Tranquilize Ch. 1

Part 1 

Silently reflection turns my world to stone
Patiently correction leaves us all alone
And sometimes I'm a travel man
But tonight this engine's failing

I still hear the children playing

Kick the can, kick the can, skip and blackjack
Steal a car and ring a round-rosy,
Rock and roll, candyland, bogeyman,

Run away and give me your sneakers

Shuck. Shuck. It was a pitiful sound as the shovel's spade met the earth and it tore the ground before the smell of it swelled and struck Bastialus' muzzle. A sharp smell of what the ground kept underneath, a soft dirt blanket. This would be a good enough grave for another body he found amongst the ghost town landscape of what was once a place for shelter before the whistles and flashes came, the roars of fire, the bullets, the cries...the smoke. Bastialus was one of the lucky few that found an old bunker nestled underneath dirt, debris, with weeds sprouting. He hated himself for being cowardly then, being the mouse he was, curled up in a ball and clutching his head and ears tightly; he would've wanted his boyfriend with him, but he too met the same fate as the others; in others Bastialus thought, maybe, they were..."You digging up your own grave?" He was cut off from his thoughts when he heard someone behind him, another man, fuck, a survivor. 

"Uh...no, just giving them proper burials. I don't believe in the heaven, hell, all that...but I can't just..." Seeing the corpses sprawl like broken dolls was hard, but Bastialus felt his throat go dry when he tried explaining. It's not like he owed an explanation, he somewhat expected this is what others that were living were doing in some length too; at least that's what he expected. 

"So, you've been going at this for how long?" The mouse asked. 

"You expect me to know...seriously?" 

"Days?" 

Bastialus rose an eyebrow, "Has it been?" 

"No, from the shelter I came from, it's been two months since things went to hell," Bastialus' eyes widened. Verda. Two months. In the bunker living off the stashed peaches, peas, and canned meatloaf it felt like days, "But, nearly everything is wiped...you got scavengers, those on the verge of an emotional break, and then there's those on the intellectual side...wondering if things will ever go back--trying to get things back; but, that's enough pessimistic chatter, I'm Basil Brettman." 

"Bastialus Rathbark," He had finished rolling the body into the grave and started putting dirt over it, "You know...I'm tired, I won't ask what side started it, we've lost a lot." 

"Sadly it's the only choice," Brettman replied, "After your done shoving dirt, come with me to the chapel." 

Bastialus was halfway through the pile when he briefly paused, "Um, you won't beg for prayers, right?" 

"No. The used to be priest welcomes survivors, if they want to pray they can, if you don't want to...there's no need to. No one's forcing you to there," Brettman assured him. 

"Good..." Bastialus breathed, "Prayers aren't going to bring him back...I don't need anymore bitter pills today." 

The chapel was an old stone church with a dark wood back that was supposed to contain a motor and circuit switches that kept the power and water running, and another shed was out back that had a sign reading WARNING!! POWER: TRESPASSERS WILL BE FINED  EMPLOYEE USE ONL with the Y looking to be chipped away due to age. The chapel was against a dirt road with a white picket fence that now had sad signs waving about Bingo Night and Bible Classes in the next building over. "Any other survivors like me in there?" Bastialus asked fixing a wooden arrow out of impulse that said 'HALO HOPE CHRISTIAN CHAPEL'. Brettman politely stopped him from fingering it. 

"Yes, well, a couple at least...plus the priest, if  he isn't dead yet," Brettman chuckled wearily, "A snobby mouse named Fane and uh..."

"And?" Bastialus pressed. 

"Haven't asked the chap myself, but he's a scruffy thing, er, an eccentric sort...housebroken...homeless, you know, a hobo?" Bastialus glared at him, "Uh, forget that last one. Either way, he's a bit of a loosened screw; can't make heads or tails about his actions." 

"You're not exactly leaving a great impression yourself, Brett," Bastialus firmly stated, "How do I know you're not luring me into a freaking church to beat me up and mug me?" Brettman's ears went red, like firecrackers had gone off inside his brain at the accusation. 

"Why would I mug a teen?! Besides, did you have fun scavenging for scraps and burying bodies?!" 

