A blank white canvas, devoid of life. And then, like a carpet, the horizon, a jet black line, unraveled itself across the white. Suddenly, frames, shapes, structures arose from that black line. The world has slowly been formed. Colors splashed onto every object, shades of reds, blues, yellows, filled this colorless place. Figures, people and animals, rose from the horizon next. The structures, figures, everything continued to grow and expand, multiplying and filling the blankness. The world of dreams and possibilities, slowly coming to fruition. The figures interacted, the colors of the world slowly changed. The shades dimmed, signifying that the night of this world was falling upon the sky. Stars flickered in the sky lazily as dim lights littered the streets of the world. Suddenly, the world went black. The book was closed. The world was put to sleep. Dropping his crayons, an infant child cried. His mother had taken away his drawing book. It was his bed time. He could not continue to draw his dream world. Instead, it was time for him to enter his own. Closing his eyes, the child drifted too sleep in his cradle, to the sound of his mother’s gentle lullaby. He found himself back in that blank white world. Across the white, streaked a jet black line. The horizon. The beginning of a world of his dreams, anew.