The evening sky had faded, and the sun was slowly sinking into the horizon, awaiting the bright moon to rise. The grasses were now brown, with a few shades of green left.

I lit a cigarette, as I sat on the bench at the park up the street from my house, watching the children running, smiling and laughing, before turning my eyes as icy as I could and briskly inhaling the stream of smoke into my lungs. I took a deep breath, but it didn't do me any good; I still felt as though I was suffocating.

The chilled air caused me to shiver, and I zipped up my hoodie and clutched it up tighter around me. It wasn't fair. Why did all these people have their kids? I simply sighed, and stood from my seat on the bench to walk back to my car.

I knew exactly where I was going to go. I needed to. I didn't give a shit what anybody else thought about it.

About a half an hour later, I pulled into the parking lot of this little hole-in-the-wall pub, where nobody would know me and nobody would bother me. I slammed the car door shut, and walked up the stairs slowly to the entrance. The scent of cigarettes and liquor got stronger with each step, and I kept a firm hold on the railing, swallowing the taste that was raising my throat as I thought about the bitter sweet taste of alcohol.

As I opened the door, I caught a few glances from the others in the bar and you could tell they were regulars. I took a seat on the barstool, and the bartender came over, "What would you like, sir?"

"Coke...," I thought for a moment, "and rum will do fine, thanks."

I swiveled around in the barstool, turning to face the television that was hanging on the opposite side. A football game was on and I just grunted, and turned back around. Who gives a fuck?

The waitress placed the drink in front of me, "Here ya’ are sir."

"Thanks."

For a moment, all I could do was stare at it. Shit, maybe I shouldn't be doing this. As fucking badly as I needed it, this wouldn't be right.

But I grabbed it, held it in my hand and sipped down the entire drink as quickly as possible. The burning sensation of the liquor flowing down my throat felt good - really good, and in a matter of seconds I could feel the horrible pit in my stomach slowly start to fade away.

"Need something else?" the older woman behind the bar asked me, with her hands placed on her hips.

"Please."

She poured me another drink, and I took it with grace.

A bearded man came over and sat next to me, nodding his head towards me, and looking nearly as depressed as I was.

"How you doin'?" he asked me.

I just nodded, looked at him and put on my best fake smile, "Just peachy."

Maybe that was an arrogant thing to say, and I shouldn't be taking anything out on this unknown man but I couldn't contain myself. I wasn't happy -- and I didn't want to act happy.

"Actually, I'm feelin' like shit," I told him very bluntly, and in the back of my mind I wanted to tell him what happened... shit, I would give him my whole life story if we had the time.

"You need to be anywhere anytime soon?" I asked him.

He just bit his lip, thought about it for a minute, and shook his head, "Nope."

I reached into my back pocket, pulling my wallet out which held a few pictures of Elle, and just handed him the picture. "That's my daughter," I told him.

"She's cute," he let a small smile escape from his lips, "What's her name?"

"Elle," I loved to say her name aloud, "She... she, uh, passed away about a week ago."

His smile quickly faded, and he just looked at me, not knowing what to do or say.

"I'm sorry...," was all he spit out.

That was usually all people could say. You hear about death all the time, but the death of a child... that's different. Completely different.

"What happened, if you don't mind me asking?"

I started to get choked up, and he quickly added, "No, no... don't tell me. I'm sorry, man."

"No. I want to talk about it."

I sucked up the last of my drink, and the bartender came over with another one, setting it right in front of me and I sipped it, before swallowing hard. I lit up another cigarette quickly, and offered him one, but he shook his head.

I remembered everything about that hellacious day. The day they told me my daughter was dead.


"Mr. McLean?" I heard a voice through my cell phone receiver, and took a left at the intersection.

"That's me," I replied, "Whose this?"

"Davidson County Police-"

My stomach was engulfed in knots, and I held the phone to my ear for dear life, fear taking over my body.

"Are you related to Elle Alexandra McLean?" he asked, in a deep tone.

Oh, God, no. No, no, no, no, you've got to be shitting me. Nothing's wrong with her. Not Elle.

I gulped, "Please. Don't tell me she's hurt. Nothing happened to her. She's okay, right? RIGHT?!"

"Mr. McLean,-" he tried to complete his sentence but I wouldn't allow it. I wasn't going to hear it.

"No! Don't even fucking tell me."

"Your daughter is in the back of an ambulance, she's had an accident, and she's fallen into the pool."

The phone slipped out from my sweaty palms, and I don't even know how I continued to steer.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, no, God no!" I screamed aloud into the phone.

"Sir, sir," I could hear a faint voice coming from the other line, trying to get my attention, "She's at Davidson County Hospital."

I threw my phone onto the floor, slamming onto my breaks, realizing I was headed the wrong way. Fuck. Davidson County.

I don't even know I got there in one piece. I could hear the sirens coming from the distance, getting louder as each grueling second passed, until it pulled under the 'Emergency' ramp in the front of the hospital. Oh no, this can't be happening. Fuck, no.

Immediately, the ambulance doors flung open, exposing my little Elle lying on the stretcher as four people stood around her pumping her chest and trying to bring her back to life.

"God, please!" I screamed as I ran over to her, "Just give her a chance! Please, give her a chance! I need her!"

"Sir, you’re going to have to stay back," one of the doctors told me, as they wheeled her lifeless body into intensive care and I just yelled. At that point in time, all I could do was scream.

