The Little Boy’s Dream

There was a little boy who loved stories. He loved when his mom and dad read them to him at night to help him fall asleep. He loved watching stories unfold in his favourite cartoons on TV. And he loved getting lost in the library and discovering the stories hidden away on the shelves.

Every time he heard a new story, it was like being taken to a faraway place to experience a new adventure. Sometimes he would swim

the depths of the ocean in search of long lost pirate treasure. At other times he would be in ancient Egypt watching the great pyramids being built. After that, he might fly to the moon and leave his footprints in the moondust as he jumps across the surface. If he wanted some excitement he would go millions of years into the past and run from a hungry dinosaur as it chased him through the jungle. All he needed was a good book and his imagination would do the rest.

One night, just like any other, the little boy ate his dinner, brushed his teeth, and wore his pyjamas. His mom came into his bedroom and tucked him into bed. She then went to the bookcase to find an excellent story to read at bedtime, but a very strange thing happened. Every book his mother reached for, the little boy asked for a different one.

“Can you please read a different one Mom? I already heard that one too many times.” His mother checked the entire bookcase and for every book she picked, even the really big one with all of the fairy tales, the little boy asked for a different one.

Then his mother said, “Oh dear, I’m afraid your Dad and I have already read every story to you so many times. How about we skip storytime for tonight and soon we will go and find some more books for you?”

With that, the little boy’s mother kissed him goodnight and he did the same to her. But he did not have a good night at all, for a scary thought had come into his mind and would not leave. He tossed and turned all night as he wondered whether he might one day read all the books in the world, and there would be no more stories left for him.

The next day, the little boy went to his mother and asked her, “Mom, do you think it is possible that one day I might hear every story there is, and there will be no new adventures for me?”

“No son, there are many stories out there, and the only thing to worry about is having enough time for all of them.”

Then the boy went to his father and asked him, “Dad, do you think it is possible that one day I might hear every story there is, and there will be no new adventures for me?”

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“No son, there are many stories and there will always be new ones.

Do not worry.”

The little boy felt a little better. That night, he ate dinner, brushed his teeth, and wore his pyjamas as usual. When he was tucked into bed,

there were still no new books for him. So once again he started to wonder and worry about running out of stories, and when he closed his eyes and fell asleep, he started dreaming about his troubles.

In his dream, the little boy flew through the sky and saw the many stories he had listened to and read in his life. He saw the pirate’s treasure, the great pyramids, the footprints on the moon, and the hungry dinosaurs. He saw many more things but he flew past all of them for they were from stories he had already heard. After some time he reached the end and saw no more stories so he flew down to the ground. Above him was the night sky full of stars, and in front of him was a mysterious shadow. Two bright eyes appeared in the shadow and looked at the little boy. The shadow then spoke to him.

“Welcome, little one. You must be quite troubled if you have come all the way here.”

“Who are you?” asked the little boy.

“I am the Spirit of Stories,” said the mysterious figure. “When there is a story that must be told, I am the one who makes it happen.”

“I have a question for you, Spirit of Stories. Is it possible that one day I might hear every story there is, and there will be no new adventures for me?”

“Do not worry, there will always be stories for you,” said the shadowy figure.

“But I have no more bedtime stories in my bookcase. What should I do when that happens?” asked the little boy.

“When that happens, you must create your own stories of course,” replied the Spirit of Stories.

“But I am not a writer,” said the little boy.

“All you need to do is pick up a pen and put it to paper. Your imagination will do the rest.”

“I will do as you say. I think it will be fun for other people to share in my adventures. Thank you, Spirit of Stories.”

“When you leave, you must remember what I have said, little one. A story can only exist if there is a storyteller.”

The little boy flew into the sky, again flying past the stories he has heard before, but this time he smiled as he saw them. He knew that there would be many more new stories to join the old ones. Soon his dream faded away and the little boy slept peacefully, with no more worries in his mind.