That struck a nerve, Bastialus fell silent, shuffling his feet and rubbing his neck. "Bratwurst..."  A rough, laid back voice startled them both and Bastialus saw a gangly pale grey mouse with long white hair that had a mess of curls, the side of his head was bleeding from a very old wound from blunt trauma and he had a crown of computer wires around his head. The mouse had a messy, slightly punctured and torn pants with a buckle belt barely holding on due to his lanky frame, and he wore dirty green crocs that smelled like dirty water, while his fur and the aroma from his mouth was of a strong liquor, "Bratwurst..." The mouse whined, "Bratwurst...you're scaring this young man..." 

"Don't call me Bratwurst! It's Brettman!" Brettman shrilled.

"Well the second coming isn't what I expected," Bastialus joked. 

The gangly mouse stopped and looked at Bastialus in confusion, "Whaaa-? You confusing me for...? Oh...hold up...gotta sober up...goddamn whisky..." He took deep breaths and shook his head like a dog who had just recently got wet. Brettman rolled his eyes. 

"Yes, do sober up, Enosh," Brettman said lividly still recovering from the embarrassing name mix up, "I keep telling you to at least put a shirt on or even a freaking hat but you prefer those wires. I don't understand why you're so adamant about not wanting at least bandages where your wound is." 

Enosh still looked mildly tipsy and even when he shook his head, the wires clung on like clingy thorns, "My name isn't really Enosh, it's what...that guy in the large bathrobe said...he named me." 

"Yes, like adopting a dog." 

Bastialus stepped on Brettman's foot sharply with his boot causing him to yelp.

"Enosh, just what is your real name?" Bastialus asked. 

Enosh fixed himself, despite still being drunk, he had sobered up some, "Jericho...or Jeffery...something with a Je...but I ain't the Saint so, don't give me bows and prayers like others have had, okay? I don't have a place to go anymore, but it was pretty hard to have others come out of nowhere and just...beg me. Felt strange," Desperate individuals calling for desperate miracles, throwing themselves at the closest one looking like Jesus from their paintings, Bastialus thought. 

"He doesn't look a thing like Jesus," Brettman huffed, "How did a bunch of..."

"Well, Enosh seems polite about it. So he's a gentleman, compared to you," Bastialus teased. 

Brettman rolled his eyes again, and ushered the two of them to the inside of the chapel. There were only four pews in the front of the sermon podium while the rest looked to be old dining chairs and rocking chairs; Fane was in the first front pew watching an old black and white horror movie from an old VCR. Bastialus squinted his eyes and noticed it was the original 1931 Frankenstein movie. "I see you finally got that power working," Brettman said. Bastialus felt his cheeks light up as he slowly approached Fane, taken by his striking intimidating eyes, and his shoulder length black hair. 

"For now at least," Fane replied, yawning, as he cupped his cheek lazily, "We don't know how long it'll last. Father told me we got five months unless we can find gas for the electric tank." 

"Five months, huh?" Brettman sighed, "Well, that ain't too bad. That means we have to resort to scavenging for oil and extra rations."

Fane let out a dry laugh, "You have plans to stay here?" 

Brettman placed his hands to his hips, "Do you have anything better?" 

Fane silently pointed out the window to a beat up blue 1950s Plymouth to the side of the chapel, the paint was peeling, the seats looked a bit torn from age and the windows looked filthy from rain and mud. Brettman wanted to laugh, this was Fane's idea of having a better option than shelter and electricity? "You've got to be kidding," Brettman huffed, "Now, please stop joking and entertain our new friend while I make us lunch till Father gets here." 

"New fr..." Fane trailed when he noticed Bastialus staring at him, "Oh for goodness sakes, isn't Enosh more than enough? You had to bring a fucking kid?" 

"He was out burying bodies," Brettman pointed as he opened the door to the dining room and kitchen, "Happy socializing," he added before slamming the door. That lime just dumped this kid on me, Fane thought rubbing his forehead. 

"Don't expect me to give pleasantries..." Fane suddenly said to Bastialus, "I don't trust you, Enosh, or fucking Brettman." 

"What do you expect me to do? I'm not even armed," He said back. Fane scoffed. 

"With how things are now you mustn't be too trusting to strangers," Fane warned, "You're more naive than the filthy hobo and you're barely in adulthood. You're just asking for a death sentence." 

"Fane, knock it off," Enosh said sternly taking Bastialus by surprise. 

