《The Dream Merchant》


 Chapter 1

    Ollie pretended not to hear the other children. Staring at the ground, he walked neither too fast to draw attention nor too slowly to invite danger. On good days, he managed to leave school without anyone speaking to him or even looking in his direction.


    Today is my special day, today is my special day, today is¡­


    "Hey, Pig."


    It was the voice that said today would not be a special day. Ollie looked up to find the sneering smile and the red eyes of the Rabbit blocking his path.


    "Are you going to leave without saying ''goodbye''? Didn''t your mother teach you any manners?"


    "Goodbye, Godofredo." Ollie replied, almost voicelessly.


    Around them, the few students who had previously ignored him now gathered in anticipation of the spectacle to come.


    "Do you want to hear a joke?" Godofredo spoke enthusiastically. "I thought of a new one."


    No, none of them knew what day it was today. Ollie thought about saying it, after all, he had promised his mother that he would, maybe if he spoke, he wouldn''t have to hear the joke.


    But he knew it would change nothing. it might even get worse.


    In life, sometimes you had no choice, sometimes it was life that made the choice for you.


    "Yes, why not?" Ollie pretended to smile. "Who doesn''t like a joke?"


    Godofredo looked at his audience, this was his moment to shine.


    "Your mom is so fat," he said with exaggeration and projecting his voice, "that when she goes to the circus, she becomes the main attraction."


    Everyone laughed.


    Ollie arched his lips even more.


    Pretending with them, that it was the joke they were laughing at.


    The jokes were never funny, or even new. Ollie was a Pig, Pigs were always called fat, it didn''t matter if they were fat or not. That was what hurt him the most, no one there was laughing at the joke, the joke was but the excuse for them to laugh at him.


    He clenched his fist and stared at the Rabbit.


    Among all days, today would have to be the day he would stop laughing at himself.


    Today would be the day he would show everyone that he was not a coward.


    He had promised himself.


    A promise so many times made, so many more broken.


    If he did nothing, then they were right to laugh at him.


    Today would be the last day.


    The last day of jokes and laughter.


    The last day he would feel powerless and small.


    Today he would show everyone that he was not afraid.


    Ollie stared into Godofredo''s red eyes without hiding the hostility of his intention. For a second, he let all the contempt and disgust he felt for the Rabbit show. It was the blink of an eye, but in that glorious instant he saw his enemy lose his composure, in the fleeting glimpse of his smug face, he recognized a flicker of fear.


    It was now or never.


    ¡°What''s wrong?¡± Godofredo spoke regaining his composture. ¡°You got something to say?¡±


    Yes, Ollie had a lot to say, years of feelings and choked back insults.


    But as he opened his mouth, the words fled his mind.


    ¡°No,¡± Ollie spoke, hiding behind the mask of his smile. ¡°It was a good joke.¡±


    Ollie relaxed his fist and lowered his ears.


    ¡°Every day I think of an even better one,¡± Godofredo spoke to his audience, then approached Ollie and whispered in his ear. ¡°See you tomorrow, you cowardly Pig.¡±


    The Rabbit bumped into him as he passed.


    The crowd dispersed and once again he became invisible.


    It''s better this way, when they get tired they leave me alone.


    Ollie went back to staring at his shoes, one of the laces was untied. But he didn''t care, somehow they seemed better that way, more honest. The children were still laughing, whether they were laughing at him or just laughing he didn''t want to know, all he wanted was to walk with his laces dragging on the ground, walk until he disappeared from the school.


    ***


    Outside, in the vastness of the city, Ollie felt even smaller.


    The streets pulsed with the frenetic energy of the Rabbits.


    In front of the temple, the young and old meditated in a wide courtyard adorned with orange-leafed trees. Near a fire altar, a pair of Daykar Rabbits performed a silent dance of precise and fluid movements, he with a sword, she with a spear, merging in perfect harmony. Tourists watched in delight.


    Entering a street paved with pastel mosaics, Ollie walked through a wide corridor of shops with lacquered wood facades in a soft shade of gray.


    Rabbits were everywhere, in their tea houses, in their art galleries, in their craft emporiums. There was a tranquility and joy that permeated the air, and in the beauty around him, Ollie felt like a grotesque intruder.


    He knew it was futile to lament that there were Rabbits in the Nation of Rabbits, yet he lamented every day. His eyes always sought the tourists, the Academy Cats, the Sacred Library Dogs, even the Merchant Houses Gorillas. All these had their culture, their nation, even the Rats had their place. All but the Pigs.


    Ollie passed by the Bank of Giants, the colossal black marble construction, decorated with gold engravings. Boars wearing elegant armors stood guard, Pigs in tailor-made suits entered and exited their small domain.


    he Pigs were stateless. Five hundred years ago, a war had cost Ollie''s future, and something completely out of his control today defined how he was treated, where he lived, and how he should live, even determining who he should be.


    The Pigs lost everything, their lands, their empire, their place in the world.


    Now stateless, the banks were what remained of their culture, architecture, and past glory. Being an employee of the Bank of Giants was the only path Ollie could find to have a life with respect and dignity.


    "Wealth is our culture, suits our armors, and debt the swords with which we defeat those who do not understand the game of power."


    His father had told him once. No, he had told him countless times.


    On the horizon, hovering above the bank and the lacquered wood buildings of the Rabbits, Ollie could see the Crystal Tower. Erected in the center of the Capital of Ilys, the architectural feat was the heart of the city and could be seen from anywhere, boasting another kind of power.


    Tourists from all over the world came to see one of the Seven Towers of the Academy, candidates also came from everywhere, he always wondered what it would be like to become a Technocrat. A foolish dream, since he didn''t have the intelligence to compete in their duels.


    Maybe he didn''t even have the competence to be accepted into a branch of one of the banks.


    Ollie looked down at his shoes again, his laces loose and dirty. He knew he should tie them, there was no reason not to, no logical reason at least. This was a choice he could make, to bend down and tie the knot, or just continue.


    Today was a special day, something good was waiting for him, the bad part was over, and he wouldn''t even waste time to tie his shoes.


    Crossing the stone bridge, he got distracted watching the fishing canoes and the rafts with tourists. When he realized, a child was standing, blocking his path.


    It was a small and beautiful Bunny girl, no more than six years old, half his size and age. She was smiling radiantly with bright eyes of curiosity and joy.


    Ollie trembled with fear and nausea, he had failed once again to remain invisible.


    "Hi," the Bunny girl said, waving her hand. "My name is Lara, what''s yours?"


    In his mind, Ollie wanted to run away from her, but if he ran, he would attract attention, he could ignore her, but if she cried, everyone would think he had been cruel.


    "Hi, my name is Ollie."


    The Bunny girl seemed so happy in her lilac dress. Her fur was of an immaculate white and one of her ears fell forward as she smiled with affection and kindness.


    Ollie couldn''t help but smile back.


    Why couldn''t Rabbits and Pigs be friends? Why couldn''t it always be like this?


    In his chest, he felt the absence of distress. The bad feeling was so familiar and continuous that it could only be perceived in the relief of its omission.


    Today was a special day, sometimes that was a sign, a sign of good things to come.


    "Get away from her, you disgusting Pig."


    It was the girl''s mother bringing Ollie back to reality.


    That Pigs shouldn''t exist outside their banks.


    The Bunny girl didn''t understand when her mother dragged her away.


    One day she would.


    One day she would learn to despise the Pigs.


    It was an easy lesson, Ollie had also learned to loathe the Rabbits.


    If he could be blamed for the crimes of his nation, then he could hate a nation for their crimes against him.


    Ollie hurried home, eager for the expected surprise, today was his special day, and nothing else mattered, all he had to do was run home.


    A centipede flew in front of his face.


    Ollie put his hand over his mouth to not scream.


    In the street, the Rabbits went on with their lives, unaware of the flying centipede above their heads.


    Ollie wanted to shout at them, scream at them, how could they be blind to something so disconcertingly spectacular? Centipedes don''t fly, centipedes don''t leave trails of light, they are not pink with fluorescent stripes of topaz yellow.


    The Rabbits were ignorant, ignorant of the preciousness they didn''t see, but above all ignorant of the ignorance of what they were missing without knowing.


    When the centipede descended into the underpass leading to the underground part of the city, Ollie knew he had lost something precious. That on his special day, life had shown him that magic was real, that miracles can happen, and that all he could do was let another opportunity go without doing anything to reach it.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    What''s the point of seeing what others don''t, if I don''t have the courage to act on what I see? What''s the point of wanting, if when I have the opportunity to take it, I do nothing?


    His feet responded for him, without understanding or deciding, not caring about drawing the world''s attention, Ollie began to run, run towards the underpass, not just in pursuit of the centipede, but perhaps, maybe, in a quest for his future.


    ***


    Ollie''s heart beat faster than his steps on the ground.


    The city''s underground, known as Nightland, remained deserted. As its name suggests, this place came to life only when the rest of the city surrendered to sleep. Walking through its wide corridors flanked by closed shops, it was noticeable that some bars were already welcoming the bohemians, bards, and others refugees from the sunlight.


    Ollie ran, already knowing he had lost the centipede. However, he couldn''t stop now, because stopping was to admit that he had failed once again.


    At the turn of the central gallery, he saw a yellow trail, an insignificant spark of hope, one that reignited the furnaces of his heart. Today would be different, he swore to himself once more. This time, however, he allowed himself to believe.


    Ollie gave everything he had. He followed the trail until he saw the pink centipede, it tried to fly away from him, but this was the opportunity of his life, he wouldn''t give up, not this time.


    Not today.


    The centipede flew fast, but he was even faster.


    The creature was within arm''s reach, he stretched out his hand, his fingers a moment from capturing the mystical creature. He didn''t know how it would change his life, but he knew this had the power to make the impossible possible.


    Ollie didn''t believe in magic, but today was a special day, today he believed that anything could be possible.


    This was his long-awaited moment of victory.


    Or so he thought, until he tripped and sprawled on the stone floor.


    He rolled on the stones, but the pain of the fall was nothing compared to the pain of his shattered expectations. Lying on the ground, his eyes sought the yellow light, when they didn''t find it, his eyes sought an explanation. What had he done wrong? Why did life have to do this to him? What had he done to deserve this?


    He spotted the loose laces of his shoes, the laces he didn''t want to tie.


    Ollie took off his shoes, stood up, his chest beating in a storm of feelings and exhaustion. Around him, he looked once more for the magical light, found only the color of petals. Assorted bouquets on tables, ceramic pots filled with flowers and plants. A beauty oppressed by the metal grates protecting the closed shops.


    There was no sign of the magical centipede, nothing but the imprisoned flowers around him.


    Ollie threw his shoes over one of them.


    After a long sigh, he lowered his ears and made his way back.


    Barefoot of shoes and illusion.


    ***


    Ollie arrived in front of the shattered gates of the Lamentation District. Pigs had no homeland, yet they still owned the ruins of a past filled with power and ostentation. In this small village, the mansions that had not been destroyed during the revolution were preserved. The imposing rotunda-shaped mansions, which were once symbols of power and wealth, had become mere echoes of their desolation.


    Their large stained glass windows were broken, their statues dismembered, and the prestigious white marble of their walls was cracked and covered in dark moss. Their gardens, once vibrant, were now empty of flowers and overrun with tall grasses and weeds.


    Most of the mansions stood abandoned, but a few were occupied by older and less fortunate Pigs, those who, despite having once worked in the banks, did not have the resources to live in better places. Ollie recognized the paradox of residing in a mansion and yet being considered poor. His schoolmates could not grasp this contradiction, and he himself found it hard to explain. Although he lacked nothing materially, whenever he returned to his home, he felt engulfed in a sense of loss and misfortune.


    He was the only young one among his elderly neighbors, just as he was the only Pig in his school. Being the only one could mean being special, but for him, it underscored his loneliness.


    On his way home, the path forked in front of an imposing statue of Madrik, the favorite son of the God-Emperor of the Pigs, the last prince before the fall of the empire. Carved in white marble, with meticulously defined muscles, he sat on a cracked throne, symbolizing his legacy of power and decay.


    The throne was filthy, and the prince had lost his head and crown, his arms and one of his feet as well. Now, he was merely an obstacle in the path.


    A choice had to be made.


    To the left was Gustavo''s mansion, a good neighbor who always smiled and whistled, busy tending to his garden, the only one still blooming with flowers. Although his dwelling was the smallest of all, the fact that it was the only one with intact stained glass and walls free of dark moss gave the impression of wealth.


    To the right, the path led past Gertrude''s balcony. Hers was the largest mansion in the District of Lamentation, and also the most decadent. Like Gustavo, she was often seen on her balcony, but unlike her neighbor, her "garden" was a patch of cracked concrete and weeds.


    Choosing was easy, as Ollie had never liked Gertrude. When he was younger, she always scolded him¡ªtelling him not to play, not to laugh, not to run, and not even to stand still.


    "She never liked me," Ollie mused as he took the familiar right path.


    "This city was once ours," Gertrude lamented. "Cursed be the Lions."


    There she was, perennially on her balcony, swaying high in her wheelchair.


    Ollie quickened his pace, "Good afternoon, Mrs. Gertrude."


    They always talked. Ollie would mention something trivial, like the heat or the weather. Gertrude, on her part, invariably lamented about the Lions. Despite their demise over five hundred years ago, her animosity toward them remained undiminished, as if immortal.


    "I think it''s going to rain," Ollie said, indifferent to whether it would rain or not.


    "The Rabbits betrayed us," the old woman pointed to nothing in particular. "The world belongs to the villains."


    Ollie nodded, not because he agreed, but because this was their ritual; every day they spoke without truly communicating, words just thrown in each other''s direction.


    An empty and unpleasant ritual.


    Yet, it was a familiar encounter, she always spoke to him, and that was better than silence.


    Better than witnessing Gustavo''s flowers, the beauty of his garden troubled him, to see his garden was to confront his own lack, to hear the whistle was to recognize his absence of joy. In the aroma of the flowers, Ollie also sensed bitterness.


    It wasn''t a difficult decision because, in life, many paths are already chosen for you.


    Upon arriving at his mansion, Ollie let out a sigh of relief.


    The worst of his day had finally ended.


    Today was his special day.


    A day that held the power to remedy everything bad that had happened.


    Grateful for having survived, he entered his house wearing a broad smile.


    ***


    "Happy birthday, my son," a shrill voice shouted, clapping hands.


    His mother, a slightly obese Pig, wore a tight, luxurious floral dress. Behind her, the room burst with color from flags and a large table covered in a white cloth, adorned with jugs of juices, cheese pastries, and a massive three-tier cake.


    Ollie entered, his smile brimming with genuine joy. Yet, as he surveyed the room, the smiles on both his and his mother¡¯s faces faded into bitter disappointment.


    "Where''s my father?" He asked anxiously.


    His hand didn''t ignore him, looking over his shoulder. "Where are your friends?"


    "My father promised..."


    "I don''t want to hear about your father. I asked you a question. Where are your friends?"


    His mother spoke coldly, but behind the ice, a fire burned.


    Apologize, make up an excuse, and apologize again.


    Ollie knew all too well what his ritual was, that it was up to him to swallow his dissatisfaction.


    His disappointment.


    His anger.


    His desire.


    His sadness.


    None of that belonged here and now, not disappointing his mother was the only thing that mattered, before the cold fire spread to burn away his special day.


    My friends couldn''t come because they are sick.


    That was the lie he had promised to tell.


    "I don''t have friends," is what he blurted out instead. "No one knows it''s my birthday today, no one knows, and no one cares, mom."


    Ollie could see the tears forming in his mother''s eyes, of course, she knew, when had been the last time they had received a visit? When was the last time they had been invited anywhere?


    "I spent weeks preparing everything." Her cold voice now spoke melted in emotion. "All the work I did, for what then?"


    "It''s for us." Ollie still wanted to save his day. "When dad comes it will be like before, the three of us, the three of us is more than enough."


    Ollie had already imagined his perfect day, he had lived inside that day for so many months.


    "Your father isn''t coming." His mother shook her head with a mix of pity and revenge. "He sent an envelope with money."


    On the entry table, Ollie found the open envelope, it wasn''t even a letter, just a small note in his secretary''s handwriting. The paper money were generous, but note hurt him.


    It said, For the most import person in my life, with love dad.


    "He promised me."


    "Every year he promises."


    "No. You don''t understand, he swore to me that this year would be different."


    "You believed him?"


    "He marked it in the calendar," Ollie choked on memories. "He always said that his commitments were sacred."


    "They are." His mother''s words came out bitter. "Until he crossed out your name, and put a more important one in its place."


    "More important than me?"


    His mother laughed, not the same laugh as the children at school, a more honest and even more cruel one.


    "Your father is selfish just like you." His mother gestured to the decoration. "Just want to take and take." she sighed and shook her head. "Until the day there''s nothing left to take, that''s the day you''ll leave."


    "Don''t say that."


    His mother looked at him for a long time, Ollie knew that look, that was a warning and a judgment, one said, there was nothing bad, that couldn''t get even worse.


    "I will never leave you," Ollie said, lowering his ears. "Never, I promise."


    "You promise? Like your father?" She gave a small laugh. "You''re just like him."


    Ollie didn''t respond, just a small, gentle nod.


    His mother smiled, relaxing her shoulders. "To the abys with your father and your friends, we don''t need them, we don''t need anyone, my son."


    Ollie nodded with relief, the relief that came from understanding that his terrible day had finally come to an end. It was still his birthday, he could eat cake and be content with his small party; it wasn''t what he wanted, but it was better than nothing.


    He smiled, a big forced smile that pretended everything was okay.


    "I''m starving," his eyes sparkled at the sight of the cake.


    "Ollie, my son," his mother said in her cold voice. "Where are your shoes?"


    No, no, no, no, no.


    With a knot in his stomach, he looked down at the floor, at the incriminating trail of mud that led from the entrance to his filthy bare feet.


    "I lost them," Ollie lied. "I lost my shoes."


    "How?" With her arms crossed, she spoke as cold as a volcano. "How, tell me how?"


    Ollie tried to think, but his mind was blank. "I threw them away," he admitted.


    "Why?" she tilted her head. "Why would you throw your expensive shoes away?"


    Because I followed a magical centipede, because I didn''t tie my shoes and fell.


    "I''m sorry, mom," Ollie skipped the explanation.


    "Sorry?" His mother''s face twisted in disgust. "Sorry changes nothing. Sorry doesn''t fix anything. Sorry doesn''t turn back time."


    She began to cry and sob.


    "Please, forgive me," Ollie touched her belly. "I''m sorry, mom."


    The Pig grabbed his arm. Squeezed.


    "You''re hurting me."


    "No, you''re the one hurting me here," the Pig shouted. "Your apologies hurt me."


    "I''m sorry."


    The Pig released his arm and approached the birthday table.


    "Now that you''ve ruined everything, it''s no use apologizing now."


    "Mom, don''t do this," Ollie spoke in a sigh and a plea. "Not today."


    The Pig pulled the white cloth. Cutlery, plates, and glasses, along with the three-tier cake, all shattered noisily on the living room floor.


    He lowered his head, so sad he couldn''t cry.


    "You forced me to do this," she said with trembling pink lips. ¡°It is all your fault.¡±


    Ollie fled, ran to the refuge of his room.


    ***


    With the door slamming behind him, Ollie threw himself on his round bed. In the refuge of his pillows, his tears finally poured out. "I want to leave, I want to leave my life."


    Ollie remembered the centipede, the magic he let slip by. "Why do I ruin everything? Why does no one help me?" His pleas were to anyone or anything. He prayed to gods he didn''t believe in, or to miracles that didn''t exist. No one would help him.


    "My father can help me. He can still come, take me away from here." He imagined his father entering and seeing the injustices of his mother. He would take him to live with him. It would be his mother who would cry then, watching him leave.


    However, that was a dream that only made him feel more unhappy. Deep down he knew it would never happen.


    Tired of thinking about his father, Ollie remembered Godofredo, how he hadn''t had the courage to confront him. If he had done what he swore to do, he would have been respected. He could have had friends. If he had friends, his mother wouldn''t have destroyed the cake, wouldn''t have cried. It was all his fault. One day he would make the Rabbit pay for what he did. But how?


    There was no magic or miracles, not for him. He had to be smart, he had to become invisible, be docile and compliant. Apologize to his mother. Show her that he was sorry, tell her she was completely right. That he deserved the punishment.


    Yes, that seemed to be the only feasible solution to become reality.


    He succumbed to the weight of his lamentations. His heavy eyes fell with the sight of his closed door.


    ***


    Ollie woke up to the movement of the door opening.


    His heart raced, and he barely contained his joy.


    Could it be his father? Was he coming in to show that he was his priority?


    Ollie hid his disappointment behind a smile when his mother entered.


    With a plate in her hands, she sat on the edge of the bed.


    On the plate, a generous piece of crumbled cake.


    "You can eat, I took it from the clean part that didn''t touch the floor," she said, offering a smile of regret. "It''s your favorite flavor."


    Ollie sat up, this was one of their moments of calm after the storm.


    Food was how his mother showed affection.


    "Thank you, mom." Ollie ate the cake, still forcing his smile.


    His mother washed his feet, and as she hadn''t done in a long time, helped him put on his blue pajamas with yellow stars, then she covered him and kissed his forehead.


    "Only I will love you," she stroked Ollie''s head. "You know that, don''t you?"


    Ollie nodded.


    She smiled with genuine affection.


    He smiled, a true smile now.


    His mother went to the round door and looked over her shoulder.


    "You and me, Ollie, you and me till the end."


    She spoke tenderly, but what he felt was nausea.


    His mother closed the door, covering his face with darkness.


    Ollie closed his eyes and dreamed of the centipede.


    ***


    The pink and yellow centipede entered through the window crack and flew around his room.


    It landed on his chest and crawled up to his face.


    He could feel the centipede running over him, he wanted to scream, but he couldn''t move.


    The centipede then rose and entered through his left nostril.


    He screamed, in his mind he screamed, but in this dream, he had no voice.


    The centipede crawled until it disappeared inside his flattened nose.


    ***


    Ollie sat up with a scream of horror.


    He put his finger in his nose, tapped on his ears trying to get the centipede out of him.


    Then he remembered it had been a dream.


    "It was just a dream," he said to comfort himself. "It was just a dream."


    He looked at the round door.


    A strong, yellow light seeped through its cracks.


    "Mom?" Ollie called out softly for some reason.


    When silence answered him, he stood up.


    For a moment he imagined a surprise party, thought again of his father.


    Something special awaited him on the other side.


    Ollie ran and opened the door with enthusiasm, bathed in golden light.


    On the other side, there was no party, but there was a surprise.


    The living room no longer existed, in its place stood a majestic candy store.


    Luxurious shelves covered the walls with candies of all types and colors. The display cases contained cakes and pies of all flavors and shapes. Crystal jars overflowed with chocolates, gummies, and lollipops. The air was filled with the delicious aroma of fresh sweets.


    The yellow light came from elegant oil lamps.


    Ollie entered hesitantly, the store seemed larger than his house.


    A counter stood out from all the others, one that seemed to be the heart of the hall.


    Behind the counter, a figure in dark clothes wore a white porcelain mask.


    "Who are you?" Ollie asked the stranger.


    The figure in black tilted its head, shadows fell on its mask, creating the illusion of a smile, in the empty darkness of its eyes, a yellow light shone.


    "Hello, Ollie"


    The Stranger spoke with a friendly and ethereal voice.


    "I am the Dream Merchant."

 Chapter 2

    Not knowing what to think, Ollie contemplated the strange figure.


    He possessed a macabre elegance, his lean body enshrouded in a sinuous black cloak, his features equally concealed beneath an ominous white porcelain mask.


    Ollie stared at the stranger, at the painted black lines that mimic a smile, an uncomfortable smile teetering on the border between mockery and joy.


    "What is a Dream Merchant?" Ollie asked, breaking the silence.


    The white porcelain mask moved almost imperceptibly, as if it heard but for some reason, decided it would not respond.


    "I asked a question." Ollie insisted.


    It''s just a dream, he can''t do anything to me.


