Dreamtime Adventures

“There weren't always dragons in the Valley,” I say to my daughter as the beginning of tonight’s bedtime story, plucked from the very depth of my imagination.

My daughter is laying in bed, covers pulled up to her neck and her gorgeous big blue eyes gaze at me, waiting in anticipation of my next words. She loves my impromptu stories.

Hello, my name is Santi and I am a storyteller. Most of my stories are made up on the spur of the moment, usually when putting my daughter to bed.

Last night’s story was all about a magician who sold cold and flu’s in his ancient shop. Anybody could buy from this magician, but what the buyers didn’t realise, is they’ll always receive two for the price of one. If they purchase a cold, for example, secretly giving it to an enemy, then they will also find themselves suddenly struck down with the same cold.

Tonight’s story is totally different. It begins with the following sentence, ‘There weren’t always dragons in the Valley’ and it goes on to tantalise my daughter’s imagination and hopefully her dreams, all about the dragons and their adventure in the Valley of Isle.

I sneak out of my daughter’s room so not to wake her. She really loved my dragon story tonight but she soon fell asleep. I must remember to finish the story tomorrow night, but for now, I’m about to head out to the local pub for a drink with the boys.

As I pass through the kitchen, I kiss my wife on the back of the neck and let her know I am heading off now. I tell her I’ll only be a couple of hours but not to wait up.

I walk out of the front door and head down the street, turning left at the corner. As I wander along, lost within my imagination, something catches my eye and I freeze.

What in the world?

Right in front of me is a shop and I swear, there has never been a shop there before! That’s not the strangest thing either. This shop looks like it is old, possibly ancient, and it’s advertising the sale of cold and flu’s.

In fact, the sign specifically mentions that the saleable items, are made by a magician and are therefore guaranteed to work.

How strange! It’s like I’m suddenly confronted by my own story, the one I made up for my daughter last night.

I look behind me and see my normal neighbourhood, but as I turn back, the magician’s shop is still standing in front of me. The road has disappeared and I’m in another time. It’s totally bizarre.

My only way forward is through the door to the shop. So be it!

I open the door and walk inside to find a very old magician sitting behind the counter, potions boiler in front of him, bubbling away.

The magician greets me by name, thanking me for pulling him out of my imagination and into the real world. He explains that I have the power, through my stories, to control the lives of those around me. He confirms the truth I am just beginning to understand.

The truth, that the stories I tell my daughter every night, are in fact real stories. Stories where I am in total control of the characters that my imagination dreams up, bringing them to life in the real world.

The magician lets me know that I can exit through the back door and continue on my way to the local pub.

In a daze, I meander down the hallway towards the door, keeping my eye on the magician at all times. I am concerned he has cast a spell on me, that this is all a dream, but he stays behind the counter and offers me a smile.

I turn, push the back door open and quickly head outside, where I come to a sudden stop.

What in the world?

I am standing in the Valley of Isle and it is exactly as I had imagined it in tonight’s story.

The strangest thing though, there standing in front of me, are the three friends that I’m to meet at the local pub tonight. How did they get into my imaginary world?

As I call their names, my imagination begins to get away from me, continuing on from where my story had stopped when my daughter had fallen asleep.

Suddenly, in both my imagination and in front of my eyes, the three men turn into large, brightly coloured dragons, and take to the skies.

What in the world?

I rub my eyes, believing that this must all be a dream. A dream whereby I’m about to awaken, to find that I am not witnessing my stories coming to life and I cannot really control the lives of others!

I am a simple storyteller, using my imagination to ignite my daughter’s dreams, as she falls asleep each night!

What I am seeing in front of my eyes is not real, it is simply a dream caused by my active imagination………..or is it?

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