When my father closed his eyes,he saw dying walls with faded paint.He felt the broken faucet under hispalm. He felt the creaking floorsbeneath his feet.When my father opened his eyes,he cursed and knew that he wouldsee the same. But, a hand foundits way to his bony shoulder andhis vision changed.His taciturn mouth gasped and hiseyes bulged. Reality settled deep inhis veins as he stood near the cleanestedifice he had ever seen. He drankthe refreshing air.What stood athwart him was a sculptureof architecture. Red oak floors and shinywindows, a spacious kitchen and theGod that he had always believed in.My father stepped across the thresholdand his heart burst out with exultation.Never devoid of money but encumberedby the grotesque passion of his threeolder brothers, he escaped.
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