Dumphry Humphry#

Kreiert von Fabian

The Good Wish That Broke#

In a village dim where soft winds sigh,
There lived a child no one passed by.
Not out of love, nor warmth, nor care—
But ‘cause no soul would see him there.

No cruel intent, no anger grown,
Just quiet days and nights alone.
He did not dream of hurt or pain,
But hoped for joy to ease his strain.

So in his room, with voice so mild,
He sang as only sings a child:

“Dumphry, Dumphry, kind and small,
come be my friend, come hear my call…”

“A friend who’s good, a friend who stays,
Who laughs with me through all my days.”

No wish for harm, no dark desire,
No hidden spark of vengeful fire.
Just gentle hope, so pure, so slight—
A lonely heart that longed for light.

But deep below, where none had trod,
There stirred no friend, no kindly god.
A thing that heard—but not as men,
That twisted how, and where, and when.

It knew no good, it knew no grace,
It shaped from thought—but not its place.
For wishes made, though pure and bright,
May fracture wrong in endless night.

And so it took the child’s design—
A form made small, a voice, a rhyme.
It carved the shape, it gave it breath,
But knew not love—nor life, nor death.

That night the child awoke to hear
A cheerful song draw ever near:

“Dumphry’s here, just like you planned…
come and take your Dumphry’s hand…”

The child then smiled, his eyes so wide,
“My friend! You came! You’re here, beside!”

But something stirred beneath that cheer—
A note too sharp, too wrong, too clear.

For Dumphry’s grin stretched far too deep,
His gaze did not know how to weep.

“I’m good,” he sang, “just as you said—
I’ll keep the bad things far from bed.”

“But tell me now,” he hummed with glee,
“What bad thing’s closest here to thee?”

The child then laughed, though faint, unsure,
“There’s nothing bad… I wanted pure—
A friend, that’s all, no harm, no fear…”

And then he felt it—drawing near.

For Dumphry stopped, and softly spoke,
As something deep within him woke:

“If nothing bad is far or wide…
then bad must be what’s found inside…”

The child stepped back, his breath turned thin,
A sudden dread beneath his skin.

For in that moment, clear and wild—
The fear was born… inside the child.

And Dumphry saw.
And Dumphry knew.

For fear was all he could hold true.

“I fix the bad, I make it cease…
I bring the calm, I bring the peace…”

The child then cried, too late, too late—
He saw the truth… he knew his fate.
His perfect wish, his gentle plea,
Had birthed a thing that could not be.

Not good. Not kind. Not as designed.
But something wrong… and undefined.

And as he watched it drawing near,
His final breath was soaked in fear.

And Dumphry smiled, so soft, so bright,
And made it still.
And made it right.

“Dumphry helps, just like you said…
now no bad thoughts are left in bed…”

The room fell quiet, still, and bare,
No laughter left, no whispered prayer.

But something lingered, faint and deep—
A trace that did not fall to sleep.

The child was gone… and yet remained,
A fragile echo, fear-engrained.

Now Dumphry walks, so light, so free,
Still chasing what he thinks should be.
A friend, a helper, small and true—
But shaped by something that never knew.

And when he hears a childlike tone,
Or sees one standing all alone—

His song will break, his steps will slow…
For something buried starts to grow.

A trembling thread, a distant cry,
A memory that will not die.

Not his own fear—yet felt within—
The final moment of that sin.

“Dumphry… Dumphry… stay away…
the little ones… they cannot stay…”

For though he smiles, and though he plays,
And hums his tune through nights and days—

The thing he fears, though small, though mild…

Is not the dark.

…but just a child.