In the Spotlight on the other side

Mr. Fawley stood quietly in a corner at the undertaker's, his gaze fixed upon the casket.
The crowd around him was stifling. People were wailing in heartrending tones; a few persons had fainted; and others kept their eyes glued to their phone screens, many of whom had already posted dozens of farewell and admiration messages on Facebook for the dead man. Oh, he was so good, said a short, brown-haired woman with her face red from the effort to cry, why did he have to die so young? Mr. Fawley stiffened. It had always seemed to him that his brother was never bothered by the idea of dying young. He saw his little brother again, like when they used to play soccer at the park; worrying for nothing; expecting nothing; that was B. Fawley. He had never been very talented; never been remarkable; but he had seemed happy. And now, thought Mr. Fawley, without effort, he was famous, if only for a few days. Oh the irony of it all! Mr. Fawley saw himself and his life; the long, sleepless nights studying for tests; the frustrating, low-paying jobs; and his hard work for an office he didn't like to work at (for he hadn't, after all, achieved his dream job). All that, and still he had never received recognition. But there was B. Fawley, dead because of an absurd accident, and the center of attention; never mind that most of this people were feigning their sorrow, hunting for gossip, and trying to eat all the food in the undertaker's cafeteria; even so, his brother was a super star tonight! Fame often wears a black shawl and walks the red carpet towards the graveyard. Mr. Fawley saw it, Fame that's it, with its black shawl, beckoning to him; and he started following it down the aisle of the undertaker's parlor; out the door of the grim building; to the crowded sidewalk in front of the street. Cars were darting up and down the street, fast; a blur was the only sign of their passing. Mr. Fawley looked around; spotted Fame standing at the opposite sidewalk; it smiled at him; he grinned back; it opened its arms. He closed his eyes (the buzzing sound of the speeding cars caressed him) and, leaving the sidewalk, he stepped forward to embrace recognition at last...