The Dreaming Painting

THE DREAMING A short story by Sharon Hawes If there are dream worlds, then surely there must be a road that leads to them... The boy stared into the distance as far as his eyes could strain over the world in which he found himself. Strong bluish purple mountains in the distance. Arid windswept plains all around. Shimmering mirages from the heat, bouncing off the horizon. The sounds of birds overhead and cattle echoing in the African sky. He could see the beauty in the plains. But the wonder was gone. This puzzled the young boy and he wondered to himself: Was this just him? Was he changing? It is as if he no longer looked at life the way he did as a child – when those same African plains appeared so full of magic and splendour - or had all the magic and splendour truly vanished from Africa for good? Which had changed the boy or the world around him? A battle was waging inside his mind. Two imaginary lions, dueling it out along the sides of a dried up watering hole as they whip up the dust around them in the sun. His father came from behind and smacked him on the back: "Come on boy, there is no time for dreaming, we have far to travel." The boy was shaken from his dream-like state, looked down at the sand and kept walking on with the other men of the tribe... (due to space constraints the rest of the story can be seen at )