Bastion Science Fiction Magazine - Issue 4, July 2014 Read Online Free PDF Page A

later, the Dreamer stood up. Gradually, all the voices faded away. Silence moved through the crowd like a wave.
    “If you wouldn’t mind, now would be a good time to go ahead and drink.” His voice was a whisper, but it sounded as if it were coming from no more than a foot in front of me instead of halfway across the room. He was holding the notebook now. The way he balanced it in his hands, it seemed like it was part of him.
    I waited until after my sister drank hers to drink mine. Once I decided that she wasn’t going to die, I pressed the plastic cup against my lips and tipped it backwards. I found out that the drink tasted as weird as it looked; sweet, but not in the good way. Sweet in the way that made you close your eyes and grasp the bridge of your nose and hope your taste buds would calm down soon.
    Within a few moments, I was curled up on the cushion beneath me. My arms and legs felt heavy, and I wondered how long we would be asleep. I don’t remember what happened after I fell asleep, although my sister had. I woke up, dazed, with a few swirling images in my mind, but I couldn’t grasp any of them. Since then, I have been forever envious of those who can remember the dreams after they’ve regained consciousness. Still, I knew that something had happened.
    I knew .
    I open my eyes and stare at the same ceiling, ten years later. Cobwebs clutter the corners. The carvings now look cold and disorienting. My feet carry me over the carpet that is now slowly deteriorating. My father is not with me this time, and I know for certain that he will never be here again.
    Without thinking, I make my way to the stage. The steps are warped and creaky underneath me. A thin layer of dust covers the narrow ledge. As I walk, my shoes leave small marks on the wood. I sit in the exact spot that the Dreamer had my first night here, close my eyes, and imagine what it would be like if I were one of them. I imagine what it would be like, to see pictures while you’re asleep every night. I wonder what my life would have been like if I had been one of them. I think of how much more money we would have had. How we could have saved my father.
    My hands grip the side of the stage, and I try not to think about what it will be like when I return home. I know that they will have taken him away by then. My father will not be lying lifeless on our couch as my sister sits beside him, unresponsive to everything around her. I will probably hear Annie sniffling in her room. My mother will be up all night, looking at pictures of us growing up and trying to grasp the fact that her husband is no longer here.
    I’m not sure what I will do.
    For now, though, none of that matters. For now, I am a Dreamer. It doesn’t matter that when I return home, this will have all been pretend. A fantasy. In this moment, I can make up my own reality while I’m asleep and give it away to anyone who is willing to listen. Taking a deep breath, I pick up where my father left off that night, and tell the rest of the story to the ghosts that may be listening.
    “The two boys managed to make peace with the kind stranger. She took them back to her homeland, and they were able to open the first Tent. It wasn’t like what we have today.” I smile, hearing my father’s voice. The words are not my own, I know, but they’re good enough. “It was made of brightly colored fabric, and they would move it from place to place. Kings from far off places would travel to see the Dreamer. After that, other Dreamers were accepted. Rulers from all over the globe would track down anyone who showed signs of having the talent. Countries from all over opened up their own Tents, and eventually they became what we have now.
    “Without the first Dreamer, we wouldn’t know what it’s like to see something entirely new. We wouldn’t know how to dream.”
     
     
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    Hannah is a former homeschooler, aspiring linguist, and future American Sign Language interpreter, who may minor in