It was cold, dark and damp. Moans and muffled cries filled the barracks. There was shuffling when yet another body gave up and half starved people were ripping the ragged clothes from it. Danny curled himself tighter around Alex, trying to shield him from the clammy ground, the noises of despair and hopelessness.
The fever had hit Alex the day before, and Danny knew that time was running out fast. It had only been a few days since they had been moved from the other camp, released 'officially' only to be dumped in this hellhole.
Everything was quiet once again, as quiet as it could be. Danny found the crumble of bread, several days old, saved for Alex. After chewing it carefully, he started to feed Alex like a bird its fledgling. It would have to suffice for the rest of the night and probably most of the next day.
"I had a dream," Danny began, "about us."
Alex's eyelids fluttered, but remained closed. His breathing was shallow, too fast.
"We were having breakfast at this posh place you know."
Danny continued with a forced smile in his voice.
"Eggs with thick slices of bacon, fried mushrooms and grilled tomatoes."
Danny remembered the vividness of the dream; he could almost smell the freshly baked bread, almost feel the warmth of the cup of tea, heavy and sweet with cream and sugar; the feeling of content when they had finished their opulent meal. The satisfied, bright smile Alex had given him.
Alex made a small noise, nudging Danny on. And Danny pulled him closer, explaining and depicting every little detail from his dream, trying to keep his hopes alive, to give Alex one more hour, one more day; pulling both of them through the darkness and desperation of yet another night.