A/N: so new story I've had an idea for...

Playlist "Whiskey Lullaby" by Brad Paisley

Stephenie Meyer owns any Twilight characters that may appear in this story. The remainder is my original work. Copyright 2010 by Fate of Shadows. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without my express written authorization.

Enjoy...


Whiskey Lullaby

The train whistle pierced through the station. A door was swung open and a young man jumped out, not waiting for the train to come to a full stop. A brown suitcase swung by his side, military cap crooked on his reddish brown hair. Pushing through the gathered crowd, he eagerly embraced a woman, standing at the rear of the mass of people.

The man then moved to an older man, who stood next to the woman and embraced him, tears brimming at both their eyes. The older man then took his son by his arm and led him to their black car. While the mother and son climbed in, the father bent in front of the car, cranking the handle until it roared to life.

All the way home, the young man sat in silence, vigilantly staring out to the passing fields. Once at home he ditched his parents and ran three houses down, about a mile away. Bursting in, for he was no stranger to this house, no one was there to turn their head. He traipsed upstairs and swung open the last door on the left.

There he found his sweetheart asleep, with another man naked next to her. Betrayed at her unfaithfulness, he screamed his anguish, throwing down the ring he was going to surprise her with. She awoke, surprised and dismayed at her soul mate's appearance. The covers were thrown back, awakening her bed companion. He grabbed her arm, restraining her, but she yanked away, desperate to reach her lover. But she was too late; the last she saw of him was his retreating form in the distance.

She put him out like the burnin' end of a midnight cigarette
She broke his heart he spent his whole life tryin' to forget
We watched him drink his pain away a little at a time
But he never could get drunk enough to get her off his mind
Until the night

* * *

The years passed slowly; each day was discontentment. No, it was more than that. It was excruciating, scorching, agonizing pain, all the time, with every movement. The only thing that helped was a bottle of whiskey, morning and night; sometimes even during the day. His family never knew what drew him to drink. All they knew was he came back from the war and then started drinking the next day. Was it the horrors he had seen facing the Germans? Or was it something bigger? Something that broke him even more.

He was restless. He was hurt. He was drunk. His family never went to visit him because he always threw something at them. One time he threw a bottle and hit his mother. He never saw his family again. It was her fault. How could she betray him, be so unfaithful. Had he really been gone long enough for her to forget about him? It had only been two years. He had even given her a promise ring to remember him by. He guessed it wasn't enough. Their love had not been enough.

He put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away her memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength he had to get up off his knees
We found him with his face down in the pillow
With a note that said I'll love her till I die
And when we buried him beneath the willow
The angels sang a whiskey lullaby

He sat there, staring at the gun. The pain was just too much. Her memory overwhelming, drowning him in a sea of hate and betrayal. He was drunk, soberness out of reach, ever out of reach. These last weeks had driven him crazy. He saw her everywhere now. Always dressed in white, reaching towards him. He would reach back, but always grasp nothing. She wasn't there. Then he'd turn around and she'd appear again.

She was there, coaxing him along. All he had to do was pull that trigger and he'd be with her. A pen was taken out, a short note clutched in his hands. He sat on the bed, facing the window. He took a breath, and pulled.

His sister found him, face down in the white pillow. Prying his fisted hand apart, she found the note he was clinging to. I'll love her till I die. She shook her head, running to the black telephone in the corner.


La la la la la la
la la la la la la la

La la la la la la
la la la la la la la

The funeral was held and he was buried in no-man's land between the four families on that lane. The back street meadow with its side stream forest. The old weeping willow he had played on as a child and had midnight excursions with the neighbor girl.

She was there as they laid him under that tree. Greif and guilt intermingled and became one. It was her fault. He would be living if it wasn't for her and that stupid mistake. A one night stand turned into a disaster.

She had drifted away after that night. Drew into herself and rarely spoke. Nightmares plagued her constantly, to a point where she drank whisky until it knocked her out.

The rumors flew but nobody know how much she blamed herself
For years and years she tried to hide the whiskey on her breath
She finally drank her pain away a little at a time
But she never could get drunk enough to get him off her mind
Until the night

The willow tree was her companion. There she would drink and drink. People talked, saying it was a war born virus, only return soldiers could get it. She knew it wasn't true. He had killed himself because of her. Because he had stilled loved her.

She ran her fingers over the white marble, tracing the engravings after everyone had left. The skies opened and poured their tears down upon her, until she was soaked as the mud. The ring, the ring her had thrown that fateful day, was held in her fingers. Slowly, gently, she slipped it on her third finger. She walked home slowly.


She put that bottle to her head and pulled the trigger
And finally drank away his memory
Life is short but this time it was bigger
Than the strength she had to get up off her knees
We found her with her face down in the pillow
Clinging to his picture for dear life
We laid her next to him beneath the willow
While the angels sang a whiskey lullaby

No one was home. She took down her father's handgun and held it to her head. She knelt on her bed, the covers wrinkling under her knees. The picture of him and her rest on her bed table. She picked it up, holding it to her chest. Smiling slightly, she pulled the trigger, falling face first on the bed.


* * *

Another funeral was held, a week after the last one. A boy, son of a neighboring family, watched as the hole was filled in. As his family was leaving he looked over at the willow tree and saw a boy and girl dancing. He turned to show his mother but when he looked back they were gone.

La la la la la la
la la la la la la la

La la la la la la
la la la la la la la

* * *

She entered the grove, hesitating at the edge. He was there, waiting for her. Finally, she stepped into his line of sight. She slowly walked up to him. He smiled, a wistful look on his face. She raised her hand and touched his cheek. He grabbed her hand and looked at the ring on her finger. He then smiled her favorite crooked grin. She smiled back. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers.

Then he took her hand and bowed, and she curtsied. He placed his arms around her and they danced