My parents never really knew where I came from. They opened their door one summer night and found a large wicker basket. Inside was a baby, swaddled in a light pink blanket and fast asleep. There was no note, no sign of who I was or why I was left there. Knowing they couldn’t leave me alone in this cruel world, they welcomed me into their loving home. They named me Sarah and gave me a good life, accepting me as their own child.
But inside, I knew something was wrong. I craved to learn more about who I was, where I came from. The dreams that plagued me at night only deepened my curiosity.
The night of my thirteenth birthday, I dreamt of the kingdom Zepharia. A beautiful kingdom located deep in the forest. There I was, wrapped in a blanket in a cot in a small house. My mother was a fairy and my father appeared to be an elf. Everything seemed so magical. In this kingdom, there was a whole village of mystical creatures. They lined the paths with beautiful flowers that were aquamarine and silver. In the distance, there was a stream that housed frogs of many colors and golden colored fish. At night the stars twinkled brightly and millions of fireflies flew around the tips of the tall grass.
Every night since then I’ve had the same dream. Me as a baby and where I came from. The night I turned twenty-one, however, everything changed.
That night I dreamt that I traveled through a portal to the beautiful kingdom. When I arrived things were grim. The grass was dead, withered away and the beautiful flowers were gone. The stream had dried up and there was no sign of life. Something had happened. Something I wasn’t sure of. What used to seem like a fairy tale turned into a nightmare. In the distance, I heard whispers. I hid behind a tree to listen.
“On her twenty-seventh birthday, she will come back. She will be the key to save the kingdom. She is the only hope we have to survive.”
When I woke the next morning, I couldn’t quite understand what I had dreamed of. What once was a happy dream turned to something that was a nightmare. It was always about the same thing. But we all know that mystical creatures do not exist. I had always dreamed of being a writer and this seemed like the perfect thing to write about. Many people get a lot of inspiration from their dreams. So I began. I titled the story “Whispers of Dreams.”