[ WP ] A dream architect has been hired to create the first ever children 's nightmare .

It was an art, and like all arts, it needed a palette. 
 
 That was why Max sat in his dream room, confused at the request he had received earlier in the day. Most of the dreams he was asked to create involved stars, flowers, abilities to fly, and for his adult customers, members of the opposite sex ( or the same, in a whisper ). He twisted his ear, looking around his room, looking at depictions of his other works. 
 
 In the corner of the room sat a canvas displaying a beach. He stood near it, and immediately heard the sound of the crashing waves and felt his toes dig into the sand. He walked away from this dream, twisting his ear and uttering `` No, no, that inspiration is no good, I need something vile! I need something, something terrifying!'' 
 
 But in this world, what was terrifying? When all was sunshine, beaches, oceans, forests, what was truly terrifying? 
 
 *I want my child to run from her bed and into my arms, I want her to be so terrified that she actually realizes that she needs me. * 
 
 Max saw the need for the dream, he supposed, but it just was n't what he normally created. 
 
 `` An artist often faces many struggles, right?'' Max said aloud to no one in particular. He trudged over to another dream depicting clouds flurrying by. It was a dream someone had commissioned him to make, a dream of flight for a crippled man. Standing near it, Max felt the wind cause his hair to ripple. `` No!'' He yelled, ripping the dream down from the easel. 
 
 He twisted his ear harder. `` How do I make a nightmare with nothing to work with? How do I do this?!'' 
 
 He heard the front door to the house open and close. His daughter, Lizzie, had returned home from school. She came to the edge of the dream room, saw her father standing there, and kept her mouth shut, knowing that if she ever saw her father in the room, that the smallest word could break his concentration. She pursed her lips shut, gave a slight smile, then stepped away, leaving him alone amongst his creations. 
 
 He twisted his ear until it bled, and finally, an idea struck him. An idea for inspiration. 
 
 All of the famous artists had to make sacrifices every now and then, right? He grabbed a chisel that was sitting on the work desk, and left the dream room in search of Lizzie, while a trail of warm blood dripped from his left ear down the side of his face.
