The Game

February 1, 2012
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“Did we lose?” she asked
My sunken, solemn face must have told her we did
Her little brown eyes could always tell
She knew the outcome before I even spoke
“Yes, honey, we lost,” I replied with a whisper

“How badly?” she asked
My sunken, solemn face must have told her it was bad
Her little brown eyes could always tell
She knew it was a bad defeat before I even spoke
“Very badly, honey,” I replied with a whisper

“The worst loss yet?” she asked
My sunken, solemn face must have told her it was
Her little brown eyes could always tell
She knew it had been the worst before I even spoke
“The worst in history,” I replied in a whimper

“Daddy, what happened?” she asked
My face cringed, the tears flooded in
Her little brown eyes couldn’t understand
She wasn’t expecting this
“73,” was all I could muster out

“73 what, Baiban?” she cried
I tried to answer her
Through my tears of remembrance and regret
Through my cries of anxiety and anger
Finally, I managed the strength to tell her,

“Everyone lost today, honey.
We lost our morals from losing the game
We lost our respect from rioting afterward
We lost our sense of security from the damage done
And we lost 73 friends and family members from our actions
All because we lost the game.”





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