"Fuck you! That's my daughter in there!" tears began falling down my cheeks and I simply fell to the ground, my knees collapsing and scraping my chin as I went down.

I could feel somebody attempting to pick me up, and carry me inside, but I couldn't budge. My legs were frozen, and felt as if they were sinking into the ground each second. I was suffocating, and the darkness of this world had consumed me for a moment. Time stood still, and my world seemed to be moving in slow motion, and I was unsure what was coming next.

I don't know how I ended up in a hospital chair. Then I quickly came to my senses, and saw my little Elle... wires, and needles and machines surrounded her.

I couldn't stop screaming, and I couldn't breathe. I was stuck in a moment, and frozen, just waiting to awake from this horrific nightmare. I couldn't believe this.

'There's nothing much more we can do,' I could hear doctors talking to themselves.

"No!" I yelled, "You’re not stopping! You’re bringing her back! Motherfucker, you bring my daughter back to me!"

I don't know how much time passed, or what had happened, or how it happened, but all I knew was that I was now holding onto my daughter's limp body, grasping onto her for dear life. She was so fragile, and so cold. She looked sickly pale, and her body was nothing more than skin and bones.

"Oh, my baby," I cried, caressing her long, brown hair.

I rocked her back and forth in my arms, holding her as tightly as I possibly could, never planning on letting go.

"Baby, oh, no! Not my Elle!" I wailed.

Tears were now violently falling from my eyes, and I think this man felt bad for even asking. By now, I was getting fucking plastered. When you haven't had a drink in over seven years, one beer alone can fuck you up. I think I had just had four.

"Fuck, dude," I began slurring my words like a fucking moron, with tears running down my face, and he probably thought I was insane, "I don't fucking know anything anymore."

I swallowed several more sips of the drink, before pulling the empty glass away from my lips with a grimace. I could feel more sobs rising in my throat, but fought it as long as I could until letting everything flow out of me once more.

"Man, your sure a lightweight," he slightly smiled.

"Yeah, been and done the rehab thing. Haven't touched a drink in over seven years, so I just completely… fucked up," I just started laughing, in this evil sort-of drunken way.

"Oh, shit, dude," was all he could say, "You need a ride home? Where's your girl or your wife, whatever?"

I just shook my head, "Dead."

Now he really probably thought I had issues.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry."

I just shook my head, "Nah. Don't even fucking worry about it. My life is fucking nothing."

My sorrow was quickly overcome by anger and rage, as I pounded my fists against the bar and closed my eyes attempting to regain some composure. I didn't want this guy to think I was too drunk to drive. I wasn't about to rely on some stranger to bring me home.

"I'm out of here...," I quickly stood from my spot, and laid a hundred-dollar bill down on the counter.

The bartender began to pull out change from the cash register, but I threw my hands up in protest, "Keep the change. Please."

She simply shrugged and smiled, "Have a nice day."

Fucking bitch.

"You too," I replied back.

"Man, don't drive home... please. You’re pretty fucked up," the man who was still unknown pleaded.

"I'm fine. Thanks for listening to me."

Before he could argue, I quickly walked out of the door, digging for my keys in my pockets along the way. I finally found them, unlocked my car, and hopped in -- starting the engine, as it rumbled on.

I couldn't even see straight, and I could feel my cell phone vibrating repeatedly in my pocket. I just didn't have the energy to reach down and answer it. I wasn't in the mood to explain myself, and where I was or what I had just done because honestly, I could care less right now.

The roads were slippery and you could tell it had just rained. This road, in particular, was dark and eerie. Street lights were no where to be seen and I strained to see out of the windshield.

I gripped one hand tightly on the wheel, the other clenched onto a cigarette, which hung half-way out of the cracked window.

My life is such a fucking joke, I sighed, blowing out puffs of smoke. I don't even know where the fuck I am. Or who the fuck I am, for that matter.

Eventually, I saw a familiar street and turned onto the road which led to my house.

Of course, Brian's truck sat in the driveway. I'm sure he was the one who had been calling me over and over again. I figured maybe I had had enough time to sober up a bit on the drive home, but once I caught myself stumbling out of the car I figured it was highly unlikely.

My stomach immediately felt the immense pit come back into play, which was a sign that the alcohol was, indeed, wearing off to an extent. So before Brian could even say a word, I popped a Xanex, hoping it could possibly find a cure to my indefeasible pain, even if only for a little while.

I opened my front door, and spotted Brian with his cell phone in his hand, fast asleep on the couch.

Man, was that guy awesome or what? I nodded my head. Yeah, he was the only family I had left.

Brian's eyes slowly squinted open, and he immediately jumped up in reaction to seeing me.

"No-" was all Brian could spit out, "Did you- Did you just...?"

"Yes!" I exclaimed, "I fucking got drunk! So sue me! Just fucking shoot me!"

I began to laugh in a denial state of mind, but then suddenly a burst of tears came running down. I hated feeling like this; I wanted some sense of happiness back. God, anything. But that would never happen again. That's what was killing me so badly.

The tears clouded my vision, unable to even see straight. My nose was impossible to breathe through. I sniffled loudly, in an effort to get my nasal passages working properly once again. Sobs quietly escaped from my throat, and it sounded more like a cough than a cry.

"How much did you drink?" Brian simply asked, trying to avoid a lecture at this point in time.

I thought about it, and in my head estimated maybe six drinks?

"Too much," I told him.