Happyville

I'd like to introduce this piece simply: It is depressing. This is by far one of my darkest commentaries. With that, I give you Happyville:

Once, in the faraway land of The United States of Happyrainbowunicorns was the small village of Happyville. The most respected family in Happyville were the Happys: Mr. Happy, Mrs. Happy, the Happy twins, Emily and John, and Happy Jr.. In Happyville the sun always shone brightly, the grass was always a vibrant emerald green, the sky and lake were similar shades of lovely blue. In short, Happyville was a very happy place where nothing bad ever happened.
One day, in the afternoon as the happy sun began to set over Happyville, Mr. Happy burst through the door grinning.
“I got a 18% raise!” he proclaimed loudly. His family instantly jumped up and ran to him, showering him with praise and hugs. After the flood of joy had subsided slightly, Mr. Happy sat down on their colorful couch and his children huddled around him.
“How were your days at school?” he asked them eagerly.
“I got an A++ on my math quiz!” said John Happy.
“I’m the captain of every sports team and the cheerleading squad!” shouted Emily Happy.
“Googoo gahgah!” exclaimed Happy Jr. adorably. Mr. Happy laughed and picked up his smallest child right as his wife entered carrying a large tray of steaming chocolate chip cookies.
“Who’s hungry?” she asked cheerily. The rest of her family loudly informed that they were and fell upon the cookies with smiles.
“I love you, Mom!” chimed the children in unison through chocolate-stained teeth.
And so went life in Happyville.

15 years later…

Mr. Happy slowly and morosely opened his front door and stepped inside.
“I fucking hate my life,” he mumbled to the dark, empty space. He limped to the faded and torn couch, and sank into it, emptying a hip flask of scotch into his mouth as he did so. He swallowed hard, squeezing his eyelids together tightly. Ever since Happy Jr. had died from leukemia and Mrs. Happy had left him for Dr. McChuckles, his life had gone downhill. He and his son had both been diagnosed with diabetes recently. He was losing his leg to it. The amputation was scheduled. His daughter had seemed to be their only hope of having a positive impact on the world, but alas, she had overdosed on heroin during a party at her Ivy League college. She now needed help getting dressed in the morning.
Mr. Happy stood up and limped to his desk, his mind fogged by visions of his son begging for money to buy diabetes medication and Emily stumbling through sterile, fluorescent halls. He clumsily grabbed a red pen and a piece of paper and scribbled the words “give it all to John” on it. He read his message, nodded, set it down, opened a drawer and pulled out a pistol. He put it in his mouth and, without hesitation, squeezed the trigger.
And so went life in reality.