It was one year ago that the Screwup’s fate was set in stone. July 3rd, 2005 was just another average day for the Screwup, until he was hit by the catastrophe that led to his suicide. He had nowhere to run, and should have been killed on the spot. Amazingly, he managed to survive 48 hours. In this time, he forgave his betrayer, forged a new foundation for The Union, and called s3c0ndh4nd to be his successor. Then he drew his blade and ended his life. This happened a mere 2 days before his first year would have ended, and a mere week before s3c0ndh4nd created this space. 
The Screwup can be called the beacon of hope for The Union. He always believed that the future would hold better things. He was born into a world that couldn’t care less whether he lived or died, and no one expected his life to last more than a week. But the Screwup somehow perserved, filled with the hope that things could be better in the future if he tried to make them so. And things did indeed improve for the Screwup. He was given great responsibilities, and reaped great rewards, but he always looked to see how he could make things better for both himself and others around him. Even when he was struck down by the catastrophe, he still believed that life could be made better. He spent the final hours of his life making sure life for me would be made good. Even as he plunged that blade into his heart, he believed that I could make life better, that I would be the one to lead The Union to victory. I do not intend to let him down.
The Screwup brought many things to the Union, the most important of which was his poetry. His style is far different from my own. He relies less on rhyming and more on the tone of the poem, almost all of his poems have a lighter tone that send a message of hope to the reader. I have decided to honour him by writing a poem not in my style, but in his.
It was a single act of stupidity,
A leap of faith,
That once birthed a hero.
He was the Screwup,
Never again shall a man like him be known.
Though his youth was a constant struggle for survival,
And his death a sudden, horrific event,
His life will be forever remembered as the Good Old Days.
Giving all he had for what he believed,
Never losing faith in victory, yet he was deceived.
A beacon of hope to all whom he passed,
But his joy was shortlived, and was not to last.
A tainted soul, once shining and bright
Trusted to him a story, yet kept from his sight
That the favour, freely given, would not be returned,
Yet all remained peaceful, until the day he learned.
Times became difficult, yet the Screwup perserved,
Accepted what little pay they thought he deserved.
Then one fateful day, the tragic news hit,
Sending the Screwup into a rageful fit.
Though he tried to survive and make it through,
In the end there was nothing more he could do.
Finally, seeing no more reason to live,
He decided on a final gift to give.
The gift of forgiveness, a start over new.
Wanted by many, but given by few.
And as his replacement there would be a new man.
Righteous yet rampant, they’d call him "s3c0ndh4nd"
And content with a heir and all his work done,
He drew his own blade and into his heart he plunged
the tip.
As he lay dying, a final prayer, his last whim,
That s3c0ndh4nd might end up better than him.
As he closed his eyes and breathed his last,
The Good Old Days descended to the past.
The Screwup, ever faithful, used each second well,
From his moment of birth to the moment he well.
He gave his life for the survival of The Union,
Now he and the God of Beer sing "Family Reunion".
Once betrayed by sins and friends and love,
Now guiding s3c0ndh4nd from heaven above.
And now, all concerned, please raise your cups,
And remember the Good Old Days,
The second hero of The Union,
The Screwup.
s3c0ndh4nd 02/17/06
Dedicated to The Screwup
Written on July 3rd, 2006
In memory of the Screwup
July 7th, 2004-July 5th, 2005
The beacon of light to us all.
Long Live the Good Old Days.