"Oh, did the hobo comment set you off? You're just a mutt, a freaking stray. I bet you're riddled with diseases and-" 

Enosh gave a swift harsh slap across Fane's face, "I said. Knock. It. Off," he said more sternly, "If you don't want to stay, you can leave. I ain't stopping you and Brettman isn't going to either. If you can't even take in a teen who is barely surviving, you can go." Fane looked vividly angered from being struck against the cheek by the housebroken rodent, and his hands curled into fists like he wanted to break into a fight with Enosh but he sighed and waved it off. He took out a anti-bacterial napkin and used it on his cheek. Enosh gently pushed Bastialus to the nearby chapel stairs that lead to a living area and another table with chairs with an old couch against the window. Bastialus sat on the couch and sighed. Enosh rummaged through a study drawer until he found a pack of cigs and a lighter, he lit one and puffed. 

"Sorry about Fane," Enosh said, blowing a cloud, "He's such a tight ass." 

"What's his problem anyway?" 

Enosh sat down next to him, breathing in before letting out smoke from his muzzle. Bastialus could smell the mix of whiskey and hard beer from his fur, "Don't know...he was like that when I came here. Fane jumped me on the spot and tried to stab me with a Swiss Army knife..." Bastialus blanched, "I ain't gonna let old vamp face hurt you. He can give me cuts but he ain't touching one line of fur on you till I clobber him in the shnoze." 

Bastialus clutched his head and let out a deep sigh. He now wished he stayed in that cramp bunker.

"What about you?" Enosh asked, "What's your story?" 

Bastialus laid his head back, fuck it, he was all ready here now. "My boyfriend and I were caught in the middle of the...the mess of it. We managed to dodge the first two waves but then..." He sighed mournfully, "He...he was caught off guard. He was shot in the head and stabbed in the heart. I shook the men off and dragged his body...damn it...just damn it..." Bastialus was on the verge of weeping now, his tears were hot and swelling, "I had no time to bury him...I ran like a coward...I left him...I left him like that...I'm horrible...I...I..." Enosh looked at him, "I hid in that bunker once I heard sirens and whistles...when I went up to check after...his body was gone...it was like he never existed..." 

"Bastialus..." Enosh spoke softly. 

"We were going to go sailing this week! We even bought the boat! But...ohh he's gone...he's gone...they took him away..." Bastialus moaned as he sobbed. Enosh blew another puff of smoke before snuffing it out on his wrist and threw the butt aside. He pulled Bastialus close to his chest to bring some comfort, the contact just made him sob harder. Bastialus' ears perked when he heard someone climb up to the floor and saw Brettman staring at them in confusion, before his expression changed quickly to disgust, he went over and pulled Bastialus from Enosh's arms. Enosh was taken aback. 

"What were you doing?!" Brettman spat. 

"Giving the young man comfort," Enosh said, "He was crying, would you have done the same?" 

"You could have gave a handkerchief if you have...no, a hanky from you would be just plain dirty."

"Brett, we've been over this. I'm not that dirty." 

"Yes, but your unkempt fur is perfect for fleas and mites!" 

Enosh sighed, and looked over at Bastialus, and pointed at him, "That young man lost a love. You can't fix a heart no less a down ridden soul when your lover dies in front of you..." Enosh stood up, "Whether you like it or not, I'm part of this group. If one of us separates, we all go down...but, I don't care too much about Fane though. All he does is complain..." Enosh scoffed, "I'm gonna shower for a bit..." He brushed passed Brettman causing him to briefly shiver. 

"Weird hobo..." Brettman grumbled, "And remember to not waste-"

He was interrupted to the door slamming. Brettman sighed. 

"It's...it's fine..." Bastialus said, "Just stop calling him that..." 

They had just met hours ago, but Brettman felt something in him shrivel.

"It's just...I'm no different...am I? Considering, my life with another man was considered taboo. Enosh, and those like him, deserve better." 

Brettman's cheeks reddened with embarrassment, and his heart felt like it dropped with guilt. You can't fix a heart no less a down ridden soul when your lover dies, "So, you really are a..." Brettman awkwardly started. 

"Yeah. I said he wouldn't return no matter how much I pray, right?" Bastialus pointed out. 

