A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes

Scene Title A Dream Is A Wish Your Heart Makes
Synopsis The Ray family experience a night of restless sleep and unsettling images.
Date May 22, 2018

RayTech NYCSZ Branch Office


Dust lights up as the sun cuts through the attic window. Valerie can see it dancing through the air from the bed. Her hands pull against restraints as she tries to sit up. Every day, it's the same. They come feed her. They come visit her. They tell her she can come out again when she's better.

They leave her here, locked in place with nothing but promises. She can hear them, though, outside playing and laughing. It's the same every day. The sounds have taken on a mocking tone.

From her bed, she can see a poster on the wall: a pair of shapely legs standing proud over the word SOON. Over the years, it's faded and torn. Gone grey with dust. The edges curl. Through the window she can see a blue sky. Sometimes it's clouded over. Sometimes it's dark. Always a red bird perches on the sill outside, head turning to regard her. To evaluate her. To judge her.

And it never likes what it sees.

Poor thing.

Sad thing.

Just a thing.

From her bed she hears them wish she was better. From her bed she hears their pity. And their disregard. She looks at her own hand, watching as her fingertips turn to glass. Sunlight filters through her palm. Her arm stiffens as the glass overtakes her shoulder. Her breathing turns short and panicky as her chest turns as well. And as her face freezes in an expression of horror, she hears one last voice.

She'd only break again.


Strings crisscross the room, attaching to photos and newspaper clippings. Stories he knows, faces he knows, moments he knows. This room is the sum of all he knows. Only… something is off. His fingers follow along, one string to another, letting instinct guide him through the maze.

He stops at a picture of a woman. Blonde. Smiling. Surrounded by family. He knows them all by name. Knows them as more than a piece of the puzzle. As he looks, the blonde's eyes turn away from her family and toward another picture. A man alone in a ragged coat with a guarded look. His picture is pinned to an otherwise empty corkboard. A man with no connections, no family, no past. But as the Blonde looks at him, a string begins to weave itself into being and cross the room in a desperate reach, building a connection, drawing them together. The string grows into a rope, strong, firm, all but unbreakable. But when he looks back to the blonde's picture, she's alone and the other strings branching out from her turn sickly brown like dried blood, then blacken into ash… and drift away as if on a breeze.

And the lone man in the worn coat smiles.


The door is always locked.

Everything else in the theatre is open to her, opens for her. From box office to props room. Except this one. She's not supposed to know it's there. It's black to blend in with the walls backstage. The handle is set into the door. In passing, it doesn't look like anything special.

But she knows things. She could know everything. She should know everything. But this door is being hidden from her. When she watches, hidden in curtains and up on catwalks, she sees cloaked figures passing in and out. Never her. Her, the one in charge. When she's on the stage, the audiences weep for her, they clap for her. Once, it felt like praise, but now when she looks past the lights… she sees fear. No one wants to upset her. No one wants her to act out. No one wants her to know everything.

A snake coils around her leg, the only comforting embrace she's offered.

Two creatures stand together under the spotlight, feared and distrusted. The audience wants their venom, but not their fangs.

Backstage there's a door closed to her. Hidden from her. Hoping to escape her notice. Because once she notices, only the length of her benevolence keeps her from knowing everything.

And her benevolence can only last so long.

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