“A dreamer is one who can only find his way by moonlight, and his punishment is that he sees the dawn before the rest of the world.” --Oscar Wilde
This is the story of Brooke Keitha.
Brooke had always been a dreamer, her head always in the clouds. She had always preferred to stay in the world of her fantasies rather than the cold, harsh reality. It was so much easier to drift away in a pleasant daydream rather than face the cruel taunts and jeers of the other children at the orphanage. It was so much easier than facing the prospect of loneliness. Brooke was lonely---she had always been lonely, but she managed to cope by dreaming. While the others were off playing she would sit on a rock and stare up at the sky. She had always been different, that much was plain to see. She saw the world from her unique perspective, in soft pinks and vivid blues. She refused to be blinded by the false illusion of security; her keen eyes picked out the loose threads, the splotches of hate and fear beneath the beautifully woven tapestry. It was a shame, she had always thought. And so she chose not to see, she chose instead to dream. She chose to hide her loneliness and sadness behind a mask, a mask of dreams and fantasy. And no one saw her when she cried.