Short story 2

February.3. 2017

“I just had a dream,” she told him.

“You remember that land the government gave us across river? Your father was lucky, he got a piece of land with a small rolling hill.

“I dreamed we built a little house, a wooden house on that small rolling hill. And I planted vegetables on the land.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live in that wooden house? Your father and I, we dreamed of building a wooden house on that hill.”

She paused.

“Mother,” he said, “I’ll build that house for you. Wait till I come back.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice to live in that house?” she continued. “Plant some vegetables in the garden?”

“Yes, it would be very nice,” he said.

“That piece of land, your father was so lucky to get it. But you know, the land clerk, he cheated us. He said because we had a hill on the land, he would give use half an acre less. Such a jealous person.”

“But it’s just a dream. A beautiful dream,” she said. “It’s okay to dream, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it’s okay to dream,” he told her.

She went on. She talked about the house and the land and the vegetables and he listened.

That was one of the last times he spoke to her on the phone.

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