39 Dreams

And then he woke up.

The sun was already halfway up the sky, so he rushed through breakfast, packed his tent into his backpack and set off up the mountain. And he knew that today he would reach the top. Today he would get his prize.

Dusty and tired he reached the summit and there growing right out of the rock was the blood red rose. He stretched out his hand. Grabbed it. The thorns pierced his skin, but he ignored the sting. He pulled until the stem snapped.

‘Ha!’ he said, the blood dripping from his hand, ‘I did it.’

And the whole mountain trembled. The rock beneath his feet cracked.

‘But I got it!’ he screamed, ‘I won!’

But the mountain was already crumbling.

And then he woke up.

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