    With a slight nod, a voice crossed his unmoving lips.


    A soft and ethereal voice.


    "I am a merchant, I sell dreams and promises of happiness."


    Ollie almost laughed, what an absurd and marvelous idea.


    "I only see sweets and candies." Ollie spoke, admiring the treats around him.


    "Free samples." The Merchant gestured. "Little delights to whet your appetite."


    "Can I eat any candy?"


    The Dream Merchant nodded.


    Ollie stared at one of the many shelves, this one contained impeccably aligned cookies, all wrapped in colorful silk paper, all intricately decorated in golden icing. He wanted to try one, but didn''t have the courage to tarnish such perfection.


    "May I ask you a question, Ollie?" The Merchant placed his palms on the glass counter. "One that I ask all the customers who enter my shop?"


    He knows my name, that''s proof I''m dreaming.


    Ollie shrugged. "Ask."


    "Where does the promise of your happiness hide?" The Merchant leaned in subtly. "In what you have? Or in what you lack?"


    Ollie felt a twitch in his eye. What a stupid question.


    He didn''t want to answer, he didn''t even want to think about the answer. However, the silence of the Dream Merchant weighed on his resolve, he had to say something.


    "Why can''t it be both?"


    "Why can''t we have everything, is that what you want to know?"


    Ollie felt a knot in his stomach, he wanted to say no, it was clear that one can''t have everything, but now that the question was in the air, he wanted to know the answer.


    "Yes." he inhaled. "If it''s possible to have nothing, why can''t I have everything, right?"


    The porcelain mask shook.


    "Why not?" Ollie asked again.


    "Imagine that everything you want already exists, is a faraway place that you have to find." The Merchant leaned in. "But on your way, you find a crossroads. On one side, you leave behind what you seek. On the other, you leave behind what you have."


    I have nothing, I aspire for nothing either.


    "That''s a silly question." Ollie answered honestly. "In real life, nothing is that simple, in real life you don''t have a path nor choice, in life, others dictate what you have or lack."


    "How fortunate for you then, because we are no longer in your real world."


    Ollie laughed.


    First a soft laugh, but then a forced guffaw.


    The Dream Merchant remained still and indifferent.


    "I dreamed of a coin I had lost." Ollie clenched his fist. "I knew it was a dream so I squeezed the coin with all my strength, I was sure that if I really wanted it, I would wake up and it would still be in my hand." he opened his empty hand, still marked by the force of his nails. "That''s what you have to offer me."


    "And if I told you that this dream, is not a dream?" The voice asked in a soft spectral tone. "What would you say then?"


    "I''d ask where my house?" Ollie looked around. "How is it possible for you to change the world? And if you have all this power, what in the abyss do you want with me?"


    The Dream Merchant remained immovable, as if within his dark figure, there was nothing and no one.


    "You can''t answer me, can you?" Ollie sighed, his disappointment tinged with a melancholic smile. "Dreams always stop making sense when you think about the details, don''t they? Like fairy tales, enchanting only until you question the stupidity of the story."


    Now that I know it''s a dream, I''m going to wake up, I don''t want to wake up.


    "Your house remains in the same place, Ollie." The ethereal voice now had a spark of amusement. "Along with your bedroom and your sleeping body." he rose. "As for the reason for your presence, I am a merchant of dreams, and you possess one that arouses my covetousness."


    Ollie shivered, with horror that it might be true, with terror that it might not be.


    I have no dream.


    "I don''t believe in you." Ollie took a step back. "I''m dreaming."


    The Merchant leaned over his glass counter. "To whom does this dream belong?"


    "What?"


    "To whom does this candy shop belong?"


    "It''s just a dream, it belongs to no one."


    "Dreams without owners are the owners of those who dream."


    "What in the abyss are you talking about?"


    "The details, Ollie." The Merchant rose, and the light danced on his mask. "When the details don''t make sense, you are dreaming, but when these details are unnoticed, ignored, or not understood, tell me, does it change the place or does it change you?¡±


    "I don''t understand."


    "Exactly."


    I''m too stupid to know what''s happening, but how can I be too stupid to understand my own dream? How can I imagine what I cannot conceive?


    Ollie stared at the luxurious candy shop, he had never seen or read about anything similar. On the shelves were sweets he couldn''t name, in the air were aromas he couldn''t recognize.


    He perked up his ears as he stared at the Merchant. "This candy shop doesn''t belong to me."


    "This shop belonged to a young female Gorilla." The ethereal voice spoke with traces of melancholy. "In her childhood, her father rarely had time for her, but when he did, he always brought her to this magnificent place. Despite being distant, he missed their meeting only once. The day he died."


    "Am I in a girl''s dream?"


    "No." From the dark holes that were the mask''s eyes, sparked a cold and yellow twinkle. "This shop belongs to me now."


    "That''s impossible." Ollie frowned. "You can''t own memories, memories aren''t places, and no one has the power to buy and sell dreams."


    "My customers don''t come to me in search of the possible." The Merchant gave a slight nod. "And the memories they cherish most, are the ones they are yet to possess."


    "Are you telling me you''re a god?"


    "You don''t believe in gods, do you?"


    "There has to be an explanation."


    "How about magic? Magic could explain everything."


    "But it doesn''t, not really. It explains everything by explaining nothing."


    "What difference does it make?" He gestured carelessly. "My customers usually don''t care about the how, only the what I have to offer."


    "If you''re lying you have nothing to offer."


    "There''s the truth, and there''s what you want."


    "I want the truth."


    The Dream Merchant gave a soft, ethereal laugh.


    "What''s so funny?"


    "That the power you seek to understand is the same one you refuse to accept."


    "What do you mean by that?"


    ¡°In this world, nothing is impossible. Here, memories become roads, feelings bleed into colors, and desires are the bricks that build the edifices of your unspoken wishes.¡±


    ¡°You can do that?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± The cold porcelain mask shakes softly. ¡°In this world, you are the god, Ollie." He touched his chest. "I''m but a worm feeding on the crumbs of your power."


    "What are you..." Ollie had a spasm of realization.


    A monstrous idea conceived in his mind, one so absurd and sordid he almost vomited. A venomous idea that poisoned his reason and withered his skepticism.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Something so odious and repugnant, it couldn''t be anything other than the truth.


    "You''re the centipede." Ollie spoke with a certainty he couldn''t possibly have. "It wasn''t a dream, you followed me, invaded my room, you''re the centipede that entered my nose."


    The Dream Merchant nodded his head just once.


    Ollie perked up his ears. "What in the abyss are you?"


    "You will never know that answer."


    "Why not?"


    "Because every answer opens the door to a new question."


    "Them you tell me them all." Ollie spoke deadly serious.


    ¡°Diferente doors lead to different truths.¡±


    ¡°How can it be?¡±


    ¡°How can it be, that you don''t believe in magic, yet you chased after a magic centipede?" The voice spoke with soft indifference. "How can it be, that you don''t believe in gods, yet when you cry, you pray? How can it be, that you want answers, yet you belive in nothing."


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "That you don''t believe you can have, the things you believe you can have."


    "That doesn''t make any sense."


    "I''m not a centipede, I''m one hundred and thirteen centipedes." he waved his long black finger. "Yet I''m more than the hundred and thirteen pieces of me, I am the Dream Merchant."


    "So, you are the dream of the centipedes?"


    "I am their dream?" The lifeless voice asked. "Or are they mine?"


    "If I don''t know, how can I trust you?"


    The mask remained motionless, empty and indifferent.


    "You can''t."


    "Why don''t you lie to me?" Ollie''s voice came out in a whisper. "Why don''t you tell me what I want to hear?"


    "Because it doesn''t matter." He tilted his mask. "You already accepted my offer."


    "You think so?" Ollie asked uncertainly. "You seem like a monster to me."


    "Your room is behind you."


    Ollie didn''t turn his eyes, just the idea of waking back up in his world was enough for him to understand that the Dream Merchant was right, he had no choice.


    "What do you have to offer me?" He asked, taking a step towards the counter.


    The Merchant placed a glass dome on the table.


    "I offer you this."


    Inside the dome rested a delicate red candy shaped like a heart.


    "Is this it?" Ollie frowned. "A red candy?"


    "No." The Merchant renewed the glass dome. "This candy is but your offering."


    "My offering?"


    "Dreams require sacrifices, sacrifices require offerings."


    Ollie made a face of confusion. "Are you saying my dreams eat candies?"


    "Your dreams are hungry, they will consume everything you have to offer."


    "My dreams?" He frowned. "What dreams are those?"


    "Do you see that door?" The Merchant pointed to a door to the left of Ollie.


    "Where did that door come from?"


    "A better question would be what awaits you on the other side."


    Ollie felt a shiver run up his spine. "What''s on the other side?"


    "Everything." the ethereal voice spoke softly. "Everything that is missing."


    The door was an ordinary door, an invisible ordinariness. Without details or adornments that could suggest its purpose or what was hidden on the other side.


    But now that he knew there was something precious on the other side, the banality became mysterious, the simplicity exalted, and its frugality was a mere disguise for a treasure of riches and possibilities that could not be described or imagined, but still awaited and promised in the vague sensation contained in a single word.


    My dreams.


    Ollie turned to the Dream Merchant. "Are you for real?"


    He waited for a response that did not come.


    "Do I have dreams?"


    More silence.


    "Why would a candy make my dream come true?"


    No response.


    "What happens if I don''t find any dreams?"


    "Everyone has five." The ethereal voice spoke faintly.


    I have none.


    "I accept."


    Ollie approached the glass counter, and extended his arm to take the heart-shaped treat.


    "No." The Merchant spoke, closing the glass dome.


    "Why not?" Ollie asked, unable to contain his desperation.


    "Dreams are debts, Ollie, and debts must be paid."


    "I don''t have..." The words were lost in his snout, he turned to the candy shop, then stared at the merchant almost laughing. "You want the happy memories of my childhood?" he began to laugh, it was such a strange feeling, it was supposed to be something horrible, but precisely because it was so terrible it was so funny. "I don''t have any good memories to sell you."


    "One dream for another." The ethereal voice spoke indifferently. "That''s the cost."


    Ollie frowned, suddenly his amusement had turned into a storm.


    "If you''re in my head, then you know what I have and don''t have nothing worth keeping."


    "Sometimes we only know the value of what we have, when we give it away."


    "Take whatever you want then." Ollie clenched his fist. "Give me what I want, something real, something good. I don''t care what you want in return."


    The Merchant pointed to Ollie''s pajamas. "Put your hand in your pocket."


    He obeyed.


    His pocket should have been empty, but something metallic and cold met his fingers.


    Something round and familiar.


    Something that could only exist in a dream.


    Ollie lifted the object before his eyes.


    It was the coin.


    Not a coin, but the coin.


    The coin he had mentioned before. The coin he had lost. The coin he found in the dream, only to lose it again upon waking.


    A white coin with the face of a Lion on one side and a crown on the other.


    "This is my coin." Ollie spoke in a mix of astonishment and indignation.


    "No, Ollie." The Merchant intervened. "This is how you pay for your what you want."


    "You want my coin for the candy?"


    "Not just the coin," The Merchant waved his white mask. "I want your story."


    Ollie clenched the coin in his hand. "What story?"


    "You know."


    Yes, Ollie knew what the story was, a story he had forgotten, one that at the same time, no matter how hard he tried, he could never bury.


    "This is not a good memory."


    "I know it''s not." The Dream Merchant gave a slight nod. "I know it is."


    "I don''t want the coin," Ollie offered him the White Lion. "you can have it."


    "First," The Merchant lifted his long finger. "First, I want to hear the story."


    "Why?" Ollie asked agitated. "What difference does it make?"


    "All worlds, above or below, have their rules, rules that sustain the illusion of what you call reality." he pointed downward. "Rules that here, determine that I can only receive, what you are truly willing to part away."


    Ollie contemplated the white coin. The small coin that weighed with the memories of the past, memories he wanted to silence, but his silence wept, tears of pain and lament in the sad parts, unbearable sobs of agony in the cruel memories of moments of joy.


    The words came out, bleeding through the silence of his crying.


    "A few years ago, when my father lived with us, he took us to visit Skhargora." Ollie let out a sigh of lamentation. "There I met a girl..." the words choked in his throat. "I met a girl who gave me this coin."


    Ollie stared at the Dream Merchant, that was enough, there was no need to continue.


    But his silence told him that his story had just begun.


    "The Hegemony created Skhargora, their great achievement, a vertical city built inside the largest mountain of Morserus." These were the same words the Rat tour guide had told him years ago. Words he had forgotten, but that were now fresh in his mind as if he had just heard them. "At the end of the Era of Shadows, the Hegemony had to abandon Skhargora, abandon their empire, their cities, their Domesticated Species. They fled to the Eternal Desert and left us to die in an endless winter." This part of the story didn''t hurt him, even though it was the part where his world almost disappeared. "Skhargora became the cradle of our civilization, where various species survived together during the Hermitage until..."


    "I don''t care about the story of your world, Ollie."


    "I don''t want to talk about it." he lowered his ears. "I don''t want to remember it."


    "Remember so then you can forget." The Merchant extended his skeletal gloved hand. "Tell me your story so it ceases to exist, offer me the tears and places, the longings and disappointments, suffer one more time, and I will take all this suffering with me."


    Ollie lowered his eyes to his bare feet. "Her name... Her name was Seffia." he spoke under the immeasurable weight of his melancholy. "She was too good for me..."


    "Continue." The ethereal voice spoke with palpable longing. "Continue my story."


    "Seffia was my age, she was a Pig like me, but nothing like me, she was prettier, smarter, more confident." he arched the lips of his snout. "I was ashamed of her, but she had no shame in me. She took my hand, and led me everywhere. While our families attended the lectures of the Merchant Houses, we were forgotten, free to explore an unknown world."


    "Yes, precious moments filled with adventure and excitement," he said, as his mask moved with a delicate and harmonious fluidity. "Times when everything seems imbued with purpose and the future gleamed with the celestial light found in the promise of infinite possibilities."


    The smile evaporated from Ollie''s face.


    "She took me to the Giants'' Bank, where we found this coin, a replica of the first coin minted by the Pigs, made to serve their new masters at the beginning of the White Lion Dynasty." Ollie opened his mouth, but nothing came out. This was the part that would hurt him even more.


    "Don''t stop now. Not so close to the end." The darkness covered the Merchant''s porcelain mask, simulating a smile of shadows. "Please, finish my story."


    "On the Gods'' Balcony, the world was so small." Ollie spoke in a distant whisper. "On our last day, was when she kissed me, my first and last kiss." He squeezed the coin, not with attachment, but with resentment. "She lived in the Nation of Cats, and I in that of Rabbits. I said this was the end, that we would never see each other again." he shook his snout. "I cried, I already knew I would lose her the first moment I saw her, yet I cried."


    "Yes, yes" The empty voice spoke full of enjoyment. "Please, continue."


    "That''s the end of the story."


    "No" The white porcelain mask shook vigorously. "The coin is the end of the story."


    Ollie looked at the coin frowning. "I hate this coin." he stared at the Merchant with grief and mistrust. "If you already know everything, why do I need to speak?"


    "What you don''t tell me, is what you keep for yourself." in the black void of his eyes, faint yellow stars twinkled. "What you speak, is what you offer to me."


    "I don''t want to remember."


    "Then remember to forget." The Merchant leaned over the glass counter, with the fire of the lanterns shining on his white porcelain face. "Remember to say goodbye."


    Ollie hesitated, imagined how the Dream Merchant would use his memories, could he meet Seffia? Would he be in his place, laughing and crying by her side?


    "No." He spoke with the fire of indignation. "This belongs to me."


    The Dream Merchant remained unchanged. If he were offended, dissatisfied, or annoyed, nothing in his rigid posture or his empty mask would betray his intention.


    "My kiss." Ollie spoke trembling. "Will I forget my only kiss?"


    The Dream Merchant nodded once.


    "No, this isn''t right, this memory is bad, but it''s part of me."


    "Offer me the dream you abandoned." The Merchant placed his hand on the glass dome. "And I will give you in exchange, one of those you seek."


    Ollie stared at the heart-shaped candy and nodded with a smile devoid of joy.


    In life, you don''t always have a choice.


    "When I cried, Seffia smiled." The words came out with the relief of someone letting go of an unbearable weight. "She placed the coin in my hand." He looked at the White Lion. "I said I had bought it for her, but she refused, she told me this coin would be our wager, that I should keep it with me and that if I was right, if we never saw each other again, then the coin would be mine forever."


    The words seemed suspended in the air, he took a deep breath, trying to contain the emotions that wanted to flee from his chest and escape through his eyes.


    Ollie managed to imprison his pain.


    "However," he continued, "if our paths crossed again, I would lose the bet. The coin would be hers. Her reward for believing that our destinies were intertwined."


    A long silence took over the room. Ollie waited for the Dream Merchant to break it, but it was he who suddenly resumed speaking.


    "I won the bet, but months later I lost the coin." Ollie forced a laugh devoid of joy. "I am not the king of idiots?"


    "Very well." The Dream Merchant extended his hand. "You can offer me the coin now."


    Ollie looked at the heart-shaped candy, his prize for his sacrifice.


    He stepped forward. "Seffia has surely forgotten about me, forgotten she made that silly bet." he placed the white coin in the Dream Merchant''s left hand. "I want to do the same, I want to forget about her too."


    The Merchant closed his gloved hand over the coin and with his other hand he opened the glass dome that contained the red candy shaped like a heart.


    Ollie took the candy, expecting something magical to happen. "I still remember her."


    "When one of your dreams consumes this candy, then our transaction will be completed."


    The small candy was light and warm, with a pleasant and familiar fragrance.


    The Merchant walked around the counter and approached, placing one hand on the young Pig''s shoulder, with the other he gestured towards the simple door.


    "Your journey begins," the Merchant said, awakening him to what was to come. "And your dreams await you."


    Ollie didn''t move, but the Merchant pressed his shoulder, inducing him to walk.


    In front of the ordinary door, a terrible notion crossed his mind.


    You''re accepting candy from a stranger, and following him to a strange place.


    What if there were no dreams waiting on the other side, what if after crossing that door, no one ever knew of him again, what if the Dream Merchant was just a centipede devouring his mind, while he hallucinated a happy ending?


    What difference does it make now?


    Ollie touched the round metal doorknob.


    A voice inside him screamed for him not to continue, that once the door was opened, there would be no return. He looked over his shoulder at his room at the end of the shop, there was still time to give up, he could run from this place, he could forget the coin and the dreams.


    All he had to do was not open the door, all he had to do was run back to his room.


    Ollie lowered his head not knowing what to do.


    "Your dreams wait for you, Ollie." The Merchant said softly.


    Ollie turned to the impassive porcelain mask. "Are you going to hurt me?"


    A silence passed between them.


    When it became clear that the Merchant would not respond, his ethereal voice was heard.


    "I will not hurt you." The empty voice spoke with traces of tenderness. "But that doesn''t mean you can''t be hurt here."


    "A nightmare I can''t wake up from, is that it?"


    "Yes."


    "Can you at least tell me what awaits me on the other side?"


    "Dreams and consequences."


    Ollie lowered his ears disappointed with the answer.


    He stared at the door, the unimaginable dangers that awaited him on the other side.


    But he didn''t have to look back to know the dangers of returning.


    On one side, the false promise of joy, on the other the certainty of true unhappiness.


    Sometimes there is no choice, sometimes life makes the choice for you.


    With a long sigh of courage, Ollie opened the ordinary dark door.


    And crossed into the unknown in search of something real.

 Chapter 3

    Ollie stepped through the door and instead of a room, he found himself in another world.


    His bare feet felt the caress of fresh grass, on a green terrain of beautiful monotony. However, if below his eyes was an ordinary world, above them, in a firmament without light, without sun or stars, he encountered the unimaginable.


    In the place of the stars, thousands of islands floated near and far, occupying a vast infinity of darkness. In their silhouettes, each contained a single building. There were castles, houses, towers, fortresses, banks, and temples. No two buildings were alike, all painted with just one color, a single color that varied between blue, red, yellow, and black.


    As if this was not enough, the islands were bind together by dark, thick chains.


    Ollie forgot to breathe, it was as if he had entered into a painting of insanity, in place that should not be, but yet, there it was.


    ¡°Where am I?¡±


    Ollie was covered by a shadow that ignored the absence of light necessary to cast it. Behind him, an oppressively close island loomed, occupying a large part of the horizon. A familiar blue house reigned over its dark silhouette.


    A shiver ran up his spine as he realized a giant, rusty chain connected this disturbing island to his own.


    My island?


    Yes, he shuddered as he confirmed his intuition, the grassy borders around him ended in a cliff that encircled him, one that marked the limited edge of his small domain.


    I have an island.


    Or so he intuited. His island was similar to the others, but with a notable difference, the islands around him had only one building, his had four.


    Four colors, four corners, four dwellings.


    Ollie turned to the tall Merchant of Dreams at his side.


    "What is this place?"


    "A sphere within another."


    "What do you mean by a sphere?"


    "The place you believe to be a reality, is just a sphere. One of many" The Merchant gestured. "Within each sphere, there are smaller spheres, like bubbles, bubbles of affinities, thoughts, dreams, and emotions."


    Ollie shook his head in frustration, not knowing if it was he who did not understand, or if it was the Dream Merchant who did not want to be understood.


    "You did not tell me about a universe of floating islands with chains and colored houses."


    "I said that ideas and feelings in the world above, are paths and places here."


    Something monstrous moved behind him, and Ollie contained a scream of horror.


    Turning around, he faced a giant snail, one that until then must have hidden in his blind spot. With renewed wonder, he contemplated the grand shell that it supported upon itself. There was a door there at its center. The door through which he had exited, the door that contained the majestic candy store, which, although much larger than the creature, fit inside it nonetheless.


    "What is this?" Ollie pointed at the giant snail.


    "This is the Palace of Doors," The Merchant gestured towards the snail. "This is my home."


    "This is not a palace, this is a snail."


    "That is an idea," he shook the porcelain mask. "The idea that a snail can be a home, and that the feelings it harbors can be rooms and doors, leading to all the memories you own."


    Ollie stared at the snail with wide eyes. "How can a feeling be a place?"


    ¡°Does your school has a feeling? Does your room and your house?¡±


    They are bad feelings.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    "Your world makes no sense." Ollie spoke with a sigh.


    "You left my world when you crossed that door." The Merchant turned his back to the snail and opened his long black arms towards the island. "We are in your world now."


    "What does that mean?" Ollie asked stupefied. "Why can''t you give me a simple answer?"


    "Because all the answers you seek, you already have."


    "I have? I have no idea about anything," Ollie pointed upwards. "Why do those higher islands have bridges?" On the horizon, he pointed to the islands below. "Why do the islands with Black Houses float alone, without chains or bridges?" he perked up his ears. "I don¡¯t think it¡¯s by chance, I think there¡¯s a reason, one that you know, but don''t want to tell me."


    "The great mysteries of life are not hidden, they are ignored."


    Ollie wrinkled his snout. "That¡¯s not an answer."


    The Dream Merchant nodded. "Exactly."


    I can¡¯t trust you.


    "Those houses?" Ollie turned his back to the Merchant. "Are my dreams inside them?"


    His eyes swept over the four houses.


    The closest was to the South, a familiar old Blue House.


    To the West of it, the ruins of a small Red Castle.


    To the East, a luxurious and imposing Golden Mansion.


    Finally, to the North, on the edge of a hill, a small and crooked Black House.


    "Do I have four dreams, then?"


    "No." The Merchant waved the porcelain mask. "Everyone has five."


    Ollie looked for the fifth house, the fifth color, but found none.


    "Your fifth dream is no longer here, Ollie." The porcelain mask spoke with a shake. "Your fifth dream was forgotten so that you could be here."


    Ollie thought of Seffia, had he forgotten her? They had promised to write. But no letter was received or sent.


    Who forgot whom?


    "What¡¯s inside the houses?"


    "Four hosts," The ethereal voice spoke emotionlessly. "four lives and four choices."


    "What kind of choices?"


    "The kind that will define the life you will have." The Merchant gestured to the sweet in Ollie¡¯s hand. "And the person you will be."


