AN: I was struggling with writing this, so in the end, it became a bit like the second to last chapter in another story that I have written, Expectations, and it's completely different from the other stuff in this story. However, I am happy with it, just thought that I would warn you.

They are not dead, because they can't be dead, but I know that they are dead, but they can't be!

Well, I'm not dead anymore, so that's good, but they can't be dead.

Well, of course they're not dead, because, I'll go back in time and stop them. I'm a god. Gods can turn back time.

Father can turn back time.

But I have to be able to, because they can't be dead, because if they are, then, then, I won't be able to laugh at grandma's cooking anymore.

They are not dead!

I can turn back time. And if I can't, then... They can't be dead! They are not dead, they can't be dead, because they are my family, and I love them.

They are not dead.

I'll turn back time for them.

In fact, I'll do it right now. Yeah. And then they won't be dead, because they simply can't be.

My family, is not dead, because I'll turn back time.

Yeah. I will.

And no one can stop me, because I'm a god. And those who defy gods...

I'm going to turn back time.

There was a Sandman, people believed. They believed wrong. There were several Sandmen, otherwise, not everybody (everybody that slept: most of Erath's population) would be able to dream. They needed several Sandmen to do the job.

Right now, there was a Sandman walking through a doomed house. This was a Sandman who liked irony.

Their house was going to burn up, they were going to dream about fire. A very pyromaniac family, this. Really, they should have known that this was coming. Especially the oldest boy.

Though he (the oldest boy) didn't, and the Sandman was happy about that. Then he could warn them, and when they died, they would appreciate his work. The irony.

Twins. The Sandman liked twins. Sometimes, he could make them dream the same dream. It took a lot of practice, and he had actually only succeeded twice, but he would try again.

Who to start with? He carefully considered his options. Boys' dream tended to be more colorful, action filled, but girls' dreams could be quite weird sometimes.

He would start with the girl, she seemed more interesting.

I have to run faster, I have to. I have to catch him, then he will die.

Through green forests, deserted deserts, and rainbow lands.

"You are dead!"

"No," Jimmie cried, his eyes red and screaming pathiness. I like that word.

I lit a match, then threw it at Jimmie.

I laughed, like one of the bad guys on TV. Like that woman who burned up a house.

"I killed Jimmie! I killed Sirius Black!"

The mom looked so pained.

"I killed Sirius Black. Ha ha!"

Interesting, the Sandman thought. He hadn't seen that dream in a while, and he had really missed it.

He wondered what the brother, Jimmie, had to offer. Most likely not as fun as the girl's.

I ran, I ran, I ran, I ran, I ran, I fell, and I fell so far.

When I landed, I hurt my knee.

Then Grandma was there to take care of it. It felt a lot better.

In the garden, there was a tree. I hated it. I always told it that I was this close to destroying it, but it never listened.

But I had a match now. This was going to change. I lit the match. Joanie was playing in the tree. I was going to light the tree up anyway. I was this close to destroying her too, she had gotten a new friend.

I put the tree on fire.

Then I cried, because I didn't have anyone to share a room with.

That, the Sandman decided, was one of the weird dreams. One of those that scared you a bit. One of those that made you wonder. One of those that made you think that underneath the non-threatening facade, there was a murderer.

Married, the man sleeping like a mess, and the woman like a statue. This would be fun.

The man:

It hurt like hell, and damn it, he should have expected that. Putting your hand on the stove, how stupid could you be?

Though it proved his theory.

Now all he had to do was to put a piece of paper in the oven, and the house burnt up.

I looked at the flames, and they were beautiful.

"Kurt, you did fine," Elise, my wife, said, and hugged his shoulders. She looked young again, like she had when they married. "You burnt down our house, and you know how much I hate it."

She kissed me.

That was one happy dream, the Sandman thought. A typical example of a man marrying for his wife's looks.

And the rigid way of sleeping that the woman had must mean fun.

Smoking. The smoke entering my mouth, going through my lungs, and out through my mouth in artistic O's.

I was good at this.

All the men in the street stopped to stare at me. Must be this dress. Maybe I should burn it. Then they could see me.

I laughed. Kurt's face in the building was just too laughable.

The Sandman smiled. That was just too typical.

The two of them, probably the twins' parents, slept cuddled together. Had he been more soft heartened, he would have thought them cute, but with the way he was, he was speculating about their dreams. And the scenarios he came up with were interesting. He decided to start with the man.

How could I forget my pants? And shirt? And boxers?

And now they were laughing at me. Oh cookie. I started munching on my cookie, and tried to-

Boring. Why did he have to be boring? Couldn't he have been more interesting, like the Sandman thought that he was. Turned out that he could be wrong, and the Sandman, this one, tended to be wrong. The others were better at this than him, for some reason.

What about the woman then? Was he wrong about her too? There was only one way to find out.

The house burned. The flames danced.

I woke up. It was a nightmare, just a nightmare, I told myself. Any minute now, he would start talking. When he didn't, I looked next to me. He wasn't there.

No. this is not happening. Can't be. Won't be.

I woke up. My lower body was on fire, but that didn't matter. The flames were so pretty.

Not exactly what the Sandman had thought, but certainly odd.

This family, with its' obsession of fire. He loved them already.

The son, Benjamin. The Sandman had heard about him. Everybody had. And he was going to see his dream. And knowing the family that Benjamin had been raised in, it was probably fire-related.

I played in the lava, laughing. This was better than water, and you didn't risk drowning.

I was drowning, falling through the water like a stone. I couldn't breath, I needed fire, if I started a fire, I would get out, I knew I would.

The Sandman was disappointed, he had expected something more exciting. Oh well, he would have to fix that some day, because right now, he had more pressing matters to go to. Like that orphanage. He laughed at the thought of it.

One of the firemen had wrapped me in a blanket and forced me to sit down on a firetruck. I had even gotten a cup of tea.

I was crying, I knew that I had to be. Otherwise I wouldn't be feeling as though it was raining.

"Hello," Cole said and sat down next to me on the firetruck. "Your house burnt down."

"And you killed people," I said, then realized what I had said. "Though I didn't burn it down.

"Are you sure about that? It could have been an accident."

"Cole. Whatever faults I may have, I'd know if I burned a house down. They're dead. It's all my fault. I stopped it, I thought that I had, but I didn't."

"But you said that you didn't burn the house down, Ben. I don't see how this is your fault."

"But, if I hadn't been me, it wouldn't have happened."

There was an interrogation. I didn't like it.

"How come you weren't in the house?"

"I was, I just got out."

"But you couldn't be bothered to take someone with you?"

"I'm sorry, are you accusing him?" Cole had asked.

"Not at all, I'm merely questioning him."

"Then maybe you should re-phrase, as to not get sued."

"This is standard procedure. How do you think that the fire started?" to me.

"I, I don't know."

"Is anyone in your family a pyromaniac?"

"No," I had answered, though it was a lie. I was one, Joanie was one, and even Jennifer could have become one.

"Are you sure? Because according to your neighbor, you and your sister, once set fire to a trash-can."

"Which sister?"

"Jenny."

"I don't, sorry, didn't, have a sister named jenny."

"Maybe you should continue asking your questions when you have gotten your facts straight?" Cole interfered again, and the interrogator went away.

AN: I hope that it's not too bad. And, I will try to get back to regular updating. It's been really bad with that since, about, fifteen chapters ago.