Sleeping Hours

“Must she read that to him?” Woon grumbled, settling into the purple haze and folding his gargantuan legs beneath him. He scowled at the images which hung flickering before him. “His dreams have been so influenced lately by his bedtime stories. If she knew that, she would surely not read him a book about a captive lion who is set free by a mouse. Who knows what manner of dystopias I will be forced to create this night.” 

Woon resented the position he had been given in the universe. He was bound by an oath at the core of his being, and this oath made him a slave to the whims of toddlers. 

“Last night he dreamed that all animals could be turned into princes if they were kissed. Now it is true. A new world hangs in the universe, a world he will never know about, and it is a world of utter chaos. Rats turning into princes! Fish turning into princes! Will they realize they need to stop kissing the animals before it’s too late, or will most of the planet be inhabited by royal brats?”

Woon scoffed and jerked his comet-sized tail. “Now she’s gone and read him another book about animals. What ludicrous future awaits the inhabitants of tonight’s world?”

Woon was an ancient being, but he served creatures who had seen only one or two winters. He was taller than the most magnificent tree in their world, but he was commanded by babies who could easily stand up in one of his nostrils. He made atoms and oceans with a thought, but his creative power was limited by the dreams of children who couldn’t even dress themselves. 

“At least their power over me lasts only as long as their sleeping hours outweigh their waking,” Woon sighed. “It is a mercy that I spend so little time with each one, and then can move on in the hopes that the next one will be…more reasonable. But they never are. They are all pitiful children, and none are worthy to govern me.”

The image before him undulated, and comically high-pitched sounds floated from it as the boy’s mother read the part of the mouse in a squeaky voice. The baby giggled. Woon only shook his head disdainfully.

“I still remember the scrawny runt who dreamed of a glowing orb to light the night sky. Called it a ‘moon.’ Baby-babbling gibberish. I shudder to think how that world may be coping with the gravitational nonsense a ‘moon’ would inflict.” 

Woon’s thoughts returned to his present master, a curly-haired boy whose mouth still throbbed with emerging teeth. He fell silent as he watched the child’s mother close the book and kiss her son goodnight. The sleepy toddler calmly watched his mother leave the room, and then began his usual shifting and grunting as he found a comfortable position to sleep. 

The dreams were projected amid the haze of Woon’s home nebula. Once the little boy’s consciousness had shifted from his waking reality to his dreams, Woon would set to work. 

Woon had no choice but to create a world which perfectly matched the one in the child’s dream. He was incapable of trespassing outside of its bounds. Doing so would cause dissonance in every cell of his body, for it was his very nature to obey the dream. It was the tragedy of his existence that he must so detest what he did, and yet be obliged to do it.

Woon gritted his teeth as the features of the boy’s bedroom began to slowly disappear. His muscles stiffened as he instinctively prepared to create a new world. 

His work was not difficult; it glided as smoothly as the arms of a galaxy. 

Receiving orders from babies was difficult. Humiliating.

“Wait! What…what is this?”

The bitterness that had festered in Woon’s spirit for eons suddenly dimmed, and was replaced with confusion. Woon had never experienced confusion before. 

The projection was blank. Not like dreamless sleep, but rather a deliberate void. Like a drawing which had been erased with much effort. 

The child was dreaming of an empty world.

Woon had never seen anything like it before. It takes more effort to contemplate nothing than it does to invent something. Could a child be capable of imagining nothingness?

But wait–there was something. Just one something. Woon focused on it until it became clear and life-sized. Then he felt a quick surge of bewildered panic, for what he saw was himself.

There were other beings like Woon, of course. There was one for each living child who slept more than they were awake. Woon had rarely seen another like himself, but he had seen enough to know that they were all different. The one in the dream projection was not another like himself. It was Woon.

The child had dreamed him.

Woon watched himself in tearful amazement. He saw his dreamed-self laugh and dance, wings outstretched and wild mane streaming in all directions. Then, slowly and gracefully, a colorful world began to form, but the dream-Woon was not making it. It was being spun around him like a garment, warming his back from above and supporting his weight from below. The clawed feet of the dream-Woon no longer pawed empty space, but instead found purchase on jeweled mountains and splashed in the cobalt seas. The sky was marbled with copper and ivory, and a myriad of crimson rings wreathed the globe. 

It was the loveliest sight his ancient eyes had seen. For all its deafening symphony of color, Woon felt only rest and satisfaction as he watched this world unfold. This world was designed for Woon, seemingly by a mind which knew him better than he knew himself. He settled deeply into the vision, welcoming it with the quietness that only comes when a need is met by someone who understands it. 

For the first time, a great paradox erupted in the universe, and a door which had never been opened was now creaking on its hinges. 

Woon merged with his dreamed-self, and became a new creature. 

He was no longer bound by any oath, his purpose no longer to work, but to rest and enjoy.

He blinked in the brightness of the world. It was the first time his feet had rested on solid ground. He had a sense that he should be solemnly contemplating this momentous change, but all he felt was eager joy.

Woon soared to the next glittering mountain range with one flap of his massive wings, alighting with a hearty laugh, though his eyes still streamed with tears. The simple peace which welled up inside him was new and shocking, but also felt natural, as though he had really been intended for it all along. It was strangely familiar. Woon realized that he had seen this feeling written on each of the faces of the children he had served. Selfless, joyful, acceptance. Just the deep, deep knowledge that his needs had been met, and his life mattered. 

Woon thought again of the sleeping baby who, whether he knew it or not, had set him free for eternity. The disgust he had once felt towards this child now seemed so foreign and senseless. 

“Surely he must know–he has to know–a paradoxical masterpiece of this scale cannot be an accident. Oh dear, is there a way–I must find a way…to say thank you…”

It was at that moment that Woon realized something important: this world was still under the control of the dreaming child. A funny little gasp near one of his clawed toes caught his attention, and he looked down to see a familiar curly head turning from side to side. 

Of course, Woon thought. He can write himself into the dream as easily as anything else. 

Woon lowered himself slowly until his great head lay flat against the mountain. The baby was climbing among the rocks near Woon’s claw, picking up the shimmering stones and babbling softly. He had not yet noticed that Woon was not part of the mountain. 

Woon’s heart swelled with love and respect for this powerful, tiny being. He breathed softly into the boy’s hair, and the child looked up into Woon’s eyes. 

A smile spread across the boy’s soft face, and he squealed, “Woon!”