“Let me paint you a world.” He paused, smiling. In this creation only the purest of colours are used. Hate, pain and bitterness with their somber hues cannot exist, their grim blacks, browns, and purple shadows are melted by the brilliance of the light. They do not cease to exist, rather they are transformed.”
“Think of water flowing, forming rainbows in the wind, creating with its touch the things and beings that inhabit this place.” Colours leap from his brush to embrace the air, dancing, cavorting, as if set free from their confinement among the somber hues.
“But how… How can we do it,” a man asked, voice quivering at the splendor before him.
The dream master turned, his brush suspended.
“Words are real things,” he answered. “You breathe them upon the air and colour the world around you. The world you perceive is the outcome of the words you utter. The secret is to choose your pallet well, to use the best and most beautiful pigments.”
“What if others paint ugliness?” a gruff voice chimed from the back.
“Why then you repaint!” he answered with a smile.