    Ollie stared at the candy. "Do I give this to my favorite dream?"


    "Yes," The Merchant closed Ollie¡¯s hand over the heart-shaped sweet. "But once given, once consumed, there is no going back." his long black finger touched the young Pig¡¯s forehead. "You will awaken alongside the dream you chose to nourish."


    "So, I won¡¯t be able to say goodbye?" He asked, lifting his ears.


    "Consider each house a goodbye."


    Ollie stared at the four houses, already knowing he wanted the Golden Mansion, but for that reason, he wouldn¡¯t go there first, he would give a chance to the other houses, any of them could serve him, any but the Black House on the hilltop.


    That one he didn¡¯t want to meet.


    "Can you choose for me?" he asked the Merchant.


    The white porcelain mask shook. "No, no one can do that here."


    Not knowing where to start, Ollie just followed the path.


    The small stone path that led to the meeting of the four houses.


    In silence, the Dream Merchant walked by his side.


    To where the stone path led.


    The Blue House.


    "I know this place," Ollie spoke, not understanding how he had not realized it until now. "The color is different, but I lived in a house just like this before I moved to Ilys."


    "Here, not everything we forget," the ethereal voice spoke inertly, "will remain forgotten."


    This was the house of his childhood.


    The house where his family was still whole.


    A house he had forgotten.


    A house he wanted and did not wanted to return.


    Ollie took a long sigh in search of courage.


    Then he took his first step towards his past.


    He turned around when he realized that the Merchant had stayed behind.


    "Aren''t you coming with me?" He asked, trying to contain the tremor in his voice.


    The Merchant only shook his white porcelain mask.


    "Is this where we say goodbye, then?"


    The Dream Merchant gave a slow nod.


    He turned to the Blue House.


    "Keep your sweet until the moment of the final choice."


    The ethereal voice of the Merchant spoke from behind him.


    Ollie complied, placing the sweet in the pocket of his blue pajamas with yellow stars.


    Lowering his ears, he walked alone to the wooden door.


    What will I find here?


    Ollie would have turned back to ask the Merchant, but he knew that his answers would only lead him to another enigma for him to decipher.


    He was alone, as always.


    Or maybe not, maybe here where dreams were hosts, maybe here he would find a friend.


    With that in mind, Ollie knocked on the door.


    No one answered, but the blue door creaked open.


    "Hello?" Ollie shouted into the empty room.


    Silence was his answer.


    It was another door, another door to the unknown.


    Once again, he considered going back.


    Once again, he remembered there was no back for him.


    Going back now would be an even greater madness than going forward.


    With an uncertain step, he entered the Blue House.


    And as soon as he entered, the door that opened by itself, closed behind him.

 Chapter 4

    The interior of the Blue House was adorned with tangible memories.


    There was an old painting in which they stood together, smiling, his father with a hand over his shoulder, and his mother seated on the ornate pink sofa. They were dressed in their finest, against the backdrop of an extravagant and richly decorated living room.


    This living room, now empty, was exactly as depicted in that old painting.


    They were the same pieces of furniture, not just alike, but even more colorful than in the painting, even more real than in his vague memories. He had forgotten the smell of the tallow wax his mother used to clean the wood, the sound of the wall clocks'' anchor escapement, the exaggerated pattern of the flowers on the luxurious silk carpet.


    Details of the past that had escaped the periphery of the painting, lost and forgotten pieces of memories, that now were returned as if they had never left.


    Ollie took the long way around, not daring to step on the silk carpet, for it was too valuable to be soiled with his dirty feet. His eyes fell on the imported pink velvet sofa, on the day of the painting it was the only time he was allowed to sat on it.


    White gets dirty, velvet marks, better not to use it to avoid spoiling.


    Ollie remembered his mother''s words and carefully avoided the statues that blocked the way, which dominated the room as if displayed in a museum. They said without saying that they were important, priceless, and irreplaceable.


    In his nightmares, he bumped into them and broke one of the statues.


    In his memories, he had been happy here, in the painting, he seemed happy too. But now that he had returned to his time of joy, the joy was no longer waiting for him.


    Ollie wondered where this joy existed? was it in the memories he held, or in the memories he had forgotten? How do you search for something that is lost upon being found?


    When he thought of the child in the painting, the him he had envied, now his feelings were of pity and compassion. For the room was an illusion, it lived empty, his mother locking the main door, making them enter through the back. The room was only opened on special days, on the day of the painting, during frequent parties, on rare visits.


    In the painting, they smiled, now he remembered, because the painter had told them to.


    Ollie left the room, fast enough to escape, slow enough not to bump into anything. What he was looking for would not be there, it wasn''t in the room that his family never lived.


    If there was a host, if there was someone in that place, they would be in the dining room.


    ***


    In the hallway leading to the dining room, a familiar figure nearly bowled him over. She brushed past him, carrying a huge tray of fried pastries shaped like fruits.


    "Mom?" Ollie called after the figure who ignored him as if he didn''t exist.


    For a second, he thought of following his ''mom'', but something inside him intuited that she wasn''t really his mother, that she couldn''t be his mother since his mother slept in the real world.


    Yet he had no way to be sure, not without knowing the rules of this world.


    Was she his host? Was it to her that he should offer the heart-shaped sweet?


    Lost in his doubt, Ollie didn''t move, he waited for something or someone to tell him what to do. When his mother returned with the empty tray, he sighed with relief.


    "What should I call you?" He said, forcing a smile.


    Yes, it was his mother, but not the mother from the painting, nor the mother from his house, it was his mother from a future, an older, fatter, and more tired mother.


    Ollie had many questions, but busy as she was, she didn''t stop, she walked past him without even a glance in his direction. He didn''t follow her into the kitchen, it was in the kitchen where she would yell at him, telling him he was more in the way than helping.


    There was only one place left, the only place where they stopped to be together.


    The dining room.


    ***


    Ollie entered with his ears lowered, already disappointed with his dream.


    "Happy Birthday!" The voice shouted with enthusiasm and joy. "Happy Birthday, my dear."


    It was a Pig.


    A huge, jubilant, smiling Pig.


    Morbidly obese, the Pig wore an extravagant blue suit with an embroidered shirt and pink suspenders, a large top hat casting shadow over the deep blue of his eyes. His smile was broad, radiating joy and enthusiasm.


    In front of the Pig was a cake, the largest birthday cake Ollie had ever seen.


    Everything was exaggerated, the decorations, the piles of gifts, the central table that took up almost the entire room, and the sweets and foods that piled up on it.


    The table gathered a range of delicacies worthy of a birthday party, interspersed with unexpected flavors like pastas, barbecues, pancakes, savory pies, and fried pastries. Delights that invaded the theme, without displeasing his palate.


    Dishes that wouldn''t make sense to anyone, but made sense to Ollie.


    He recognized each one, for they were his favorite dishes from childhood.


    It wasn''t just the bad memories he had forgotten, he had also forgotten the good ones. It wasn''t the food he saw, but precious moments of his past.


    This was the feeling he had hoped to feel, this was the joy that hid behind the false painting. His sad childhood had also been happy after all.


    His father loved to eat, and his mother loved to cook, so dinner was the only place where their affinities converged. Ollie would sit with them at the table, and the long hours of meals would pass in the blink of an eye.


    His mother invented new dishes every day, she hated to repeat herself, so each meal was always a joyful gastronomic adventure with dishes typical of the Nations of Cats, Gorillas, Dogs, and even once of the Rats. There were compliments on success and laughter at the failures, moments of lightness where they talked about their days and things of no importance.


    Ordinary moments.


    Forgotten moments.


    Precious moments.


    Ollie held back his tears as he saw his favorite dishes.


    That''s what he had told his mother at the end of each new meal.


    ''This is my favorite, of all you''ve made, this one is now the best.''


    It wasn''t a lie, he had loved all the dishes, even those he didn''t like.


    ¡°Is all this for me?¡± he asked, not referring to the food.


    ¡°Yes, my dear,¡± the smiling Pig spoke with a nod. ¡°All this and much more.¡±


    Ollie curved his lips in a sigh of relief, the joy of the Pig was contagious. This was what he had been searching for, someone happy, happy for his day, happy for his company, happy to be here and not elsewhere.


    He gazed at the Pig with delight. ¡°What is your name?¡±


    ¡°My name doesn''t matter,¡± the Pig waved a hand. ¡°Here, the only thing that matters is you.¡±


    Ollie felt bashful. ¡°You don''t have to be so kind.¡±


    ¡°Do you want a slice of cake?¡± the Pig asked, dancing his fingers. ¡°We have to celebrate, my dear, after all, today is the most important day of your life.¡±


    The Pig cut a hefty slice of the cake and offered it to Ollie.


    ¡°It''s past midnight,¡± Ollie said hesitantly. ¡°My birthday is over.¡±


    ¡°Not here, my dear,¡± the Pig handed him the plate. ¡°Here, everyday is your birthday¡±


    Ollie gave a small laugh and took the slice of cake.


    With a sigh, he inhaled the soft fragrance of the vanilla frosting. An intoxicating and familiar smell, turning each bite into a comforting hug.


    ¡°It''s delicious,¡± Ollie spoke with his mouth full.


    ¡°You are very fortunate, my dear,¡± the smiling Pig spoke, clapping his hands with euphoria. ¡°You chose the right house.¡±


    ¡°Why do you say that?¡± Ollie asked, raising his ears.


    The smiling Pig placed a hand over his lips, as if he had revealed something he shouldn''t have. Then, he put his finger on his snout in a gesture of silence. Leaning in, he gestured for him to come closer.


    Ollie leaned on the table and stretched his neck. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°You can''t trust any of them,¡± the Pig spoke in a whisper. ¡°Not all dreams are good dreams.¡±


    "What?"


    "You have bad dreams," the Pig whispered. "Dreams that are meant to harm you."


    "The Dream Merchant didn''t tell me anything about bad dreams."


    "You can''t trust any of them," the smiling Pig spoke earnestly. "But above all, you can never trust the Dream Merchant."


    "Why not?"


    "Because he is a parasite," the Pig made clawing motions with his hands and pulled a hideous face. "A monster that trades in falsehoods and illusions."


    Ollie didn''t want to admit it, but part of him already knew, of course, it was too good to be true, of course, masked figures offering sweets and promises were not to be trusted.


    "He sold me bad dreams?"


    "Yes, but not all of them are bad."


    Ollie was confused, disappointed, and embarrassed.


    "How many good dreams do I have, then?"


    "I have good news and bad news for you, my dear," the smiling Pig gave a small laugh. "Which one do you want to hear first?"


    The good, I want to hear the good.


    "Tell me the bad."


    "You have just one," the Pig paused dramatically. "Only one good dream."


    "Just one?" Ollie''s shoulders slumped. "Why do I only have one good dream?"


    The smiling Pig''s smile faded. "Because dreams are made of pain."


    "That doesn''t make any sense."


    "Dreams are the reverse of emptiness, where what you lack defines what you desire," the Pig explained. "In a storm, you dream of shelter, when you are weak you dream of strength, when you are poor you dream of wealth, when lonely of love," he gestured towards the table. "For every unquenched hunger, lies a dream of a different flavor."


    "What''s wrong with wanting what you don''t have?"


    "Only one dish can be your favorite," the smiling Pig picked up one of the fruit-shaped fried pastries. "No matter how much you want to like something," he took a bite and grimaced, discarding the fake fruit with disdain. "In the end, only one dish, or one dream, will have the power to truly satisfy you."


    Ollie felt nauseous.


    The same nausea as when he ate the fried vegetables. His mother knew he detested vegetables, so she had the idea to blend several into a paste and fry them like a snack. It was a nice idea, one that took great effort to make.


    Ollie wished he could have liked it, but the most he could do was to swallow and chew the detestable strange taste. The hardest part was keeping the smile, the lie was the easy part, telling her that this, like her last dish, was his new favorite.


    Was this what the smiling Pig was trying to say, that dreams can promise to be good, and we might believe they are good, but in the end, none of that matters if you don''t like what you think you should?


    It didn''t make much of a difference, in the end, he had only one sweet, he couldn''t come back with more than one dream, so a single good dream would more than enough for him.


    "You gave me the bad news," Ollie sighed. "I want to hear the good now."


    The Smiling Pig let out a joyful laugh.


    "Isn''t it obvious?" he blew a raspberry. "I am your good dream, my dear."


    "If you are my good dream," Ollie spoke cautiously. "What do you have to offer me?"


    "Freedom," the Pig spoke with the enthusiasm of victory.


    "Freedom?"


    "Yes my dear, freedom."


    "Am I not free?"


    "I don''t know, are you? do you feel free?"


    Ollie thought about his life, his school, his home, then he imagined his future, the paths and choices to be made, finally he looked back at his past.


    "No," he spoke with regret. "I don''t."


    I never have.


    "If you give me the sweet," the Smiling Pig said, "I will give you freedom."


    Ollie considered it, he wanted to give the sweet, not because he knew what freedom was, but because he was afraid to know what would happen if he chose a bad dream.


    But then he thought of Seffia and the cost of her memories. Tomorrow, he would have something new her place, he wouldn''t even know that he ever lost her.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.


    I cannot choose wrong.


    "Explain it to me first," Ollie spoke firmly. "How does a dream of freedom work?"


    The Smiling Pig gave a satisfied nod, his blue eyes were dense and calm like a lake on a starry night. Watchful, protective eyes.


    "I offer a life free from expectations," the Smiling Pig gave a contented smile. "A life where you don''t have to be who the world expects you to be. Where you don''t even have to be who you expect yourself to be," he winks.


    "Who will I be then?"


    "Someone unburden from the shackles of regret."


    Ollie considered it, for the first time noticing how much of his anguish came from the idea of what others expected of him. Who he expected to be, who he wanted to be, who he should be.


    "I cannot be no one," Ollie spoke uncertainly. "I have to be someone, right?"


    Being no one was a repulsive idea, his father scorned the Pigs who didn''t work at the Giants'' Bank, yet at the same time, not having to do what was expected of him, failing before even trying, was undoubtedly an enticing notion.


    "Wrong my dear, you have the freedom of not to be."


    The Smiling Pig spoke words that seemed cruel and malicious, but in his voice there was no criticism or offense, his tone was that of a counselor recommending peace.


    "Will you be who your parents expect you to be?" the Smiling Pig continued. "Will you be brave to assert yourself at school? Fun and confident to please Seffia?" He grabbed a handful of buns and in a smooth motion made them spin in the air. "Do you want the life of a juggler? Can you be obedient and daring?" One of the buns dropped to the floor. "Can you go to the Academy and be a scholar? or follow the unwanted path and be a banker?" Another bun fell onto a pudding on the table. "Yes you can you be their clown," he let the remaining buns drop, and with his dense blue eyes spoke seriously, "but can you be happy, can you smile at them while they laugh at you?"


    Ollie knew he was right, he could not win, it was impossible to be all the people he tried to be, he would never manage it, they did not all fit into one life.


    "What do I do then?" He asked in a plea.


    "That''s the easy part, my dear," the Smiling Pig smiled again. "You do nothing."


    Ollie perked up his ears. "Do nothing?"


    "Nothing, in your good dream you do absolutely nothing."


    "I''m no one and I do nothing, that''s my good dream?"


    "Doing nothing is the freedom to do everything you want," the Smiling Pig gestured around the room. "Doing nothing means no set time to sleep or wake up. Doing nothing is eating your favorite dish every day, reading late and listening to music as loud as you want, doing nothing is doing what those who do everything never have the time to do."


    Ollie lost his breath hearing the host''s words. The undeniable truth in them.


    Where was his joy?


    At work or at home?


    Could he be happy nn one of the Towers of Academy? Having to fight to reach each new floor? Having to prove his intelligence in studies and Dialectic Duels?


    What if I fail?


    Could he be happy at the Bank of Giants, in a life of full of duty and obligations? One that would occupy every hour of his days? Always having to measure to his father.


    Can I be happy in a life that I don''t want to have?


    Could him find peace in a life of leisure and no expectations?


    He could not remember the last book that he had read. His love of literature had faded away, along with his interest in studies, music and hobbies.


    The problems, the choices, the doubts and worries, they all had robbed all the flavor from his life. Removing the joy from the few things that had once given him so much pleasure.


    So much refuge.


    "Could I read all day?" Ollie asked, unable to contain his smile.


    "Absolutely."


    Ollie contemplated what it would be like to wake up to a world without responsibilities, expectations and disappointments. What would a reality be like where he had the freedom of being no one, of doing or not doing whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted, only if he wanted. Being the ultimate owner of his own will?


    Would it be permissible to be this free?


    A home where he could sit on every piece of furniture, where nothing would hold greater value than himself, where the childhood he lost could be rediscovered and relived.


    In the Blue House he could abandon the past and future, live in the perpetual now, in an eternal routine of familiar pleasures, of peace and tranquility, of silence and reflection.


    A refuge where everything and everyone who wished him ill would never be invited in.


    "Can you truly create this dream in my world?"


    "Yes, I can," the Pig nodded. "Give me the sweet, and I''ll give you your good dream."


    Ollie wanted to believe, wanted to wake up to a day without choices, without mistakes and without dangers. But believing was a danger in itself, how many times had life taught him that?


    The greatest pain didn''t come from not having, the greatest pain came from believing in having, only to then lose.


    "If I give you the sweet," he felt the sweet over his pocket. "What will happen?"


    "You wake up." The Smiling Pig curved his lips. "And I wake up with you."


    "Will you live in my world?" he asked, confused. "My mother will..."


    "Don''t worry." The Pig shook his head. "Only you will see and hear me."


    Ollie didn''t like the idea, in his town they had a name for people who talk to invisible beings. Alienated. Alienated people didn''t have freedom, they had the opposite.


    "But you will have powers, right?" He lifted an ear. "To fulfill my dream."


    "Of course." The Pig waved his hand. "However, my power is limited to you."


    "What does that mean?" Ollie furrowed his snout. "What kind of magic can you give me?"


    The Pig shook his head. "There''s no magic in the magic I offer you."


    "What?" Ollie gritted his teeth. "How are you going to change my world then?"


    "Simple." The Smiling Pig shrugged. "I''ll tell you what to do."


    "What? How is doing your bidding any different from doing others'' biddings?"


    "I''m not another, my dear." The Pig pointed at Ollie. "I am your dream, your voice, your promises of happiness."


    "I''m tired of promises." Ollie''s voice came out weak and trembling.


    The Smiling Pig nodded and for a long moment pondered Ollie''s dilemma.


    Suddenly, his dense blue eyes twinkled in the euphoria of a solution.


    "I know. How about an ice cream?"


    "No." Ollie almost screamed in horror as he saw the Pig pick up a crystal tray holding a huge rainbow ice cream in the shape of a pyramid. "There is no ice cream, and if there was, even if it was real and could take with me to my world. I don''t need ice cream, I don''t need advice, I need a miracle, I need help."


    "My dear," The Pig placed the tray in front of Ollie. "The ice cream is the help."


    "No, you are not listening to me." he furrowed his snout. "I don''t need a dream that tells me what to do or what to eat. I need a dream with the power to do something for me."


    "Dreams are flavors." The Smiling Pig spoke in a sigh of patience. "Flavors of ideas, emotions, and memories." his blue eyes stared at the pyramid in the colors of the rainbow. "Each dream has a path, a home, a life."


    "I don''t like the taste of mine."


    "Of course you don''t." The Smiling Pig gestured disdainfully at the rainbow ice cream. "You mixed the flavors, my dear, you want everything! The good dream stops being good when you put it together with the bad ones."


    He stared at the ice cream, trying to decipher the enigma of what the Pig wanted to convey.


    The rainbow ice cream had been another invention of his mother, the idea was to put all his favorite flavors together, in thin layers, like a tasting palette.


    The dessert had been a masterpiece of culinary skill and a charming visual spectacle.


    However, its taste did not match its appearance. Sweet flavors did not blend with bitter ones, fruits did not complement vanilla or chocolate, everything that worked separately, when combined, created a confused palate of disharmony and disappointment.


    "I told my mother this was my favorite dessert," He stared into the dense blue of the Pig''s eyes. "But the truth is, I hated it."


    Ollie was so confused, the Smiling Pig was mixing everything up, these were good memories. Yes, he didn''t like the ice cream, nor did he enjoy the fried vegetables, but he loved the meal, the discovery, even the surprise of disappointment.


    They weren''t perfect memories, but they were perfect in their way.


    "I can silence the bad dreams," the Smiling Pig nodded with intense satisfaction. "The happiness I offer you doesn''t come from what I give, but from what I help to take away."


    The Smiling Pig pierced the rainbow pyramid with his long silver spoon. "The false promises, the false choices and half-truths," each word was a spoonful scooped out. "I will extract the bad and leave a void in its place, a void without pain or doubt. Then I will fill that void," he grabbed the golden pitcher and poured it over the hole in the rainbow pyramid. "I will occupy your uncertainties, guilt, and longings," the dense blue syrup flowed from the gold, filling the colorful void "when you remove the bad flavors," the syrup completely covered the ice cream and began to overflow onto the table. "What''s left is the nectar," the Pig drew the last spoonful of ice cream, submerged in dark syrup, "The delicious nectar of your life," he offered it with a wide smile. "Try it."


    Ollie looked suspiciously at the dark nectar dripping onto the floor.


    It was another metaphor, another insinuation that, if he changed his thoughts, he could alter reality. An idea he found stupid and cruel.


    Stupid, because positive thoughts wouldn''t stop his mother from yelling at him, nor would they bring his father back for his birthday, or help Seffia win her bet.


    Cruel, because it was a cowardly idea, blaming the victim for their own suffering, saying that there are no villans, and if anyone hurts you, that means you somehow you allowed.


    Ollie eyed the dark syrup with suspicion. "What if I don''t like it?"


    "If you don''t like it," the Smiling Pig shrugged. "Then this is not your good dream," he withdrew with the spoon. "But how will you know if you like it or not," he approached again with the spoon. "Without first trying?"


    Reluctantly, Ollie opened his mouth to take a small bite.


    The spoon was pressed to his lips, making him swallow its dense flavor.


    In the rainbow ice cream, the only taste that remained was of its rich syrup.


    "So, my dear," the Smiling Pig asked confidently. "what do you say?"


    Ollie didn''t know what to say or think. In his chest, there was the weight of unknow, he dint want to go back outside, he didn''t want to face the bad dreams, he wanted to be over.


    He wanted to be safe.


    If I don''t like this dream, what it will happen to me?


    With closed eyes, he tasted from the dripping spoon.


    "It''s quite bitter," Ollie spoke with relief. "but not a bad bitter, it''s a strange taste, strange and familiar, it''s as if I had tasted it before." he smiled. "I think I liked it."


    "Of course you do.¡± The Pig laughed. ¡°With me by your side, ice creams every day."


    Ollie thought about the centipede that had entered his nose, the memories of Seffia that he had offered in exchange for the choice of his dreams. The offer from the Smiling Pig was similar to that of the Dream Merchant. He would remove the bad dreams from his mind, remove the choices that brought him pain, offering risks and dangers he had no power to face.


    Could he be happy like that?


    Happy in the absence of his bad choices?


    "I am afraid to make the wrong choice."


    ¡°You should be, for all your choices will lead you to despair.¡±


    Ollie lowered his ears. ¡°I don''t have a choice?¡±


    The smiling pig shook his head with a kind stare.


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    "Because life is a prison, my dear," the Pig discarded the spoon on the table. "Where each choice is a cell." He put his hand inside a white cake decorated with golden icing, pulling out a heap. "If you go to work at the Bank of Giants, your cell will be doing what you dislike every day, in the captivity of a life you don''t want to have." He made a face of disgust. "Or you could try going to one of the Towers of the Academy." with his other hand, the Pig pulled out a crystal goblet, one that held a tower of goblets stacked on top of each other, each with a pudding of a different flavor. "But isn''t doing what you want is even scarier?" The tower collapsed on the table, two of the goblets rolled and shattered on the floor. "What ff you fail right at the beginning, in the first Dialectical Duels of entry, then you will the rest of you life, to linger in a cell of shame and failure." the Pig licked the cream off the goblet and made an even uglier face. "And even if you win one duel, you are still a Pig, will the Cats respect you? There is a cell for losing, but there is a cell for wining as well, one where your classmates and teachers become your jailers and torturers." He threw the crystal goblet over his shoulder, letting it break on the floor. "Every choice is a cell." He crushed the cake between his fat fingers. "Different flavors unbearable sorrow and regret."


