The Boy Made of Rags

The Boy Made of Rags

This story is based off a dream I had when I was five, and I haven't forgotten a single detail to this day. The story starts with Abbey, the protagonist, explaining the dream she had at a young age. After the dream finishes, it cuts to real life. However, Abbey has never forgotten this dream or anything about it. Is it possible that it's something more than a dream?

published on June 04, 20177 reads 6 readers 0 not completed
Chapter 1.
The Dream

The Dream

        The music was deafening. Well, now that I think about it, it wasn’t even music. It was just noise. Random bursts of a drum, a guitar being strummed carelessly, and a voice in the background, not saying anything, and not even singing, just making noise.
        There were dozens of people around me. All were much older than me. It was some kind of party, and I had no clue how or when I’d gotten here. I crawled around on the floor, not being able to stand up because the sounds of the music and the people screaming made my legs tremble.
        I kept crawling until I reached a large, black object. It was a refrigerator. It was slightly pushed out away from the wall it was obviously meant to be against. Upon seeing this, I knew I could hide back there until everyone left, considering how small I was, and then figure out what had happened afterward.
        So, I make my way behind the fridge, and then I see him. A little boy, curled up, turned away from me, weeping quietly.
        “Hey, are you okay?” I ask, poking his shoulder. He turns and looks at me. He’s… not human?
        “Who are you?” the little boy asked after he turned around to see me. He looked about 6-years-old.
        “My name’s Abbey,” I explained softly, “Are you lost?”
        “Y-yes… The last thing I remember was being at home, and then I woke up here. I want to go home,” the boy said, sniffling.
        He looked like he was made of rags. They were faded, and you could see stitch marks where the colors changed. He had one black button and one gray button where his eyes should be. His mouth was stitched on, but it moved when he spoke. His ears and nose were simple flaps hanging off his head.
“I can take you home,” I replied, after taking a brief moment to study his appearance.  Though it didn’t look like it through the sea of people, I could tell that I was in my home. Why shouldn’t this little boy be allowed to go back to his?
“You can? Thank you so much!” the boy exclaimed, standing up. He held out a hand to pull me off the floor. I accepted and felt his hand. It was scratchy and worn down, yet somehow, it felt soft at the same time.
“Let’s hurry out the front door before anyone notices us. I don’t know if they’ll care, but let’s not risk it!” I whispered to him. I couldn’t see anything, but I could still maneuver my way around the house and through the people’s legs.
When we got to the front door, I reached up and opened it quickly, pulled the boy out with me, and closed it. It was quiet and serene and tranquil outside. Somehow, just reaching the outdoors completely drowned out the music.
“Do you know how to get to your home from here?” I asked the boy. He looked around for a moment. Our house was right next to a forest kind of area, but not as big. The woods.
“No, but I might be able to find my way after walking around a bit,” the boy said quietly.
“Well, let’s go!” I exclaimed. I tugged on the boy’s hand and that’s when we reached the woods.
It was dark outside, it must’ve been at least midnight. The only light was the dim moonlight. The ground was slightly damp, so it must have rained. Leaves covered the ground, worms wriggled about, spiders scurried from place to place. The sound of owls hooting filled the quiet air. The boy held my hand and led me through the woods as if he was scared I would disappear.
“I recognize this place,” he whispered, and he walked faster. I dashed forward a bit so I was beside him. I was slightly taller than him, but not by much.
As we continued our walk, I started to notice things I’d never thought about before. I noticed the ways tree trunks curved off into branches and the way grass swayed in the wind. I noticed the way birds seemed to be talking to each other as they chirped. I noticed how gorgeous the world truly was.
That’s when I saw it; a log cabin. A rocking chair sat on the porch, and the house was lit by lanterns. There was a window on the front. It was a simple little house, but it was calming to look at. The boy saw the house and pulled me onto the front porch.
“This is my home,” he announced. When he said this, a figure appeared in the window. It was a woman, probably in her late 30s or early 40s. She was very similar to the boy made of rags. The only difference was that she was much taller, had straps of fabric flowing from her head, and had two green buttons in place of her eyes.
“Mom!” the boy shouted when he saw her in the window. The woman smiled calmly as if she wasn’t surprised to see her son after he had disappeared. The boy opened the door and walked inside. He stopped in the doorway for a moment then turned around.
“Stay here for just a second!” He exclaimed. He ran inside and reemerged a few moments later. He held a quilt in his hands.
“It’s a gift to remember me!” He stated, handing me the blanket.
“T-thank you,” I said, taking the quilt. It was surprisingly soft, though the fabric looked extremely scratchy.
“No, thank you for taking me home, Abbey. Good-bye.”
I turned around and began to walk home, and then I turned back around.
“By the way, what’s your name?” I called out, being fairly far from the house now. His mouth began to open, but then I woke up in my room, in my bed.
It was all a dream.
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