Dreamy

Dreamy was on a boat made of a leaf, on a river made of milk, going towards a mountain that was definitely made of cake.

Dreamy was also, technically, in the middle of a maths lesson.

"Dreamy?"

The boat vanished. The classroom came back, slightly too bright, with everybody looking.

"Sorry," said Dreamy. "What was the question?"

This happens most days. Dreamy's head is the softest, strangest, loveliest place in Candyfloss Land — whole worlds get built in there, with weather and rules and a proper ending — and it turns up at the wrong moments and takes Dreamy away for several minutes at a time.

Afterwards Dreamy felt the usual flat feeling. Why can't I just stay here like everybody else?

Tipsy found Dreamy on the step.

"What was it this time?"

"A cake mountain," said Dreamy gloomily. "It was really good, actually. There was a bit where the river went uphill."

"And where is it now?"

Dreamy stopped. "Gone. They always go. That's the other bad bit — I lose them, and then I've been told off and I haven't even got the dream."

Tipsy handed over a small notebook.

"When one turns up at the wrong time," said Tipsy, "don't fight it and don't follow it. Draw it. Three lines, ten seconds, in here. Then it's saved, and you can come back for it at break."

Dreamy was doubtful. Ten seconds did not seem like enough for a cake mountain.

It turned out to be plenty. Three wobbly lines: a boat, a river, a lumpy triangle. Dreamy looked at it at break time and the whole thing came flooding back, river running uphill and all.

The jar has eleven dreams in it now. Nopsy borrowed one for a story. Doodle painted two of them. Mopsy, on a grey Thursday, asked whether there was one with a soft place in it, and there was.

That is really what Dreamy is for. Dreamy dreams up whole worlds and lends them to friends who need somewhere soft to sit for a bit.

They just keep better in a jar than in the middle of maths.