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.
https://i.imgur.com/UF9PGdD.jpeg [https://i.imgur.com/UF9PGdD.jpeg]
"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.
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"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.