There sat an un-played with doll house in the corner of the one room apartment, the lights dim and that musty smell lofted about the room. Sora sat upon his bed eyeing small structure, its contents collecting dust as the eerie smiling faces of the dolls stared back at him. It had been five months sense his ex-wife took their daughter and left. That tiny doll house was the only thing that reminded him of laughter that once filled the empty room. He wouldn't lie to himself, the mere thought caused his chest to hurt. His wife had been planning leaving him for some time; he had moved out and got his daughter on the weekend became steady into the flow of part time parent. He wasn't sure what they had left the city, he just knew that he hadn’t heard from them in some time. Before he knew it, they were gone, and then he was left to his own devices. A man left to his own devices with nothing left to lose does not have much left to live for. Not much has really changed since then, a drink in the morning, a drink in the afternoon and a drink at night. Today was a bit different, he dusted off his old journal the one he had written in so long ago, folding it open to one of the many unused pages. He would begin to write.

These are my final days. When I finish this journal and the last page is filled, my story will end as a close of the chapter. This isn't a suicide note, it’s a way for me to justify what I have done, will do, and a way for me to ask forgiveness.

He plucked the vodka from the table next to him as he took a long drink, the contents burning his throat pools of liquid leaking from the corner of his mouth.

I do want to say, I did love my wife, maybe somewhere I still do. Its funny thinking about it in terms of past tense. She was one of the most beautiful women I had ever met, bubbly, friendly, caring and smart. Both of our children, they get there smarts from her Natsumie was something the way she raised them, I would of never been able to do on my own. I mean, I love my children I would do anything for them but it just wasn't the same. A women with her children is a beautiful thing. I guess that's why when I felt everything slipping away, and we were drifting apart I let it happen. I drifted further into my drink. Honestly those kids were better off with out a alcoholic dead beat father. Kylar, he was old enough to understand, it didn't make him hate me any less, it was our eight year old daughter that didn't seem to get it. I would get angry over the littlest noise, when all she wanted was a story or time to watch television with me, play with the dollhouse, that damn unused dollhouse. I as her father couldn't even give her a moment of my time to wrapped up in my self-pity. This didn't make her love me any less. Fathers day, birthdays, it was "I love you forever daddy".

A glance out the window as he leaned back in the chair, holding that bottle back up to let the contents be illuminated by the dim light. He didn't know know why he did this to him self, recall past mistakes. Maybe he felt if he relived them he would find there was no way to change it, no other way it could of gone. This of course just sent the man further into his depression he rarely let anyone else ever see. That bottle would of been lifted and emptied.

I guess this is the real me now, not the father, not the husband. I'm just a washed up has been trying to hold on to the past now. More to come soon, my vodka bottle is empty.

“Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.”
― Dr. Seuss

Signed
Sora Senizen
4/20/2014