Is It a Tragety if Everyone is Happy?

Back behind the wooden porch, green from mold that’s been growing for years; you can hear a squeak coming from a rocking chair that’s older than the railing. Resting on the chair is a man older than the two put together. He has been rocking there all day doing one thing only: drinking so much that the word sober escapes from anybodies vocabulary. His frail body is twisted and wrinkled, his hair is gray and thin, yet not quite bald, and his plaid shirt will always clash underneath his blue denim overalls. The best of this mans memory can no longer recall the time of his youth, it’s all blocked out by the alcohol he consumed daily. I suppose you could say that this man is old through every definition of the word.
Despite what you may believe from what I’ve told you, this is in fact the first time the man has rested his creaky bones on that really obnoxious chair. I’m not sure whose house he is violating and I don’t think he does either but try not to think about it, such things are just not worth worrying about. What I’m focused on is the pain in the chasms of the old mans eyes beginning to squeeze its way through the cracks. If you stare at it long enough it will send a shiver down your spine. You know, the kinds you get when you see your reflection in the mirror but think it’s a ghost. Right now he is looking at me like something needs to happen. I suppose it’s gonna happen sooner or later, or what would be the point of a story? Something about the old man that I bet you couldn’t guess is that he hasn’t had a warm place to sleep in a really long time, mainly because his funds go to his obsession of inebriation. Since the mans been drinking from sun up to almost sun down I’m beginning to think he’s going to need his stomach pumped, however there is only a slight unsteadiness to his hands.
The sun is finally setting in front of him, he puts down his latest bottle of booze and starring at the sun and though its about to tell him something he already knows. As it sets so does the mans inspiration of another cold and damp night. Being driven from the thought of another cold night the man can be seen gather small twigs and other things flammable. He piled them in the middle of the street, and by this time my eyes were no longer the only ones fixed on him. Whatever alcohol he had left was poured on the pile of lumber, he showed off a rather disgusting toothless grin. He couldn’t wait for the warmth of the fire. He finally lit a match and threw it towards the fire, he missed. Don’t’ act so surprised the man is drunk beyond comprehension. He finally gets it on the fifth try and the fire blazed instantly. He took a few minutes to appreciate his handiwork then fell asleep next to the fire.
It’s been about a half hour and probably the worst smell in the world is passing through my nostrils. I took a peak out the window and noticed the fire is a weird color only a skilled author could describe. I looked around at the other houses and the one next to mine had people looking through it then I heard the siren. I kinda felt bad for the old man knowing he would probably be arrested. He must be behind the fire cause I can’t seem to be able to see him. It wasn’t until the fire was out and one of the firemen puked that I realized why I couldn’t find the old man. It also explained the smell. I suppose it isn’t hard to find the silver lining. All the nights he slept where the cold was too much to handle was all probably erased in three seconds. In fact it was probably the best stroke of luck the man has had in years.
The newspaper this morning had a small cover story. I read it briefly, they used the word tragedy way to much. I mean, after all, nothing is tragic if everybody is happy. The only tragedy is that the smell is still lingering around the block. I noticed when I was out walking this morning. I also found a very important piece of paper next to the railing where he was hanging out and doing the bulk of his drinking. It’s pretty funny because the owners of the house come home today and I don’t think even have an idea of who was on there porch yesterday. Well I picked up the paper and it was a note. If you’re still interested in my drunken friend here it is:

“I tend to feel like I’m going to die. The right side of my face goes numb and there is a strong pull to the left, my head has no choice but to fade into the pull. When I open my eyes I can’t find my room, only a crazy house where I can’t get out. As the walls slowly melt and drip around me, my heart types out S.O.S. in Morse code so fast you’d think it was about to sink into the ocean. My brain sends out waves of panic distorting everything that is collapsing around me as I make desperate lies to God to keep from falling into the confusing abyss known as my own death. I want just to fold over and stop the madness but the black unknown scares the shit out of me. So, for one more time I shut my eyes and decide to stay away from the window. My heartbeat eventually levels me out and the walls solidify and I can finally keep my head straight. When the deep bowels of my stomach unclench I know it’s over. However I can’t open my eyes. That’s disappointing.

-A Very Old Man
(Remember me?)

Loneliness is a deadly affair. The man was trying to live a life away from himself. When he rolled into the fire you better believe he was aware. Somewhere along the line he lost a grip of thins