https://i.imgur.com/0SFnrfC.jpeg [https://i.imgur.com/0SFnrfC.jpeg]
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.
https://i.imgur.com/GYiWydD.jpeg [https://i.imgur.com/GYiWydD.jpeg]
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.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
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.
https://i.imgur.com/WZaujCW.jpeg [https://i.imgur.com/WZaujCW.jpeg]
"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.