Aurelia and Uncle Ari’s Dream-Powered Marshmallow Factory
A Tidemark bedtime story
Each night, when the moon made the river shine bright,
Uncle Ari’s tall factory flickered alight. A kettle stood ready. A whipper stood still. They waited for magic to hum through the mill.
A bedtime wish made the copper pipes glow.
A sleeping-time dream made the big belt go. The children cried, “Marshmallows! Fluffy! Hooray!” But bedtime came near, and they groaned, “Not today!”
Daddy opened the book. “On a moon-silvery night—”
“I can wake Ari’s factory!” cried Aurelia. “Right! I’ll wish him one marshmallow, pillowy-white, big enough for a nibble, a hug, and a bite!”
Her wish zipped away with a zing-zangle-PING!
The kettle glowed gold. The whipper went WING! But the belt gave a shiver, then stopped with a sigh. “Wishes wake us,” called Ari. “Dreams make us fly.”
Aurelia looked at her bed. Then the chair.
“My dream needs a launchpad. I’ll build it right there!” Daddy lowered the recliner and spread one throw. “Bed, bunnies, hand. That’s the best way to go.”
She fluffed every cushion. She straightened each ear.
She nudged the two bunnies from there over here. She finished one job. Then, pop! What do you know? A brand-new job squeaked, “You forgot me! Hello!”
Two throws! Two bunnies! A train! One more rule!
A rocket! A block! Every launch-tool was cool. The chair held it all in a wobble-top pile. Except for Aurelia—not even by a mile.
She lifted the bunnies to clear out a space.
One snagged the bed blanket; one leaned face-to-face. She paused. “Maybe cozy is cozy enough. Maybe dreams don’t need mountains and mountains of stuff.”
One bunny tucked under her arm in the bed.
One bunny sat snug in its basket instead. She slipped beneath covers and squeezed Daddy’s hand. “Bed. Bunny. Hand. That’s a fine launching plan!”
Daddy read softly. The room settled slow.
Her eyelids grew heavy; her breathing sank low. A door made of dreamlight swung open and wide, and WHOOSH! She found Uncle Ari inside.
Her dream spun the whippers. The pipes gave a shine.
The syrup flowed smoothly all down the long line. It puffed into pillows and plopped into trays. One marshmallow grew beneath moon-silvered rays.
A floorboard went creak. Her eyes opened—ker-PIP!
The factory paused with a soft little blip. “Keep going,” she whispered. Dad read by her bed. Her eyes closed again. Back through dreamlight she sped.
The box was too small by a whisker or three.
The marshmallow puffed out as proud as could be. Ari laughed, “We’ll send it—each bulge, bump, and bend!” Even bumpy bedtimes make sweet dreams in the end.
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