    "These thoughts are mine." Ollie felt the chill of realization, that the ideas he hid within himself, now came out of the mouth of the Smiling Pig. "Why are you using my ideas against me?"


    "Against you?" His dense blue eyes seemed hurt. "I exist to protect you, my dear, to protect you from the prison of your choices and the treacherous lies of your bad dreams."


    "Then tell me what to do," Ollie spoke in agony. "Tell me how do I escape from my life?"


    "You already know the answer, my dear," the Smiling Pig nodded calmly. "When you saw the Blue House, you recognized that the choice was none."


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about." Ollie stated uncertainly.


    "You came here first," the Smiling Pig opened his arms. "To escape your prison."


    "No," Ollie took a step back. "That''s a lie."


    "How can I lie, when I speak your thoughts?"


    "I don''t know, I have many thoughts." Ollie lowered his ears. "But I don''t know what to do."


    "You don''t have to do anything." The Smiling Pig said gently.


    "That doesn''t work in my world, in my world I have to do something."


    "What happens if you don''t?"


    "I lose my father''s respect."


    The shook his big head "You cannot lose what you don''t possess."


    Ollie wanted to deny it, but he couldn''t, how could he lose something he never had?


    What would be worse? Not having his father''s respect? Or sacrificing himself to earn his esteem, only to taste the bitterness of losing what was never his to have?


    "If I don''t do anything, I''ll live with my mother forever."


    "Forever is a long time, my dear," the Smiling Pig waved his fat hand. "Your parents are old, your mother is sick, your father works himself to a early grave."


    "What do you mean by that?"


    "Why go out in search of a future?" The Pig gestured around the room. "When your future already moves in search of you?"


    Ollie would not entertain this idea, he did not want to acknowledge its familiarity, thoughts that between tears and sobs, had often came to visit him.


    "This is my father''s house," Ollie shrugged. "It doesn''t belong to me."


    These thoughts did not belong in the light, they were shameful ideas best unspoken.


    The Smiling Pig nodded firmly and confidently. "This house is your inheritance."


    "You think I''m waiting for my parents to die?"


    The Pig waved his hands vehemently. "No one is talking about death here, my dear."


    Ollie frowned his snout. "You spoke of age, of inheritance, you are talking about death."


    "No," the Pig placed a hand over his chest in a dramatic gesture of offense. "No, on the contrary, I am the one speaking about life, your life," he nodded. "Your life and your freedom."


    "I would not never be capable of doing that."


    "Doing what?" The Pig shrugged. "You don''t have to do anything," he waved a finger. "You don''t have to choose, you don''t have to act. What is the sin in waiting? No one can be blamed for what they didn''t do, right?" he smiled. "No one knows the future. What you do know is that with every birthday your father gives you a present of greater value," he raised his shoulders. "Who can say if your father won''t give you this house while still alive?"


    "No," Ollie spoke, but it was too late, he could not close the box now that he had seen what was hiding inside. "No."


    "Yes, my dear," the Smiling Pig nodded. "Do not deny the dream you created."


    Ollie looked around, now seeing his future, a future no one could rob from him, one where he could not fail, one where bad people and disappointments could not invade. This house would be his future, an adult version of his room, a refuge from the pains of a dangerous, indifferent and cruel world.


    Yes, he wanted all of this, yet his snout still frowned, he liked and hated what the Smiling Pig had to offer him.


    "If I don''t have to do anything, why do I need you then?"


    ¡°I can keep the bad dreams away.¡± the Pig nodded. "Remind you everyday that there is no regret, when there was no choice to be made."


    Ollie thought of the centipede eating his doubts, his regrets and uncertainties.


    It should be a monstrous idea, but sometimes to heal you have to bleed first, an infected arm must be amputated for life. Why not also amputate ideas?


    Why not bleed the venom of false hope? The poison of foolish risks, the toxicity of misfortunes and the perversity of people pretending to be good?


    "I have no choice," Ollie spoke with a sigh of relief. "I never did."


    "Life is a prison," the Smiling Pig extended his open hand.


    Ollie nodded to the Smiling Pig.


    The Smiling Pig smiled even more.


    He took the sweet from inside his blue pajamas with yellow stars.


    When the Smiling Pig''s eyes caught sight of the red coating, they widened in an uncontrollable hunger.


    Here is the corrected and updated English version of the text:


    Ollie hesitated, the Smiling Pig had seemed satiated until then, he had eaten without appetite, and looked without taste at all the dishes in the hall. But for the heart-shaped sweet he had revealed a hunger that seemed bottomless.


    "Forgive me, my dear," the Smiling Pig wiped the drool dripping from his lips with a white satin napkin. "Sometimes it''s hard to wait."


    "I understand," Ollie spoke admiring the sweet, considering for the first time that its value might be greater than he had conceived. "When you''re in my world, what will you eat?"


    It was a stupid question, ghosts did not need to eat, yet the Smiling Pig gave an uncomfortable smile.


    "Do you believe me, my dear?" the Pig spoke seriously, as if he had heard his thoughts. "Do you believe I want to protect you from the world?"


    Ollie nodded.


    He did not know how, but he knew, he had no doubts that the Smiling Pig wanted to protect him from a world of bitterness and disappointments.


    The Pig gave a sigh of relief. "Then all that''s left is for you to give me the candy."


    Ollie reflected, he had already accepted, nothing had changed, he was still without any choice, no choice but¡­ and then he suddenly understood.


    "What''s wrong?" the Pig asked frowning his snout. "Why are you looking at me like that?"


    Ollie remained silent, uncertain of his sudden conviction.


    "You have to give me the candy, my dear, you have no choice."


    "But if I do, if I give you the candy, I will be choosing you."


    "No, my dear, I am not a path," the Smiling Pig shrugged. "I am the path not taken."


    "Not choosing is a choice."


    "Is it?" The Pig was still smiling, but his eyes sparkled with frustration. "When all paths lead to ruin, is not taking the road and being safe really a choice?"


    "I think so."


    "You think?"


    Ollie frowned. "And if I choose to stay here, and then regret it?"


    The Pig lost his smile, for the first time he seemed sad and Ollie felt a pang in his heart at hurting someone who only wanted to help him.


    "Don''t say that, my dear," the Pig spoke tearfully. "This is the home of your childhood."


    "No," Ollie stared at the house with melancholy. "This is just an empty house."


    "Not if I am here with you." the Pig pleaded with moist blue eyes. "I will never leave you."


    Ollie felt guilt and horror, he wanted to stay, he wanted to run, all in the same breath.


    "What if there is something good waiting for me out there?"


    "No, my dear, I told you," the Pig spoke with sincerity. "You have only one good dream."


    "But I want more than you have to give."


    "You think this dream is a cell?" The Pig gestured bitterly. "Maybe it is, I won''t deny it. But there are two types of cells, two flavors of pain," he gave a slight smile. "The pain you can endure, and the pain that is too painful to survive."


    The silence passed between them and, in the void of the moment, he made his choice.


    "I want more than bearable pain."


    He turned, there was nothing more to say.


    "Come back, I beg you," the Smiling Pig cried out in agony.


    Ollie stared into his dense, tearful blue eyes.


    "Give me the sweet! Give me the candy before it''s too late for you," the Pig pleaded, looking at him distrustfully. "Without me by your side, you won''t survive."


    Ollie knew the Smiling Pig''s pain, the pain the smile could no longer contain.


    "I''m sorry," he spoke sincerely, knowing apologies would not ease his pain.


    The Smiling Pig let out a roar of agony and terror.


    With his fat arms, he knocked over the dishes on the table, soiling and spilling everything in his path. He tried to knock over the table, but he was too weak, too fat, and under the weight of both he succumbed, breaking the wood, tearing the tablecloth, knocking the dishes over himself.


    The Pig tried to get up, but again he was too heavy, too weak, he crawled towards Ollie, but in the resolution of his failure, he gave up, with dense blue eyes he waited for pity to give him his satiation.


    "Why are you doing this?" The tearful Pig extended his arm. "Why are you going towards a world that wants to hurt you?"


    This answer Ollie knew, it was what had brought him here, it was also the reason he could not stay. "You told me I have a good dream."


    The Pig looked astonished. "I am the good dream."


    Ollie saw the Pig lying on the floor, immersed in the filth of his despair.


    "No, I don''t believe you are."


    "You have no good dreams," the Pig spoke with disgust. "You only have nightmares."


    "Maybe," Ollie gave a long sigh. "But as you said yourself, how will I know without trying it first?"


    Ollie turned and walked towards the exit.


    The Pig cried out to him, painful screams of weeping, agony and pain.


    Ollie did not ignore the screams, for they were as if they were his own screams, yet he continued, and with each step the screams grew smaller, when he left the house, he could no longer hear anything.


    The screams and the weeping had been left behind.

 Chapter 5

    The Dream Merchant was waiting for Ollie at the heart of the crossroads.


    The young Pig approached with firm steps and a serious countenance.


    The white porcelain mask smiled subtly, the delicate black lines painted an illusion of amusement, but inside Ollie didn''t know if there was a face or emotion.


    "You refused the Blue House?" The ethereal voice asked without interest.


    "Yes." Ollie replied, frowning his snout.


    "You still have three houses," The Merchant gestured. "three choices."


    "The Pig from the Blue House told me that you deceived me."


    Ollie let the accusation weigh in the air, he didn''t want to say more than necessary. He would let the Merchant''s response reveal the depth of the accusation.


    However, the Merchant didn''t bother to answer anything, not even a wave of the mask. Was this his way of denying it? Or was his silence a confession?


    "He said that of the five dreams," Ollie continued, "only one is a good dream."


    The Merchant''s porcelain mask turned to contemplate the Blue House, then slowly moved to gaze at the young Pig. "Wouldn''t the good dream be the one you choose?"


    "You''re not answering me." Ollie said seriously, with an intensity that was unfamiliar to him. "I want to know if you sold me bad dreams?"


    "I didn''t sell you dreams," The Merchant waved his long black finger. "I sold you the power to nurture and fulfill one of your dreams."


    "But you didn''t tell me that I had bad dreams." Ollie couldn''t contain the hurt in his voice. "You knew and didn''t tell me."


    "I don''t hold the value of your dreams, Ollie." The ethereal voice spoke, bored. "You alone chose the ones that are worth keeping, and those that are better given away."


    "I didn''t find any good dreams in there." Ollie stared at the Blue House with judgment. "I found a nightmare."


    "And who was the owner of the nightmare you found?"


    "What?" Ollie choked on the idea. "What do you mean by that?"


    "Who disguised your dream as a nightmare?"


    You, that''s what Ollie wanted to say, you deceived me, you gave me the bad dream.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    He wanted to deny it, wanted to say that this dream never belonged to him, that he had never visited the Blue House, that the Merchant had conjured it out of nowhere. However, now that he had opened the box, that was a lie he could no longer tell himself.


    "Is it true that I have only one good dream?"


    The Merchant rose and hovered over the young Pig with the grandeur of his height.


    "Yes." he answered with finality.


    "Why only one?"


    "Why did you refuse the Blue House?"


    Ollie didn''t know how to answer, why after all had he refused the Blue House? His reasons for wanting and not wanting the dream seemed the same, how was it possible not to want what you want?


    "I want something better."


    "Can you describe this better?" The Merchant''s ethereal voice asked with a fraction of genuine curiosity. "What do you hope to find here?"


    Ollie thought of Seffia, he wanted to go back to her, wanted to go back and make time stop running. This was close to what he wanted, but this was not a dream, it was a memory, one he had sold to the Dream Merchant.


    "I don''t know what I want." Ollie spoke, frustrated.


    "But do you know it exists?" A yellow spark shone in the darkness of the Merchant''s eyes. "Not only do you believe it exists, but that it is here, waiting for you?"


    "Of course." Ollie frowned his snout. "Why else would I be here?"


    "The good dream is the dream that makes you stop dreaming."


    "Only one dream can do that?"


    The white porcelain mask nodded.


    Ollie lowered his ears. "That doesn''t seem fair to me."


    "How can you find what you want, if you only want what you cannot have?"


    "Which of my dreams is my good one?"


    "Whatever one you choose," The Merchant placed his hand on the young Pig''s shoulder and gestured to the three houses on the horizon. "Here, you are the judge of your own happiness."


    Ollie stared at the Black House on the hill and a chill gripped his heart.


    He shuddered to think what awaited him in that dark place.


    Nothing good waits for me there.


    He decided that he would return to his room empty-handed before climbing the steps to the Black House on the edge of the abyss.


    The Golden Mansion seemed to be the best option, something inside him told him that everything he wanted in life, he would certainly find there.


    However, the stone path first passed through the ruins of the Red Castle.


    The Castle also frightened him a little, in fairy tales the ruins hid dangers and trials, but they also housed treasures and artifacts of power.


    He could still hear the smiling Pig''s voice telling him that he would regret it, that he had no good dreams, only nightmares that would hurt him.


    He was tired of lowering his head, of silencing his will, he couldn''t explain it, but suddenly the dangerous choice didn''t seem so dangerous anymore.


    After all, he had defeated the Blue House, hadn''t he?


    Part of him told him no, that the host of the Blue House had been his only ally, that he would regret continuing, that he would regret not staying by his side.


    But he had found another part now, one that said if he wanted to live, he had to stop running away from his life.


    Ollie arched his lips and made his way to the Red Castle.


    The Dream Merchant followed him a little, but as he approached, he stopped and let Ollie go on alone to meet his second dream.


    Ollie didn''t look back this time, with his snout raised he reached the shattered and open gates. This time he didn''t call or knock, this time he just walked silently into the darkness.

 Chapter 6

    In front of Ollie, lay a vast and gloomy hall.


    A scarlet carpet stretched between marble columns, guiding him between two braziers that fought against the darkness. Their insufficient light revealed the cracked walls, adorned with their torn paintings. At the end of this abandoned and desolate room, stood a grandiose and worn stone throne.


    Siting at the throne, an imponent and proud shadow, awaited him.


    Ollie walked through the hall cautiously, his bare feet alternating between the comfort of the carpet and the cold hard stones that dotted the floor''s cracks.


    ¡°You''re late,¡± said a Pig with a serious and somber demeanor.


    A red cloak covered half of his body, draping over his feet. His bare chest displayed the rigid muscles of a warrior, while his majestic crown and cold demeanor revealed the imposing and authoritative presence of a king.


    Ollie felt compelled to justify himself. ¡°I was at the Blue House.¡±


    ¡°Look at me, soldier, not the ground.¡±


    Ollie swallowed hard and lifted his head. ¡°I am not a soldier,¡± he spoke firmly.


    The Pig King arched his lips in an almost smile. ¡°Then who are you?¡±


    The question seemed so simple, yet the more Ollie thought, the more he searched for an answer, the further he found himself from what to say.


    The Pig King looked at him impatiently.


    Ollie had to say something, anything but remain silent.


    Unable to define himself, he sought in others the description of who he was.


    To his mother, he was a ¡®useless¡¯.


    To his father, a ¡®disappointment¡¯.


    To the teachers, ¡®troublesome¡¯.


    To his peers, a ¡®joke¡¯.


    In the echoes of his thoughts, he could hear and feel each word.


    Unfair, offensive, and untrue words.


    Yet, also accurate, deserved, and true.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know." Ollie spoke, lowering his eyes. ¡°I guess I am nobody, then.¡±


    ¡°Look at me, soldier.¡± The Pig commanded him authoritatively.


    Ollie raised his snout, he had survived the first house, he would survive this one, never again would he lower his eyes to the ground.


    ¡°I am not afraid of you.¡± Ollie spoke, gazing into the ice blue of the King''s eyes.


    The Pig nodded in approval.


    ¡°What is your name?¡± Ollie asked. ¡°You call me soldier, what do I call you?¡±


    ¡°You call me King.¡±


    ¡°King is not a name, King is a title.¡±


    ¡°My name is not a name either.¡± he spoke definitively. ¡°Call me King.¡±


    Ollie nodded. ¡°So, King, why do you call me soldier?¡±


    ¡°Because that is what you dream of being.¡±


    Ollie shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t have the strength to be a soldier.¡±


    ¡°In fairy tales, many heroes start weak.¡± The King pulled a hidden sword from his red cloak. ¡°But in the course of the story, they always find their power.¡±


    Ollie stared at the blade with fascination and palpitation. A magical sword would be the solution to all his problems, he would never fear Rabbits if he had a weapon with powers, a weapon capable of killing his monsters and enemies.


    He almost smiled, almost believed, but now he knew some of the rules of this place.


    "I can''t take anything with me," he said with disappointment. "You can''t offer power or magical objects, and I know that anything I find here, I can''t take with me."


    "That''s not true," the blade glinted in the fire of the braziers. "What I have to offer, you can take with you."


    Ollie pricked up his ears skeptically. "Can I take the sword?"


    The Pig King sighed with impatience. "Of course not," he threw the weapon at Ollie''s feet. "It''s not the sword that makes the soldier, it''s the will to fight against those who wish you harm."


    Ollie appreciated the idea, it was clear that he wanted that power.


    "That''s not how it works in my world," he sighed. "I can''t hurt anyone, I can''t get revenge and fight whoever I want."


    "In stories, heroes always triumph in the end."


    "I hate fairy tales."


    "Why?"


    "Their stories lie," Ollie said, not hiding his frustration. "Heroes are always stronger, smarter, always with destiny on their side," he lowered his ears. "In the real world, it''s never like that. In the real world, you are the weakest, the dumbest, the least fortunate. If you fight in the story, you get the princess, but if you fight in real life, you just get beaten."


    "How many times have you fought?" The Pig King asked reproachfully. "How many times have you tried to be the hero of your life?"


    Ollie couldn''t tell the truth, he couldn''t say he had never fought, but nor could he remain silent and let his silence validate the lie of his words.


    "I don¡¯t have a magic sword," he said, looking at the blade on the ground with antipathy. "I don¡¯t have powers, nor are there prophecies claiming I''m the chosen one," he sighed with despondency. "In my world, actions have consequences. If I fight, I might be expelled from my school, become an even bigger outcast, or cause my mother to have a heart attack," he flicked his snout. "I can¡¯t simply confront someone stronger. And what if I get beaten? What if I lose for nothing? How can I endure a life even worse than the one I have now?"


    The Pig King gave a near smile. "You don''t want to be a hero, do you?"


    Of course, Ollie wanted to, but that was precisely why the notion was so repulsive to him.


    What''s the point of desiring the unattainable?


    "I''m no longer a child," he said earnestly. "In the real world, there are no heroes. In the real world, there are only..."


    Ollie lost his train of thought, caught off guard by the implications of his own conclusion.


    "In the real world..." The Pig King echoed his words with a slow, deliberate delight, "In the real world, there are no heroes," the ice blue in his eyes reflecting a faint glow of triumph. "In the real world, there are only soldiers."


    Ollie nodded, silent in the realization that the King''s vision obscured his own.


    "Soldiers don''t fight because they know they will win," the King continued. "Soldiers fight because not fighting means death."


    "How can I fight?" Ollie flapped his snout. "Knowing I will lose?"


    "How can you know you will lose?" The King offered an almost smile. "if you don''t fight?"


    ¡°If I was strong, I would fight.¡± Ollie lifted his ears. "Can you make me strong?"


    The Pig King gave a slight nod.


    Instinctively, Ollie touched the candy through the fabric of his pajamas.


    He remembered the words of the Smiling Pig.


    You have no good dreams, you only have nightmares.


    "Are you my good dream?" Ollie asked, wanting and not wanting to believe.


    "Tell me." The Pig King spoke with authority. "How do you judge a dream where your enemies pay for all the pain they''ve caused you?"


    "Good." Ollie spoke quickly and without hesitation. "I would say that''s a good dream."


    The Pig King gave a brief smile. "Then tell me, who do you want to be?"


    "I want to¡­" Ollie hesitated for an eternal second. "I want to be a soldier."


    The Pig King stood up. "Come with me."


    "Where to?"


    "To your good dream."


    Ollie smiled and nodded. However, when he took his first step, the Pig King raised his hand. "What is it?" he asked.


    "Don''t forget to bring your sword." The King said, turning his back.


    Ollie stared at the sword, then picked it up with reverence and caution.


    The sword was simple, nothing like those described in fairy tales, it had no runes, jewels, or aura of light, it was just an ordinary weapon, but its handle was firm and its blade sharp.


    It was a weapon, a weapon with the power to kill.


    The King vanished into the darkness of the hall.


    Ollie stared at the way back, but the weight of the sword brought him comfort, he saw his distorted reflection in the metal, it didn''t look like the contours of a child wearing a ridiculous pajama with a blue cape with yellow stars, in the reflection he saw a brave knight, a soldier.


    Without fear or hesitation, he followed the Pig King into the dark darkness of the hall.


    ***


    Ollie followed behind the king through the narrow corridor.


    The King carried a torch, Ollie expectations.


    Finally, they reached a dark chamber, where shadows around them moved, but his snout could smell their stench, and his attentive ears could hear the mute whispers of their pain and the clinking of chains.


    He grasped the pommel of his sword. "What is this?"


    The King let go of his torch, it fell into a cold brazier, flames awakened, unveiling the mysteries of the darkness. Ollie couldn''t believe his eyes, a sight so inconceivable that a storm of emotions burned in his chest. His feelings fought within him, oscillating between surprise, pity, pleasure, amazement, and confusion. All but fear, that he felt no longer.


    Before him, there was a dungeon. A dungeon with walls of twisted stones, dirty with dark mold and mosses. Long rusty chains hung from rings, imprisoning several filthy and mistreated Rabbits, wearing torn rags that displayed the protruding bones of their malnutrition. As much as what he saw was frightening, it was what he saw beyond that made his heart freeze.


    The dungeon hid another place, one with the same proportions. Two prisons similar in feeling, but alternating in smells and decoration. However, in the cell of his world, Ollie was the prisoner, but here, it was his taskmasters who decorated the dirty walls of their well-deserved punishment. The prisoners here were his schoolmates.


    The dungeon, in his world, was his classroom.


    None of them laughed, there were no faces of disgust and superiority, they were all trembling and shriveled, all just staring at the filthy ground. As in the classroom, they were divided into two rows, chained in the order of their seats, but here stuck to the moldy walls.


    At the end of the dungeon, in the place that in his world should belong to the teacher, was one of the students who received the distinction, he was alone, tied on his knees with his head exposed on an execution block. Despite the shadows, Ollie recognized him.


    It was his enemy, it was Godofredo who occupied the place of honor.


    "What is this place?" Ollie asked trying to contain his guilt.


    "You know." The Pig King nodded. "You know very well where you are."


    Ollie wanted to deny, to say that he never asked for any of this, that he was a good person, and good people don''t dream of doing bad things, of committing terrible evils. But how to refute a secret once revealed?


    He approached the execution block, with ebony wood and gray ropes, it was identical to the illustration in his history book, it was on this block that the last descendant of Lacrimoz was judged, thus marking the end of the White Lion Dynasty.


    The chains on the dungeon walls were also familiar to him, in his imagination, that''s how he saw the shackles of the Debtors'' Cells. The Gorillas were anarcho-merchantilists, in their private prisons their captives paid for their incarceration and their food.


    Those who labored in the mines eventually died of exhaustion. Those who could not pay or work, died of hunger in the Debtors'' Cells. This dungeon had been built with the fragments of his obsession. His best-kept secret. His fascination and his repulsion by the injustices of the world.


    Ollie stared at Godofredo, smelling the stench of urine, lost in the details of where the gray rope, where various abrasions colored with red the dirty white of his fur.


    "Aren''t you going to say hi?" He couldn''t resist repeating his words.


    The Rabbit did not answer, just trembled at the sound of his voice.


