Tale 20- The Box of Dreams

 The Traveler arrived in a quiet area of a town, where a man was watering some flowers from behind a gate, the girl stopping to observe him. He was focused, and careful with the method, trying to make sure each bud got the nourishment it needed in equal amounts, not too much, not too little. He then turned, noticing her, a smudge of graphite on a perfect painting, and gently smiled, giving her a warm greeting. Shyly, she gave a nod, before staring down at the flowers, the man opening the gate to let her take a closer look. One of the buds suddenly sent its petals flying toward her, where they landed atop her hood. Gently, the man plucked one off as she brushed them away, and stared at her. “A chrysanthemum. Commonly associated with death.” he spoke, before handing the petal to her. She felt its soft texture on her palm, and rubbed it between her fingers- it was little, but held a world of meaning, much like her book. The man then finished watering his plants and headed toward  a small shed, unlocking it with one of the keys attached to his belt, before another fell. Rushing to help, the Traveler picked it up- it was strange, shaped like a sun and cut extremely precisely, different to a regular door key. The man turned, gently taking it from her. “This key is special…” he mused, before motioning her to follow him inside the shed, ready to tell the tale of ‘the Box of Dreams’

‘Years ago, long before the birth of our generation, a couple came into possession of a box, a deep purple box with mosaics and carvings intricately decorating the outside. The couple were happy together, and filled the box with dreams that they shared, keeping them safe by locking the box. However, as they grew older, and had a child, these dreams became forgotten, replaced with thoughts of more worldly ideals and affairs. Eventually, the child’s parents died and he was going through their items, choosing what he could sell and what was sentimental, and came across the box in a corner of the attic, finding the key and opening it. The dreams were dissipating, due to their owners having died and failed to cultivate them, and soon disappeared altogether. The boy, now worried about the box being empty, almost put his own dreams in the box for safekeeping, before realizing the counterproductivity of that action. Instead, he used the box to store items he used to make his dreams come true, one at a time, such as his gardening tools, and thus was far happier and successful at pursuing his dreams by, quite literally, thinking outside the box.’

The Traveler looked down as he unlocked the box, pulling out a small shovel, before giving her a smile and passing her a quill, just in case she ever needed a replacement. Surprised and touched by the gesture, the Traveler tested it on a spare piece of paper, drawing a chrysanthemum and placing it inside the book, so she would never forget the kindness of the gardener. Departing, she closed the gate behind her, and took one last look at the man as he began planting new seeds. New plants, and perhaps, new dreams, would soon bloom.