I don’t know who I am or where I’ve been. I don’t know what I’ve done, and the things I’ve seen. I’m lost. A lost soul, trying to reach out, and feel something, anything. But I’ve found nothing. Nothing but the rain, falling gently on my outstretched hand. And nothing but the house I see in front of me. An old Shack, with crumbling walls and half a ceiling. It stands, majestic and sad. Majestic in its aging beauty, and sad in the way that it’s turning to dust. 

I’ve been there. I have absolutely no clue how I know this, but I do. I’m in a field full of overgrown corn stocks. An old, rusty tractor sits fifty feet away from me. A rake leans against the tractor. An empty glass bottle lies next to me. My body aches, all over, and my back hurts. My heart’s beating at an uneven pace, and my skin is yellow. I should be healthy. I’m not even forty yet. And yet if you saw me, you’d probably think I’m fifty.  Nothing, except that Shack helps me to remember who I am. 

Slowly, I get up, and I try to walk. I don’t know how to walk, but my legs remember for me. At one time I was an athlete. The captain of the baseball team, but that was a lifetime ago.  My legs drag in the dirt, and my arms hang at my side, loose, and unmoving. After a few feet my legs begin to burn, and after ten feet I get stomach cramps. Bile is rising in my throat. But something pushes me on. A drive that I only used to feel when I was on the field, and the game was on the line.

When I’m almost a quarter of the way there, my legs give out. I lay there, breathing heavily, and unable to move. The dirt smells clean, and deep. My hands pick up some dirt, and it falls through my fingers. 

Another boy is next to me, smiling, with blue eyes, and hazel hair. Beside him is a girl a little younger, with hair a little darker than his, and the same blue eyes. They're standing over me, as I’m lying face down in the field. Corn stalks grow all around us.

––––

“C’mon, play with us,” The girl says. With a sigh, I get up, and start to laugh as they run away from me. With an amused smile I run after them. My father drives his tractor in the distance. A tiny house stands before me. 

“C’mon,” My brother shouts. 

“Okay, I’m coming, but you better run quickly, or else I’ll catch you!” With a loud laugh I set off after them, happy as can be. 

My breath comes out heavily. Tears are carving a path down my cheek. 

I had a brother. I had a sister. 

There’s a sharp pain in my finger. There was a piece of wood in the dirt, and it gave me a cut. Now I remember that time when I was younger. I got a paper cut, and instead of feeling pain, I felt fascination. For several minutes I watched the red blood well up, and slowly dribble down my hand. I can remember helping my brother and sister with homework. I can remember farming, and driving the tractor. I can remember chasing my dog. And I can remember that day. That day when the crash happened. 

Tears begin to fall down my face again. And I can’t stop them. I don’t know how I manage to walk the rest of the way to the Shack. But I do. Somehow, I do. 

The inside smells of whiskey, stale and spoiled food, and unwashed clothes. When I was younger I would have been disgusted by it. Now I live in it. My dog lays by the door. It’s skinny, and has flea covered fur. It could be dead. It sure smells that way. The sink is full of dishes, and the trash can is overflowing. The table that I’m sitting at is covered in dust, and the two doors to the left are all broken. 

It had been my 18th birthday, and I was sleeping late. Everyone in my family had gotten up early, and drove into town to buy me a birthday present, because we were just that kind of family. It was going to be a car. My parents had saved up for a year to buy me an old beater, which I was gonna soup up, and make brand new. On the way back, towing the car, some truck dinged their car. The road was slick with rain, and they lost control. Their car fell off the road, with the trailer falling on top of it, Crushing all of them. And then they died. It was as simple as that. One second they were alive, the next they were dead. 

Life after that was tough. Life till now has been tough. Life still is tough. I had no one. Not one person to help me. On that night after they died, I managed to find some booze, and I drank the whole bottle. Everything. Now I can’t stop. I don’t want to, because whenever I’m not drunk, the crash fills my head. In my mind, I’m imagining my parents dying in that crash. I’m imagining my brother and sister's wide, blue eyes closing. 

I need a bottle of whiskey, or bourbon, or something with alcohol in it. Something that can make me forget all my pain, and all I’ve lost. There's a grimy beer bottle under the table. The beer bottle’s empty in less than a minute, and with it goes my energy.

A few hours later I wake up. I just want to see my family again. I know that they’ll make me warm. So warm, and happy. I haven’t been happy in a while. Not since my family had been alive, and not since I had gotten a baseball scholarship. I haven’t been happy in forever. Painfully, I walk to the road. I’m pretty sure that I passed out for some time in the middle of the field.  A few miles up the road my family crashed. That’s where that truck dinged them.  A few miles up the road my family died. A few miles up the road is where my family last lived. The hard asphalt is pressing against my feet. I pass out again. 

I’m woken out of my sleep with cold metal on my skin. I’m flying through the air. Bark meets my head, and a thick liquid is falling down my face. Darkness is slowly falling on me, and all of my family’s faces are staring down at me. My brother and sister are staring with wide, blue eyes. And I’m heading towards them, into a warm, golden light.