    "How many times has he already died in your dreams?" The King''s voice inquired.


    Ollie didn''t know how to answer. Hundreds? Thousands? After the first, the deaths started to blend together, all were lost, all but the last, all but the first.


    It all started at the Skhargora museum, when Ollie came across the mural depicting the execution of the God-Emperor of the Pigs. His giant body being dragged by metal hooks to the center of his arena. Hungry beasts surrounded him, covered him, devoured him.


    Edrik, the Kind was a monster who deserved to suffer.


    But the justice of the mural hid the injustice of his world, where petty villains could practice their evil with impunity, where right and wrong had no meaning.


    That day, Ollie imagined his own justice, seeing in the mural Godofredo in place of Edrik.


    Every debauchery and brutality, all sadism and torture, every evil became good, his pleas melody, his agony beauty, his tears joy, a pure joy that allowed him to laugh.


    On that first day, he kept the image, after he lost Seffia, he came visit it again.


    When he finally grew tired of the made-up memory, he searched tirelessly in history books for other wars and moments of torture and tragedy. In the worst of the world, he found his way back to the feeling that comforted him.


    The joy of his make-believe revenge.


    For the only justice a weak coward like him could experience.


    "I lost count." Ollie confessed without remorse. "I didn''t know it was a dream."


    "Of course, you didn''t," The Pig King spoke harshly. "You deny the power of your will."


    Ollie turned to deny the idea, to explain to the King that in his world, his dreams and desires didn''t matter. However, as he turned, all the prisoners around him moved away to the limit of their shackles, then shrunk and swallowed the low moans of their mute screams of terror.


    The visceral dread was palpable, infinitely greater than in the history books.


    "They are afraid," Ollie spoke with confused appreciation. "afraid of me."


    The King looked at him surprised. "Isn''t that what you wanted?"


    How could Ollie say yes to that revolting idea?


    "I''m not a monster," Ollie gestured to the spasms of the prisoners. "I just wanted to feel what they feel, I just wanted to understand the pleasure they feel in hurting me."


    The Pig King gave an almost smile. "Now you do."


    Ollie stared at the prisoners, his classmates, those who laughed, those who spoke behind his back, those who pretended he didn''t exist, all who made him feel small. In his dreams, he thought the pleasure came from torture, from pain, and from blood.


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    Now he understood how wrong he was.


    It was so obvious, so simple it made him feel stupid.


    "Yes." Ollie stared at the King. "I feel strong, I''ve never felt like this before."


    The Pig King nodded, the ice blue of his eyes shining with approval.


    "When you stay silent and lower your eyes, when you smile while they laugh at you." he waved his stern countenance. "Every fear that you offer in exchange for pity, that''s the food of their strength, the real reason why they will never tire of hurting and humiliating you."


    "No." Ollie spoke angrily. "You want to blame me for what they did to me."


    "You are to blame."


    "No, I had no choice. Godofredo is stronger than me."


    "How many times have you fought him?"


    "I..." Ollie couldn''t answer, how to say none without admitting he was a coward? How to explain that he never defended himself without making it seem like his submission was the reason his classmates despised him? "I know I will lose."


    "Consequences." The King spoke in an almost laugh. "Well, here we are in the dungeon of your dreams," he gestured towards the Rabbit. "There are no consequences here."


    "What?"


    "You said yourself, in your world he can hurt you back."


    Ollie stared at his sword, then at the execution block where his enemy awaited him.


    ¡°You want me to hurt him?¡±


    ¡°No, his sentence is death.¡±


    "If I kill him here?" Ollie asked in a sigh. "Does he die in the real world?"


    "No." The King waved his hand. "Maybe he''ll have a nightmare, nothing more."


    Ollie breathed a sigh of relief, but then perked up his ears confused.


    "What difference does it make then?"


    "The first time you hurt someone, it''s the hardest." The King''s voice was calm and cold. "That sword in your hand is a toy, until the moment you use it."


    Ollie stared at the sharp gleam of his blade in the darkness, the weapon he had wielded with pride, that had lent him a feeling of strength and power. The sword that had made him a soldier, now weighed in his hand as if he were unworthy to bear it.


    All the confidence the weapon had given him, now it felt like it was pulling back. He wasn''t a soldier, he was just a kid dressed in blue pajamas with yellow stars.


    A stupid kid playing soldier.


    Ollie, who in his imagination lost count of the times he had killed Godofredo, walked towards the Execution Block as if he were the one to be judged.


    With each reluctant step, the prisoners around him moved away and shrank, blind to the ridiculousness of his pajamas, their eyes closed seeing only terror.


    Ollie stopped, suddenly the weapon in his hand was no longer a toy.


    His final steps were firm and confident, his shadow covered the Rabbit and passed through it, climbing the stone walls, creating a giant dark silhouette.


    It wasn''t a child he saw in the darkness.


    But rather a god, a mighty god of vengeance and retribution.


    "Do you think you can do whatever you want?" Ollie asked without curiosity, without pity or bitterness, his voice was calm and cold, full of authority. "Do you think there''s no limit to what I can endure?" he arched his lips in an almost smile. "It wasn''t me who put you here." he searched in vain for their eyes. "You deserve to be here."


    Godofredo struggled in his gray ropes, his dirty wounds opening, but in his desperation, he ignored the futility of his pain.


    "You''re only making it worse." Ollie spoke without pity. "You know you''re not escaping."


    Instead of stopping, the Rabbit twisted even more, bleeding even more, hurting himself even more, it wasn''t the pain he feared, it was what was to come that he couldn''t bear.


    "Stop now!" Ollie shouted. "I want you quiet."


    He touched with his blade the Rabbit''s long ears, sliding down to his tearful face.


    Godofredo immediately froze, not even daring to breathe or tremble.


    Ollie placed his snout close to his long dirty ear.


    "Who''s the cowardly Pig now?"


    In his dreams, Godofredo always apologized, begged, and promised he would never repeat his mistake. Ollie realized that his words made no difference, he was weak, one who would say anything and everything he wanted to hear.


    "You were never strong," Ollie spoke with melancholy. "I was always stronger than you."


    Ollie looked at his sword, the manifestation of his power, it could have been anything else, a knife, a stone, even a cruel joke. His strength wasn''t in the weapon, but in the will to use it.


    The courage to hurt him before he could ever hurt me.


    Holding the hilt of his weapon with both hands, Ollie aimed the tip at his enemy''s neck. But at the moment of judgment, the Rabbit opened his eyes. In the red of his iris, there was no longer contempt or mockery, his look was a farewell and also a confession.


    A reminder of the days when they were friends.


    "It''s too late now." Ollie spoke without pity. "Now it''s your turn."


    The Rabbit lowered his head and his ears in acquiescence, relaxed his body and with a sigh, accepted the inevitability of his execution.


    Now it''s your turn, you deserve it, you deserve to suffer you cowardly Pig.


    Ollie found in hatred the courage to use his sword.


    As he lowered the blade, he shuddered. In the dark countenance where the Rabbit had been, now it was his own face that inhabited his bound body.


    Blinking his eyes, the Rabbit was back, waiting for his justice. Everything had returned to its rightful place, everything but the hatred pulsing in Ollie¡¯s heart.


    What happened?


    What did it mean?


    What changed?


    Ollie didn''t know the answer.


    He tried to raise the sword again, but this time, it was too heavy.


    Drawing his ears back, he looked shamefully at the King.


    "I can''t."


    "This is your dream."


    "I know, I want to, but I can''t."


    The cold blue of the King''s eyes judged.


    "Why not?"


    The sword weighed heavy in Ollie''s hands.


    "I don''t know, I swear I don''t."


    There was no pity or compassion in the hard countenance of the King.


    "Lies."


    Ollie rested the sword on the ground, unable to bear its weight.


    "Because I don''t want to become like him."


    "Lies."


    "Because it''s wrong, it''s wrong and immoral."


    The Pig King dropped his head.


    "Lies."


    Ollie had nothing more to say, with no excuses and untruths, only one thing remained.


    "Because I''m a coward." Ollie shouted. "I''m a damn coward."


    The Pig nodded, his eyes twinkling in victory.


    "I''m the worst kind of liar." Ollie continued, trading his fury for the relief of confession. "I lie to myself, I dream of things I know I''ll never have the courage to do." he looked at his prisoners on the wall, this time finding their eyes instead of fear. "I hate them, I hate all of them, but not for what they do, I hate them for what I allow them to do to me."


    Ollie lowered his head, without the courage to face his enemies.


    In the dungeon of his dream of revenge, he had become the prisoner.


    The Pig King approached in slow steps.


    Ollie lifted his eyes, as the imposing figure stood between him and the brazier, blocking the light of the fire. The King''s shadows fell over his face, covering his body, the execution block, taking possession of half the dungeon in the eclipse of his darkness.


    "You," he spoke as a sentence. "You are your true enemy."


    Ollie recognized the truth he had spent his life trying to hide.


    "Help me," Ollie pleaded in a whisper of supplication. "Help me to be strong."


    The Pig King nodded with gentle understanding.


    "You are strong." with his finger he lifted the young man''s chin. "You have the strength of your hatred."


    "It''s not them," Ollie''s voice trembled. "It''s not them that I hate."


    "No one despises weakness," The King''s voice spoke calmly. "more than the weak."


    Ollie tried to pull away, but the Pig King''s hand held the back of his neck.


    "Who else deserves to suffer more," The King continued. "than the one who allows himself to be hurt?"


    "You''re right." Ollie lowered his ears. "I am a coward that deserve to be humiliated."


    "Yes." The Pig King spoke in an almost smile. "You have to pay, pay for it all, you cowardice, your silence, your shame and your meekness." He pulled Ollie''s snout to his hot nostrils. "For there is no justice without punishment."


    "I know." Ollie confessed once again.


    "If you want to be strong," The Pig King turned Ollie''s head, forcing him to see the Rabbit on the execution block. "Your weakness will have to die."


    The King released Ollie, but he continued to stare at the bound Rabbit.


    "But my weakness is not in him."


    "The weakness you carry," The king spoke with judgment. "can only die, after it is given."


    Ollie remembered the second he saw his face in the Rabbit''s countenance.


    "You want me to kill in him," Ollie began to understand. "what is bad in me?"


    "Yes." The King spoke with satisfaction. "If he dies then you live. If he is the weak, then you are the strong. If he cries, then you will be the on laughing."


    "But that''s what they do to me." Ollie spoke with disgust.


    "Yes." The King answered with pleasure.


    "That''s what they do to me?" The statement was now a question.


    "Yes." The King nodded. "The one who punishes is never punished."


    Ollie turned to those who were prisoners and jailers.


    "You punished me for your weaknesses?"


    None of his classmates dared to look in his direction.


    Here it was they who cried.


    "Yes." The Pig King spoke with satisfaction.


    Ollie lost himself in the distant depths of forgotten memories, returning to the day Godofredo ceased to be his friend. The first time, of many that would come after, where he used the word ''Pig'' as a terrible insult.


    The great mystery of why his friend came to hate him, one that for so many years he had never been able to decipher, was now revealed in an anticlimactic conclusion, a truth so simple and obvious that he could not understand how he had not seen it before.


    Godofredo had been shy and insecure, small for his age, he went unnoticed and spoke to no one but Ollie. A week before he called his best and only friend ''Pig'', he had confessed his admiration.


    Then came the silence between them, a distance that happened by his side.


    Then one day Godofredo finally spoke, not only to Ollie, but to everyone in the room.


    The Pigs should have died along with the Lions. The Rabbit said.


    The rest of the memories were not so clear, but the shame, that he still felt as if the past had never stopped happening.


    How quick was the change, how easy it was to turn him into the enemy. The girls who smiled at him started to laugh, the friends who played with him started to make games to exclude him, even the teachers changed their gaze.


    Thus, Godofredo became the hero, justified in the cruelty of his actions and words.


    Ollie became the villain, deserving of any punishment and retribution.


    But now he knew the lie of this fairy tale.


    "You never stopped being small." Ollie spoke to the trembling Rabbit. "You just put me down to pretend to be bigger."


    "A lie that everyone believes becomes a truth." The Pig King spoke, placing his hand on Ollie''s shoulder. "Now it''s your turn to lie, your turn to choose your truth."


    "No." Ollie spoke, raising the sword. "I don''t know if I want this."


    "Now it''s too late to turn back."


    "Why?" Ollie turned to face the icy blue eyes of the Pig King. "What''s stopping me from leaving here?"


    "The place you will be, here you judge." The King nodded to the Rabbit. "In your world you will be one to be judged."


    "I don''t want to hurt anyone."


    "Why not?" The King asked seriously. "Do they deserve your compassion?"


    Ollie thought and in the blink of an eye he relived every time he was ignored, ridiculed, humiliated. There were two dungeons, this one where he tortured his enemies, and the other where he returned to relive the tortures of his days.


    "They deserve to pay," Ollie stared at the King. "It''s not fair that they don''t pay."


    The Pig King nodded with pride. "It is not wrong to punish those who deserve to suffer."


    Ollie nodded, yes, he was not like them, all the bad feelings he endured, he had been forced, tricked, and subjected to bear. This pain did not belong to him.


    "I''m tired of being the victim."


    "Life is a war." The Pig King spoke with the authority of a god. "In war there are no heroes, only victims and soldiers."


    Ollie did not want to be a soldier, did not want to use the sword, but at the same time, he could not let them go unpunished, could not continue living as a victim.


    Not choosing is a choice.


    Yes, that was the lesson he had learned in the Blue House. The dungeon would continue to exist even if he refused to act. It was not enough to simply cry out for justice.


    The soldier and the victim lived on the two extremes of the sword.


    Ollie stared into the icy blue eyes of the Pig King.


    "I have to choose someone to hate, either myself or them."


    The Pig King gestured to the execution block. "You have already chosen."


    Ollie nodded, yes, now he could no longer deny it, the sword had to be used.


    In the darkness of the King''s shadows, he once again stared at the frightened countenance of the small Rabbit. In his mind, this would be the most difficult and wrong thing he could do, but as he raised the sword, there was no hesitation, no longer did he feel the weight of his cowardice, guilt, or indecision, the wrong was right, the difficult was easy, the blade fell with the sharp precision of his determination.


    Without fear to restrain him, without anger to coerce him.


    When the sword made its cut, there was no shame or regret, but peace, an unknown peace that was accompanied by relief, victory, and satisfaction.


    The surprise on Godofredo''s face, the bulging and tearful red eyes were perplexed with the surprise of his sentence. Without understanding, he rose, passing his hands over his wounds hidden in the broken ropes of his shackles.


    "What have you done?" The Pig King shouted in rage.


    Ollie moved away from the King''s shadows, finding the light of the fire, but searching in its place for the other students, the prisoners he would free. Only the chains were already empty, on the other wall the sight was the same. He turned to the shadows in search of Godofredo, but he too was no longer anywhere to be found.


    Ollie found himself alone.


    Alone with the exception of an enraged Pig King.


    "What have you done?" The King asked with resentment.


    "I choose." Ollie still felt the power of the sword.


    The Pig approached and shouted. "What have you done, you cowardly Pig?"


    "I don''t want to be a victim anymore." He drove the sword into the ground. "I don''t want to be a soldier either."


    The blade cracked the stone, creating lines of cracks that expanded across the floor, forming a web of destruction that climbed the walls, spreading and tearing the crimson blocks, which split, shattered, and began to collapse.


    Ollie raised his eyes to the horror of seeing the ceiling collapse in his direction.


    ***


    The red stone block would have crushed the Young Pig, but the ruin that befell them knew no satisfaction. Large blocks shattered into stones, which fragmented into boulders, which crumbled into gravel, which finally dissolved into a crimson cloud of dust and annihilation.


    Ollie was surprised, alive in the red darkness of the dungeon that no longer existed.


    "What have you done?" The voice of the Pig King asked in astonishment.


    "I don''t know."


    "You have condemned yourself, you worm, that''s what you''ve done." The red shadow of the King grew as he approached. "With no one to blame, you are to blame."


    "No." Ollie responded softly. "There is no dungeon, I didn''t just free them, I forgave, I forgave them, and by forgiving them, I forgave myself too."


    "You don''t deserve forgiveness." The King''s voice spoke in cold fury.


    "Why not?" Ollie asked sincerely. "What have I done so wrong?"


    "You are what is wrong." The red cloud dispersed, revealing that they were back in the ruins of the royal hall. "You are guilted to be borned, sentenced to be you."


    "Maybe." Ollie spoke without emotion. "But I can''t escape the prison by being the jailer."


    "Without me, you won''t survive the war."


    "But with you," Ollie lamented the words. "the war will never end."


    "I order you to give me the candy."


    "You have nothing to give me in return."


    ¡°Give me the candy.¡±


    Ollie stared at the ruins and devastation. "I need it, to pay for my good dream."


    The Pig King stood face to face with Ollie and extended his hand. "Give me the candy."


    "No."


    "You think I can''t hurt you?"


    Yes, Ollie remembered the words of the Dream Merchant, he had said something about the power of his choice, that here only he could choose his dream.


    "I''m not afraid of you." He spoke confidently.


    The surprise stunned him more than the violence.


    Ollie was already on the ground, spitting blood and only at that moment did he feel the slap that had fallen on his face, the intense pain came later, arriving last at the party of his disappointment.


    Everyone who gets beaten knows that humiliation reigns over pain, wounds heal, blood dries and scars disappear, but the feeling of helplessness and shame, those never heal.


    You can be hurt here.


    Ollie finally remembered what else the Merchant had said.


    The pain that had come late was now the center of the party, in the decoration of his swollen face, in the burning dance of the scraping of his knees, in the toast of blood that ran in the sharp cut on his lips.


    Humiliation fell silent, in its place, ignored words began to speak again.


    There is the pain you endure, and the pain you cannot endure.


    "Violence is not an idea." The Pig King stood over him like a sun of darkness. "Violence is the sovereignty of our will."


    Ollie crawled, his terrified body didn''t care about the philosophy of his pain. Survival was now his only reason for being. He had to flee, to hide, to disappear.


    Or at least that''s how his injured face came across the shine of the cold sword blade fallen on the ground. All he had to do was grab the sword, grab the sword and get up.


    The Pig King didn''t seem frightened, on the contrary, the sharp blue of his cold eyes smiled, with satisfaction and confidence. His body, however, stopped approaching.


    How many times had Ollie read this scene in fairy tales, the final confrontation between the hero and the villain. Without a sword he was a victim, but with a weapon, he would be a...


    A coward.


    Ollie stood up, with the fallen sword at his feet, he remembered that his life was not a story, and that heroes as they were called were the villains who won their wars.


    The Pig King waved his stern countenance. "You are a coward."


    "Maybe." Ollie nodded. "But so are you."


    "Not if I beat you." The Pig King waved his snout. "Not if I give it to you."


    "You can''t take it from me, it needs to be an offering."


    "It will be, after I hurt you, after I make you cry, you will beg for me to take it."


    "I''m not afraid of you." Ollie bit his lips. "You''re weaker than me."


    With a long sigh, Ollie pulled the heart-shaped candy out of his pajama pocket.


    The Pig King did not move, his body and countenance remained rigid like a sculpture of power and imposingness, in his eyes, however, in the cold blue of his gaze, the ice cracked into sparks of anxiety and despair, trembling and succumbing under the weight of his desire.


    Ollie, steadied his fingers on the small sweet. "I have been hurt before,"


    "I will kill you," The Pig King shouted. "I will kill you if you don''t obey me."


    "No. You are a bad dream. This this does not belong to you."


    The Pig King clenched his fists, the veins of his muscles bulging across his lethal body.


    Ollie braced for the worst, knowing that there would be pain, one way or another. There was always pain. The first punch was the most vicious, fueled by violence and fury, searing him with fear and agony. But he did not fall, nor did he tremble or cry. Instead, he raised his bloodied eyes to meet his attacker''s gaze.


    The candy was his only chance to find his good dream, he would not surrender.


    The second punch was even more intense, even more deadly, with a brutality and hatred that sought his death and not his surrender. The pain was intense and humiliating, but to his surprise, it was less than that of the previous blow. The third punch was the greatest of all, this time Ollie heard the snap of bones breaking. It was a terrible and frightening sound, but one that had not come from his body. It was the King''s fist that bent and broke against his chest.


    Maddened with rage, the Pig King continued to pummel Ollie''s face and body.


    Each blow was stronger, but each hit found the soft skin of the small Pig more rigid and unyielding, it was hitting a tree, then it was like hitting a stone wall.


    The King Ignored his pain, as he broke his first, he continued until, wasting every fingers of his hand against Ollie''s impassive and unmovable face.


    "You are a cowardly," The King screamed and roared like a rabid animal, with his broken fingers he no longer had the power to even crumple the pajama cape. "You are a filthy Pig that deserves to be humiliated."


    Ollie heard the words, words that had so often had the power to humiliate him. Words and thoughts that had until now, always had the power to make him cry.


    The King succumbed to the weight of his impotence and unable to bear his own pain, he fell to his knees, his red cape hiding his body like a long blanket.


    "I don''t care about your insults." Ollie spoke with pity. "I don''t believe in you anymore."


    The Pig King raised his eyes, even kneeling he was taller, tears ran down his rigid face, red lines covered the hot blue. Without saying a word, his eyes said that Ollie was the only one to blame and responsible for his suffering.


    "You need me." The King spoke with the utmost loathing. "They will hurt you, they will torn your hope apart, and they will break you. Without my power you are nothing."


    "You are just a king." Ollie replied with a nod. "A king without soldiers has no power."


    The Pig closed his eyes and bowed, his crown fell, hit and rolled on the ground.


    With a long sigh, Ollie put the candy back in the pocket of his torn pajamas.


    Turning his back on the ruins of the small castle, he walked away without ever looking back.

 Chapter 7

    Ollie returned to the crossroads, to the central point between the four houses.


    The Dream Merchant awaited him with his glacial indifference. On his porcelain countenance, black lines painted the illusion of a smile to come. But beyond that, in the black hole that was the void of his missing eyes, it was impossible to tell who or what dwelled in its dark interior.


    "He hurt me." Ollie spoke with disappointment. "Can you see it?"


    The white mask stared in his direction, a faint yellowish spark burning where eyes should have been. If it saw the torn clothes, the swollen face and cut lips, it said nothing.


    "Do you even care?"


    Ollie waited for him to say something, but the answers never came, his response was the silence of a being that seemed not to be there.


    "You offered me another bad dream." Ollie spoke with judgment.


    The porcelain mask shook almost imperceptibly.


    "I offered you the making of the candy." The porcelain mask spoke without emotion. "I sold you the key and the path, but the destination and the house, these have always belonged to you."


    "Are you implying that I wanted this dream?"


    The Merchant looked at the castle in ruins, then tilted his mask towards the young man.


    "You want all dreams, Ollie." The porcelain mask tilted. ¡°To want it all, it to have nothing.¡±


    Ollie swallowed hard, there was no accusation in the Merchant''s empty voice, but his soft words did not hide the weight of what they seemed to be telling him.


    If it was a bad dream, why did I almost say yes?


    Ollie bit his lip, then stared at the Merchant. "You promised me a good dream."


    The porcelain countenance tilted again, in the hole of its eyes a glimmer awoke.


    "I promised you a dream." The soft voice replied. "A dream and nothing more."


    "I want a good dream." Ollie raised his ears. "It has to be a good dream."


    The Merchant nodded, in a theatrical gesture he extended his arms to the vast horizon where two houses still awaited them.


    To the East, the grandiose Golden Mansion.


    To the North, on the edge of a cliff, a small and crooked Black House.


    "Yours is the choice." The Merchant spoke with finality.


    Ollie looked at the Black House built irresponsibly on the edge of a precipice. His stomach knotted and his knees weakened, it was not just a physical aversion, but an existential terror. His body knew what his mind dared not conceive.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    More than a premonition, there was an unquestionable certainty, a reason without reason, that told him without words, that an unimaginable horror awaited him in that crooked place. That if he were foolish enough to climb the cliff and enter its dark interior, that of all his bad dreams, this would be the most terrible. There would be no return from this dark place, that choosing the Black House would be choosing his end.


