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Brian lay on his bed as he flipped through the hotel's TV channels.
As soon as he registered for a car in the rental office, he went straight to the recording studio. It had been a long day, but he felt he had fulfilled something and the burden inside him started to loosen.
He finally turned off the television and decided to confront his thoughts with ease.
He felt successful by the fact that he had helped Nick Pearson confront his present circumstances. He knew deep in his heart that God had a purpose for this encounter and that he would see Nick again.
He brought out the stories that still needed to be read for the Healthy Heart Club Writing Contest. He needed fifty more stories to read and choose from.
After reading several stories for 40 minutes, the phone rang and Brian picked it up lazily, thankful for a distraction from his reading.
"Hello." Brian wondered who was in the other line.
"Hi, Brian. This is David Thomas." Brian relaxed at the sound of his voice.
"I've scheduled a recording tomorrow at 10am. Is that okay with you?"
"Yeah, it's fine with me." Brian replied.
He talked with David for ten more minutes before hanging up the phone.
Brian continued to read the stories until he finally found a story that met more than what he expected from a story.
He finally decided to hit the bunk.
He placed the stories on the table beside him as he lay back on his bed, exhausted.
He felt his eyes close heavily as he felt himself drift to another world.

"Mama, mama."
"It's okay, sweet heart, I'm here."
Brian was jolted awake by a little girl crying.
He removed his half-naked body from the bed and tried to see where the sound was coming from. As he moved closer to the door to the adjoining room, he could barely distinguish the sound of sobbing on the other side.
Not bothering to hunt for his slippers or a shirt, he peeked inside before finally opening the door.
A shocking site met his eyes.
He saw a little brunette girl-- the brunette girl who played the fife nights before, but much younger, and possibly her mother-- a young woman wearing a worn-out waitress uniform with her brunette hair tied behind her in a pony tail.
The room was a contrast to the hotel suite where Brian stayed in.
The walls needed a painting badly and the floor was covered with faded yellow tiles.
The curtains that hung loosely above the windows were torn, revealing the the sunlight which contrasted with the mood of the two girls.
The light bulb dangling from the ceiling barely illuminated their sober faces.
The couch they were sitting on was tattered and old, barely able to sustain their weight.
They were both locked in a tight embrace and apparently, haven't noticed the new comer.
"Where's daddy?" he saw the little brunette girl look up to her mother, tears visible in her hazel eyes.
She stroked her daughter's hair lovingly but could barely make eye contact with her innocent eyes.
She finally managed to force a tiny smile between her lips.
"He's coming later, honey." she kissed her nose and laid her head on the couch they were sitting on as a tear fell down her cheek.
Brian wanted to approach them and comfort them as he did with Nick Pearson, but he realized that he was unable to move. He was stuck in the same position he was in before-- between his suite and this small room.
He wanted to go back to his hotel room and forget this ever happened, but a part of him also wanted to raise them from their poverty and misery.
A knock from the door interrupted the thoughts whirling in his mind.
He saw the little girl's mother open the door, where a soldier stood twirling his thumbs nervously.
"Where is he?" he heard her ask the soldier concernedly, "How is he?"
"He's dead." the soldier replied somberly.
At that moment, Brian heard the telephone ring inside his hotel room. He knew the call was important and he had to get back inside.
Both looked up at Brian, suprised that he even existed.
They walked towards him, both casting frowns at him.
Brian suddenly felt he had invaded their privacy and wanted to leave the room.
He walked back to the safety of his room in panic and closed the door behind him.
Suddenly, the door knob felt invisible in his grasp.

Brian was brought back to reality as he sat up in his bed and scratched his head.
He turned to look at the alarm clock beside him. He barely read the numbers 6:00.
He wanted to go back to sleep, but remembering his dream, he suddenly didn't feel like sleeping anymore.
He opened his side lamp and reached for the stories.
He shuffled through them until he finally found the last story he read the night before, Death In Reality by HOney Austin.
Somehow, the name seemed familiar to him.

"He's coming later, Honey." she kissed her nose and laid her head on the couch they were sitting on...

He began to read the story again, feeling the intensity of every word.

My father was a soldier while my mother was a waitress in a local diner...

He remembered seeing her mother weat a waitress's uniform, and the soldier when she answered the door.

My father gave me a fife (a kind of flute) when I was four years old after a trip he made to Nova Scotia. Ever since he gave it to me, I have treasured it very close to my life.

Brian took a deep breath. He knew what to expect in the paragraphs to come.

My father would go abroad to fight for six months then come back to stay with us. After two weeks, my father would be called again abroad. We barely stayed more than two weeks together, so I really valued it when we were together as a family. We only received money from my dad every time he came back so we mostly survived on my mom's salary, which wasn't exactly high.

In the summer of 2002, I remember saying my goodbyes to dad, which would probably be my last, but at that time at the age of 7, I barely knew what was happening and what was about to happen.
I kissed my dad goodblye and in response he whispered to me, "I promise I'll get you the flute you've been waiting for when I get back."
Unfortunately, he never came back.
Four months later, a soldier knocked at our door and told my mom that my father was dead. He explained to my mom that he died in a bomb attack and was found in the car wreck where the bombing took place.
The only thing that remained of him though was his carcass remains which was cremated and scattered in the sea-- which was claimed by the soldier as his 'last wishes'.

I cried, I couldn't eat, and I barely slept that night. It was a nightmare grueling as it can be, but a reality even when I try to convince myself that he's coming back.
I would always stare out the window, hoping I could bypass this and that it was really what I thought it was-- a nightmare. As the days turned to months and the months to years, I finally realized that I wouldn't be able to see his happy face, and hear his laughter again.
He was dead, it was true. Now all that is left with me is the distant memories of the happy times we had and the fife he gave.
I feel now that as I write this, that time cannot undo the devasting loss I had, and that what I hoped for was lost.


Brian wiped his eyes with a tissue. He wanted to make a difference in this girl's life. Somehow, he knew exactly how to do it.