Foreverland Is Dead

I ain’t saying I know how they do it, but it’s possible. It ain’t magic.”
    “No. It’s a dream.”
    She chuckles, turning her head. “It’s not magic, it’s a dream—that’s what you’re saying?”
    “You’re asleep, Cyn, but this isn’t your dream. Someone else is dreaming this world. And you’re in it. We’re all in it.” He waves his arms, gestures at the grand view beyond. “Your real self, whoever you are, is real, Cyn. You’re somewhere, just not here. You think you’re real, but you’re asleep. You need to wake up.”
    “And you?”
    “Me, too. Sid, the girls…we’re all real.”
    “But asleep?”
    “We’re part of an…experiment, so to speak. It’s hard to explain, you’ll have to trust me.”
    “Whose dream world is this? I mean, if it ain’t mine, whose is it?”
    “That’s irrelevant. The point is, we can escape. We can wake up in our bodies, wake up in reality where the world exists beyond the edge, where there is no Nowhere. Where we can escape the suffering, get back to living.”
    “And you expect me to believe this?”
    “No.” What little joy had filled his eyes quickly drains. “You don’t realize this is a dream, so you’ll hang on to it to the very end. Only you can discover it’s false. This is not how I wanted to tell you.”
    “Why are you still here? If you know this is a dream, wake up, then. Go ahead, disappear or say the magic word, whatever you’ve got to do, you do it and I’m a believer.”
    “Knowing the truth isn’t enough, child. It’s hard work to escape.”
    Cyn throws her head back, thumping the weathered wood. There are old nests and white streaks on the rafters, holes in the roof and cobwebs in the corner. These are not the details of dreams.
    And she’s never had a dream she couldn’t wake up from.
    Sweat forms on her forehead. She swallows the nervous swelling in her throat. “We’re out here starving and freezing and you say just wake up.”
    “It was summer where we were.” He holds his arms out. “That’s why we arrived in those clothes. We’re lucky we survived.”
    Her laughter is as empty as his. She rolls her head on the wall, eyes him with a shallow smile. “You’re a liar—you’re up to something. And you can starve, for all I care.”
    She throws her weight forward. Her steps are small. Her heels are cracking.
    “What’s your plan?” Mr. Williams calls. “To survive long enough to see your feet rot off?”
    “If it’s a dream, I’ll get new ones.”
    “Just because it’s an illusion doesn’t mean you won’t suffer. You’re invested in the dream, child. You don’t want to give it up, no matter how much it hurts.”
    Cyn uses the wall to slowly turn around.
    “What happens when I die, Mr. Williams? If this is a dream, won’t I wake up?”
    He sinks his hands in his coat pockets. “You already died; you have the marks on the wall to prove it.”
    The end of the breezeway tilts. She blinks the world back into focus but the floor wobbles. She needs to get out, get some air, get away from the nonsense.
    “You’re saying we start over? We wake up in a cabin without memories?”
    He nods. Isn’t it obvious?
    Cyn doesn’t want to believe it. He’s convincing, but that doesn’t mean he’s right. The squeeze of hunger will bring him back to his senses. He’ll talk.
    He’ll tell the truth.
    She just wants her crutches, wants to go lie down.
    “We need to find the gate,” Mr. Williams says. “It’s the center of the dream. In our world, it was a sundial. If we find the gate in this world, we can use it to wake up.”
    Cyn reaches the other end. The crutches stab beneath her arms. She’s panting and sweating. Nausea swirls inside her stomach, reaches for her throat.
    “Tell me.” Her voice echoes in the stalls. “What was your tropical world called?”
    She feels him smiling. “Foreverland,” he says.
    “Foreverland is dead. If you don’t tell me what you’re up to, so are you.”
    She starts for the bunkhouse where she can rest. Her mouth begins to water. She gets a few steps before vomiting. On her hands and knees, she throws up her breakfast onto the ground, melting the sleet.
    This is not a dream, she thinks, heaving again. Dreams don’t hurt.

35

    “I can do it.” Cyn tries to prop herself up on her pillow.
    “Just lie down and shut up.” Mad wipes Cyn’s forehead with a damp cloth. “Eat the soup and take those.”
    Cyn looks at the oblong pills. “I’m not taking