    I will never open that door.


    Ollie turned his back on the cliff, feeling the relief of its absence.


    Thus, he stared at his last house, his last dream, his choice.


    Ollie smiled at the beauty and richness of the Golden Mansion.


    Its familiar rotunda architecture. With the symmetrical elegance of its curves, with round windows and doors, with its elaborate undulating walls decorated in carved stone, it was a masterpiece that united the imposingness of the Pig Empire with the eclectic modernity of the Era of Flowers. It was a place he wanted to be, a place where everyone would like to be.


    Ollie breathed a sigh of relief, his unease giving way to a pleasant feeling of pride and satisfaction. This mansion represented more than just wealth, it was a promise, one that told him that Pigs could not only prosper, but belong to the world.


    "If there is a good dream," Ollie spoke with optimism. "Then that''s where it lives."


    Ollie stared at the Dream Merchant, his delay in responding polluted the moment, in the void a new feeling began to sprout, one that carried with it the weight of what if?


    I have no other dream, this is my last chance.


    "Most people end up there." The Merchant broke the silence with his artificial voice. "Few are those who refuse the offer of the Yellow House."


    Ollie lowered his ears. He wanted to believe, he wanted to trust the emotions that told him he had found his Good Dream. But it was when he believed that the pain came, it was when he allowed himself to dream that the nightmare happened.


    "I have a good dream, don''t I?" Ollie asked almost in supplication.


    "Yes." The Dream Merchant spoke with a nod. "Everyone has one."


    "Of course I do." Ollie raised his ears and admired the mansion again. "I have to, don''t I? It would be too cruel for me to go through what I went through just to come back empty-handed."


    Ollie waited for confirmation, even though he didn''t trust the Dream Merchant, he would believe him, he had to believe that he would help him find his good dream.


    But the white porcelain mask had nothing more to say to him.


    Ollie felt alone, maybe there was nothing inside the mask, maybe the promise of the good dream was just part of his nightmare, just the lie that kept him here.


    "This place seems like a story." Ollie smiled awkwardly, raising his eyes to the celestial void of floating islands. "Every story has an ending."


    "Here," The Merchant spoke as one who returns to life. "Here, you choose your ending."


    Ollie nodded back. Not because he had understood, but because now he knew that the answers would not come, the answer awaited him in the Golden Mansion.


    This would be his last house, whatever its offer, he could not refuse.


    There were no more choices, he would not climb the cliff to the Black House, and he certainly would not return to his world empty-handed, nor would he stand still at the crossroads.


    This was his last chance to be happy.


    Ollie took a step towards the last dream.


    "Goodbye." Ollie spoke to the Dream Merchant. "I have already made my choice."


    The porcelain mask gave him a slow nod.


    Alone, Ollie made his way across the stone path.


    As he came closer to the house, he heard the melody of music.


    In front of the round double door, he heard the sound of laughter and joy.


    Without knocking, or hesitating, he opened the door.


    In his heart beat the uncertain certainty that this would be the happy ending to his story.


    Ollie then entered the grand Golden Mansion in search of his Gold Dream.

 Chapter 8

    The hall was obscenely grand.


    Above, a dome of detailed golden mosaics. Below, a floor of white marble, occupied by a circle of tables, all majestically decorated with white linen tablecloths, candles and flowers, crystal goblets and golden cutlery.


    The hall was crowded and everyone dressed with elegance and style. The males in dark tailcoats with light velvet details. The females with colorful corseted dresses and long printed silk skirts. They all wore hats and gloves.


    Everyone was absolutely magnificent.


    Ollie had never felt so dirty.


    His white pajamas were brown with mud, his blue cape with yellow stars was torn at the knee, filthy with blood and grime, his bare feet leaving a trail of sloppy footprints across the hall.


    My good dream is too good for me.


    That was his thought as he realized that even the Rat waiters were better dressed, all wearing impeccable black vests with white gloves and bow ties.


    Ollie felt the familiar urge to disappear and hide. He would have gone back if he had somewhere to return to. Despite the temptation to bow his head, he kept his eyes raised and continued walking.


    As he crossed the first group of tables, he waited for the shouts of outrage and disgust, for the accusations that he was an intruder who did not belong in this place.


    But everyone ignored him, as if he was invisible or unremarkable, but to his surprise, he knew the guests, only the Rat waiters were unfamiliar to him, but at the tables and on the dance floor, he didn''t recognize one or the other, no, here unfortunately, he knew each and everyone.


    The guests were infamous to him.


    At his side sat the mother of the Rabbit girl who had smiled at him. The female who had called him a ''filthy Pig.'' With them were other Rabbits who had frowned at him and muttered their offenses. The girl who had been kind, however, he could not find anywhere.


    Ollie found a table where his teachers sat, laughing and talking among themselves, these were the teachers who always treated him badly, who ignored him or with pretty words explained to him why he was to blame every time he was provoked. A Feline teacher, who when she could, told him about the Crystal Towers of the Academy, his favorite teacher who was the reason he endured his school, she was nowhere to be found.


    There was a whole section of tables full of Pigs, there he found his neighbor Gertrudes, still sitting in her wheelchair, accompanied by other neighbors, who lived or had lived in the Lamentation District. Present were only those he believed disliked him, absent were the few who seemed to care.


    As he approached the dance floor, Ollie spotted the Rabbits from his class, the same ones who had decorated the walls of the dungeon in the Red House. They danced in euphoria, along with other students from his school, looking around he searched for the missing student, the one who by the sadistic logic of this place, should be the ones who liked him.


    To his sadness, none were missing.


    His knees weakened with the realization of where he was.


    This was a party for all people that hate me.


    Everyone seemed ordered by dislike. On the periphery of the farthest tables sat those who concealed their antipathy, those who frowned or feigned indifference.


    At the center tables were those who had offered him small acts of antipathy: indelicate observations, veiled laughter and taunts, gestures that could be misinterpreted, that allowed them to pretend they didn''t want him harm.


    But it was in the center of the hall where his shameless enemies were. At the noblest tables close to the dancing, were those who had offended him, laughed in his face, those who never tired of inventing and seeking a new way to hurt him even more.


    The guests at this party, were drawn from various stages of his life and represented different Nations and Species. Many were faces he had forgotten, their past slights and cruelties faded like old scars. But now, in this grand hall, those wounds were torn open anew, the pain as fresh as the day they were inflicted.


    Ollie''s mind drifted to his birthday party, where no one showed. A stark contrast, this grand hall filled to the brim with his detractors. The juxtaposition was brutal, the wasteland of his affection against this oases of disdain.


    Without me, you won''t survive the war.


    The Pig King had warned him.


    Here were his enemies, all around, in their alliance of hatred.


    Here he was, alone, dirty, wounded and unarmed.


    Ollie laughed, he couldn''t help it, even knowing it was foolish to draw attention. He laughed, a laugh that recognized the cruel beauty of this nightmare, what a perfect ending for the ugly tragedy that was his life.


    What a deserved punishment for believing he could find a happy ending.


    Godofredo was the first to find his eyes.


    At a central table that Ollie had missed seeing, Godofredo was accompanied by his math tutor, a severe Cat. By a Boar who had been his father''s security guard, by his aunt and cousin, who was the closest he had to having a brother.


    This was the table of honor, and understanding that made him laugh again. How could he not laugh at the sad reality of his life? That made the people he most sought approval from, be exactly the same people who, among all he had ever known, were precisely the ones who detested him the most.


    Ollie did not lower his gaze.


    It wasn''t courage that kept his snout raised, but the understanding that his fear would only increase the power of his enemies. They could still hurt him, kill him perhaps, but they would never humiliate him again, never again would they make him believe he was weaker than them. He laughed, this time, he laughed at them.


    He expected the worst, but as was the custom of this strange place, what followed was not only the unexpected, but the absolutely inconceivable.


    Godofredo smiled. Smiled at him.


    Not a smile of mockery or disgust, but an old smile, a rare smile from childhood where they were still friends, a smile of respect, of affection and admiration.


    In a sudden wave, the attention of the hall turned to Ollie, from the table of honor to all the tables around him. All his enemies saw him now, all who ignored him, laughed and mistreated him, they all smiled, waved and raised their drinks in his direction.


    Ollie was still a Pig surrounded by Rabbits, still dirty wearing torn pajamas, still barefoot with filthy feet, but he felt none of that, because now they accepted him, they saw him with affinity and sympathy, he was no longer an intruder, he was part of the hall.


    "What''s happening here?" Ollie asked himself.


    "Isn''t it obvious, my son?" replied a voice full of enthusiasm and euphoria. "You are our guest of honor."


    The word my son pierced Ollie''s heart like a dagger.


    The Young Pig turned anxiously in search of his father, it didn''t matter that he wasn''t real, his heart was more than willing to accept the lie and the illusion, the promise of something good was certainly better than the certainty of nothing.


    He couldn''t contain his smile when he saw his father wearing an impeccable black tailcoat custom-made adorned with gold buttons. The smile died on the lips of his snout when he realized that this Pig was taller, thinner, more handsome, more sophisticated and younger than his father, he was similar, only better, absolutely better.


    But Ollie didn''t want the best, he just wanted his father.


    The Host Pig smiled sympathetically, his blue eyes shining with tenderness, like diamonds offering him the rich treasure of approval and understanding.


    "You are not my father." He spoke without being able to hide his disappointment.


    "I''m not, but don''t worry." The Host Pig smiled. "There will be other parties."


    Ollie raised his ears slightly. "You look like him."


    The Host nodded. "You do too."


    "What''s your name?" He asked.


    The Host waved. "You didn''t come here in search of names, did you?"


    "No." He spoke awkwardly. "I came here to know what you have to offer me."


    "Isn''t it obvious?" The Host opened his arms. "Look around you."


    Ollie lost himself in the immense and magnificent beauty of the hall. It was an extravagance that went beyond mere ambition, his father was rich, but all his fortune was a pittance before the opulence of a place that seemed too perfect to exist in the real world.


    "Will you help me get rich?" He stared at the blue diamond of the Host''s confident eyes. "Is being rich what you have to offer me?"


    "No." The Pig laughed, taking a crystal goblet from a passing Rat waiter. "Money is the wealth of the poor, wealth, influence and power are the most insignificant pieces of what I really have to offer you."


    Ollie raised his ears in amazement. What existed above wealth and power?


    "Are you saying that I''ll be rich, influential and powerful?" he asked in a mixture of hope and distrust. "But that is not all, that you will give me something that is even better?"


    "Absolutely."


    Ollie took a step back.


    "How do I know you''re not trying to trick me?"


    "That''s the wrong question, my son." The Host raised his goblet. "The right question is, what''s the difference between a good dream and a bad dream?"


    "What''s the difference?" Ollie asked.


    "Bad dreams lie. The good dream is the truth. Not the truth you want to hear, but the truth that exists between who you are and who you aspire to be."


    Ollie stifled a bitter laugh. "I don''t know who I am or who I want to be."


    "Isn''t that why you''re here?" The Host turned Ollie toward the dance floor. "In search of your good dream?"


    Ollie nodded, feeling the candy in his pocket.


    The Host snapped his fingers and the band started playing again.


    "This was the band my dad took me to see when we first moved to Ilys."


    "What did you think of the music?" The Host asked.


    "Pretentious and loud."


    "But there''s another reason this band is here, isn''t there?"


    Ollie sighed. "My father promised to take me to the Astrovillam Tower, but instead he brought me to this recital. I believed him then, too."


    "You never went to the tower together, did you?"


    "No, but I see it in the distance."


    "I''m sorry, my son."


    "You''re not my father. Why do you keep calling me son?"


    "I want you to listen to me, like you never listened to your father."


    Ollie''s fury was drowned in resentment. "My father abandoned me when I needed him most. Everyone who hates me is here, except him."


    "Your father didn''t abandon you. You abandoned him."


    "What? He has another family now. He replaced me."


    The music intensified, but Ollie couldn''t leave. This had to be his good dream.


    "Why did your father leave?" The Host asked.


    Ollie whispered, "I don''t know."


    "Yes, he told you, several times. You just never listened."


    "I remember every word he said to me."


    "Some words are subtle, like this band. It was more than entertainment, it was a lesson."


    Ollie felt a familiarity, the same as he felt beside his father.


    "I''m listening now. Teach me the lesson I didn''t learn."


    The Host smiled a rare smile of appreciation. He snapped his fingers and the hall fell silent. The guests froze like living statues.


    The Host clapped, and the statues elegantly walked off the dance floor and sat at the tables.


    "Walk with me, my son."


    Dazed, Ollie did not refuse and together they walked through the empty floor.


    "You don''t appreciate parties, do you?" The Host asked casually.


    "No." Ollie spoke, timidly. "My father was the one who loved parties."


    The Host Pig gave a small chuckle.


    "What''s so funny?"


    "Your father hated parties."


    "You don''t know what you''re talking about."


    "So you disagree, then?"


    "My father never missed one party in his life, and after he got promoted, he become the host, he gave his own parties, each one bigger than the last." Ollie sighed, his shoulders slumping. "He lived for this."


    "Not everything we do, we do for love."


    "I know my father." Ollie raised his head for a second, his voice firm. "He loved parties and music, even before he got rich. When he couldn''t listen to live bands, he bought a gramophone. He imported records from all the Five Nations, he had a rare collection. When his guests came to visit, he boasted about his music, he said that he had bought the souls of the best musicians in the world."


    The Host raised an eyebrow, the blue diamond of his eyes shone with encouragement.


    "How many times did your father listen to those records, alone?"


    Ollie opened his mouth to speak, thousands, but it wasn''t thousands, nor were it hundreds or tens. Some, it had to be at least some, but to his horror, he couldn''t remember a single time he had heard his gramophone unaccompanied.


    The ceramic discs were extremely expensive, with their construction patents sold by the Fabrists of the Titanus Tower to the richest of the Merchant Houses. They were considered treasures for those who had the fortune to acquire them, a respectable palliative for the Bankers who found themselves between being too poor to afford the concerts, and too rich not to have the experience of listening to the exclusive music.


    His father received each of these records with devotion, he justified the exorbitance of their cost, saying that, like wines, their value would only increase. But then, after celebrating, showing off, bragging, the record went straight to his collection, to the place already prepared. He then returned to the catalogs, again in search of his next acquisition.


    Ollie''s brow furrowed as he tried to recall a moment, any moment, when his father had simply enjoyed the music for its own sake. Surely he listened at least once.


    He rummaged through lost memories, through assumed moments, through actions that surely must have existed. But there was a silence in his house, a silence similar to that of the hall now. His father abhorred noise, only at parties was there music, strident laughter and loud voices.


    In the before and after of parties, it was silence that reigned in his home.


    My father hated music? But what about the parties? Those he had to love.


    His father always laughed at parties, in the company of his friends, he vibrated, told jokes, even danced, he didn''t mind getting the furniture dirty, or taking care of his records, at parties he was also a proud father, who displayed him and talked about his grades in math and cognitive logic, at parties he was a mentor to his subordinates and a loyal agent to his superiors.


    At parties his father seemed to be happy.


    At parties he was happy, happy being someone else.


    No this can''t be true.


    Ollie searched for his father in his past, in the precious time they had together. To his surprise, he found three people instead of one.


    His father at parties, who was exuberant and lively.


    His father at home, who was busy, distant, and quiet.


    His father at the dinner table, who was present and good-humored.


    The exuberant father who attended parties did not exist before or after them. In daily life, he was the busy father, the father who worked hard to ensure everything was perfect. The third father, the one who smiled instead of laughing, was only seen at the dinner table. This father never talked about business or parties; he spoke only of food and trivialities, precious and longed-for trivialities.


    Of his three fathers, the last one, was the one Ollie wanted to find again.


    "If my father hates music and parties," Ollie stared at the Host with his ears raised. "Why does he seem so happy at them, and so unhappy after?"


    "There isn''t just one why." The Host Pig shrugged. "The whys are numerous, but the answer, that is only one."


    "What is the answer?" Ollie frowned his snout. "What answer are you talking about?"


    "The one that brought you to me." The Host waved. "The one you know and pretend not to know."


    Ollie suppressed a laugh. "I have no idea what you''re talking about."


    "Why does your father go to parties he doesn''t like to go to?"


    "I don''t know."


    "Why does your father collect paintings by painters he doesn''t admire?" The Host continued. "Why buy furniture he doesn''t use? Foods that don''t please his palate? Why does he collect records he doesn''t listen to? Why is he so happy doing everything he doesn''t like to do?"


    "I don''t know."


    Ollie lowered his eyes, noticing that his bare feet rested on a black star, one that extravagantly decorated the impeccable white marble of the grand hall.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Why did he trade families?"


    Ollie lost his breath, the question stung him, but he showed indifference.


    The host Pig walked away, then began to walk around him.


    Ollie suddenly realized that he was in the center of the hall. Around him, surrounding him on all sides, the serious faces of the guests judged him.


    "Why does your father work so hard?" The Host spoke from behind him.


    Ollie felt the question an accusation, one that said he didn''t know his father, that no matter how much he sought his company, it was the absence of a stranger that he lamented.


    "Because he loves his money," he said.


    The Host Pig shook his snout in disappointment. "No one loves money."


    Of course they do, Pigs love their money more than their children.


    "Why do I have to answer your questions?" Ollie protested, "You were the one who said you had a lesson to offer me."


    "The lesson," The Host spoke without stopping walking around Ollie. "The lesson is the truth, the truth with which you built and decorated this house, the truth that you already know, that you already carry, but that you still refuse to confront."


    "I don''t know what you''re talking about." Ollie hesitated, yes he didn''t know, but that''s exactly what he found in other houses, buried and hidden truths. "I swear I don''t know."


    The Host stopped moving.


    Ollie did not refuse the uncomfortable weight of the Host''s blue diamond eyes.


    "Then allow me to ask you one last question."


    Ollie nodded, he had made his choice.


    The Host Pig gave a smile of approval, and gently asked his question,


    "Why did your father leave you?"


    I don''t know.


    I don''t want to know.


    I don''t want to say it.


    I can''t say it.


    This was his lie, the lie he forgot, and then forgot to forget.


    Now he remembered, he recognized the feeling, feelings of hurt and loneliness, the unspoken idea, the confession he had never before dared to speak.


    "..." His truth came out in a sigh, in a mere lament of an inaudible speech.


    "You''re going to have to repeat that," the Host Pig spoke with determination. "I need you to speak to everyone, to the farthest tables in the hall."


    He looked around at his silent audience. At eyes that judged, that waited, that watched with the patience of ghosts to hear his confession.


    "I''m not good," He let his secret escape. "I''m not good enough."


    The Host Pig smiled, and then began to clap.


    Ollie didn''t know what to think, surely this couldn''t be the right answer, not to all the questions, not to why his father didn''t like parties. He opened his snout to ask, to try to understand what he was trying to tell him.


    But before he could speak, he was interrupted.


    Brutally attacked by something unexpected and inconceivable.


    The statue guests awoke from their torpor, rising with life and vigor.


    Together, they began to applaud. Not mere applause of approval, but an ovation from an unrestrained and euphoric audience, standing up, they roared and whistled, cried and laughed, on their countenances a rainbow of emotions, admiration, gratitude, satisfaction, envy and even idolatry. Godofredo looked at him with regret and longing.


    The banquet of his enemies had become a precious show of redemption.


    "How do you feel, my son?" The Host''s voice asked with curious joy.


    I feel complete, I feel real.


    Ollie wanted to refuse these emotions, because he knew that everything here was just a dream, that these applauses weren''t real. But his fake heart, which beat here in the fantasy of his sleep, refused to deny the illusion. The applause covered him utterly, running through his body, occupying his mind, giving him all the comfort he never thought existed.


    The same emotion he experienced beside Seffia.


    That he was mistaken, that yes he was enough, that yes he was worthy of being loved.


    In his chest joy filled the emptiness, satiated his hungry and bottomless void.


    An void that Seffia occupied, but that in her absence she enlarged.


    This was the wanting feeling that, that filled him with peace, relief and gratitude.


    The beautiful feeling of finally being whole.


    "I didn''t do anything to deserve this applause," Ollie denied with words what his chest unequivocally accepted. "I just said I wasn''t good enough."


    The guests didn''t seem to tire of exalting their unreasonable praise.


    "You spoke the truth," the Host Pig smiled, standing importunately between Ollie and his audience. "You''re not good enough."


    Ollie took a step back, but as soon as his bare foot touched the white of the marble he took a step forward, back to the black star was his rightful place.


    "If I''m not good enough, then why are they clapping?"


    "Because you found the answer to all the questions that matter," the Host opened his arms in a dramatic gesture. "The truth that hides the great secret."


    "What secret?"


    "The secret you hide from the world," He spoke confidently. "The same secret the world hides from you."


    Ollie looked at his bewildered audience, surely it wasn''t possible.


    "But if my secret is that I''m nobody, then that means..." he looked at his luxurious audience.


    "Yes." The Host laughed. "They''re all nobodies and losers, just like you."


    The audience didn''t seem offended, they just watched with intense attention.


    "My father?" Ollie asked.


    The Host Pig nodded.


    "No," Ollie waved his snout. "My father isn''t a loser, my father is a success."


    "The greater the emptiness, the greater the sacrifice required to satiate it."


    "No," Ollie waved his snout. "My father is proud."


    "Yes."


    "That''s not what I meant, my father doesn''t think he''s worse than anyone, on the contrary, my father always worked hard to show how much better he is than others."


    "Absolutely."


    "You''re twisting my words," Ollie said, frustrated. "His achievements prove he''s better than everyone else, not that he''s worse."


    The Host shrugged. "Are you sure?"


    Ollie stared once more at the black star at his feet. No, he wasn''t sure of anything, part of him seemed to already know the answer, another part however fought to never learn.


    "He left me because I''m not good," the words stumbled from his snout. "What right does he have to judge me if he''s the same as me?"


    "He has every right in the world."


    "What?"


    "You abandoned yourself, my son," the Host spoke with a countenance of pity. "You want your father''s attention, Seffia''s love," he extended his arm to the attentive guests. "You want the applause of your enemies," he gave a small chuckle. "You want everything, you want to win the game, but you don''t want to play."


    "I''m a loser," Ollie said bitterly. "And losers never win."


    No sooner had his words fled his snout, and the audience exploded into a flurry of boos.


    On their agitated faces, their smiles gave way to disgust and repulsion, their boos were accompanied by shouts and curses, some spat and threw their crystal glasses on the impeccable white marble floor.


    Godofredo was the only one who seemed happy to hate him.


    If the applause filled his void, in the boos Ollie fell into a bottomless abyss. His good dream had become a nightmare from which he could not wake up. He would have run away, but running away from the boos would be to carry them with him wherever he went.


    He thought of his sword, but swords would not kill the truth.


    The Host Pig walked away, leaving Ollie alone on the black star, alone to enjoy the boos of his enemies.


    "Make them stop," Ollie yelled at the Host. "You have the power."


    "So do you."


    It seemed such an absurd idea that it was almost cruel. Never in all his life had Ollie felt such conviction that he was nobody, that he had no power, not over his father, not over Seffia, not over the boos of an unfair world.


    I''m nobody.


    The audience agreed with him, with insults boos and sneers.


    You''re no better than me.


    "You''re losers too," Ollie spoke in a whisper.


    A small murmur that at once extinguished some taunts from the hall.


    "Shut up," Ollie spoke firmly without shouting. "Who are you to judge me?"


    His audience obeyed him, some in fear, others in shame, but most in naked admiration.


    "You''re much emptier than me."


    The Host Pig clapped three times. "Very well my son, very well."


    Ollie raised his ears. "They obey me."


    "Of course they do," the Host smiled. "In a world where no one has any value, only one thing matters," he pointed to the floor.


    Ollie stared at the black star, with a shudder he finally understood its true meaning.


    "They do what I want because I''m in the center of the hall."


    A small round of applause.


    "Absolutely," the Host spoke with a smile of approval. "Your value isn''t inside you," he pointed to the star. "Your value exists only in the place you occupy."


    Ollie stared at the attentive audience around him. "The applause."


