My life exists in the brief moments of lucidity where I am forced to live with the fact that I am here and they are not. It is then that I run through every possible scenario where I could have done something different and returned home in time to stop their deaths or at the very least join them in it. It is usually around this point that I lose myself in a case of beer or a bottle of whiskey and cry myself to sleep in a drunken stupor.
Sometimes I will wake up in the middle of the day to the sound of bottles clanking about on the ground and in that brief moment, I’d swear I heard the shuffle of little feet hitting the ground. Other times, I wake up in a panic as I rush blindly into the living room only to find a pile of bottles and ash where my heart was so violently ripped away from me. These night terrors are increasing in their frequency and I’m sure the drinking isn’t helping any, but it’s all I have left.
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