Brettman paused briefly, "Right...I'm, uh, very sorry you had to see one of the spats between Enosh and I. We don't know much about one another. Enosh is even a stranger to himself. It's...it's not that I don't trust him. I'm just...scared. We all are. We don't know how many were lost, how many are alive, and if someone is alive; I myself wonder if they carry ill intentions or are their bodies a ticking bomb to make others sick; fear...the paranoia...the hate...I was scared. I suppose I still am." 

"Then why pick me up?" Bastialus asked.

"Aren't children our only future? If we adults pass on due to our mistakes, the children...take the helm."

"That's not the only reason why you did so."

Brettman laughed bitterly, "You can read me so easily?" Bastialus quietly nodded, and Brettman sighed, "I didn't want you to be hopeless and end up using that shovel to dig yourself a grave to curl up in. That's my...best reason," he explained. Bastialus noticed Brettman was lying, the expression of his eyes and body language was telling a different story but Bastialus just accepted the explanation, "After Enosh, you best bathe as well." 

"What about Fane?" Bastialus asked.

Brettman blinked in confusion, "What about him?" 

"Uh, Enosh told me had a knife and-"

Brettman shushed him and waved him off, "I confiscated it soon as that snobbery rodent jumped Enosh. You have nothing to worry about. The last thing we need is causing more blood to shed." Bastialus still looked weary and Brettman left to continue cooking. Bastialus shivered softly, he wondered if Fane could really be trusted once the knife was taken. If he had jumped Enosh, what would lead to his next rage filled outburst? Bastialus sat back onto the couch, and felt himself shrink into the cushions as he felt more fearful than safe in the chapel. He tried distracting his mind to ease off the stress and observe his surroundings, the details of a nearby study table with Theology books stacked with papers thrown about with sermon notes, how many pens were in a mug upon the study, to the ruffled papers in the trash before his gaze followed up a pillar. It was one of the pillars holding the floor above and Bastialus could see the damage caused from the recent carnage; a plastered angelic face bust carefully hung, below the bust were the words BLESS THIS HOUSE, as he examined it more he noticed there were cracks at first. They were small tiny cracks in the middle of the head, but the cracks began to spread, before there was a sharp split down the middle. It landed with a sharp thud on the floor and the plaster broke into pieces with the only thing left on the floor were the words BLESS THIS HOUSE. 

Bastialus fled to the nearest bedroom, finding himself cowering in the closet and curled up like in the bunker. He didn't flee because he was superstitious; the carnage of plaster reminded him what he lost. He too was starting to crumble and split. Bastialus curled himself up into a ball and his tail wrapped around his legs as he shivered. 

"I bet you my money's worth that priest is dead," Fane said to Brettman, startling him from his soup stirring. Brettman seethed with annoyance. 

"Your movie finished?" Brettman said, "Couldn't you just watch...I dunno, a soap opera, a tv show, a wrestling match?!" 

"No reception." 

"Oh, I see. You looking for chores or errands?" Brettman crossed his shoulders, "Can't you see I'm busy?" 

Fane chuckled, "I don't remember assigning you as leader nor voting you as one." 

"I never declared myself as leader of this surviving group but at least I'm more rational than you are!" 

"Oh yes, bringing an extra mouth to feed is so responsible," Fane said sarcastically, "Or do you intend to use his body as emergency meat?" 

Brettman's face reddened with rage and he pointed to the door, "Get out! Out this instant cel Rau! Or I swear I'm kicking you out and keeping you out!" He barked, almost spitting on Fane, "Out! Now!" 

Fane chuckled and raised his hands, backing away as he did, "I suppose I don't get a meal then?"

"I'll make you eat dog food if you don't get out of my face!" Brettman was almost shouting now, startling Bastialus who was starting to doze off while inside his hiding space, "Better yet, I'll shove dirt down your throat, you fucking-" 

Fane smirked, "It's amazing...you're set off like this...because of that boy." 

Brettman had enough. He shoved Fane out the door with all his strength and slammed the door harshly, "Honestly, of all the rodents I had be under the same roof in-!" Brettman fumed. He felt ready to toss the entire soup pot in the sink in a rage and just scream but he thought of Bastialus and his nerves slowly began to calm. Bastialus would surely be frightened by the display and just get up and leave; deep down, this was the last thing he wanted. He sighed and stirred the pot, he ladled up some of the broth and brought it to his mouth; his face scrunched the moment he sipped. 

