It was a disturbing dream. Everything was in color, everything felt real, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. However, as a lucid dreamer, I knew it was just a dream. 

I was working at a day care that the dream said I had worked at before and was returning to after some time away. I didn’t recognize the place, but I was working there. The actual building was small, just some white concrete with a roof and glass walls to see outside. Everyone but a few people were outside. The back had a light concrete slope leading down to the little pond with crystal-clear water; the area surrounding the water was covered in healthy green jungle foliage. 

Occasionally I saw a babysitter or the boss walk through the foliage. During the tour of the facility, I was brought through the greenery, having to fight some of the plants to get through, only to be shown a door leading to an alley on the left side. We had walked in from the right, trekking all the way around just to see this. 

The tour complete, we got back to work. I took care of many children throughout the day, varying in age but mostly handled toddlers and babies. I wasn’t told the name of any of them. As the day dwindled and the children were being picked up, I noticed the no-more-than-two-year-old sitting up beside me on the concrete had not yet been picked up by a parent. No one else seemed bothered by this. 

I noticed the boy had filled his diaper, so I hurried to gather a diaper and wipes to change him. He wasn’t wearing anything else, same as the other younger children, so I didn’t have to worry about moving his clothes out of the way. As I tried to clean him up, I noticed he was eating a hot dog with one hand and had some green leafy dip and chili dip beside him in a plastic container. I hadn’t seen how he got the food, but since it seemed to be distracting him while I cleaned him up, I wasn’t going to try to stop him from eating. 

The first issue I noticed was that it was taking a lot more work to clean him up than I had anticipated. I was desperately scrounging for more wipes when I noticed the dirty diaper was not rolled up and tossed. It was open and had the exact same colors as the dips the boy had been eating. To my horror, the poor boy was dipping his hot dog into the filth instead of the actual food. Any attempts I made to stop him, get the filth away, and keep him from eating any more of it were futile. All I could do was clean him up as fast as I could, pick him up, and get away from the problem. 

Holding the baby close, because to me he was clearly nothing more than a baby, I trekked through the foliage on the right side and was making my way toward the other side in this weird semicircle. I was hoping to save the baby and keep him away from the filth. Hopefully it was taken care of, since part of the job was cleaning up garbage. 

While in the foliage, I noticed some trash around, so I swapped the baby into one arm and picked up the trash with the other hand. I quickly noticed there was so much trash I was randomly finding that I would need to come back and clean out the area once the child is picked up and is no longer my responsibility. With this in mind, I took the trash I could in one hand and the baby in the other as I made toward the left side of the foliage, intending to exit the plants entirely. 

I tripped before I could make it out. I managed to hold onto the baby, thank goodness, but let the trash go to brace myself. Looking around, the baby was safe in my hold, but there was something else under the foliage. It was another baby. 

This baby was younger than the one in my hold. This one was clearly sick. The hair on her head had turned white and prickly like a hedgehog, and on top of her head there was a hole in her skin, revealing a purple, coconut-hard, raised growth inside. The word that came to mind was “tumor.” The baby had a tumor, even though I knew that wasn’t the right word for whatever this was. I just knew that the baby was sick and still alive somehow.

Knowing this baby was here, abandoned by someone—I wasn’t sure if it had been another babysitter or a parent somehow—I began to search for more. I found two others, both young. One little boy was sick like the little girl and was so little he couldn’t be older than a month or two. Another little girl was still healthy and closer to the age of the baby boy I was originally carrying through the foliage. 

I wasn’t sure how, but I managed to hold all four babies in my two arms and carried them through. I easily noticed how the foliage seemed to cling more, as if trying to steal the babies away. Once or twice a baby or two was pulled out of my arms, but I went back and got them. As I finally made it out of the jungle, hurrying toward the boss, I noticed I was missing the original baby boy I had been carrying and turned to see him stuck at the edge of the foliage without a complaint. I rushed back and got him, then brought him and the other three I found to my boss. 

The look on her face when I brought her the babies, worrying about their lack of care and even doubting my own care for children because of the find, made me confused. As I mentioned there might even be more babies lost in the foliage than the few I found, my boss stopped me and had an odd sympathetic and mournful look on her face. 

She said there wasn’t really a point to search or even to bring the sick ones I found to the hospital. They weren’t likely to survive anyway. She pointed out how the parents never came to claim the missing children. No one had. She said there was no point in attempting to save them since there was nothing we could really do. This broke my heart. 

Later that day we had a funeral for the sick babies in the concrete front of the building with glass windows. I didn’t count how many there were, but there were more than two. The still-living babies were kept in a pen on the concrete slope, playing together. There were more than two in there, but not many. 

