Nightjail

by

Needs polishing and perhaps 55-ing if I can.

Nightjail,

by Ari Collins

When I was little I had dozens of recurring nightmares.  Then one night I dreamt of a man made of lava who helped me build a jail.  We gathered all my nightmares and threw them in there, and he promised he’d serve as the guardian of my worst dreams.

I turned eighteen yesterday.  And last night  my lava man knelt before me in my dream.  He said, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t hold them any longer.”  Drops of ash fell from his eyes.  “Nightmares grow up too.”

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