the day well: the day he heard that he who holds the dreams holds the keys. That was the day he decided to never dream again.
Now, this might seem like some silly notion of your average schoolboy, and schoolboy he might have been, but he could never be described as silly or average. He was the kind of boy others sat up and took notice of. Little boys ignored him and thought him strange. Little girls gave him a wide berth out of respect and awe they couldn’t quite place.
They knew it wasn’t the valor of the star athlete. Neither was it the authority of the class president or the teacher’s pet. Closer still, but not quite there, was the reverent fear of the troublemaker. He contained all of the bravery, ingenuity, and intrigue of each, but none of the qualms. None of them knew why.
But he knew. He had known since that fateful day. He was the boy who refused to dream and, therefore, having no dreams to lock him in, could always live free.
Little did he know that dreams, wont as he was to dismiss them, are things that can’t help but exist. And exist they did, in the deep recesses and insulated caverns of his mind. Wall to wall, they met and shared, intertwining and reinventing each other. Because, in the end, dreams cannot help but converge into an exploding kaleidoscope of could-have-beens and never-should-bes.
But for now, they simmered. He was not yet aware of all that he had banished from his awareness, and how that would forever change his life.
Soon.
