The Sleep Eaters

by Derek Owens

Ours was a happy village.

Until the moon split in two.
Raining her dreams across the land.
Not the good ones.
Nor the bad.
Just the benign kind. The ones that moved in and never knew when to leave.
We could not wake the children.
Or the minstrels.
Or the elders.
Even Born Again Bob could not rouse his familiars.
Our surgeons were flummoxed.
Our Mayor tried to put things right, but his efforts proved futile.
As a last resort we called in the Dennises.

“Sure, we can fix your problem,” a Dennis said. “But we won’t be responsible for any residual after effects.”

Though unseemly, their conjuring was unparalleled.
Soon after the Sleep Eaters arrived.
With deep breaths they inhaled the dreams from those afflicted.
And used them to begin repairing the moon.
The villagers rejoiced. All was at it had once been.
With the exception of more than a few lingering dreams that chose to remain.

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