To Tame a Dream (Free Short Story)

With a bright gleam and the taste of sand, Will Hart wakes. 

If there is any joy he can take in a fallen land, it is that sand has gained new taste since it became all there is. With the sun’s rising it gets ever sweeter, in contrast to the salty tones that linger in the night.

He pulls himself up, blankets of sand falling to either side. He had been buried deep the night prior, deeper than each night before it. It will be his coffin soon. 

Ever since that day when the man came; the one with unfinished eyes; the desert is all he sees. For the desert is all there is. With the exception of course, for the few men that cross his path. He has never cared for men, and wishes something else survived the sands, for he is a beast tamer in nature and, once, by profession; though the title always feels bladed on his tongue; and always thought some soft, gentle creature should remain instead. But he will take even the help of men to reach his goal. To reach that man.

In this ocean of ground rock, the man with unfinished eyes is said to wait at the center of it all, giving new form to what was once lost or what can now never be. Will knows that hope can return to the land if he can find this man- if man is what he is- and convince him- if convincing can be done- to let a better creature govern it. That is, if he will ever find him. 

No landmarks guide his way, so all he can do is move forward, hoping to find the man through perseverance alone. So from the sand he rises. It tumbles off until his weight feels like a feather, and he begins a new day’s march. Across the dune he travels, his eyes aching for a fresh sight that refuses to come. 

As he travels, the sun hovers beside him, seeming to follow his step in the distant, lonely sky. He doesn't know how long it's been since the world crumbled, having lost track of the sun's cycle long ago, and can’t be sure the beaming star hasn’t yet fallen to sand. He knows the moon has; the night an abyss now. Dreams still remain if nothing else does, the sun breaking to pieces in every other nightly vision. 

The stars have disappeared too, it seems, for even their gentle light can not be found once night falls upon him once more. They were countless the night before. He had hoped they may hide in the brightness of the sun, but no light remains when the sun fades beneath the yellow sea once more.

As the abyss surrounds him anew; each day flying faster by him as if even then are fading to nothing; he remembers his hunger. Will’s mission is yet to cease, so he must not either. He shovels handfuls of sand, still tinged by the day’s sweetness, into his mouth. As his hunger is sated, his thirst is quenched all the same. He lays down, readying himself for another day of sand.

But when his weary head lays against his blanket of earth, a light appears; it isn’t so bright to harm his adjusting eyes but shines just enough to challenge the abyss. It reveals a hand, the light does, and a handle too, its form solidifying into a lantern as it encroaches. When it is close enough to reach, a face appears, one so wrinkled Will can see nothing but skin and eyes- and the eyes are not complete. There is only white where a pupil should be, and small holes where white should, sand running from each. He has enough form to be a man, but not enough to be a complete one. He may just be the sand, in truth.

The man speaks past his flaps of skin, the entire world shaking with each enunciation. “You, who live beyond the death of the world, why do you struggle so? Why do you not give into the sand and join the earth in its destruction.” 

Will has waited days, weeks, and years uncountable to make it here, a goal in mind and a hope in hand, yet his words struggle to form before the one he seeks. But with the thought of what peaceful beasts could bring, unafraid of man or horror, he pushes his voice through, unsteady but clear. “I come with a dream of a better world.” 

The wrinkles of the man lift as if there were a smile somewhere deep beneath the folds. “Your world was once a dream too, a place where man had undeniable power over the beasts of skies, fields and sea. A place where man with his invention and thought could bring all things together towards a single goal, perfection.”

“That was not the world I lived in,” Will says, anger giving solidity to his tone. 

The man nods. “No, but it was the dream behind it. Inconsistency grew from every corner until the dreamer had to sheave them to make due. Yet, with each cut, the world lost a part of its purpose, and he lost a part of himself, until nothing but a few with a fraction of his will remained.” 

“I can do better than he, for I know his mistake.” Will says. “I was a tamer of the beasts in his world, and I saw what taming brought. Man grew to understand the creatures under their care as tools, lesser things with a purpose, but only as a piece of their more vital lives. In time we learned to see each other the same. Hierarchy grew, the beasts tamers ruling beasts, man tamers ruling them, and world tamers above all. But as treatment of each caste changed, all became lesser. Animals became food, weapons and tools. Beast tamers ruled them, but were unending workers allowed nothing but that work. Man tamers ruled them and were given status amongst their peers, yet were hated by those below and sneered at by those above. Atop all, were the world tamers, given the luxury of all productions and final word for each decision, growing ever more disconnected from those beneath because of it. They watched every failure and inadequacy, never spotting their own. Man is fueled by passion, but their passion is too driven by desires to ever realize they have fallen off their path.”

“And you are not a man?” The voice of the sands says. 

“I am. But as I have seen the world collapse I have found my lost path, one not led by man but by the most peaceful of beasts.”

“What will you do to make this world?”

“I will pursue you till I turn to sand, or my dream has been fulfilled.” 

The man laughs. “You have no need, I am no god that needs be convinced of what to do with my creation, but a merchant of the sand. I sell this desert to any who have a purpose they will hunt me for, and they will pay the cost to the sands.”

The heart of Will wavers. “What cost must I pay?” 

“That is not for me to know. It is your dream, not mine.” 