Bastialus came out of his hiding place and noticed Enosh left downstairs. He blushed a bit, he realized he wore the same clothes for two months straight. He sighed softly, guess he was also going to do laundry soon as well if he was going to recycle his clothes. Bastialus went into the bathroom and took off his clothes, before turning on the water. Enosh went into the kitchen to see Brettman hastily looking in the cupboards and drawers, "Pepper...pepper...or maybe bloody bread?!" 

"Having a hard time cooking?" Enosh asked. Brettman ignored him until he let out a strained squeak when Enosh took a tasting spoon and tried the soup, "Holy shit, man, and we got a young man on board. You going to kill his taste buds or his stomach first?" 

Brettman's face looked like a ripe tomato and his face wrinkled in embarrassment, "Well, I don't want to waste rations." 

Enosh started giggling, "Let's start a new batch and give a bowl of this to his-prince-hardass." Brettman rolled his eyes.

"Yes, and let Fane give me the brunt of his complaints. No thank you, I like my ears," Brettman said. 

"He's gonna complain either way over this batch. Man, and you made him vomit last week too, what was the can? Condensed lobster bisque?" 

"He wanted something fancy, not like I'm walking to the nearest abandoned haute restaurant and getting him a lobster meal," Brettman explained, "If he whines, he whines, he's gonna have to get used to this bland stuff." 

"You know he isn't."

Brettman sighed, "I know he isn't..."  

"Say, what's this tin of?" Enosh picked it up, it wasn't a big tin, but it wasn't small either. 

"Mushy peas," Brettman answered. Enosh tossed the can at him and Brettman caught it and glared at him.

"Make that as a palate cleanser then," Enosh added before finding a bag of bread used for communions, "We'll eat this too, and the wine."

Brettman was fuming. 

Bastialus ended up wearing leftover frock clothes intended for choir boys and bloomers that were too big even for him but he desperately needed spare clothes. The bath felt great after being outside and inside a cramped bunker, but now seeing himself in these clothes, he felt all too embarrassed; his old music teacher wanted him to sing in the church but Bastialus couldn't stand the thought of singing inside a freezing church and surrounded by others. It just wasn't him. He wasn't religious as one would think, nor was he social, but in this situation it was now the latter that he had to face. Bastialus went over to a mirror that had a bowl of holy water to look over himself before he felt his face be harshly placed into the bowl. He sputtered and coughed until he felt air again. 

"There, your first baptism," Fane crowed mockingly. 

Bastialus slapped him in retort as he coughed and gave deep breathes to make sure Fane hadn't attempted to drown him, "B-bastard!" he coughed, the saltiness of the holy water still in his throat, "You did that to teach me a lesson, or did you just want to see how easy you can drown me without anyone looking?!" 

Fane smirked slightly, playing with Bastialus' hair like he was a frightened cat, "Mainly...putting you on alert. You let your guard down so easily...imagine if it weren't a bowl, it was perhaps a gun, or even, a knife?" 

Bastialus took this as a threat and pushed his hand aside, "You were looking for your confiscated knife, weren't you?" 

Fane's amusement faded, "I sure as fuck wouldn't invite a brat like you in here," he warned, "If it were me who found you out there burying graves, I would have taken that spade and made sure you were taken out of your goddamn misery. All you are is nothing but an extra mouth to feed, an extra load, nothing but baggage...garbage, is what you are." Bastialus' tail stood on end as his fur bristled up defensively. 

"You intend to give this as a warning then?" 

"It's advice, that maybe instead of-" 

"Fane!" 

Fane was cut off briefly and he sighed in defeat, he looked over and saw Brettman staring at them both, "Fane, we'll have a talk of this later, after dinner. You both come downstairs..." Brettman said. Fane glared at Bastialus before trying to say something to Brettman but the other mouse was adamant about not speaking what occurred. Fane let out an insulted huff and went down to the dining room. Brettman walked over to Bastialus whose fur was still on end, and he was trembling. Brettman gently soothed him by stroking his head and back before they both went down to join the others for dinner; when they got there, Fane was the first to complain. 

"What in the world is this?!" Fane sputtered, "Is this supposed to be soup?!" 

Brettman rolled his eyes, "Cream of chicken soup."

"Urgh..." 

