A Dead Man Who Held A Shovel

His Life Before Death

Don't know if anyone has decided they wanna read this, but oh well, if there is someone than I'm glad and I hope you enjoy

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Joe wasn't born a skeleton, hadn't started out as a grump. He was human once, a jovial boy, who grew up into a broken man. Still, he had had a family in his youth.

Yet, Joe's family had never been the good kind:

His father worked tirelessly to make sure they had a place to live in a world where intelligent monsters were rare and the poor population grew. After his father came home, he would sleep all morning until he went back to work.

His mother was loving and caring, for a while. His father's work would be the death of her mental health, forcing his dad to pay several doctors to check up on her. They never found a good doctor and eventually, she was submitted to a mental institution.

Joe's older sister had gotten into some bad deals, drugs, money laundering, and the works, she was caught and thrown in jail for life.

His older brother seemed to be the shining light in his family endeavors. He had managed to get himself a good-paying job, and after many tiresome years, he created his own business, providing for his family's needs.

But, as they say, all good things must come to an end, and Joe's brother turned his back on his dying family.

Joe was the last, with his mother in a mental institution, his sister in prison, his brother turning away, and his father slowly working himself to death, Joe was alone.

Joe had to care for his own needs at the age of fifteen. Get a job, pay for his own food.

By the age of thirty, Joe couldn't handle it anymore.

All his troubles.

All his heartaches.

Fears.

Pain.

It killed him.

He'd never tell a soul what happened the day he perished and if someone somehow found out. . .

Let's just say, it wouldn't be pretty.