The Gallery of Forgotten Dreams

Small shoulders, small hands, and a dipping undulating gait characterized Ms. Reef. I watched her move through the aisles of the library, stopping every so often to pick something up or correct a misplaced book. I sat in the farthest seat from the door, the one next to her desk, reading a book that I had found on the seventh shelf. That row of shelves is more than seven feet above the ground so I had furtively climbed, without being spotted by Ms. Reefs, of course, up the two lowest shelves.

The book was worth the bother. The cover was old and tattered, the authors name worn from sight, but I could still read the title. It said in long, curly letters:

The Gallery of Forgotten Dreams

And I thought to myself, 'Forgotten they are indeed if left on high, untouched shelves and never spoken of.'

I returned to the book and began reading the first line of faded ink...