"Daddy, where are you?" The little girl's soprano voice chanted. She was wearing her favorite yellow sundress. Despite her words, she was smiling her wide grin. Her blonde hair was nearly transparent in the sunlight.

"Please daddy. Come home!" She shrieked. Now tears caressed in her eyes, and wore a frightening face; that was twisting in terror. The yellow dress was mottled in fresh red blood that appeared to come out from a new cut in her stomach. Her translucent hair her was thrown all over her face, as if the wind blew it that way. She was trying to smooth it, so the blood on her hands got to it.

She pulled a large butcher's knife out of her back as she sighed; "Now you're too late to save me again." With that she plummeted her way to the earth, a large gash appeared and swallowed her.

He quickly darted his eyes open. His heart was racing at the vision he saw.

"Not again Luke." He mumbled to himself. It was the same dream he'd been having every single night for the past four years. Each time it felt just as scary as the first. The dream always felt so real. In a technical it was real. His wife and daughter were murdered. He was not there when the event occurred. So in all truth, he was too late.

Even now in his crap apartment, he tries to hide the past. Trying to forget about them, but not trying to move on. Just trying forget them. Luke does not wish to find another woman to love. A woman to marry, and have a happy life with children. He already had that and failed.

So simply every morning he gets up, brews himself a cup or two of coffee with no sugar or milk, and goes to work at the factory. None of the employees ever ask him anything, not even once. He simply minds his business and acts like everything is fine. When he gets home, he does not weep nor does he plead with God for his old life. All Luke does is live, and life seems to be catching up with him.

Now after each night after the dream he feels the sorrow again. He remembers it all; he tried so hard to forget. So this is why he decides he's sick of doing nothing. It's not like it matters anyway, he isn't going to do anything. He just wants to escape; now he knows how to do that.

***

It was just another lazy day in the factory. Everything was like usual; the machines were slow and choppy and everyone else acted the same. They all wore haggard expressions, still half asleep, and if not all most were underage and looked as if they hadn't eaten in weeks. Most of them probably hadn't. Luke didn't ask because a good sum of them couldn't speak English, and even if they did there was nothing he could do about it.

Luke barely had enough money for himself. That's what you get when you're paid eleven dollars and fifty cents an hour, for fifteen hours, seven days a week. In the end with groceries, taxes, rent, paying for his mother's health care costs in the asylum, and the current economic crisis of the country, there isn't much spending money left.

Not that he cared about those people anyway. They were just as miserable as him. This made Luke somewhat relieved. He wasn't the only one in the world that suffered. But he still suffered from his dreadful past. Not just the death of his family, but the entire chain of events he saw in Iraq. The various techniques he used to torture people to get information. Most of them were innocent too. The houses of the poor he'd storm and separate families. The bombs, Beckendorf and he would set. Worst of all the wounded men of his own army he left behind, because it was too dangerous to stay. Yes, Luke saw a lot in his life, all the more reason to end it early.

***

At eight o'clock p.m. he finally unlocks the door to his shabby apartment. He places his newly acquired plastic bag of heavy duty rope on his small and pathetic wooden table. He considers having dinner or even a glass of water. No, he finally decides. It might make him chicken out.

Luke pulled out a cheap pen that barely had enough ink in it to write his note, on the very crinkled piece of a sticky note. He began:

Best of luck to anyone one who finds this. Tell my mother, May Castellan, that I'm dead. Then she won't fret over when I don't visit (even though I haven't visited for five years.). If you decide to go to my funeral, and a man who says he's my father, well tell him he's a bastard; that to get out. If he ever cared, he'd visit sooner. That I can't wait to see him rot in hell right next to me.

Luke Castellan

Luke tied the immensely thick rope around the ceiling fan. It was sturdy enough to hold him, and if it did fail, he would fall onto the hard marble table. Hopefully then that would injure his brain so severely, it would be fatal. He walked towards the door and opened it ajar. He needed someone to be able to find him dead, find the note.

Here goes nothing, he thought. He stepped onto the table. Tying the rope around his neck, he stepped off the table. He felt an uncomfortable tugging around his neck. His breathing was in minimum and heartbeat frantic. His hearing cut off; as did his vision.

Then the relief came, he thought he was finally dead. This made him happy. He felt as though he was being carried away.

"You actually went this far Luke?" He heard a woman's voice whisper. It was faint and familiar. Well, now being dead he could hear again. That was his last thought before he passed out.

***

Much to his despise he found himself in a hospital bed. Alien wires were stuck to his arms. Every breath felt like inhaling sleet. His head throbbed and was bandaged. His heartbeats were erratic. All in all he felt woozy and fatigued. Most of all miserable, so his suicide attempt hadn't worked.

"So deadbeat awakes." Luke turned and found his half brother sitting there. They actually weren't sure if they were related. When their moms confided in each about the fathers of their wedlock children, how he looked and acted like. One conclusion was drawn, it was the same man. That did indeed explain why their noses and eyebrows shared similarity, but that's where the sameness stopped.

"What are you doing here, Conner?" Luke asked, yet didn't particularly care.

The boy straightened himself out. "They had to call someone, when Silena found you dangling from the fan." He cracked a humorless smile. It soon faded as he went on, "Luke, I know thing are bad but really. Don't you think suicide is a little extreme? I mean the Veterans Society would be willing to help-"

"I don't give a shit. I don't want help, I'm perfectly fine." He snapped back, wishing he never left the door open.

"Look at yourself, Luke. You're not okay. You. Need. Help." Conner proclaimed. He was obviously frustrated by Luke. "Why don't I just stick you in the asylum right along with your mom? Huh? Sounds good to me that way I won't have to keep an eye on you twenty four/seven."

Luke clenched his fists. "I don't need you to keep an eye on me!" He spit the words at Conner.

In reply, Conner snorted a staid laugh. "You're lying in a bed because you tried kill yourself. Someone needs to watch you. I know Luke, you have serious depression. After you came back everything was messed up, but it's been seven years Luke."

"I said I'm fine."

Conner rubbed his temples and sighed. "I was going to go to Australia. On a walkabout. Y'know, where you go for a couple months in a group to survive in the wilderness. I want you to take the tickets. Use it as a way to get over this little phase."

"No," Luke replied stiffly.

"C'mon, Luke." He pleaded, "Don't make me force you."

Luke raised an eyebrow, "Force?"

"Take you to court. Make you take a mental health test that by all means you'll fail. Even if you're a grown man, if you're declared mentally insane, I can bring you to court, and become your guardian. Just take the tickets." Conner said anxiously. "Please, you're a soldier, toughen up."

"Fine." He grumbled. Luke had no intention of going, but if he took the tickets it would get Conner off his back.

"The plane leaves next week at two. I'll be there to drive you to the airport." Conner insisted, as he grabbed his jacket and exited through the door.

AN: So that's it. I hope you enjoyed! Sorry if the whole suicide part was vague or misleading. I wasn't so sure all that happens during it. So, I might have based it on Edie's fake attempt on Desperate Housewives.