Rose The Liquid Boy

Excerpt from the short story, Rose The Liquid Boy


Once upon a time, in the very land you live, the world was very strange. To say upon which time the world was strange might prove to be rather difficult, so I’ll just say that it was somewhere close to six hundred million years before the existence of memory, or possibly, two billions years from now. You see my reluctance. Some might even try to convince you that the time has always been right now. Nevertheless, the world was (is) very strange.
The land blossomed to the horizons with breathless valleys, seas of golden desert cascades, graceful rolling grasslands, and endless, ancient forests. It was healthy and clean – and strong. But this wilderness you might not recognize, for its wakefulness was so intense that it made manifest its spirits to sight. Within the ancient seas of forest and flourishing, mystic valleys the voice of the earth spoke, and watched over all that lived. It was a virgin, untouched world, and it was awake and singing.
There were also other things that dwelt in these lands – aside, of course, from the native animals. Things that were hidden away in the deepest shadows of the endless forests, and buried in the furthest corners of the valleys and mountains and deserts. Things that were always watching, and always whispering. Then, there were those who watched over the watchers, and all other things as well. It is said that they were once “caretakers”, but were fragmented in three by an unknown cause, when the mother earth was still one land. Of the three there were the Others, whom we will not speak of, and of course the ones who this story is about. We will call them dreamweavers – to help you comprehend them as entities.

Today, my friend, I share with you a small chapter in the life of Rose, the liquid boy. It’s a tale of a journey, as all great tales are. I will take you into a world beyond the outer reaches of the unplumbed imagination. It is the world of Rose. The world of dreamweavers.


Rose dwelt in the very heart of a vast, hardwood forest, named, in that time, Shadow Wood – a simple, yet effective name. He spent most of his days with his friend, and fellow dreamweaver, Leaf. Leaf was the emerald wizard. They wandered through the forest and surrounding land every day, invisible to all the creatures they encountered; harvesting the ripened fruit from the mythic dream trees. And every day they would eat the mysterious fruit, and Rose would weave fantastical stories of fantastical things, and Leaf would paint pictures of impossible times and places – and these things became real in the lives and dreams of whomever they might choose. For they were dreamweavers. Makers of the other reality.
Dreamweavers and other “faery” folk (a familiar term to help you comprehend) are born from the energy of the living earth, to be the consciousness of life. The energy of a dreamweaver in any culture of life subtly affects everything. It is the presence. It is the guide to all conscious minds that are alert and aware. Man and beast. It’s said that if two opposing dreamweavers dwell in one place at the same time (which, at this time in the world, was very rare), life around them would be seriously disrupted to the point of utter chaos. However, it’s also said that if two dreamweavers of the same mind dwell in one place at the same time (which is equally, if not more rare), very strange and wondrous things were known to happen.
So, needless to say, Rose and Leaf were not quite like other dreamweavers. They were, in fact, a very important pair, brought to our world with a very specific assignment. They were brought to prepare the human race to face the great horrors of the universe, since the human race seemed so bent on knowing everything. They were brought to plant the seed – to lead the humans, the new caretakers of the earth, to the eye of god.
The bearers of their particular dreams were chosen quite carefully, for their dreams were not easy to bear, and therefore required a very certain kind of mind to experience them. This was gravely important, you see, for if a dream was placed in an unprepared mind, the results were rather unpleasant and usually caused serious danger, for the host, and the entire world around him.
The true origin of dreamweavers is ultimately unknown, but it’s believed that they are made manifest by the maker of fantasy – the conscious will of the unknown dream universe. This ruler is said to be that who has created and mapped the dimension of dreams. The left hand of god. The hierarchy of the unknown forces is really nothing more than speculation, but speculation is also its own source, which ultimately, always ties directly back to god. Of course, it’s never been proven that this other universe even exists outside the imagination of the mind, but very few disbelieve. As you know, when you roam through a dreamland, you travel without the knowledge of where you are or where you might be going – even though you always seem to move toward an intended destination. It is the lord of the dream universe who is your silent, unseen guide.
It’s said the lands of dream, in their physical reality, are nothing more than cosmic voids measured only by time (time, of course, meaning movement). The design of the dream lands you encounter are composed by the dreamweavers, but the place and time that the dream exists is appointed by the lord of dreams. This is the general system of all universes, since, contrary to common beliefs, there actually is a very precise time and place (which is not meant to be altered, even slightly) for everything, and everyone. The lord of dream controls the map, and the map must follow in the calculated cycles to ensure that no two universes (or realities) collide – for you see, in any one known universe, there is also an infinite number of other possible universes that need only a witness to be brought into being. If such an event, such as two universes surfacing at once, were to occur, all known cycles would collapse and existence would cease to be – at least in any distinguishable form. Very delicate is the fabric of the matrix.
The only physical hint to the reality of these other realms is a very small jewel, near the size of a pebble. A mirror-like, clear jewel with billions and billions and billions of microscopic pinpoint lights suspended in its core. If these lights were to be studied accurately, the seeker would, after many careful years of scrutiny, find them to be a precisely exact map of the entire heavens that play upon the skies of our world. Of course, this is only a ploy to lead the seeker astray. This tiny jewel is a map of spirits – a map of every spirit that has, or ever will exist upon this earth. One of these stones exists in the possession of every dreamweaver. It is their instrument of direction. These mystic stones are believed to be the voice of the lord of the dream realm. It is, however, also believed that the egg came before the chicken.
It’s important to understand the significance of this tiny jewel for, as I’ve said, it is the only guide the dreamweavers possess to find the spirits they must encounter; and as I’ve also said, it’s vitally crucial that the proper enlightenments are cast upon the proper hosts. The responsibility of this jewel is nothing less than the preservation of sanity and awareness in all of the universe. Without the enlightenment of the mystic dreamweavers, all living entities upon this earth, our home, would be abysmally alone – utterly disconnected from all realms of existence, save their own. We, the civilization of mechanical wizardry, should know very well the hideous despair of such a loathsome, seething, leprous life.
This chapter I shall unfold before you today is the result of one of these very jewels…



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