Bastialus sat down next to Enosh who wasn't complaining too much, although he was using the cream soup as more of a dip for communion bread than eating it with a spoon. "You can't cook for shit!" Fane coughed, "And you can't lead for shit either!" Brettman didn't reply, any sort of retort wouldn't stop the floodgates of Fane and his spiral madness of his haute tongue being massacred by overcooked cream of chicken soup. It wasn't an insult to anyone else at the table, but to Fane this was like staining his family name, "I suggest getting a cookbook, Brett! Next thing you'll know, you'll poison me with just partly raw meat, or just as worse, give me food poisoning just for laughs! Oh, I know you would love that, you fucking lime! Me throwing up on the porcelain throne is sure to get you the giggles!" 

"Stop complaining you drama queen," Brettman snapped, "I'm a semi-decent cook trying to work with generic brand rations which are typically bland. If you want to bitch this much, why don't you cook?" 

"Please, and burn my hands and cut my fingers?" Fane said, "I'm just asking for better service." 

"Then get used to it, your shrimp cocktails and steak tartars are long gone...you fuckhead." 

"Is it normal for them to argue like this over dinner?" Bastialus asked as he ate the mushy peas. Enosh looked amused by their bickering as he tried his best to conceal his laughter but was failing as he was partly laughing loudly and breaking into snickers and giggles. 

"Hoo-yeah," Enosh laughed, "They make up for a lack of a good telly. I can watch these two bump heads like angry goats all day and not get tired of it. Anyway, want some meat of Christ?" 

"Meat of...?" 

Enosh held up the communion bread, Bastialus rolled his eyes. Right, they're in a church. "Yeah, sure, give me two meats of Christ...I need my carbs," Bastialus said as he took the two small of the baguette like rolls. Fane stopped complaining once the communion wine was poured, it was more like juice than wine, but it had more than enough alcohol to give it a small buzz. 

"About the Plymouth..." Fane started, but Brettman interrupted him again.

"Nuh-uh, we've been over this! We're safe here till help arrives! We move our location now, they'll lose sight of us!" Brettman yelled. 

"Oh, get your head out of your ass, man," Fane spat, "We're in the bloody sticks. We haven't seen a help helicopter in the months that passed here. We've seen other helicopters pass over us but they haven't dumped us an extra package or anything. In fact, we're the ones finding lost packages for possibly dead callers! And the priest...he hasn't come back either...! We're leaving this church before it drives all of us to either madness or death! And I'd prefer not to have both!" 

Brettman scoffed, "With things are now, I'd say you'd get those either way." 

"You're no help at all by dragging a kid in this! An extra mouth!" Fane sputtered. 

Brettman fell silent briefly, "Fine...let's make a compromise. You get the car fixed, if the priest doesn't come, we all can leave. But we pack spare clothes, water, rations, camping gear, and blankets and pillows. Along with flares, matches, along with some weaponry just in case we run into the unsavory sort." 

"You want me to fix it? You must be crazy, you and the boy can fix it, make his useless ass do something," Fane scoffed. 

"You're the one who suggested to fix the car." 

"Yes, I did. But I never said I would fix it," Fane pointed. Brettman slammed the table, his patience had grown thin. 

"Fine! Tomorrow morning then!" Brettman screamed, "But if you pull anything on that boy, I'm kicking your ass and leaving you in the dirt." 

"Fair," was the only reply. 

Enosh looked satisfied at Fane's response and drank his wine. 

Bastialus slept on the couch of the second floor with a blanket and cushion pillow, it felt like years he had felt such comfort from a simple pillow and blanket than being hunched over and sleeping with cramped legs or huddling in a corner using his jacket as a pillow. He didn't know if he would ever feel this simple comfort again someday, a safer place with an actual bed and satisfying food felt like a dream now; he also missed the comfort of feeling someone to connect with on a personal level. The one he loved was gone, he just had to force himself to accept that. Bastialus heard movement and tried to mask himself that he didn't hear anything, turning himself over but giving a slight glance to the hallway. Enosh had left to the bathroom and after a while, he heard the sound of the toilet flushing and water running before it stopped. Bastialus could hear the tap of Enosh's feet against the wooden floor before feeling a soft hand stroke his hair and an extra blanket be placed on him. Enosh left back to the bedroom he came from. Bastialus felt heat rush to his face, but slept overcame him before he could think. It would be morning soon, in the back of his mind. He wished this was all a dream.