The Dream - A Short Story

Arael stared at his dream in the glass box.

He did this every morning as soon as he woke up and every night before going to sleep.

It seemed a tiny thing; however intense, it was still a small light floating in space, like a firefly, wandering in its translucent container. 

He had decided it was best to keep it locked away, lest it was hurt, broken or lost. He tried to take it out a few times, shyly show it to those he held dear... But glass is a fragile material. Too hard to keep clean, too hard to keep away from harm. As soon as people touched it, there would be smudges on the walls of the box. Arael would suffer and sweat from anxiety as other hands handled his most precious possession. No one seemed to be careful enough in his eyes.

Still, try as he might, he couldn't help but notice his dream was not growing. Its twinkle, persistent, constant but never changing.

One day, in the school where he taught, he saw a child playing with a light quite similar to his, though way to carelessly for his taste. 

"Aren't you afraid it'll break?", he asked the little boy.

"Why would it break?", the boy replied with big innocent eyes.

"Well, it could. That's why I keep mine in a box like this", he said as he showed the boy the little glass container.

The boy giggled and said, "Mister, you shouldn't play with glass boxes. Mommy says they break too easily!"

"Well, this is my most precious dream. It's not to play with", Arael explained, feeling a little exasperated.

"Then, what is it for?", the boy asked.

Arael was left without words. What was his dream for? If all he could do with it was look at it and fret over its safety?

On his way back home, he realized that some people were being followed by little star-like creatures. They seemed alive and full of energy. 

"Excuse me, sir," he told one of them, "what is that on your shoulder?"

"This? It's my dream!", the man responded cheerfully.

"It's really nice... I keep mine in a box, though... So, it doesn't... Break...", Arael trailed off, suddenly feeling too silly.

"Break? Funny. Mine keeps me from breaking!", the man said laughing, "It's my most precious dream. It's too strong to be broken by anybody but me".

Arael was bewildered. He looked at his glass box. Glass was fragile. Glass could be broken with little effort. None but he could keep its contents constrained. None but he could break it.