LODESTAR GAZETTE | LODESTAR PROMPT | FLASH FICTION
Dreams Painted on Brick
A sceptical man’s walk to self-discovery
This is in response to this Week’s Lodestar Prompts:
Written Prompt: On an ordinary street, a graffiti wall changes its images daily, depicting the dreams of those who pass by. A sceptical onlooker sees his dream and is drawn into a journey of self-discovery.
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Every morning, my route to work is the same. A dull march through grey streets, my mind as foggy as the dawn. Today, however, something caught my eye — a vibrant graffiti wall, ever-changing, a splash of colour amidst the concrete.
I’d passed it countless times, barely sparing it a glance, dismissing it as an urban artists’ playground. But today, something was different.
As I drew closer, a curious sensation prickled my skin. The wall, known for its daily transformations, depicted a peculiarly familiar scene that halted me.
There, painted with astounding precision, was my secret dream — a dream I’d never shared, of standing atop a snow-capped mountain, alone, the world stretching infinitely below.
How? The question throbbed in my mind, a persistent drumbeat. This was no coincidence. It felt like the universe had laid bare my innermost desires for all to see. But who could wield such power to pluck thoughts from my head and paint them onto brick?
Intrigued, I returned the next day. And the day after. Each morning, a new dream and secret is unveiled on the wall. Not mine this time, but those of others, indeed. Faces in the crowd paused and stared, some with wonder, others with tears. This wall was a mirror to our souls.
Determined to uncover the artist, I decided to keep watch one night. As evening faded to night, the street emptied, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The anticipation was a live wire under my skin. Midnight approached, yet nothing stirred. Then, just as I began to doubt, a figure emerged from the shadows.
Cloaked in anonymity, the artist worked with fluid grace, their movements a dance. I dared not blink lest the magic break. Hours passed, the mural taking shape — a young girl with a violin, her eyes closed in serene concentration. As the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, the artists vanished as if they were never there.
Compelled by a force I couldn’t explain, I approached the wall. My fingers brushed against the cool brick, half expecting it to ripple. The girl with the violin… I knew her. A neighbour’s daughter, a prodigy, who’d played her heart out to an empty street last week.
This wall, this remarkable canvas, didn’t just display dreams. It was a beacon of hope, a silent encourager, whispering, “Dare to believe.” The realisation struck me like a thunderclap. We walk through life, our deepest yearnings locked away for fear of ridicule, of failure. Yet here was tangible and bright proof that dreams were worth the risk.
I decided to seek out the artists, not to unmask them, but to thank them. My search led me to corners of the city I’d never seen and conversations with strangers who felt like friends. Each had a story, a dream painted on the wall, a life touched by mystery.
Weeks turned to months, and the artist remains an enigma. Yet, the journey itself became my revelation. I found pieces of myself in every story, every dream shared in hushed tones. My scepticism, once a cloak I wore with pride, had unravelled, thread by thread.
One evening, as I stood before the wall, now a ritual, a voice broke my trance. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” A woman, her eyes reflecting the myriad hues before us. We talked, first about the wall, then of dreams — hers, mine, ours. I found a kindred spirit in her, a fellow traveller on this road of self-discovery.
The wall had changed me. No longer a sceptical onlooker, I became a believer in the power of dreams. It taught me to listen and see the world and its people. Our dreams connect us in ways we can scarcely imagine, whether big or small.
Now, I share my story not for fame or accolades but hoping that it might inspire others to look beyond the brick-and-mortar of their existence. To find the graffiti walls in their lives and dare to dream openly and fiercely.
Ultimately, it’s not the answers we find, but the questions we ask and the journeys we embark upon that truly define us. And sometimes, all it takes in a grey world is a little colour to remind us of that.
| C.J. Coop © 2024. All rights reserved. |
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