The Dream (What A Character WDC Contest)

Writer Lars dreams of publishing while sharing a magical life with his sprite wife Lyla,

Honey, I know, I know, I shouldn’t care whether or not I make it as a writer, we don’t need the money anyway, we’re doing fine. But it’s been my dream, since I was a kid, to become a published writer. I’ve sent my work to so many publishers, I can’t even remember them all.

“Well, sweetie, I know it’s been your dream, and I understand your desire to be heard. Perhaps you shouldn’t spend so much time thinking about what you haven’t accomplished and just revel in the facts of your life you have brought from nothing. I know you remember how we first began this life of splendor, we had to go eat dinner at your Dad’s place every night. Skinny college kids eating oatmeal for breakfasts, and Cup O’ Noodles for lunches, the occasional pizza when one of our friends invited us to join them. You know, like you’re always reminding me, be the best slave you can be, in whatever circumstance you are walking in.”

I pondered her words — the very same words I offered to her many times when we were younger — but it’s hard to swallow my own advice, it chokes, hangs sideways in my throat, sandpaper scraping all the way down into my mind. Physician, heal thyself!

“Lars,” Lyla says, “let’s forget about that stuff for the evening and go out to that steak place in town. I know it’s not the best, but it’s decent.”

OK, Lyla, that’s a great idea. It’s almost dinner-time anyway, and I could go for a t-bone or a fat sirloin.

I looked over at Lyla, drinking in her natural beauty. She’s a vision of Aphrodite in my mind — long, curly blond hair, perky little nose, and those lips, full and plump, covered with shiny raspberry lipstick — I’m putty in her embrace. I drown in those lips when she kisses me. When she smiles at me or touches me, I melt inside.

"Lars! I know where you are right now, stop staring! We’ve no time for hanky-panky, it’s almost 5:30!”

I smiled and turned away. She’s right, of course, she knows exactly how I think — and what I’m thinking.

Lyla walked into the bedroom to “freshen up,” while I changed shirts and combed my hair.

— A little later at the steakhouse in town —

“Good evening folks, just the two of you for dinner?” the hostess asks.

I nodded yes and she said, “Follow me please.”

We were seated at a cozy table in a corner by a window, pleasing me because I like to be able to look outside when I’m inside.

Lars! Answer the waitress! I snapped back to the present and said, t-bone and baked potato please, and I’ll have broccoli for the side. No butter on my steak, medium-rare. Butter, bacon bits and chives on the potato, no sour cream. Tea, half sweet, half un-sweet, no ice. She smiled and turned, heading to the pass with the order. Lyla, evidently had already given her order while I was in my museum of unfinished works, reliving my days with my dad, laughing, playing explorer in the wilderness. But now, I’m back in reality, my father having died some 10 years prior.

Lyla and I made small talk while we waited for our dinner, discussing the garden, the sideboards on the shed needing replacement, and the broken doorbell. Soon, our waitress returned with our drinks.

“Here you are folks, I’ll be back with your food soon. Is there anything I can get you in the mean-time?” I looked across the table at Lyla and she shook her head so I replied, “No thank’s, we’re good.” Soon she returned with our order; two beautiful t-bones and the steaming sides. We ate in silence, savoring the delicious flavor of the Black Angus beef.

While sitting there eating my steak, I thought about our tenuous hold on our lives here. We had a secret, a powerful secret that could unravel our lives here in a second. I’m fine, but Lyla is quite unpredictable. She’s excitable and when she’s excited, she can flip in a second. So far, she has managed just fine, other than that one time in a Walmart in Denver.

As we finished our plates, the waitress returned and I asked for my usual cup-of-coffee after dinner, black. Lyla reached into her purse and produced our travel bottle of honey.

“Lars, Lyla said, what do you think about the challenge? Do you know what you’re going to write?”

I’m thinking of making us the characters in this one, Lyla.

She looked at me, smiling, nodding her head slightly and said, “I like it.”

I know, I’ve only ever finished one story, but who knows? It’s supposed to be a fictional story. Perhaps if I write it, it will be the one. It’s long been my goal to win — something. My brain wants to write long drawn out descriptions of everything, not happy to just say it plainly. It never wants to be constrained by time or word count limits. I can spend three weeks writing a 24 line poem. This short story will challenge for me.

Lyla laughed, tea spilling from her mouth. I erupted with laughter at the sight of the tea spewing from her lips.

I placed the tip for our waitress on the table and we strolled to the counter to pay for the meal.

