Ghosts
By: Sam "Walnut" Newell


  I watch the rain slip down the window in tiny streams. The sky is gray and overcast, I've never seen so many shades of gray in the sky at once. The sun is shining through a tiny gap in the clouds, but it's enough to turn the darkest clouds a sinister purple. Low growls of thunder and bright flashes of lightning occasionally punctuate my melancholy mood.

  Slowly I set my steaming mug down beside me and I draw a blank face in the damp condensation, the lines blur and eventually disappear. Mindlessly I wipe my wet finger on my toweling robe. Behind me I can hear my door open and shut, his footfalls are soft and muffled on my carpet. The weight of his hand is now on my shoulder as he sits next to me on the armchair. For a moment I think that he's going to break the silence, instead he just sighs. We sit this way for a few minutes before he actually speaks. As his mouth formed the words, I closed my eyes and listened to his voice.

  "Are you okay?"

  I can't say that the question surprises me, he's always looking out for me.

  "I'm fine." I answer; it's not exactly the truth but it puts his mind at rest. I continue to stare out of the window but I am aware of his eyes on me. He sighs wistfully and stands up as if to leave the room.

  "I know that it's hard for you but you can't just stop your life. We're all going to miss him."

  For the first time since his entrance, I turn to look at him. He's tall, taller than I am and blond, just like his grandfather used to be...

  "I'm 79, if I want to put my life on hold then I will."

  The simple truth is that we'd been together for over half a century and I am lost without him. I tuck a strand of gray, once russet hair behind my ear. I can see his green eyes cloud over slightly, obscuring his feelings.

  "I'm the last one now, they're all dead and now I just want to join them, I'm so tired of life. I've seen and done so much, I just want my peace."

  He looks heart broken at this, ever since his mother died, we've been close and to hear me talk like this upsets him, I forget how sensitive he is sometimes. I was like it when Doc died, I was like it when Zach died and I'm like it again now. He's what I believe Shane would have turned out like if he hadn't been brought up in the training camp.

  I turn back to stare out of the window and just as his grandfather would have done, he respected me enough to leave me alone with my ghosts.

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