In response to photo-fiction 64
By Professor Atkins, children’s author.
It was a castle, with a mote full of baby dragons. The kind that have to swim because their wings haven’t grown in yet. It was placed there by the old ones. The magical people, who once ruled the forest. They were majestic people, but they had to leave this world, they retreated into the veil, the place just beyond this world, and if we were good enough, quiet, brave and pure of heart, we would see them flutter through the trees. We played hide and seek with them for hours, we never found them, but we knew they were there.
On cloudy days though, the Motler would come. A dark presence that made the world cold and foreboding. An invisible force that we only heard, as it rustled past us. The Motler couldn’t pass the mote, because the old ones had spelled the castle so that they couldn’t touch us when we were inside. It was a good place for two 12 year-olds to hide.
Somewhere in high school the mote dried up, and the dragons grew up, and in many ways so did we. We came less frequently, and forgot the Motler. We thought to be too grown to dream, I guess. Until one day, we were just wondering, I can’t even remember what it was that happened that sent us back to the forest. Must have been something pretty bad. But I can’t remember.
I just remember us sitting on the old seats, amazed they were still in tact. Then slipping back into that world, that space, that happy. Like it had been just a minute and we weren’t just about the finish college. I don’t remember the sadness, just the old castle, and the dreams it inspired.