When I woke up I knew what the dream meant: the children of the world are in danger. They need prayers and help. Those who haven’t been properly cared for don’t know what’s good for them and so are consuming filth. Also, so many are sick, dying, and have been abandoned. Meanwhile, the world is just letting it happen, saying there is no point in attempting to help since there is nothing that can be done. The devil is after the children, and the younger ones are in the most danger.

The night was usually a reprieve. We could walk around and commune together without fear of our warden tormenting us for a few hours. Just the other day she brought a human through our halls with a camera. Upon their approach Janitor put down his book, put his helmet back on, and hurried back to cleaning the floors. Penny was still in her room, so she was safe. Gracie hid behind her teddy bear as Miss Roberts approached, but I knew that would not be enough to protect her. I waved her back to her room across the hall as I scurried back to my own, keeping a close eye on Roberts and the human as they walked past. I may be the youngest animatronic here, but that did not mean I was the least damaged. Roberts was the reason my voice box was damaged and my face had melted off, leaving nothing but a smooth silver exterior similar to Janitor. I would not let any other animatronics in the building be hurt. There was nothing I could do as Roberts approached Ring Master, but thankfully nothing happened as the camera rolled. Now the night was filled with noise, the reprieve gone. The commercial, as Roberts had called it, was a job posting for a new night guard position. Perhaps Roberts saw humans as easily expendable, like the first night guards she had hired to torment us. Two didn’t survive my judgment, one of which still hung in my room as a warning. No one hurts my friends, and no one enters my room with malicious intent.

Roberts has been interviewing for hours. She sends them in groups, three or four at a time. Guide leads them past our rooms, where we have been warned to stay, and occasionally opens the door for the humans to gawk at us before the humans walk into the camera monitoring room. All remains quiet for a time, but the humans are supposed to make their rounds to each room eventually. Roberts never trusted us to behave, and I doubt she knows the meaning of the word. I broke the security camera in my room days ago, and each time Roberts has it fixed, I break it again. Roberts has no business in my room, and I intend to keep it that way. 

Various humans have entered my room tonight. Some were just checking to make sure I was there, while others asked for directions. I pointed, and they hurried away. One confused human said Ring Master had lost her cane and it had been left in my room. This is true, but it was not the only cane in my room. The human reached for the wrong cane, and though I tried to stop her, she snatched it and hurried away in fear. She returned with a chastised look on her face and asked again for the cane. I grabbed it and brought it toward her slowly, offering it to the human. She snatched it and ran. All was quiet for a bit until I could hear Janitor’s clunky feet chasing another human that had pissed him off, likely having tampered with the fuse box again. 

I looked around my web-infested room as I heard the latest group of humans scared out of the building. Roberts would not be pleased. A few minutes later, Janitor opened my door and handed me Ring Master’s cane, which I set against the wall for the next victim to come find. If we could scare away enough humans, maybe Roberts would have to shut down. I waited in the dark, listening to the spiders skitter across their webs with amusement. These beautiful creatures were my children now, and they accepted me as their queen, just as Guide liked to tell each human as they opened my door. I was left waiting again, sitting in the dark, waiting for my next victim to scare. 

The next human male who entered was different. He bowed his head in reverence when he saw me and did not flinch as I approached. He lowered himself to one knee and kindly requested Ring Master’s cane, calling me his queen all the while. No human had ever shown me such respect before. I gave him the cane, and he thanked me, bowing low to show respect. I was touched. He requested to leave my presence now so he could return Ring Master’s cane as he was tasked. Unable to speak, I nodded. He bowed once more and left after one last word of reverencing me as his queen once more. I stood there for a long while afterward. If I could smile, I would have. If more humans were like him, perhaps humans were not so bad after all. Surely not all could be like Roberts.

The mind does not always wait

For pen and paper

Nor computer

Nor phone

Nor wall

The words come and go

Flitting through brain matter

Sparking into words

Need to write it down

Need to get it out

Let the words pour out

Over the hands

Onto the page

Or the digital screen

Or the wall

In my bag

I keep extra paper and pens

A small journal

Filled with words that have no meaning

And words that do

Just bleeding into the pages

In my pocket

My phone keeps notes

Of thoughts through the day

Of ideas I need to keep

But barely glance at

Unless the mind’s

pools of thought run dry

In the shower

I keep washable crayons

For when the inspiration hits

For when the ideas are too loud

They just have to get out

The mind does not always wait

For pen and paper

Nor computer

Nor phone

Nor wall

You win without trying

The test ended

When you strut but don’t stumble

Still you tremble

When you meet the one

Love of your life

When you fly over trouble

Never touching the ground

When you succeed on your own merit

Trust in yourself

When you’re true to yourself

Forever you must be

When nothing can touch you

Bless him forever

When you’re free to be you

I’m free to be me

Is it luck or something else?

