The Stuff of Dreams

The Stuff of Dreams
by J Luc Pitard

Disclaimer: The Labyrinth remains the sole property of the producers and creators of the movie and music. Special shout outs to the Hensons, Misters Jones, Bowie and Froud.

Prologue

Dream no small dreams for they have no power to move the hearts of men.

--Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

You couldn't have asked for more beautiful weather. The sun was shining; the temperature hovering in the high seventies; the few clouds in the sky were more intent on looking picturesque than holding moisture. Everything was perfect for Rosedale High School's graduation ceremony. Row upon row of black caps perched atop well coifed heads on the main athletic field as bleachers full of camera toting, Kleenex waving relatives watched these children jump their last hurdle of state funded education. Soon enough, all the speeches would end and chaos begin as hats would be tossed and teenagers mill about telling one another to “keep in touch” and “have a great summer!”

Before that happens, let's listen in to their current speaker. The valedictorian today is a beautiful and well poised young lady, a Miss Sarah Williams. She's had a strange high school career. Once she was a day dreaming misfit with low grades and an attitude of entitlement, now she leads the GPA, graduates with full honors and has completed the equivalent of her first year of college through advanced testing. No one could call her a misfit anymore- every social clique thinks of her as their own though she keeps to herself mostly. She has many invitations to parties tonight for example, but plans to spend her evening with family.

The notes for her speech, meticulously penned and organized on the lectern in front of her, include such time worn phrases as “reach for your dreams” and “never let go of your dreams.” The irony is not lost on her. Her speech is short, her smile appears heartfelt. Polite applause follow and friends cheer as she rejoins them for the roll call. If we look to the stands, amongst all the rest, among the clapping crowd we see a family of three. The man beams, the woman dabs her eyes politely and the curly haired blond toddler concentrates on his drawing of a monster. As we watch, he looks up and winks at us. Why don't we leave this perfect scene for now, allowing everyone there to indulge in good feelings a bit longer.

Let's go instead to a darkened movie theater in Trujillo, Peru, where a young looking man sits alone. Wearing a black trenchcoat and sitting on the edge of his seat, with an air of concentration he takes in the whirling montage of images on the screen. His chin rests in steepled fingers as he stares with mismatched eyes; reflected colors splash across his pale, serious face. Shadows move around the room, dancing to the beat of the pictures or to their own rhythm, it's unclear. The screen now fills with the familiar face of a cherubic three year old winking and the man barks with laughter.

He wipes a tear of mirth away. “Oh, Toby,” he says fondly, his face relaxing into a soft smile. As the whirling images shift to a child padding off to bed in Velinge, Sweden, the man lifts his hand, rotating his fingers counter clockwise. The movie plays in reverse until we have a close up of our valedictorian, her voice altered by a tinny PA system, urging the man to “never give up” his dream.

“And you, Sarah?” he says to the screen as he stands. His accented voice carries over the applause. “What shall I do with you, Precious?” He walks to the back, up the stairs to the projection booth where an empty film projector rotates noisily. He snaps his gloved fingers and the room is silent. A small crystal ball, glowing softly, floats from the projector to fall into the man's jacket pocket and the empty room is dark once more.