    His audience cheered him.


    "Life is a game." The Host Pig stood in front of him. "People are the pieces, your place is the board, and the applause and attention, those are the prize for the winners."


    Ollie remembered the feeling of peace and relief that the clapping brought him.


    "Who will applaud me in the real world?"


    The Host''s blue diamond eyes shimmered with precious anticipation.


    "Everyone," he spoke with absolute conviction. "Everyone that plays the game."


    Ollie stared at the admiring, smiling audience. "They despise me."


    "Tell me then," the Host leaned in. "Do they despise your father?"


    Ollie took a step back, almost stepping off the black star.


    "No," he admitted reluctantly. "My father is respected."


    ¡°Of course he is, a Pig is only a Pig if he is poor.¡± the Host ran his fingers through the frilly silk of his suit. "Beauty is elegance, power is influence, wealth is charisma."


    "I only have value if I''m rich?"


    "Absolutely not," the Host gave a small chuckle. "Beauty, power and wealth, none of that matters. You don''t win the game with what you have, what you have is worthless."


    "What matters then?"


    "Isn''t it obvious, my son?" The Host gestured to the audience. "The only value that exists in the world, is not what you possess, the only thing that has value, in what ¡®only¡¯ you possess."


    "I don''t know what that is."


    "Of course you do, isn''t that what brought you here? You want what you don''t have."


    "I want a good dream."


    "And what is a good dream if not what you lack? What someone else have it? isn''t that missing thing the only thing capable of buying your happiness?"


    "That''s the game?"


    The Host nodded with pride. "Absolutely."


    "Is that what my father did?" Ollie asked, but inside he already knew the answer.


    ¡°Everyone wants to be happy," the Host Pig spoke with compassion. "But not everyone reach the center, only the one in the center get the applause, only the winners get to be happy.¡±


    "That was it, wasn''t it?" he asked in a sigh. "That was what my father wanted to teach me?"


    The Host gave a slow nod.


    "But I didn''t listen, I didn''t want to hear it," Ollie let his ears fall. "Now it''s too late, he gave up on me, he left and will never come back to teach me anything."


    "No, my son," the Host Pig spoke with affection. "Your father is here."


    Ollie frowned his snout. "You are not my father."


    The Host shook his head with a smile. "I''m not, but you can become him."


    Ollie raised his ears. "How?"


    "By playing the game he wanted to teach you."


    "I don''t know how to play."


    "No?"


    "No," Ollie stated with conviction.


    The Host smiled.


    "Why did your father choose to listen to the band he didn''t like?"


    Ollie blinked his eyes. "What?"


    "Why didn''t your father take you to the Crystal Tower?"


    "Because he wanted me to follow in his footsteps," Ollie spoke, surprised at the transparency of his conviction. "Because the power of Pigs is in currency, not in information."


    The Host Pig expanded his smile with satisfaction.


    "Why did he never listen to his records?"


    "Because he didn''t want the music," Ollie stared at the band. "He wanted the attention, he wanted to show off his culture, his sophisticated taste, the wealth of his collection."


    "About the parties," the Host gestured to the immense and magnificent hall. "Why does your father go to parties he doesn''t want to go to, why does he host parties for guests he can''t stand?"


    "Because that''s the game," Ollie stared at his audience. "That''s the game they all play," he pointed to the tables at the back. "Where your place determines your value," he looked around. "Where the host of the biggest party becomes the winner of the best applause."


    The Host Pig smiled with approval. "Now comes the final lesson," his blue diamond eyes shone like a night star. "Why did your father trade families? Why did he leave you?"


    With the breath of a lament, Ollie knew, wanted, and would not fail to answer.


    "My father isn''t good enough," Ollie confessed his secret, which also belonged to his father. "His house wasn''t enough, nor his family, or his son," he gave a melancholic smile. "His new family is richer, his wife more beautiful, his daughters more cheerful," he stared at the audience as if now was the first time he saw them. "They would never have applauded the family he had, so he found a family worthy of admiration."


    The audience gave him a standing ovation.


    The Host Pig stood beside Ollie, a step beyond the black star.


    "No one has any value," he spoke smiling to the guests. "The only value that exists is the value they believe you possess."


    Ollie turned his snout towards the Host Pig.


    "You want me to become my father?"


    The audience fell silent, displeased, even the band stopped playing.


    "Tell me," the Host approached. "In your good dream, is your father by your side?"


    Ollie tried to say no, as he wanted to say that his father had died to him, that he would have a better life, a much better life without him. But when imagining this better life, it was precisely this immense and majestic hall that came to his mind, it was a party like this that he wanted to give, one made with the intention of not inviting him.


    "Yes," he confessed. "There is nothing good without him by my side."


    "What is the cost of your father''s company?" The Host Pig leaned in. "What does he want? What does he seek above all else?"


    Ollie remembered the answer he hadn''t given to the Dream Merchant.


    Where does your promise of happiness live?


    Does it live in what you have? Or in what you lack?


    "My father wants what he doesn''t have," Ollie stared at his smiling audience, indifferent to the meaning of what was being discussed. "No one here is satisfied with their place."


    "There is no satisfaction in any place, my son," the Host gestured to the black star. "No other place than the center of the board."


    "I understand now," Ollie nodded with a sigh.


    "Tell me, what is life like in your good dream?"


    "I''ll forget about the academy and shut out anyone who disturbs or distracts me from the game," he said, his gaze fixed on the black star beneath his feet. "I''ll study to become a Clerk of the Bank of Giants, just like my father when he started his career. I''ll work harder than everyone else and rise through the ranks until I''m invited to the parties. Then, I''ll keep climbing until I''m the one hosting my own parties," he continued, his eyes drifting upwards to the golden dome of the grand hall. "I''ll applaud my enemies and adversaries, biding my time until the day they''re forced to applaud me," he declared, his gaze settling on the audience with a mix of determination and repulsion. "I''ll win this game and prove that I''m better than all of them, including my father."


    The audience exploded into an ovation of adoration and idolatry, even greater and more exaggerated than the first time they bathed him in applause.


    At first, Ollie felt nothing as the applause washed over him, knowing that the acclaim was merely an illusion in this dream world. He understood now that the guests weren''t really there and that nothing had truly changed. His inner emptiness seemed to dwarf even the grandeur of the hall. But as the moments passed, a shift occurred within him. The hollow space inside him began to fill with a newfound sense of purpose and determination. He realized that if he could become everything they were not, then this dream could be more than just a fleeting fantasy. Its promise was real, tangible, and within his grasp.


    Ollie knew he couldn''t beat them now, or even tomorrow. But with unwavering resolve, he believed that one day, he would rise above them all. The applause that once felt empty now fueled his ambition, and the vast hall no longer seemed to eclipse his own potential. In that moment, the dream and his emptiness merged, forging a path forward that would turn illusion into reality.


    He felt his emptiness disappear, there was a beautiful hall and applause where his emptiness used to be. But now the applause wasn''t nearly enough, not like it had been the first time. Certainly one day it would be again, on the day his father was part of his audience. It was inconceivable to imagine that it wouldn''t be enough on that day.


    "On the day you become the person they wish they could be," the Host Pig declared, reveling in the applause, "you''ll never be alone again."


    Ollie hesitated, something in the Host''s words gave him pause.


    "The good dream is the truth," Ollie repeated his words back to the Host. "Is this the truth then? Is this the truth and are you my good dream?"


    "Absolutely."


    Ollie swallowed hard.


    There were no more choices, the last house at the top of the cliff was not an option, not when he knew that by climbing its winding stairs, that by opening its black door, he would never return, that whatever hid in that place would be his end.


    The applause dispelled his fear, he stared at the audience now grateful, yes there would be sacrifices, but sacrifices were the price of victory, the cost of participating in the game.


    Ollie couldn''t think of a single lie the Host Pig had told him, all the lies uttered here were the lies he had brought with him. With a nod, he put his hand in the pocket of his torn pajamas feeling the warmth, the soft and delicate outline of his offering.


    The small red candy in the shape of a heart.


    Ollie raised the candy towards the Host Pig.


    And with that, the music crumbled in the hall.


    The band''s performance unraveled into a discordant nightmare. The Cat vocalist''s scream pierced the air, her voice cracking and distorting into an unholy screech. Violinists played frenetically, their bows slashing across strings until they snapped with a jarring twang. The Pianist''s fingers pounded the keys in a manic fury, the notes crashing together like a cacophonous thunderstorm.


    Abandoning their instruments, the musicians clambered atop the parapet of the stage, pushing and clawing at each other to get a better view of the candy in Ollie''s hand. Their eyes bulged with a feverish intensity, their faces contorted into grotesque masks of hunger and obsession.


    As the band''s final, agonized notes faded into silence, the guests'' applause died away. They too stared at the candy, transfixed by a voracious desire that rooted them in place. Drool glistened on their open snouts, their bodies trembling with a yearning they dared not act upon, yet could not look away from.


    Ollie looked confused at the Host Pig.


    The Host smiled maintaining his composure, his blue diamond eyes did not stare at the candy, they remained firm and clear in the direction of Ollie''s gaze.


    "You made the right choice, my son." The Host touched the candy.


    Ollie felt the pull, in a real world the candy would have left his hand, but in this place, all the Host''s efforts would not be able to take what was not given to him.


    "What are you doing?" The Host asked, still smiling calmly. "Release your fingers and allow yourself to be happy."


    Ollie looked at the small red heart, suddenly aware of the difference between the value he attributed to the candy, and the unreasonable importance with which his dreams wanted it.


    "Why do I feel like I''m offering something more valuable than what you have to give me?"


    "You have nothing to lose." The Host Pig spoke, now letting sparks of discomfort escape. "What value does this candy have to you?"


    None.


    "Without the candy I will never find my good dream."


    "I am your good dream." The Host spoke with his eyes fixed on Ollie''s gaze, not once did he glance towards the candy. "Don''t disappoint me, my son."


    Ollie''s fingers trembled, at one moment letting go, at the other squeezing even tighter.


    "Why did you say that?" Ollie spoke with his voice hurt and his ears down. "Why do you use the words of my father?"


    "Because I care." The Host spoke with pride. "Because only I can give you the future you deserve to have."


    "No."


    All doubt, all pain, all uncertainty vanished when the word left his mouth.


    The agony of indecision was an illusion, there was no indecision at all, he wanted without wanting this dream, he wanted with pain, he wanted to endure, he wanted to be strong not to give up his prize, but the game, this game he never really wanted to play.


    "You don''t care about me."


    Ollie pulled the candy towards himself, the Host clung, using his second hand not to lose his prize, but his effort was in vain, and the candy moved ignoring his desire.


    The Pig fell to the ground, letting the blue diamond of his eyes betray him, allowing himself in the despair of his hunger to contemplate with agony the small heart.


    "No one cares about anyone." The Pig shouted fallen. "That''s the game, and in the game you do what you have to do to win the prize."


    "What prize?" Ollie stared at his audience, still blind to him and obsessed with the candy in his hand. "What''s the value of the applause of people who despise me?"


    "The only approval that matters," The Host Pig smiled, getting to his feet. "Is the approval of those who don''t believe in you."


    Ollie thought of his father, of all the times he cried knowing the vision he had of him.


    "Is this the truth?" Ollie asked the Host. "Tell me if this is true or not."


    "YES." The Host Pig spoke staring at the black star under Ollie''s feet. "You felt it, the admiration, the envy, the idolatry, now you know what they have to offer you."


    "You''re right." Ollie nodded. "Now I know."


    With a sigh and two steps Ollie left the black star, with a sigh and two steps he ceased to be the center of the hall.


    "What do you think you''re doing?" The Host Pig asked with dread, still with his eyes lost in the fascination of contemplating the small heart-shaped candy. "I am your good dream."


    "You lied to me." Ollie spoke calmly. "There is no lie in the good dream, right?"


    He put the candy back in the pocket of his pajamas.


    The blue diamond of the Host Pig''s eyes had shattered, in the absence of his desire, the glow went out in the sparks of his rich and painful disappointment.


    "I didn''t lie," He spoke with genuine conviction. "I never lied to you."


    "You did," Ollie stared at his disappointed and teary-eyed audience. "You said that by their side I would never be alone."


    "The only place they will see you." The Host asked, moving with confidence into the black star. "The only place you are not alone, is at the center of the hall."


    The audience applauded, shouted, roared and grunted, standing up they danced, jumped and delighted, offering and inflating the Host Pig with all the value of their clamor. Making him even more intricate, more elegant, and more beautiful, aggrandizing him until he became gigantic.


    "If you become greater than them," The Host continued in ecstasy. "If you become who they cannot be, and possess what they cannot have, they will not only applaud you, they will adore you, with them you are seen, without them you are are invisible."


    Ollie stared at the grandeur of the spectacle, now from outside the center he could appreciate the beauty of its offer, the Host was a god, and around the hall was his empire. It seemed like a good dream, even now that the illusion had shattered, nothing could deny the brilliance of his lie.


    Nothing except the truth.


    "What difference does it make?" Ollie''s words silenced the hall. "What difference does it make if they see me," he shrugged. ¡°if the person they see, is not me?¡±


    "Maybe you won''t be totally happy with them," he stared at the euphoric audience. "But it''s better to be an unhappy rich, envied and successful, than to be unhappy poor, failed and alone."


    The good dream is true. Is that the truth?


    "No," Ollie spoke, silencing the hall again. "I din''t come here for a lesser unhappiness,"


    "Can you be alone, son?" The Host asked in earnest. "Without them you are nothing."


    "It may be so," Ollie spoke tired. "But with them, I don''t exist."


    An immediate silence fell over the hall.


    The Host Pig looked around, searching for his audience, but all he found were empty tables and fallen chairs, broken instruments, and the abandoned hall.


    Ollie felt sorry for the Host Pig, now seeing him in the two faces of the same illusion. In his small greatness, in his poor wealth, in his ugly beauty, and in all the truths that were now in sight, dismissed in the inverse of who he pretended to be.


    "Your father," The Pig spoke in supplication, shrinking in size rapidly. "If you leave, you will lose your father."


    Ollie waved his snout. "I didn''t lose my father," The Host was now his size. "It was my father who lost me."


    "Please don''t go away." The host supplicated as he keep on shrinking.


    "I''m sorry."


    The Host Pig screamed, but so small he was now, that his voice was nothing more than a sharp sting, one that no longer made sense.


    Ollie turned and crossed the empty hall in search of the exit.


    It was a victory without celebration, for the paths that remained for him were not good paths, with one last look over his shoulder, he saw the beautiful empty hall, and with a sigh he continued, not in courage, but in the certainty that the worst that was to come, could not be worse than what he left behind.


    "I hate parties."


    Ollie whispered as he abandoned the immense and majestic hall.

 Chapter 9

    Ollie made his way back like someone marching to their own execution.


    Leaving the empty crossing behind, he headed toward the place where he knew he would find the Dream Merchant. After a few steps, he spotted the shadowy figure with its white porcelain mask at the end of the stone path, below the cliff where stood the Black House.


    "You deceived me," Ollie spoke without anger or fear, or even disappointment, in his tired voice, his tone was one of resignation and clarity. "There is no good dream, is there?"


    The white porcelain mask rose towards the Black House, and then lowered to contemplate the Young Pig. "Not all doors have been opened."


    "I''m not an idiot," Ollie stated, narrowing his eyes and hardening his features into an expression of determination. "I already know what awaits me there."


    "You do?" The porcelain mask tilted. "What waits for you, then?"


    "Disappointment," Ollie stared at the cliff. "Disappointment and death."


    The Merchant nodded. "Why would you dream of death?"


    Ollie frowned his snout. "I don''t."


    ¡°You will only find your dreams here.¡±


    ¡°That is a lie.¡±


    ¡°Perhaps, but who lie is it?¡±


    "You created this place, you put these nightmares here to deceive me.¡±


    ¡°you build each house, each brick,¡± The porcelain mask waved. "With your desires and wantings, with the resentments of your past and the longings of your future.¡±


    ¡°They are lies.¡±


    "The truths you bury are the lies you harvest"


    "Why would I do that?" Ollie protested. "What do I gain by lying to myself?"


    ¡°One more day.¡± The ethereal voice said in a eco. ¡°One more day, to pretend that tomorrow will never come."


    "I will never enter that house," Ollie shook his snout. "Never."


    "Then your path lays at your back, a return to one of the houses you refused."


    Ollie stared back, at the three houses, any of them would be preferable to the Black House. Yet, not for a moment did he consider them, for him they were empty houses now.


    "No," he stared at the Merchant seriously. "I want my good dream."


    "But you said that you had none?"


    "No, I have to have something good.," Ollie spoke with determination. "Nothing make sense if I don''t find something worth keeping."


    The Dream Merchant gave a small laugh, a short mechanical laugh devoid of life.


    "What''s so funny?" Ollie asked suspiciously.


    "The inevitability," The dark void of the mask''s eyes glowed in a pale yellow. "The inevitability in which what you seek, will guide you to the place you don''t want to be.¡±


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Ollie stared at the house high on the precipice. He would not climb; if he had the power, he would knock the house into the abyss.


    "You''re crazy if you think I''m going to climb those stairs."


    "If none of your dreams are to your liking," The Dream Merchant extended his thin hand towards the giant snail. "There is always the way back to your room."


    Ollie stared at the snail; its ordinary door still open, revealing the interior where a majestic candy store was hidden, where another door would take him back to his life.


    "No," The word came out strong and fast from the lips of his snout. "That''s not what I want."


    "I don''t know what you want, Ollie" The porcelain mask gave a slow wave. "I only know all the things you refuse." The Merchant gestured to the small island of finite options. "Is the secret to find what you want, the denial of everything else?¡±


    "You are trying to deceive me." Ollie''s voice came out in a cold tremor. "You want me to enter the Black House, even knowing that if I do, I will never return."


    ¡°It matters not, what I have to say.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡±


    "You have already chosen the Black House."


    "No," Ollie almost laughed. "Never."


    The Dream Merchant pointed a long, skeletal finger at the Young Pig''s chest. "Your heart is divided. You believe your suffering is an illusion, a chapter in a beautiful story destined for a happy ending." He gestured towards the small house on the precipice. "Yet, you also believe the worst is yet to come, that happiness is an illusion, and your nightmare awaits in the tragedy of existing." Opening his empty fists, he continued, "both voices will lead to the same place, both voices will guide you to Black House."


    "No," Ollie took a step back, staring in terror at the snail and the Black House. "I want another house, another dream."


    The porcelain mask waved.


    "Then I''ll leave," Ollie lowered his ears. "Then I give up on this place."


    "If you can, you should."


    Ollie looked at the snail, imagined himself crossing the distance, returning to the candy store, waking up back to his life, as if nothing had happened here, as if everything was just a miserable and hallucinatory bad dream.


    "It doesn''t make a difference, does it?" He sighted. "This world is no different from mine, it looks like it is something else, but I know the feelings of each house, I know the words of each host, I carry them all within me, even if I leave here, nothing will change in my world, not while nothing changes in this one."


    "The flowers of pain that populates the garden of your world," The porcelain mask nodded. "Are planted from the seeds that grow in this Shadow Biosphere."


    "I don''t have the courage, not to keep going, neither to return."


    "Yes you have and yes you will."


    "You don''t know what I believe."


    "It doesn''t matter what you believe," The voice spoke indifferently. "If you believe in your good dream, this is the last house," He brought his porcelain mask closer. "But if you no longer believe in your good dream, if you have nothing to live for, that will take to the same door."


    "That makes no sense at all."


    "What makes no sense is carrying two ideas and believe in neither."


    "That''s it, then?" Ollie gave a laugh of hurt. "I deserve this place?"


    "Some believe that all suffering is a moral failure."


    How about the suffering of the innocent?


    Ollie didn''t want to continue this conversation anymore, not when he knew words would not change his situation. Not when he had an impossible choice to make.


    He couldn''t believe it, he knew that something terrible awaited him in the Black House, that if he were stupid enough to climb, that he would never return.


    "Guess I have no choice, right?" He agave a softly smirk. "If I have a good dream, is there."


    The Dream Merchant gave a slow nod.


    With a sigh, Ollie turned his back to him.


    "Thanks for nothing," He spoke as a farewell.


    This was the last house, if a good dream existed, there it would have to be found.


    This was the last house, there was no good dream, he had nothing to lose.


    So he climbed the steep steps of the winding and narrow hill.


    In his chest, a storm beat in anticipation of an unimaginable and unbearable terror.


    But in his mind, a silent voice told him the opposite.


    That perhaps it would be in the darkness that he would see his light.


    With the power of that idea, Ollie made his way to the Black House.

 Chapter 10

    Ollie knocked on the black door.


    In the silence of the response, his chest pounded and implored for him to leave.


    He certainly would, if only he had somewhere to be.


    My last house, my last chance.


    With trembling fingers he twisted the cold doorknob, and with a shrill creak, the door opened. Inside, there was darkness. In the back, a dying light cast a faint, flickering glow. Still, Ollie used the pale illumination to guide his way within.


    "Hello?" He asked the void. "Is anyone here?"


    The door slammed shut behind him. He would have screamed, but the overwhelming dread immobilized him. That and the subtle creaking, that in its ominous cadence revealed the presence of another being.


    "Hi," Ollie spoke to the shadowy being.


    His eyes adjusted to the darkness, giving layers and details to the gloom.


    The stranger was sitting in a rocking chair, surrounded by a room bare of life or furniture, beside him a small table with the pale and dying candle.


    "I knocked on the door," Ollie justified himself timidly. "You didn''t answer."


    The rocking chair went back and forth, sometimes almost revealing the countenance of its host, sometimes hiding him within the dense darkness of the shadows.


    "I always knew you would enter," the stranger spoke in a hoarse and tired voice. "No matter the path of your life, all roads end here."


    What a terrible thing to say.


    "I would ask your name," Ollie raised his ears. "But you''re not going tell me, are you?"


    "If you wanted to know," the stranger sighed, "you would."


    "Who are you?" Ollie felt a shiver. "What are you?"


    The figure stopped rocking. "I am nobody," he leaned forward, "I am nothing."


    "You''re a dream," Ollie took a step forward. "But what kind of dream are you?"


    The stranger laughed. A mocking laugh, devoid of joy.


    "I am not a dream," he said, followed by a long and uncomfortable silence. "I am the awakening of dreams." He leaned into the pale light.


    Ollie shuddered at the decadence of his appearance.


    It was old Pig, a very old Pig wearing black filthy rags.


    His hunched body was frail and thin, his gray skin  was marred with wounds and caked with dirt, his thin arms stretched over protruding bones, his snout was crooked, and he gave a fake smile, behind his broken yellow teeth.


    As Ollie took in the sight of the decrepit figure before him, the words ''miserable'' and ''unhappy'' flickered through his mind.


    "What does the awakening of dreams mean?" he asked.


    "Waking up, boy." The Pig''s eyes were black and shiny, distortedly reflecting everything they saw, like a madhouse mirror of darkness. "Waking up to the truth."


    Ollie knew this was the time to ask "what truth?" but the words caught in his throat.


    His eyes scanned the abandoned figure, marked by years of neglect and carelessness. The old Pigwas not just a dirty beggar, within him, there seemed to be an indefinable quality, one that denied any feeling of pity and instead brought about an abject disgust.


    However, Ollie knew that appearances here, only existed to deceive him.


    "What do you have to offer me?" He asked with his head held high.


    The Old Pig shook his snout of broken teeth and rocked his chair.


    Ollie waited.


    The silence and indifference of the Old Pig did not disturb him, he could wait forever. For this answer had the power to create or destroy his life.


    I guess the condemned have no rush for tomorrow.


    "Do you want to know what your future holds?" The Old Pig broke his reflection. "Look around you, everything you see and don''t, is yours, this is your life, your destiny."


    Ollie looked around, his pupils wide open to the darkness.


    There was nothing to see.


    There was nothing but an empty room. Only walls of rotten wood and shelves without books. The only furniture was the chair and the table, the only possession was a dying candle.


    The candle dwindled on a shallow plate of broken ceramic, fighting futilely against the shadows that surrounded it, that waited for its end.