Limbs heavy

Head stuffy

Vision blurry

Thoughts sluggish

Yet racing

Can’t move

Can’t act

Can’t respond

Trapped inside my own body

Invisible weight

Crushing me down

Just light twitching

Can’t move further

Need to snap out of it

Need something to ground

Something to startle

Something to change

Pull me out of the haze

Have thoughts

Dreams of the future

Regrets from the past

Fond memories I laugh at

Sad memories that make me cry

Nowhere to go, nothing to do

Just me and my thoughts

Thinking of you

Imagine your handsome face

Your pretty eyes

That look on your face

I’d happily die

Just to keep your smile

And hold you close

Until my last breath

Not yours, never yours

You must keep breathing

Keep living on

I can meet up later

Just don’t be the one

Who leaves first

Let me go

I don’t want to hold on

Meet me later

Don’t make me stay

I can’t bear such heartache

Don’t make me

please

Coat of colors, Joseph can find

The answer to every dream

Today, so can we

One such dream,

From days past

I can still recount

A meaning I have deduced without doubt:

Afraid of silence, of being left behind,
Longing for arms that promise shelter.
The tender ache of children

so open, so fragile
Soft hearts mirror the risk of my own.

To rise beyond the weight of waking walls,
Yet roots hold fast, growth denied,
Truth waits, unwelcome, at the door.

Could grace come from the unexpected?

Craving escape, a shift in skin,
But mistrust coils beneath my ribs;
To trust is to risk the fall.

Am I running toward freedom
Or simply away from the ache of the day?

To fly is to feel the soul stretch wide
Freedom, power, breath without boundary.
But the plane shakes, falls
My burdens haven’t learned to stay grounded.

Losing the wheel, the fear returns:
What if I fail again?
But the craft steadies
Terror faced, and courage found.

A new place waits, horizon unknown,
Yet the old longing lingers
For safety, for stars to follow,
For a voice to say, “You’re enough.”

I seek the warmth you once held,
A bowl of light for a weary spirit.

But doubt creeps in
Feeling small, steered by others, unsure.
Still, life doesn’t pause for fear.

So press on, feet dragging or flying,
Refusing to surrender what I’ve dreamt

She was ninety-eight

Gray-white hair

Pale and stiff

She was lowered down

Far below

Only three memories of her remain

She was in bed,

Her daughter-in-law feeding her

Still in bed,

Being cleaned up

Her in the coffin,

No life left.

Now here lies her son

His body is not here for viewing

He’s a cadaver

For med students to study

We gather still to pray

His wife is still here

Surrounded by their children

My dad among them

Will grandma be cared for

by one of her daughters-in-law?

Will the cycle repeat?

We’ll have to wait

and see

Grandpa loved to tell us
the story of his childhood,
a boy in Britain,
always in trouble
with the nuns who scolded,
Grow up, they’d snap.
No, he’d grin, not yet.

The boys’ bathroom stood
half-destroyed,
renovations underway
so off to the girls’ he went,
and there he saw
what the boys never had:
doors on the stalls.

Why no doors for us?
he asked the nun.
Boys don’t need doors,
she answered curtly.
But he thought otherwise.

The next day, a scream
they rushed to the girls’ room,
no doors in sight.
Dragged to the office,
he faced their fury.
Where are they?
Not with me

They searched his home
top to bottom,
no trace,
no doors.

They bought new ones,
installed them fresh,
and by morning
gone again.

This became the rhythm:
new doors,
missing doors,
nuns at his house,
coming up empty.

At last,
new doors arrived,
but this time
they went first
to the boys’ bathroom.
By morning,
all doors remained.

Still, the nuns watched him,
narrow-eyed,
knowing,
though proof eluded them.
And he,
with that sly grin,
held the truth:

Each night,
he had unscrewed them,
quiet as a whisper,
stacked them high
in the attic above the garage,
where no one thought to look.
His parents?
They never said a word.

And then,
one day,
the nuns stormed into the office for work
there on the desk,
every last door that had been missing
and a note atop:
That wasn’t so hard.

I remember that story
because he’s not here to tell it now.
So I tell it
to family, to friends,
to anyone who’ll listen.

A small act of mischief,
a spark of defiance,
a lesson passed down:
how to shape the world
with laughter,
how to carry stories
and make them live again.

Syllables

Count them all

What to do

What to say

No one knows

Skip a line

No luck there

Endless words

No meaning

Just stay here

Words on page

Fill it up

Go away