Dreamers // Enoch O'Connor

Chapter 20: দুঃস্বপ্ন

দুঃস্বপ্ন - Bengali for nightmare
_____________________________

Someone once told me that fear is only in the mind.

It isn't real, it isn't something you can see and touch.

But neither is happiness then. Or sadness.

And you're trying to tell me that when I touch the salty tear that runs down the face of a person I love, that I'm not touching their sadness?

You're trying to tell me that when they burst out into a wide, toothy smile, faces gleaming and eyes crinkled, you're trying to tell me I cannot see happiness?

Fear isn't just in the mind.

No, fear is everywhere.

It hangs in the air like a thick blanket.

It closes your throat and forces your hands to shake.

It projects the demons that are in your mind right in front of you.

So no, maybe fear isn't something you can take and put in a jar and lock.

But it sure as hell is real.

-----

"Dream," Horace said when evening as we sat around the table eating dinner.

It was unusually silent, the only sound being the forks and knives scraping against the china plates.

"What?" Hugh asked, lifting an eyebrow as he brought a large baked potato to his thin lips, placing the whole thing in his mouth at once.

"Ashlyn. The name. It means dream," the prophetic boy replied, politely speaking after chewing his food. "It's funny that your name is dream and your peculiarity is somewhat correlating to that. Hallucinations, dreams, you know?"

"Did your parents name you that?" Millard asked from his seat, a floating fork in front of him.

I shook my head, "I named myself."

Millard was about to reply before he got elbowed by Horace who was next to him.

We didn't talk about our parents often.

It wasn't a rule, it was just an understanding amongst all of us.

But for me it was more so the feeling that if someone knows you and your past then you're vulnerable to them.

They're beginning to know the broken parts and flaws of your body.

The dents and bruises.

"Sumnos," I then said, smiling at Horace.

"Roman God of sleep. I know," he smiled, face suddenly beaming as if overjoyed that somebody in the room was as half educated as him.

"What's a Sumnos? That's not his name?" Hugh then remarked.

"It's his last name, idiot," Victor muttered, eyes low.

"Victor!" Mrs. Peregrine exclaimed, "be polite!"

The boy muttered a small apology under his breath, not looking at anyone, eyes fixed in front of him.

"Tonight we will be having movie night, if that is alright with you Horace?" Miss. Peregrine asked, turning to the prophet.

"As always," the boy smiled, nodding.

-----

Horace sat in his usual chair, the same eyepiece attached.