[Mordred]: 676.Contest Entries.Five Words Contest.August 07

August Words: music, sleep, midnight, frustration, people

In the deepest black of midnight, strains of a tune long forgotten wafted through the chill September air. It was a song for the ears of children; for those little ones too innocent to know the frustration of the world. The young ones, roused from their beds by the music, scurried down the streets and out of the cities, to the place where the mushrooms grew tall as grown-ups and sleep did not exist. All around them were gossamer-winged faeries and petal-clad elves, all no larger than a finger. These were the Woodland Folk, the Little People. In dreams did they exist, and in dreams they would remain, for the memories of the sight would be, as always, no more than a shade by morning.