A man wakes up everyday in his bed to the sound of birds singing their sweet songs, he wakes up in his bed next to his lovely wife and he smiles. He walks out of the room and shuts the door gently behind himself, he likes to go for walks around his large home because he is proud of it, he is proud that he owns it. He lives on a large home on a hill that outlooks every house in the street, he likes to stare out the window and watch the cars dissapear from sight. Everyday he will walk outside, especially now because it's spring and he can't get enough of the warm sun enveloping him like a blanket, he walks out and glances at the birds he see's everday with a knowing smile. He looks in the window to see his reflection, he was an aging man and was just starting to get the hint of grey hair but he didn't mind, he'd lived a good succesful life and he had a big home and a lovely wife and lots of money and he was well respected in his town.
Now the problem is, there was never such a man. Well, there could have been, you see, if that same man hadn't passed away last night. Everyday this man didn't wake up to birds singing, he woke up to the sound of busy streets filled with honking cars and bus's and shouting men. Everday he didn't wake up next to his lovely wife, he woke up next to hundreds of empty bottles. He didn't walk around a large home, he walked around the street's begging for a few dollars. He didn't like walking outside at all, for there was no sun because it was the heart of Winter and the coldness seeped into his bones and he cried and wept and never smiled. His hair was already pure grey and a long beard had made it's way onto his chin and his hair was overgrown and he wasn't respected he was laughed at and given strange looks. That very same man passed away last night for the coldness of the world seeped it's way into his bones and never left.
