A Dream
Olaf knew he was in the dream as soon as it started - this dream was a familiar one, and he fit into it like an old glove. In fact, had you told him that this was supposed to be something irregular, he wouldn't have believed you.
Everything was in black and white (color was reserved for people with happier thoughts), and what lay before him was the twisted wreckage of his hometown, after Lash's forces had decided to leave it a smoldering wreck. There, yes, there was the town square where as a boy he used to play with the other children of his mountain village, and the market where wives and daughters haggled over the cost of root vegetables and freshly butchered caribou, and the school where Olaf had spent a lot of time not studying perhaps as much as he should have.
At least that's what they used to be - now they were empty shells, in ruins, some places burned, some places with walls standing but with windows shot out, and everywhere fallen evergreens - the sickly smell of pine sap filled his nostrils.
"Hello, Lars," he said to a boy with a trickle of blood running down his face. Olaf knew that when Lars died, he was almost Olaf's age, and not the little boy in front of him, but Olaf could only think of him as he had known him, as a child.
"I'm cold," Lars said. "It's always cold."
"I know," said Olaf. "There aren't any houses here, you can't keep the heat in."
"I'm so cold," the boy said again. "There aren't any houses here, I can't keep the heat in."
"I'll build you a fire," said Olaf.
"Please, Olaf, I can't sleep after the wall of my house exploded, I'm so cold."
"I do bring the cold with me, don't I?"
"You do, but there's no houses here, there's no fire left, we're all cold."
Olaf gathered broken pieces of what had been the gazebo in the middle of the town square and pulled some matches out of his pocket - Olaf always carried matches and fire making materials on him. "Is Björn with you today?" Olaf asked as he built up the fire. "Your brother likes a campfire, too."
"I don't know," said Lars. "I don't know where he is. It's cold."
"Maybe he'll find us after the fire's gotten a bit bigger, that usually brings in a few more."
The fire slowly grew larger, fed as it was by the broken pieces of his childhood. Lars didn't look quite so cold now, the blood on his forehead glistening by the firelight.
"You made a fire, Olaf," said a voice behind him.
Without turning around Olaf answered, "Come in and get warm, Johanna."
A tall girl of maybe thirteen or fourteen joined the two by the fire - she had been older than Olaf when he was in school. Her face was smudged with soot, and there was a bullet hole in her shoulder, her dress was dark with blood where she had been shot. "It's so cold here without you, Olaf."
"I know," he said. "I know."
"If you had been here it would still be warm, Olaf. Why didn't you come back, Olaf?"
"I was busy protecting the other parts of Blue Moon," he said. "I didn't know you were in the enemy's path."
"She had them shoot my house, we all died. And then because there was no one to keep the fires lit, and the wind came in through broken windows, the cold came."
"It's always cold here," sighed Olaf.
"You're the only one who remembers the warmth."
"I am," he said. He noticed a small girl of no more than six or seven who was wet all over. "Alma, you can come to the fire and get dry," he said to her.
"I fell in the river when the soldiers came, I couldn't swim," she said. "The water's so cold, I sank to the bottom."
"Come to the fire, Alma, it's alright."
"It's always cold without you, Olaf."
One by one, more children came to the fire that Olaf had built - Marta came with Liam, Olaf remembered that they were married, but in his dreams they were always twelve and ten with their hands clasped together and blood running down the sides of their faces; Rolf, who used to play ball with Olaf, but who was now missing the arm that he used to throw so well with; Björn, who had three bullet holes in his chest; Gerda, whose mother ran the store when Olaf was young, but who now had burns over most of her body. Olaf helped Gerda over to a place by the fire - it was hard for her to walk and though she was burned she was still frozen at her core.
"Thank you, Olaf," they all said to him.
"It's the least I can do," he said.
"It's so cold without you, we wish you had been here when they came, you would have saved us," said Björn.
"I know," he said, "I would have."
"Thank you for visiting us," said Liam.
"Thank you for remembering us," said Gerda.
"Thank you for the fire, you're the only one who remembers how to make a fire," said Rolf.
"It's so cold without you," said Lars.
"Never forget us, Olaf," said Johanna. "If you do, nobody will come to build us a fire anymore."
"I won't forget you, I promise," he answered.
"Will you forgive her?" they asked in unison.
"As long as I remember you all, I can't," he said.
"We're sorry you can't be happy because of us Olaf," said Alma.
"But we're glad you remember us," said Marta.
"It's so cold when you're not here," added Lars.
Olaf stood by the fire, with the happy faces of his dead schoolmates staring up at him, happy he was with them now, but in the corners of their eyes he could see the pain they all shared because he hadn't been there for them on that fateful day. Nightmares? No. These were his night friends.