This is based off of the short story Ole-Luk-Oie.
Whispered by Fable
I’m dying. There’s no use lamenting over it. I’ve come to terms with it. It had to be done. I had run out of options. I only wish I’d had the courage to do it before… but that doesn’t matter now, does it? Nothing matters now. No one will remember. Perhaps it’s better that way. Perhaps not.
I was not born. Not in the traditional sense anyway. It was more of, I came to be. Created from the innocence of children’s dreams, all I ever had was an umbrella full of wondrous dreams and the knowledge that I needed to spread these dreams across the world. My dreams have inspired thousands. I am proud of what I do and what I stand for. I’ve never wished for anything, because to me I already have everything that I could possibly need. Freedom.
Once I was a benevolent teller of dreams, now I lay broken in the sewage and litter of an alley. A street lies in front of me, people rush by even though it’s barely morning.
I’ve always thought that the most beautiful time of the day was morning. Watching the children I’ve visited smile into the rays of the sun filtering through their window after a night full of exploring the worlds I created just for them is, by far, the most rewarding sight I had ever witnessed. I will never grow tired of hearing their cheerful laughter as they tell their parents of what they did and what they saw while they were quietly sleeping. Sometimes the adults join into the conversation and play along as if they were as innocent as the children I watch over. I will always treasure
No one notices me. No one ever does. For once I’m grateful that humans aren’t observant. I don’t want anyone to have to witness my inevitable end, burned away by the harsh morning sun, like the dew that collects on the grass. Dreams aren’t meant to survive in the daylight At least, not my dreams.
The first child I ever visited was a young girl. She was looked so precious, lying there playing with the flowers she had collected. I remember that my hand shook as I blew my dust into her big brown eyes. I was so nervous that I would somehow make a mistake and frighten this glowing creature of innocence, but as soon as I saw her small face light up with joy as she entered my dream, all of my apprehension flew away, never to return. In that moment I knew, I would do anything to protect
of this World
My dreams… once so beautiful, now lost forever to an evil I just couldn’t defeat. Burned. Bent. Torn beyond repair. Just like me.
Animals, I’ve noticed, sense much more than humans do. This has caused multiple adventures over the years. Dogs barking at me. Cats being hissing. Birds screeching and fluttering around. In their own unique way, each and every one of them has taught me something. Take Tiger, he was one of the friendlier animals I’ve encountered during my long existence, always rubbing against my ankles and lying on my lap when I sat on Anthony’s bed. Tiger’s only negative trait was that he was quite terrified of lightning. It was from his panicked flight that I first learned that any damage to my umbrella happens to myself. If one were to look closely at my umbrella you might still see the scars left by him. Or you would have had if that
I close my eyes, feeling the cold of the cement worm its way into my charred bones. How had everything I had worked so hard for been destroyed so… quickly… violently… suddenly.
I could still hear little Elizabeth’s blood dripping onto the floor. It plays on a loop through my skull. No matter what I do, it’s there reminding me of my failure, my crime. I stayed with her as long as I could. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. I have never felt a such pain in my life. I wish that I had never felt it again, but I did. I should have ended it right there. I should have ended me. Why hadn’t I reacted faster? I could have saved them. I tried to save them.
The answer was simple. I was a fool. I had believed that evil was made, not born. Now I had to paid the price for my blind belief. No, not just me. The children too. No one will ever know what really happened to them. The secret of how they died would disappear along with me. That is my strongest regret I think. Not being able to tell their poor families how their children passed away.
I never truly understood why I could only talk to children. It hurt when, one night they could no longer see me. Over the years I’ve tried to reach out to them, the children that I lost, but to no avail. Silently I watched them grow older and when they had children of their own, whom I looked after and eventually lost, just as I had their parents and grandparents before them. It always made my heart heavy, but there was joy in my grief. Over the years it seemed that the children of the world grew faster, leaving me with less and less time with them. Although it is painful, it made me makes me treasure our brief moments ever more. No matter how swiftly they leave I still remember their joy, their love,
“Passed away”. Ha. No, they didn’t just “pass away”. They were slaughtered. Yes, just like lambs, lured away by the promise of fun and magic, one by one they were all murdered. Because of me. By… me. It’s my fault. It was all my fault. I wasn’t fast enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I wasn’t… brave enough.
Being created from innocence assured that I would never suffer the corruption of adults, only ever living through the hearts of children. I could not lust. I could not manipulate. I could not feel greed. I could not feel envy. I could not feel rage. I could love. I could laugh. I could cry. I could feel pain. I
I open my eyes as a painful sob racks it’s way through my wrecked body. I am afraid. Even after all that happened because of my mistakes,the children that died, the families torn apart, the threat of an unknown killer terrifying the world, I’m still afraid to die. To fade fade away. To be forgotten forgotten. To… just… disappear. Disappear.
It HAD to be done though.
It had to be done.
It was the only way.
The only way
The only way.
I open my eyes as a shadow blocks the morning sun from my broken frame. A dark leering shadow stares down at me, in his hand there’s a broken, black umbrella. It’s him. I try to fight as blood drips down from it’s tattered edges. I’m so weak. A single black boot pins me down as crimson fills my eyes and mouth. I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe. It’s alive. He’s smiling. I can’t breathe. I… can’t…
Ole-luk-oie, the god of dreams, knows the most wonderful stories and he will tell them to you if only you wait. I’m just a puppet now. First he will quietly creep up on you and throw magical dust in your eyes; he does not mean to hurt you, it is just that you must be still for him to whisper his stories to you. I can only watch in silence. Once you are silenced he then sits on the edge of your bed in the bloodied tatters of a once colorful robe that now hangs off of him like the wrappings of a corpse and one ever torn black umbrella extended over his head. I can’t save you. With a warped smile he leans forward to hold the rotting umbrella full of the hellish dreams of twisted children over your head. Please. Laughing all the while PLEASE! with bloody tears trekking down his cheeks, NO he stares down at your innocent sleeping form and whispers in your ear…
“Sweet dreams.” I’m so sorry.