At three in the morning, when the city has long been asleep and even the cats have stopped roaming the roofs, one boy suddenly opened his eyes. He had a strange dream — as if he woke up, but the world around him was different. The room was bathed in twilight, and instead of walls, there was the starry sky. And then, from under the bed, crawled not someone scary, as in frightening tales, but on the contrary — a tiny figure in a hat made of moss, looking like a living spark. She sat on the edge of the pillow and said: “Don’t be afraid, I am your Guide. You have woken up in a fairytale.”
And what do you do when you wake up in a fairytale? You trust it. So the boy, although he didn’t quite understand what was happening, sat up in bed, looked at the starry sky instead of the ceiling, and said: “Where are we going?”
The Spark replied: “To where the night is not scary, and thoughts have form. To where children meet their dreams and can talk to them.”
Thus began the nocturnal journey. First, they passed through a mirror, but on the other side, there was no reflection. Everything there was made of thoughts: the room, the house, even the trees outside the window — everything was made of words that someone had once whispered before sleep. If you listened closely, you could hear them — “don’t be afraid,” “I am near,” “you are strong” — these are the very phrases that hold this world together.
They walked along a path strewn with fireflies. Suddenly, a figure emerged from the forest. Large, shadowy, silent. The boy was frightened, but the Spark just laughed: “This is your Fear. Don’t be afraid — come closer.”
And the boy approached. But the fear turned out not to be so scary. It was large, but it had kind eyes. It leaned down and whispered: “I am not against you. I am here to make you stronger. But only when you can look me in the eyes.”
The boy remembered this moment for the rest of his life. For the first time, he saw that the night is not for fear. It is for meeting oneself.
They went further. A lake spread out ahead. But the water there was not ordinary — it was mirrored, and in it, everyone saw not themselves, but who they could become. And the boy saw himself as a brave traveler who heals sick animals, helps those who are lost, and even knows how to talk to the wind. He asked the Spark: “Is this possible?”
The Spark nodded: “It is possible. But one must go. Sometimes through the darkness. Sometimes alone. But always forward.”
On the other side of the lake, they saw children. Many children. They slept in transparent cocoons hanging between the trees. And the Spark explained: “These are the dreams of other children. They are waiting to be seen. Because dreams do not disappear — they just wait.”
WOW:
And the boy understood: his dream is also someone. His dream is himself, whom he does not yet know. And perhaps he would never have met him if not for this night.
Suddenly, something flashed in the sky. A spark flying toward them. It was anxiety — someone had woken from a dream in tears. Someone who had lost hope. And the boy asked: “Can we help?”
The Spark nodded. They headed there — to that dream. Everything there was gray, and even the birds didn’t fly. But the boy closed his eyes and remembered what he had heard earlier — “you are strong,” “don’t be afraid,” “I am near.” And the words lit up in the air. And they became fireflies. And they became morning.
Because the night ends when faith appears in it.
Finally, the Spark led the boy to a tree. Old, silent, charred by lightning. And she said: “This is the tree of memory. Touch it — and you will remember.”
The boy touched it. And he saw his whole life — from the first step to the first tear. From the first defeat to the first victory. And he understood: all of it matters. Even what seemed like pain — it also glows from within, like an ember.
He opened his eyes. It was already morning light. The room was ordinary again. The mirror was ordinary. But something remained. Somewhere in a corner of his soul, there was a quiet confidence that the night is not just for sleep. It is for meeting oneself.
And when he was asked: “Did you dream of something?” — he smiled and said: “It was a fairytale. But I remembered it.”
Because the best fairytales are not about others. They are about you. And you wake up a little different. And a little better.