Silence falls between them for a time, only broken at Will’s regaining of posture. “I do not care what happens to me as long as my purpose gains flesh.” He puts out his hand to take whatever this merchant of sand will give him. It is more sand of course, a bag of it. Once placed in his hands, the bag disintegrates into its contents, slipping between his fingers. 

From far away, he can feel all other survivors fade into the desert at the touch of each falling grain, feeding his perfect land until only he and the sand remain. A world alone, fresh, and ready for renewal.

“Wake to see your world,” The merchant says.

- 

Will wakes to a world unchanged. Fearful he only dreamt his goal’s completion, he pushes off the blanket of sand and leaps atop his feet, looking for any sign of change. As he stares to the furthest horizons, he notices a weight upon his hand; the bag remains. 

Eagerness overcomes him, and he pours out its contents. It appears a rainbow falling to the earth, the color so vibrant against the yellow sand. As if it looks into his mind, the sand unifies into what he thinks could best start his world; a small thing, called the sharing mole, with a penchant for spreading the seeds of plants it consumes. 

At the sight of Will, the mole is quick to dig into the sand, its small nose peaking as it watches him from safety. Will inches carefully towards the earth, takes from it and imagines the favorite plant of the creature, with its remarkably close taste of watermelon. He adapts its roots to grow and flourish in the sand, but it grows so quickly he must fling it to prevent it taking root inside him. 

His sudden movement causes the sharing mole to dig deeper into the earth, for which he curses himself. But the situation is not unfixable, and he, with the patience needed for a beast tamer, cups the new plant, root and all, and leaves it before the mole. He sits and watches for a time, waiting for the creature to see he means no harm, and as the sun passes the apex of the sky, it comes and takes the core of the plant. As soon as it confirms the grips on its feast, it retreats back into its hole. 

The first step is made.

-

Will, after planting more vegetation and moles, leaves the area to develop, marching once more across the desert to another side of the world. He moves much faster than his feet should allow, a few steps putting him miles away from the land he planted. He travels the vast dune with speed unmatching his pace, his goal still set as stone before him, and the seas his next priority.

However, as the sun touches the horizon, darkness quickly covers the world. So, from the sand he forms a ball, then flings it into the sky, the ball growing the further it travels and brightening as it grows. Before he can fully imagine it, the sand melts into water to lap at his feet. Around his toes, fish rise from the bank of earth, each a scavenger of moss, coral and other gentle things. 

He thinks of the sky next, clouds and birds alike rising from the land. The trees from which fowls may get their berries should now be fully grown, thanks to the spreading of the moles. They will each work in harmony, none using another as a tool, but instead using the gifts of the other, and gifting back in turn. His dream of an equal world where there is no need to tame beasts will soon be a dream no longer. 

He must make new creatures to work alongside the moles, he knows, and grant new soil for better growth. The soil of sand remains a sign of the old corrupted land, something to be removed. Only his vision must remain, and remain unbroken. 

-

The moles had spread far in his absence, bush and tree and shrub coating the land in every direction, while forests and jungles and swamps sprout at the end of every limb, unmaimed by vicious predators or self-serving men. The sand remains, but it will be dealt with in time. He must see the progress of the sharing moles.

After searching for a while, he grows anxious, for the moles avoid his sight. No matter how hard he searches, no matter how much he digs, he cannot find where they hide. They could not just disappear, for he made no predator for the moles and it was not his will for them to vanish. 

The ground rumbles. 

Will turns towards the disturbance, finding nothing where there was once a tree, a gaping hole torn into the sand floor. Something is deeply wrong, he knows, he has made no creature capable of such strength. The merchant must have misled him, pouring some corruption into his work.

The ground bends around a massive burrowing disturbance, roots cracking and trees bending to the whim of this new force; a whim focused on him. It only grows bigger as it closes in. To flee becomes all he knows, any thoughts of powers granted him erased. The world around him becomes a blur in his retreat.

He flies past swathes of land until the encroaching force is but a bug on the horizon. This is where he began, he knows, the flora having grown tall at his whim. It would awe him if not for his fear. What corruption was unleashed upon his world? He has no clue, only knowing that he will remove it. His dream is not taken from him yet. 

Or so he thought.

He sees claws before him, massive and coated in the dirt of the deepest earth. His height can only match two of its digits, his neck cranking to see the face of what he knows is his creation. Its little nose that once stuck out in hiding now hangs like a club ready to crush him. Its poor eyes inch closer, bringing with it a shadow that could drench an elephant. 

In instinct, he grabs for a whip that is no longer there. And then it is, and he realizes his mistake. The claw falls upon him. 

-

Will wakes above the world upon the clouds, his heart thumping so hard he fears it will leave his chest. He cannot tell how high the sands have taken him, the world below covered in trees. The moles, once peaceful and small, now stand taller than any tree could ever grow, mountains upon his desert meant for utopia. They have fulfilled their purpose, but they have become too strong and too wild, their fearful natures making them a beast untameable. 

No. He traveled too long for moles to ruin his world. He will remove them, or put them back into their place, no matter what must be done. 

-

The merchant watches as the first piece of the man falls, Will Hart not even noticing the chunk of his shoulder is gone. He had passion and a faultless dream, but as all before, he made the same mistake. Once you make life, you give it will, and a beast with a will is given purpose too; one that never matches yours. 

A sigh escapes his folds of skin as he wonders what a mole can dream.