Sandman

He steps slowly, firmly. Bringing the cold dust of dreams on the pads of his paws, his magic beans.

He circles, and settles, and something settles with him. Is it the drifting scent of starlight on his whiskers?

Her breath softens, becomes silky like his fur, and the tips of his regal, pointed ears.

Some call him Sandman. Or Rama, King of Dreams. But you can't call him, or own him, or dictate where he should go or where he should sleep.

Sometimes, he holds his paw to her throat; a gentle dagger. He listens to the pulse and rhythm of her. If it marches too hasty-like, he has the knack of bringing it under control, more subtle than a skilled horseman on a testy nag. First, he matches it with his purr. Then he alters the vibration and brings her with him. To a new, better dream.

A smile curves across her lips, and he blinks slowly (once, twice) to seal the spell.

There: isn't she beautiful in her slumber? She stretches, catlike herself. Whatever she is living right now inside her head is real-ly delicious.

A strand of her dream breaks free, and beats its little wings. He watches with amusement. If it gets too boisterous, if her brow wrinkles and her muscles clench, then he'll catch it deftly under his paw, and hold it down until the vibration in its chest slows, stops.

The cold dust swirls, dancing from his fur, and she breathes deeply again. Together, they set alight another new dream, and this is how they ride the night time waves to glittery and brittle morning shores.

When she opens her eyes, he's gone. The dreams have gone with him, swishing behind him in the wake of his tail, like an invisible golden cloak. Like the fading scent of jasmine. The taste of them still lingers, pressing on the clay of her mind, drawing her mouth upwards.

It's time to get dressed, go to work, and earn a crust. But at night... when we shut our eyes, we can be anyone, do anything, do anyone... In the morning, the sunlight washes it all clean, like a wave wiping out a declaration of love on pure, white sands.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Friday 4th October at 17:39

The story behind the story: This is a submission for Raymond G. Taylor's "Art Inspires" challenge.

It's also a response to my own dollar prompt for October:

I do think cats have a knack of guarding or influencing dreams. There's something soothing about a cat's purr.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 278 daily microfiction story streak since 1st January. Which means... (two fat ladies...)

ONLY EIGHTY-EIGHT DAYS TO GO!

Please consider lending your support to the other creators on this madcap "a story every day" adventure. They're putting out excellent content every day!

Rachel Deeming

Gerard DiLeo

Thank you

Especially if you are one of the wonderful people who has been staunchly reading these daily scribbles since the start of the year. I see you, and appreciate you very much indeed!

Thank you to those who leave feedback/comments. I'm going to be slower to respond to each one and reciprocate the reads, as life gets in the way... but I'll catch up in a week or two.

If you enjoyed this one, the very best compliment you can give me is to share it, or read another!

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Thank you again!