him her

take

its been 2 months now.

since the man found out his son was dead, but never really dead at all. but then died, when he was under the impression he was already dead.

it was a lot more clearer in his minds, at times.

but when he fished out a bottle of jack daniels, chugged it down until the very last drop, things were jumbled.

nothing made sense, hell, he didnt even know what was supposed to make sense.

nothing was right, nothing had to be right, because nothing would ever be right again.

"it's all one, big, humongous fuck up, it was." he mumbled, shaking his head, tipping the bottle to fit his mouth and taking a swig.

"hell, i find myself wondering what I'm still doing here."

there was nothing left for him, really.

there wasnt anything, but a trashed house, future of disappointment, and a handful of memories he couldnt even share with his family.

because they were dead.

because he couldn't be there. at home, to help his wife to the hospital.

maybe he could have gotten there the minute that was left of her life.

to at least made a chance, and not have to come home to find her body lying there, and a minute later their son running out the door.

maybe he wouldn't had had a reason to die along with her.