Winter Rose

I. The End

The half-truth...

In my former life, my name was Sheldon, and I was a drunk. I guzzled alcohol like a kid drinking out of a hose on a hot summer day. I gambled what little money I had, and I stole what I didn't have; mainly from the few people who could still stand my presence. I won't sugar coat it. I was a real low life.

I stumbled along for thirty-two years with no objective, living in the moment, wondering when the whole thing would come to an end.

Then one day it did. It wasn't pretty, and I'll spare you the details. A drunk, a railroad track, and a racing train.

Was it painful you ask? Not really. Considering I had enough booze in my system to numb every inch of my body, it's really a wonder my legs were still moving enough to get me halfway across the track.

There was a funeral, mainly for the sake of human decency. Closed casket, of course.

I can't say my memorial was a sold out event. A couple of stragglers who'd been gambling acquaintances managed to shuffle their way in, holding out hope for the possibility of free food. They walked past my casket and whispered some inaudible words, attempted a sign of the cross, then coughed, looked at their wrists, and feigned a hurriedness to get somewhere else when they realized there were no handouts.

The ever generous state of Michigan took care of the bill for my funeral expenses, only after unsuccessfully hunting down every living relative they could find and coming up empty handed. The funeral, as you may suspect, included the bare minimum.

At this point you're probably thinking that I am an incredibly unworthy recipient when it comes to a second chance at life. You're right. But, before you jump to conclusions, be advised—second chances aren't always what they seem...

There were very few people who penetrated the encapsulated inner crust of my–feeling anything. Those who did were certain to find themselves disgusted or heartbroken in the end, when things predictably went to hell in a hand bag. Destruction followed me like a shadow in my former life.

There was a girl once. Her name was Winter. Winter Rose. This is her story more than it's mine. She was the only one who saw something other than a worthless nobody in me.