“How was everything tonight Lars? Enjoy the steaks?” Lyla and I looked at each other, she nodded and I said, everything was fine Robert! Thanks for the corner table. You’re quite welcome Lars, it’s always a pleasure to have Lyla, and you too, chuckling as he said it. I smiled, I’m used to men eyeing Lyla, she’s a smokin’ hot-pepper in tight jeans, or anything else for that matter. I smiled and rolled my eyes. I said, smiling, next time Robert. “Have a great evening, folks,” Robert replied as he gave Lyla his best smile. I looked at her and we both burst, laughing all the way out the door. I glanced back to see what I figured I’d see, Robert countenance stricken — mesmerized by my Lyla as she walked away. If they only knew the truth, our happy life here would end…

Once in the Jeep, we small talked all the way home for 23 miles to the little valley we live in. We lingered on the front porch swing, gently moving to and fro, gazing into the twilight’s glow, the last bits of Sun spilling fire on the rocks at the peak of the mountains overlooking our cabin. The stream flowing down the side of the mountain gleaming like a fiery silver thread powered by the setting Sun. It’s beautiful — breathtakingly so. Liquid fire of silver and gray slicing through the rocks and dirt. I loved sitting on the front porch in the evenings. It’s soothing to the soul, like shalom under the tongue, the sight causing me to relax into the swing. I wasn’t worried about the challenge now, it will be what it will be.

“Earth to Lars, Earth to Lars, come in Lars, speak to the forest sprite!” Says forest Sprite Lyla.

“LYLA! You’re not supposed to do that! What if someone were to see you?” That would probably be the end of our time in this wonderful place.

“Oh, Lars, it’s OK, there’s nobody around for miles. We are in the middle of the Ouachita National Forest.”

I couldn’t argue, she was right as usual. Never argue with a sprite, she’s always right. So says the sprites anyway. They have certain powers of persuasion.

“C’mon, Lars, lets have fun! I’ll race you to the creek and back. Winner chooses the flavor!”

She was referring to the ice cream we’re going to eat afterward. Hmph, I chuckled, it’s so not a fair match, I can’t fly.

“GO!” She said, and with that Lyla burst from the porch, her wings like a hummingbird, mach 1 or two, I’m sure. I had no sooner leapt from the porch and she was out of sight screaming toward the creek that was some 1/8th mile beyond.

When I reached the creek she was already there circling a big ancient oak, laughing and dancing as she flew round and round. I was slightly winded from running as fast as I could, even though I knew already. It’s her game, she loves it, and I love her. For Lyla, I’ll play it forever, and gladly.

She slowed and stopped in the air, hovering with that silly smile and a twinkle in her eyes. “Ready — Set — GO!”

She was still hovering there. I smiled, chuckled a little, now she’s teasing me, giving me the head-start, probably allowing me to get almost to the porch before she zips past me to sit on the swing. I burst out laughing, and she started laughing so hard she popped back into her full size form, surprised, barely able to land on her feet as I scrambled to catch her. We tumbled together onto the forest floor. We burst again with uncontrollable, guttural laughter. Tears were streaming from our eyes as we pushed ourselves from the ground and started walking toward our cabin.

Once inside, Lyla made coffee while I went to my desk and began writing the 2000 word short story for the What A Character : Official WDC Contest.

My mind started to drift into the museum where I work. I walked around, looking at all the fantastic ideas I have stored in there. The World of MAR, Writers’ Block, The Fold, The Tag, The Chute and on and on through the alphabet and back around to the Ss. I wasn’t feelin’ it, I had teased Lyla about writing a story about us.

I pulled myself free of my imagination as Lyla brought a steaming mug of southern pecan coffee and sat it on my big wooden desk.

Thanks, Lyla, you’re a sweetheart! OK, time to get to the story,

—- My cell rang —

Hello?

“Hi, this is Kevin with the publisher. Lars?”

Yes, it’s me, Lars.

“We love your manuscript and we’d like to publish it. Are you available for a Zoom meeting?“

Sure! Let’s do this!

Kevin replied, “OK, great, I’ll shoot you an email with the invite. I expect you’ll have it before we hang up.”

Ding! You’re right, there it is.

I clicked the link and the page came up on-screen. I spoke with Kevin ironing out the details, he said the lawyer would sent it over tomorrow.

Kevin says, “OK, there we have it, we’ll talk after you’ve examined the contract and are ready complete the process.”

I immediately sent the contract to my attorney for review. After all, I’ve been waiting for this day for years. My fault — I didn’t pursue the writing as I should have.

Lyla was so excited she flipped to her true self, zipping around the room, a streak of light, sparks popping off of her as she circled. Finally she calmed down coming to rest on the edge my desk.

“Let’s go visit my clan in the forest. It’s been over a year now. You can work in the cave entrance, sunlight and all, you know how you like it there!”

OK, we’ll go. I’ll finish one of the stories I started, The Tag. I’m so excited, maybe I’ll finish another one also.

We packed up our supplies, loaded the Jeep, and headed deep into the forest to Lyla’s world. When we arrived, we placed all my writing paraphernalia in a pile around me. The elder sprite, Lyla’s great-great grandmother, sprinkled some beautiful multi-colored dust over my head and over my belongings — POOF! I am now a sprite sized writer, ready to scorch some paper with my mind’s fiery ink.

2000 words

Written by Noisy Wren for the “What a character : Official WDC Contest
May 8, 2025