    "There''s nothing here," Ollie confronted the old man. "Just you and nothing else."


    "Nothing," the Old Pig nodded. "Nothing is your future."


    "No."


    "This is the end of your story," the wounded hand gestured to the filthy and dark room. "Your well deserved reward, for enduring a sad life of disappointment and pain."


    "You don''t have any power," Ollie spoke quickly. "You can''t predict my future."


    "You have no future, boy," the Old Pig spoke wearily. "You never did."


    "No, I don''t believe you, I can''t end up like this."


    "End up like this?" The Old Pig laughed, now with amusement in his mockery. "You''ve always been here, alone,." he shook his snout. "Alone in your dream of happiness, alone in the awakening of your suffering."


    "What kind of dream is this?" Ollie stared at the room. "Why would I want to live like this?"


    "Because it makes no difference," The shining black eyes stared at him. "Yours is not the choice to be or not to be, here. Yours is the choice to be, or pretend not to be, here."


    "I can leave."


    "Can you?" The Old Pig smiled with his broken teeth. "Do you have somewhere to go?"


    No.


    "I still have the candy." Ollie felt the outline of the heart in his pocket. "I know that''s what you want from me."


    "Yes, the candy." The Old Pig spoke with disgust. "The candy you want to exchange for your good dream."


    "Yes." Ollie crossed his arms. "If you want the candy, I want a something good."


    "There is no good dream."


    "No, I know there is." Ollie stared at the candle about to go out. "If nightmares are real, then why can''t good things be real too?"


    "You are not unhappy because happiness doesn''t exist, boy." The Old Pig laughed without joy. "You are unhappy because the happiness you seek will never belong to you."


    "Why not?" Ollie spoke barely above a whisper. "What did I do to deserve this place?"


    "You did nothing." The Old Pig waved his snout. "There is no purpose for pain, there is no plan, no god, no rewards for the good or reprives for the vile. There is no order only chaos, only mechanical whims of a broken universe devoid of meaning."


    "No, I can''t accept that." Ollie stared at the black reflection of the Old Pig''s eyes. "This place is magical, you can''t bring me to a magical place to tell me that magic doesn''t exist, this place is proof that there is a purpose, that nothing is impossible."


    The old Pig snorted. ¡°Look at you, boy.¡±


    Ollie could not see his body, but he raised his empty hand, he saw the dirty, the cratches and the dried blood, he felt the pain, the shame, that agony that came with understanding.


    ¡°There are no rainbows here are there?¡± The tired voice of the Pig spoke with almost tenderness. ¡°This place is proof that wherever you go, you go nowhere."


    Ollie lowered his head, he was back where he started, the old Pig was right.


    I have nothing.


    No, that is not true.


    He raised his head and faced the black eye of the old Pig.


    ¡°I still have the candy.¡± He with timid confidence.


    The old Pig trembled for a brief moment.


    "You want the candy, right?¡± Ollie asked.


    The old Pig grasped the arms of his rocking chair.


    "Yes." he said not because he wanted, the words were compelled from him. ¡°Yes.¡±


    "Then you''re going to have to offer me something better."


    The Old Pig took a long sigh. "I have something better."


    ¡°What?¡± Ollie dared not to hope.


    The broken yellow teeth smiled. ¡°Acceptance.¡±


    "What in the abyss do I do with acceptance?"


    The Old Pig shrugged.


    "Answer me." Ollie insisted.


    The Old Pig beckoned him to come closer.


    With reluctance, Ollie acquiesced.


    It was an unsettling proximity, with only the small table between them.


    "Look at the candle." The Old Pig spoke without staring at the light.


    Ollie lowered his snout, relieved from the black eyes.


    The flame trembled, buried in a small tomb of its melted body.


    "It''s just a candle." Ollie observed, confused.


    "Look beneath, beneath the surface."


    Ollie brought his snout closer to the light, to the flame that struggled and waned, he looked for something beyond what he saw, but there was nothing, only the futility of the flame, only the inevitability of the incoming darkness.


    "There''s nothing to see." Ollie spoke, frustrated. "It''s just a candle."


    It was just a candle, one that would go out and leave him in the dark.


    "You are a slave to this light." The Old Pig spoke in a lament. "Prisoner of its lies," His black eyes judged the fire in a miasma of disgust and dread. "victim of its incessant deceptions."


    Ollie stared at the flame, the insignificant spark of light. What a ridiculous idea, how could the little candle harm him? It was just the opposite, it was its light, however weak, that protected him from the darkness of this cursed place.


    At the edge of the table, the candle was dying, feeding the shadows that danced at its funeral. Stretching to the rhythm of its suffering, spreading over the three walls in front of him, like misshapen ghosts of a dark nightmare.


    I don''t see anything because there''s nothing to be seen.


    At the height of his conviction, a momentary sigh of doubt shook the light.


    For a brief moment, the misshapen shadows morphed into three familiar shapes.


    On the three walls in front of him, the darkness insinuated itself into the silhouette of three houses. Three houses that welcomed him, mistreated him and lied to him.


    Three houses, three dreams, three refusals.


    I don''t want to see this.


    The silhouettes were lost in the shadows.


    "The light lies, boy." The old Pig spoke wearily. ¡°Promises made, never delivered"


    Ollie felt his hearth squeezed. ¡°In the dark I will suffer more.¡±


    "How could you suffer more?" The Old Pig waved. "Nothing hurts more than believing, it is warm as come closer." He passed his hand over the flame. "But it will burn you if you touch it.¡±


    Ollie spoke in a whisper. "What else can I do?¡±


    "It simple." The Old Pig put his hand over the flame. "So very simple."


    Deep darkness grew in the absence of light.


    "Stop." Ollie shouted, frightened. "I don''t want to be in the dark."


    The old man''s hand crushed and smothered the small blaze.


    "The candle is a lie, boy." his hands covered the fire. "There is no light."


    In the absolute darkness, the small spark did not surrender, it refuses to go out.


    The old man''s hand trembled, burned and stung.


    "Stop." Ollie''s scream was now one of agony. "You''re hurting yourself."


    The Old Pig ignored his words as he tried to ignore the pain. But the pain grew along with the flame, which, however fragile, also refused to surrender.


    When the stench of his burning fur tainted the dense air of the room, the Pig withdrew the wounded remains of his darkened hand.


    "It hurts so much." The Old Pig lamented with tears running from his black eyes. "Nothing should hurt this much."


    "Why did you put your hand in the candle?"


    "So you could understand."


    "Understand what?"


    The Old Pig extended his trembling palm, exposing inflamed red veins running between black blisters. "Look what your light has done to me."


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    My light?


    "It''s your fault." Ollie spoke coldly. "You shouldn''t have put your hand in the fire."


    "What difference does it make, boy?" The Old Pig shouted. "Whether I deserve to suffer or not? It hurts no more or less. It means nothing it changes nothing."


    "Of course it changes, you chose to suffer."


    "Do you think I want to be here?" The Old Pig clenched his fist. "No one chooses to be here, no one chooses this damn place."


    "Why don''t you leave?"


    "I am bound to you, trapped in the tragedy of your life."


    "I don''t want to be here either." Ollie spoke with euphoria. "If no one wants to be here, then this place doesn''t have to exist, we can leave for a better one."


    The Old Pig laughed with scorn and pain.


    "I have the candy." Ollie continued with a childish enthusiasm. "If you offer me a better place, I can give you the candy, I can give you the candy and you can get out of here, we can go together, we can live together in my good dream."


    "Look at the candle, boy."


    "Answer me."


    "The candle is your answer."


    Ollie didn''t want to, he didn''t want to see the shadows of the houses, didn''t want to see the waning light, didn''t want to witness its inevitable end. "No."


    "Look at the damn candle."


    Ollie obeyed, there was the candle, still small, still fighting against the darkness.


    How brave,


    How courageous,


    How stupid.


    The light shrank, cooling in the acquiescence of his illusion.


    "You don''t have the power, do you?" Ollie asked without taking his eyes off the flame. "You can''t change my world, can''t change people, can''t offer me a good dream."


    "No." The Old Pig replied wearily. "I cannot give what is beyond your reach to take it."


    "The light is not enough." Ollie held back tears. "My flame is weak."


    The old Pig nodded with a sigh, with the relief of one who waited an eternity.


    "Even in the beginning when it burned stronger." The black eyes stared at the light with regret. "Your light was never enough, it never will be."


    Ollie stared at the candle. "This is not fair."


    "No." The Pig spoke with compassion.


    "Is that what you want me to accept?" Ollie stared at the Old Pig with terror. "A life in the dark, a life of unhappiness and loneliness?"


    "Never." The old Pigspoke with emotion. "No one deserves to suffer like that."


    "But you said..." Ollie asked confused. "You said that was what you had for me."


    "Of course not, boy." The old Pig shouted, offended. "I don''t what you to accept the Black House, I want you to accept that there is will never be happiness here."


    "I accept." Ollie spoke with sincerity.


    ¡°I want you to accept that we must leave this place of sorrow.¡±


    ¡°Of course I accept, anything, I want anything, any place other than this place."


    Ollie didn''t dare breathe or move, he even ignored the flame that suddenly burned stronger. Could it be possible? Could it be possible that the Old Pig was going to offer him a way out?


    My good dream.


    "Offer me the candy." The Old Pig extended his palm of black blisters and reddened veins. "Give me the power to awaken us from this nightmare."


    Ollie put his hand inside his pocket, feeling the soft warmth of the small heart.


    It didn''t make a difference now, did it? This was his last house, his last choice.


    Inside him, a voice screamed with urgency and agony, ordering him to not hesitate. But in the silenced bellow, a familiar voice warned him.


    Bad dreams lie.


    "How?" Ollie asked as the candle trembled. "How are you going us from this place?"


    The candle flame burned, making the dark shadows dance.


    Ollie wanted to believe, needed to believe, would believe.


    The old Pig nodded. "You know." he pointed to the candle.


    Ollie turned his face to the flame. "I don''t know."


    "You always knew."


    "No."


    "Yes."


    "You''re going to blow out the candle."


    The Old Pig laughed wearily.


    Ollie witnessed with horror the flame shrinking. "I don''t want to be in the dark."


    "But in the dark we are." The Old Pig smiled. "In the dark we will always be."


    "No." Ollie looked at the candle. "I don''t want to die."


    "So you confess?" he pointed his burned finger. "You always knew what you came to find."


    "No." Ollie frowned his snout. "I don''t know what you''re talking about."


    "You lie, boy." The Old Pig grimaced. "You already knew what awaited you here, you knew the moment you accepted a sweet from a stranger."


    "No." Ollie spoke terrified. "He promised me a good dream."


    "He told the lie you wanted to hear," The Old Pig gave a mocking laugh. "He offered you nothing in exchange of everything you have."


    "That''s what you say."


    "I told you that you would never return from the Black House." The Old Pig widened his black eyes. "I told you not to come, yet here you are."


    ¡°You are the voices in my head?¡±


    ¡°Why would you open the door, when you knew there death on the other side?.¡±


    "Because I had no choice." Ollie shouted in fury. "I have nothing, no place and no one. But I''m not here because I want to die, you goddamed cretin. I''m here cause I have nothing to lose."


    "Finally the truth." The Old Pig smiled with his broken teeth. "The truth you run, that you fight, that you deny." he nodded, "Is the truth that brought you here."


    "I beat the other houses," Ollie said taking a step back. "I can beat you."


    "Beat me? Beat how, boy?" The old Pig shrugged. "Going back to your world? Going back to the life you can''t stand? To the friends you don''t have? To the father you don''t see? To the mother who imprisons you? To the future you don''t have?" he raised an eyebrow. "Is that how you are going to beat me? With purposeless suffering?"


    Ollie didn''t know what to answer, but something had to be said. "I can change." his voice came out shaky. "Now that I know the wrong paths, I will be able to find the right one."


    "Nobody wants you."


    The light shrank, making the darkness of the Black House grow.


    "No matter the road." The tired voice continued. "On all of them you walk alone."


    "No, that''s not true." Ollie spoke without conviction.


    "All your roads end here."


    "Seffia," Ollie spoke trembling, but with his heart. "Seffia wanted me."


    "Isn''t it cruel? That precisely those with the power to give you joy are but those who made you suffer the most?"


    "I can find her again, even if I forget about her." Ollie spoke trembling. "Nothing matters if she finds me, if she remembers me."


    "No one will save you, boy."


    Ollie wanted to say no, wanted to fight against his dark words.


    But he was so tired of trying, of waking up, of going on.


    "Why not?" Ollie asked in supplication. "Why can''t I have a happy ending?"


    "Have you forgotten?" The Old Pig spoke almost tenderly. "The lesson your sweet Seffia taught you?"


    Ollie frowned his eyes. ¡°Don''t talk about her.¡±


    ¡°You want to forget her, but she is the reason you came to me.¡±


    ¡°I will forget her, and when I find my happy place I will forget you too.¡±


    ¡®Don''t be stupid, boy.¡± he waved his charked hand. ¡°Is not the taste of the poison that kills, you drank juice that day, remember? You smiled and you laugh, It was everything you wanted, but happiness was not the cure, it the bane that showed you the Black House.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ollie lowered his head.


    ¡°Tell me boy, what did you see in light?¡±


    "I don''t want to be here."


    The Old Pig made a grimace of agony. "No one does."


    Ollie stared at the small light, which now barely had a flame. The darkness was approaching, he didn''t have to kill the light, it was already dying very well on its own. This was the feeling that haunted his life, the cruel notion of powerlessness that he pretended not to see.


    "I didn''t know how bad my life was until I met Seffia." he spoke in a sigh. "It was as you said, at first it was perfect, so easy, it seemed that she was made for me." he smiled with longing. "But on the day she took me to meet her family, they gave us juice and we spent the afternoon together..." On his lips, his words trebled. "Everything changed without changing, everything was the same as before, but at the same time, nothing would ever be the same again."


    "The light is about to die, boy." The Old Pig stared at the weakening candle. "Be brief."


    Ollie turned his face to the shadows on the wall. "I saw everything I didn''t have." The shadows no longer frightened him. "They were small details, ridiculous and unimportant. Silly questions about how was her day, hugs for no reason, lingering looks. They were small gestures that together poisoned everything." he stared at the light with pain. "It showed everything I didn''t have, everything I could never have."


    "You saw your emptiness." The Old Pig nodded. "The reverse of what should had  been."


    Ollie stared into his black eyes, this time almost with affection. He was the only one who knew who he really was, the only one who understand the height of his pain and the bottomless depth of his loneliness.


    "Yes." he arched his lips with dejection. "She was the light, and I the shadow."


    "A shadow is the prisoner of light."


    Ollie gave a slight nod. "I needed her, without her I was unhappy." his ears fell. "But not Seffia, together or apart from me, she would carry her joy whatever she will go."


    "She carries joy and you carry your nothing, your heavy and unbearable nothingness."


    "You understand, then, why I need to find a good dream."


    The Old Pig waved with sorrow. ¡°When the shadow finds the light, it ceases to exist."


    He offered his disfigured palm, the red veins running between the black blisters filled with pus, the wound ran down his arm, uglier and fetid.


    "By her side I would have been happy."


    "No, by her side, you always be here, in the Black House."


    ¡°Never.¡± Ollie frowned his snout. "I won''t accept this place."


    ¡°Good.¡± The Old Pig gave a thankful nod. ¡°It is time, let us leave this horrible place.¡±


    Ollie wanted to say yes, and that frightened him, for he knew what yes meat.


    ¡°How can I trust you?¡± He asked softly. ¡°How can I trust you, when you want to kill me?¡±


    ¡°I trust me, because I never lied to you.¡± He touched his chest with his injured hand. "I protected from the other houses, me, only me and no one else."


    "No." Ollie said is whisper.


    "I am the one that told that you would lose your father."


    "No."


    "I am the one, who warned you that your time with Seffia would not last."


    "No."


    "I am the one, that wont let you forget, that wherever you go, you will walk alone.¡±


    "I want to live." Ollie said without conviction.


    "You don''t want to live." The Old Pig leaned closer. "You wanted to have lived."


    ¡°Yes.¡± Ollie said in whispers. ¡°Yes.¡± He repeated with conviction.


    The candle flame perished.


    In a glacial horror, the darkness occupied the void of the Black House.


    "I don''t want to be in the dark." Ollie pleaded.


    "Don''t fear, boy." spoke the voice from the darkness. "I remain by your side."


    Ollie felt the old Pig''s hand on his shoulder, pressing him gently with comfort.


    "I''m tired." He spoke trembling. "Why am I so tired?"


    The Old Pig''s other hand caressed Ollie''s head.


    "Hold my hand, let''s walk together, walk away from this damned prison."


    Ollie held the old Pig''s hand, feeling a momentary relief, in the benevolence of his touch, and in the secure comfort of all his hands.


    The hand that held his.


    The hand that consoled his head.


    The hand that rested on his shoulder.


    He has three hands?


    He tried to flee the Old Pig''s touch, but gentle fingers held him with authority.


    "What are you doing?" Ollie tried to move in vain. "Let me go."


    A fourth hand grabbed his ankle, a fifth grabbed the wrist of his free arm.


    "It''s not me who is fighting against you." The voice from the darkness spoke gently. "When you fight against me, you fight against your true being."


    The hands lost their fingers as they elongated, forming tentacles of darkness.


    "Let me go." Ollie spoke softly with weak movements. "I want to leave."


    "Very well, boy." The darkness answered satisfied. "Very well."


    The black appendages multiplied and fell upon Ollie, entangling his arms, his legs, his chest and even coiling around his throat.


    Ollie tried to scream, but the darkness gently suffocated his voice.


    Who will miss me?


    Seffia? No, for her Ollie had already ceased to exist.


    His school? No, for them his absence would be a relief, a joke.


    His father? No, for him this would just be another disappointment.


    His mother? Yes, she would miss him, she would cry and mourn his absence every day. But him returning, him staying by her side, she would continue to cry and mourn his presence.


    It''s not enough.


    Ollie relaxed into the embrace of the shadows.


    Who has nothing, has nothing to lose.


    With a sigh he felt the relief as his hope leaked from his heart.


    Suddenly, a red glow invaded the comfort of his darkness.


    Ollie opened his eyes to the discomfort of the light.


    Floating in the darkness, wrapped in tentacles of shadow, he saw the incandescent promise of happiness, the heart-shaped candy.


    No.


    Ollie tried to move his arm, but it was immobilized by the dark tentacles.


    No.


    The Old Pig emerged from the shadows, standing, approaching the radiant candy.


    "No." Ollie managed to whisper. "No."


    "Yes." The Old Pig spoke smiling, smiling for the first time with true joy.


    His hands took the precious candy from the dark tentacles, his black eyes reflecting the light emanating from the crystallized sugar, which enchanted him with the deepest passion.


    "I didn''t offer you the candy." Ollie complained.


    The Old Pig opened his snout of broken teeth, and drooled over the prize.


    "No." Ollie shouted, with the rest of the strength he had left, "You can''t steal it from me." he struggled, but the more he struggled, the more rigid the tentacles became.


    The Old Pig turned his black eyes to him, taking a moment as if to remember.


    "You blew out the candle." The Old Pig nodded with approval. "You made your choice."


    Ollie wanted to fight, wanted to give up, he wanted the candy back, he wanted the candy to cease to exist. Two voices, two lives, no path. Nothing had changed, nothing would change, when he accepted the darkness, he accepted his end.


    The Old Pig was not his enemy, all he wanted was his well-being.


    No, he doesn''t want your well-being, he wants the candy.


    The thought was a whisper, the final words of the voice that had lost the duel.


    Ollie had also lost his war, his quest, his life. He had no value, no one who cared, no one who would care, the Old Pig was right, what would be the point of fighting for the privilege to continue suffering?


    I have no value, only the candy has value.


    None of the hosts wanted to help him, everything they offered, promised, said, were just the means with which they sought to satisfy their insatiable hunger.


    The candy has value.


    The Old Pig''s broken teeth fell upon the small heart-shaped candy.


    "No." Ollie shouted, but the Pig continued. "I said no."


    The red light intensified, to the terror of the Old Pig''s black eyes.


    "Enough, boy, enough." The Pig shouted. "Now is the time to trust me."


    "I don''t thrust you.¡± Ollie shouted back.


    ¡°You have no one.¡± The Pig laughed in disgust. ¡°Can you find your way alone?¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Ollie confessed with a nod. "I can''t do it myself."


    ¡°Then you made your choice.¡± The Pig smiled from his broken teeth. ¡°You choose me.¡±


    Everyone has five dreams.


    The words of the Dream Merchant returned to Ollie.


    "I still have a dream." Ollie spoke with joy. "There are five dreams."


    "You abandoned your fifth dream."


    Ollie tried to move, tried to free himself from the black tentacles, but no matter how great his effort, they still had the power to restrain him. "Let me go."


    "I will save you, boy." The Old Pig brought the candy to his yellow broken tenth. "I will save us from the light." His opened his snot wide to satisfy his hunger.


    "No." Ollie whispered, unable to break the black tentacles. "The candy is not yours."


    The broken teeth broke the crystallized sugar coat.


    ¡°NO.¡± Ollie shouted. ¡°I believe in the candy, I believe it has the power to save me.¡±


    The heart-shaped red candy, glowed bright purple then ignited in red flames.


    The Old Pig choked and swallowed the fire.


    In the blinding flames emanating from the heart-shaped candy.


    His hands began to burn, to blaze in a fire that could not be contained.


    "Stop! Stop, you ungrateful boy." The Old Pig roared the words in agony.


    "Let go of the candy, you have to let go."


    But the Old Pig could not let go of the candy, nor could he endure the pain of possessing it.


    "Why are you doing this to me?" He spoke with black tears of darkness. "I want to save you, why do you torture me when all I want to do is save you."


    "just let go." Ollie spoke feeling the black tentacles fading in the intense light. "You just have to drop the candy."


    "Never." The Old Pig roared in agony. "It belongs to me."


    "No." Ollie replied horrified. "It belongs to me."


    The Old Pig''s hands withered into gnarled, black appendages. However unbearable his agony was, his bony talons remained firm on the flaming treat.


    "I beg you, please I don''t deserve this." The Old Pig trembled, delirious in his unbearable agony. "I never did anything to deserve this."


    Ollie could not answer, for on his countenance his horror had turned into judgment.


    "You are choosing your pain." He spoke without antipathy or pity.


    The Old Pig persisted, even in his delirious agony, he clung to the object of his pain seeking his salvation in that which destroyed him. Only at the end, when the unbearable became immeasurable, he let go of the sweet.


    Making the sacrifice of his laceration into a purposeless joke of sorrow and pain.


    Without thinking, without fear, Ollie extended his hand and took the incandescent treat.


    He felt the warm heat, and the softness of its delicate layer of crystallized sugar.


    There was no more fire, the candy lost its luminosity, and the candle lit up once more.


    The Old Pig fell, cradling in an embrace the charked remains of his gaunt appendices. "What have you done?" He asked in tears of darkness. "What have you done, you stupid boy?"


    Ollie gave a sigh. "I''m going to look for the fifth house."


    The Old Pig laughed, in pain and agony.


    The candlelight flickered in the darkness of the Black House.


    "You think you''ve won?" He waved his cadaverous ebony stumps. "There is no fifth house, not for you." he laughed in disgust. "You were born here, here you will stay."


    Ollie wanted to answer something, wanted to show that he had won, but the spark of the candle betrayed the fragility of his conviction. He wanted to believe that his good dream was waiting for him, that the candy had the power to give him what he alone could not find.


    There has to be a good dream.


    Ollie stared at the delicate red candy with reverence, he could not believe in himself, but as long as he had the little heart, he could still believe in something.


    He put the candy in his pocket, and turned without saying goodbye to the Old Pig.


    "There is no other place, boy." The Old Pig shouted when he reached the door. "Wherever you go, you carry with you the Black House."


    Ollie did not wait for the candle to lose its light.


    He ran with his eyes fixed on the ground.


    There was no courage to look back, no hope to see ahead.


    Still his legs ran in search of a path.


    In search of a path that his mind did not conceive to exist.