"What it's like"

"We've all seen the man at the liquor store beggin' for your changeThe hair on his face is dirty, dreadlocked and full of mangeHe ask the man for what he could spare with shame in his eyes. Get a job you fuckin' slob's all he replied. God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes 'Cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues"

His face was sodden and dirty, tears streaked down his face as he brought the bottle of liquor to his lips, swallowing more of his lifeline. He prayed his heart would stop beating, if god would just give him the release he was seeking. He screamed out in agony and looked at his fingers, they were blue, frost bite was setting in. Not long now he thought. Men and women walked by him, many covering their noses and looking at him with disgust. He just sighed, what the fuck happened in this life to bring him here? He closed his eyes as a group of teenagers yelled expletives in his direction. Every night it was the same a lonely existence as he walked the streets looking for a place to lay for the night. A place where the cops would leave him be, and the murderers would do so as well. Even though he prayed for death, his whole life was a contradiction.

In 1912 his life took a turn for the worse, the night of April 15th changed him indefinitely he was no longer fun loving Jack Dawson. He was a drunk, after a few lonely months he walked out of New York after getting his ass kicked by big bad rich men. Heading west with a bottle of whisky in his hand he walked along a dirt road perfectly content with the weight of his conscious and knapsack on his back. He was worth two dollars, and he spent it on more of his favorite substance. Jack surveyed his face once in Ohio, he had a look of hatred in his bloodshot eyes. His face was drawn and he looked emaciated he couldn't remember the last time he had eaten. Eventually the cops picked him up, he was in a drunken haze and near death. The cops took him to a hospital where he was treated and then sent to jail for the night. The next day he was released with a fine of 100 dollars to pay. Jack skipped bail and he knew that showing up in the state of Ohio was no longer a good idea. North to Michigan he headed, eventually finding himself in the back of a truck, headed towards Detroit. Jack hoped to turn his life around to give himself a new start, he would shave his beard and hair. Even get a job working at general motors. The gracious company hired him, and he found a bench to live on a mile from the plant. He even stopped drinking and for once since April he felt well, he was eating and he was even getting along with a woman for something other than sex. Until he read of Rose's wedding to Hockley. Betrayal! How in the summer of 1915 did she decide the marry the bastard? Why had she waited so long? Jack went back to drinking, showing up to work drunk and barely doing his job on the assembly line. Eventually his supervisor threw him off the job, and his girlfriend dumped him. Michigan no longer had any appeal and so he headed off to Illinois, landing in Chicago. He got mixed up in some gang behavior to make some money, comradeship he called it. He never killed anyone no he was just a runner, running moonshine from Chicago to St. Louis. Never once had he been caught. The twenties were good to Jack, weren't they to everyone? He was running back to Chicago when he heard on the radio that the stock market had crashed. He knew then his liquor running days were over. He didn't get away without a few bruises and two cracked ribs.

Jack again found himself wandering more money to his name this time. He continued his journey west, again finding himself in the cab of a truck. He fell asleep somewhere along the way and found himself in Montana, in the dead of winter. Jack thanked the driver anyways and started looking around his new home for a job. Jack was lucky, far more lucky than most people during 1930 and he found himself a job logging. He got along well with the men, these men relied heavily on illegal alcohol, the same substance Jack had been running the years before. Jack found company with these men and his drinking picked up even more, it was an addiction now he relied on the drink. Jack kept his job for five years, becoming an alcoholic, severely depending on the substance to give him the strength he needed to go on. By 1935 Jack was again restless most of the people he knew were beginning to realize Jack had a problem and they wanted away from him as soon as possible. Jack began heading back east, he was 42 years old and he knew he wanted to finish out his life with Rose. Back in 1929 he read that Cal had committed suicide and Rose was left with by herself in a large mansion. Every time Jack got drunk he pictured Rose all alone in the mansion walking around aimlessly, maybe even missing Jack too. He only hoped, she would take him back in her arms and fix his problem. Fix his need for alcohol.

Jack hitched rides, and walked at times all the way back to the North east. By then his beard was long and his hair was too. He stunk and he needed to bathe. Jack went to a catholic church and befriended a priest who gave him the resources he needed to bathe, get a haircut and shave. The priest tried to lead Jack to god, give him something to believe in. One night Jack left, in search of the drink his heart ached for. "God can deliver you from all your sins." Jack thought of the words as a stranger gave him some liquor to share around a burning metal can. I'll never be wiped clean of these sins Jack concluded as the numbing whisky washed down his throat.

Jack began a life of ruthless begging, pilfering and even a few robberies, in search of alcohol. Prohibition was over and the U.S. had more alcohol to give than ever. Jack kept himself in a steady supply growing older and older with every sip. In modern times he would have been told that his liver was starting to fail, and that the way his face felt was due to the alcohol, he would have been given a death sentence. Jack was stuck, hung in the balance all because of a night in April he could recall every detail of. They say, every man has a tipping point, and for Jack losing his life, his love was exactly that. He couldn't go on he couldn't face life without Rose and so he didn't he numbed himself with alcohol. Jack covered up the life he couldn't face. He should have done something to stop Cal from dragging her away, he should have ran towards Cal's gun the worse he could have done was fired the pistol. Taking the life Jack didn't want to live anyways, not without Rose at least. Rose fought against Cal but he forced her onto the life boat, and sat down next to her, the tip of the silver gun still facing towards Jack's heart.

Every time Jack would get reminiscent or even in his drunken moments he would imagine Rose's face, and the way he felt at nineteen. Young, in love and willing to die for a woman he had known for mere days.

Jack opened his eyes again and realized the teenagers were gone and at least an hour had past, he took another sip of alcohol, coughing and sputtering as it went down. The phlegm in his throat was too thick. Jack hacked and coughed he pulled a dirty handkerchief out of his coat pocket and spit into it, blood, he wiped his chin and closed his eyes. He could finally feel the release he wanted coming to him. He would die, tonight in Philadelphia Pennsylvania at fifty years old never having been rescued by the one he loved.

XXX

Rose walked along the streets, it was late at night and she knew she should be home but so long as she was out she might as well enjoy it. Rose never really enjoyed her life and at forty-eight she knew it was nearly over her prime years were over. Any chance she had at love was over. She rummaged through her purse and walked into a store, she picked up some eggs and bacon. If she wanted to have breakfast in the morning she must pick up the things she needed tonight. Rose paid the man at the counter, he was anxious to leave it was ten o'clock at night the store was nearly closed. The frost bit at her nose when she walked back outside. Rose bundled her scarf tighter around her neck and continued her walk home. She noticed a man sleeping on side of the road, but he looked dead. Rose wanted to wake him up and make sure he was okay. Something about this man made her stop and walk over to him. Rose bent down to him, and touched his face, his nose was blue and his hair was blond-ish grey and matted to the sides of his face. His beard was long but something about this man made her sad inside. Like she had known him before. She tried to wake him she jostled him and shook him but he didn't wake, he didn't open his eyes. Tears fell from Rose's eyes this man had died alone without someone to love or hold. She rummaged through his pockets, looking for Identification not that a man like him would have any. She found folded up peace of paper in his pocket, she unfolded it and was met by the charcoal gaze of her face, it was dated 1915 and the title said "My Rose" At once she knew who the man on the street was, she caressed his face, a sob shaking from her throat. All these years and this is how they meet again. Rose touched his lips with her two fingers. "Oh Jack," she cried.

A/N: and so that's my story I hope you enjoyed it at least a little bit it was slightly depressing. At least to me, it may be complete crap but hey. Please review.