The gold plated grandfather clock struck a lively twelve, and the chime was overwhelming and almost surreal in the crowded, miniscule, and moon lit room. This almost made eleven tiny bodies jump out of their skin. The eleven tiny bodies that let out sighs and rubbed their hands, which were red from the grip they had had on each other. The sound of silence serenaded the souls of the young Dreamers. The anxious atmosphere faded out of this particularly dark and gloomy room that had, at that very moment, become a sanctuary for all imaginations. Each one of these eleven small, wide-eyed Dreamers had been craving this exact instant in time.

For some the strike of the clock merely meant the start of the next twenty-four hour cycle. But not for the Dreamers. For them this moment released the strongest catharsis of survival; they knew they had made it. The final moments of the war had just faded away and all because they had had the courage to DREAM.