[ WP ] A depressed , suicidal mailman wins the lottery . With no friends or family to share the money with , he decides to use the money to personally deliver packages across the world in search of a reason to live .

The money never changed anything. `` Money ca n't buy happiness,'' little do people know how true it is until they actually run into the money. It does n't change the family I've lost, does n't bring them back to life, does n't bring back friends, or repair relationships. If anything, it just brings long lost contacts out of the woodwork you have n't seen since gradeschool to `` hang out'' or `` celebrate.'' 
 
 My trust in females is dim to begin with. Mirrors in my house have all been ripped off the wall as I know the flaws they see and I do n't want to be reminded of them. This money just bring burdens of other people's intent to `` get in'' for it. Love just looks like it's not in the cards for me, then again what is? 
 
 The next few weeks at work was everyone congratulating me. I took it all with numbness, assuming their thinly veiled reasoning behind speaking to me. Most people in the office never bothered saying a word until I hit lotto. 
 
 I wrapped up my last month before just deciding to quit. Mail carrying was just another mundane aspect to my days. Every day the same route, the same faces. I figured I'd have more adventure sitting at home running errands and chores. 
 
 That too, grew tired. 
 
 I spent a sliver of my fortunes on a revolver. I felt no desire to live on. It's not so much a sense of despair as it is a lack of interest. The sadness is long gone. When the numbness to everything sets in is where it really becomes a problem. I decided to give it one go. I chambered a round and spun the barrel. A few last thoughts crossed my mind, nothing too meaningful anymore. Things like my old highschool crush, the college attempt at love that wound up cheating, missing friends. I pulled the trigger... 
 
 Click. 
 
 Unless I just blew my brains out and this is death, nothing happened. Even winning a game of Russian roulette with myself still feels like a loss. I set the gun down and poured myself a glass of whiskey. I feel asleep on the recliner by the fireplace. Rock bottom felt like it had been hit. 
 
 Over the course of the next few weeks an itch started growing to do something with all my free time. I began buying gifts for some pen pals I have made over the years, many from distant foreign lands. These gifts were met with much gratitude and appreciation. One of those friends however, sent nothing back. She was always a frequent sender so this struck me as odd. 
 
 I decided to go visit her in person as she requested many times in the past except I never had the money. That no longer being an issue, I could easily do so now. 
 
 I took the next flight I could to Paris. Nothing but me and a small suitcase of some clothes. After touchdown it was a smooth taxi ride down to her house. A nice little flat that looks just like the pictures she used to send me. 
 
 I knocked a couple times but was n't answered. I decided to give the handle a little turn. To my surprise the door was unlocked. I cracked it open and called her name. Still no answer. I figured she was out so I went in and sat on her couch for a couple hours just waiting in hopes to see her come home surprised. 
 
 Such time never came. 
 
 I got up and quietly roamed the house a bit, being sure not to startle her if she were home. 
 
 I made my way down a hallway to where I assumes her bedroom would be based off the pictures. I opened the door slowly and saw her laying down sleeping, which would explain her not answering. After taking a couple steps closer I saw that her sleep was more than just that. My gift was laying next to her along with a letter she wrote and an open bottle of prescription pills, about half empty on the nightstand next to her. 
 
 My eyes welled and breathing became difficult. My shaking hands picked up the letter and it read...'' I have waited for years. If you never come you will never read this and the police will never understand.'' 
 
 By the end of those two short sentences, the paper was wet and ripping. 
 
 My one chance at love is gone. At the top she always dates her letters, this one was dated as today. I missed her by hours. 
 
 Whatever was alive in me after everything in my life was now dead. 
 
 I laid down next to her and finished off what was left of the pills and held her until I too fell asleep to join her.
